Dave Moroka said, "For the same reason you are, to further the El Hassan dream, the uniting and modernization of the continent of my racial heritage." "But you are still a Party member and still report to your superiors." Dave Moroka looked at the tiny gun she held in her hand. "Don't try it," she said. "I have seen you in action, Dave. I have never seen a man move so ruthlessly fast ... but don't try it." "No reason to," he bit out. "Come on, let's go see Homer." She was slightly taken aback, but not enough to release her control for even a split second. "Lead the way," she said. * * * * * Even at this time of evening, the headquarters tent was brightly lit and most of the immediate El Hassan staff still at work. Homer Crawford looked up as they entered. Cliff Jackson saw the gun first and said, "Holy Mackerel, Isobel." Fredric Ostrander was sitting to one side in discussion with the sober faced Jack Peters. He took in the gun and slowly came to his feet, obviously expecting climax. Isobel said, "Dave's taking over control of communications had method. I just found him reporting to what must have been a superior ... in the Party." Homer Crawford looked from the South African to Isobel, then back to Dave again, without speaking. His eyes were questioning. Dave said, his voice sharp. "I haven't time for details now. Isobel's right. I was a Party member." "Was?" Ostrander chuckled. "That's the understatement of the year. I hadn't got around to revealing the fact as yet, but our friend Dave is the notorious Anton, one of the Soviet Complex's most competent hatchetmen." Dave looked at him only briefly. "Was," he reiterated. He turned his attention to Homer and to Bey, who was staring tired dismay at this new addition to the load. Homer still held his peace, waiting for the other to go on. "I found out tonight why Colonel Ibrahim is attacking, instead of pulling in his horns as reason would dictate." Dave paused for emphasis. "The Soviet Complex has thrown its weight, in this matter at least, on the side of the Arab Union. They have insisted that Sven Zetterberg be dismissed as head of the Sahara Division of the African Development Project and that his threat to use Reunited Nations aircraft if the local fighting spreads to the air, be repudiated." Kenny blurted, "Good grief ... that means--" Dave looked around at them, one by one. "It means," he said, "that the Arab Legion is going to be reinforced tomorrow morning by a full regiment of paratroopers." "Holy Mackerel," Cliff groaned. "We've had it. Another regiment of crack troops in Tamanrasset and we'll _never_ take the town." Dave shook his head. "That's not the big thing. The paratroopers aren't going to drop in Tamanrasset. They're going to hit every oasis, every water hole, in a circumference of two hundred miles." There was an empty silence.