Derek said softly, "That took a lot of men and a lot of dynamite. Which means a lot of transport--and a lot of money. We've had trouble before, but usually it was disgruntled nomads, getting revenge for losing their grazing land." Johnny snorted, "Damn little grazing this far north." Derek nodded. "I'm simply saying that even if we could blame our minor sabotage on the Tuareg in the past, we can't do it this time. There's money behind anything this big." Johnny McCord said wearily, "Let's eat. In the morning we'll go out and take a look. I'd better call Timbuktu on this. If nothing else, the Mali Federation can send troops out to protect us." Derek grunted. "With a standing army of about 25,000 men, they're going to patrol a million and a half square miles of desert?" "Can you think of anything else to do?" "No." * * * * * Pierre Marimbert began dishing _cous cous_ into a soup plate, then poured himself a glass of _vin ordinaire_. He said, "I can't think of a better place for saboteurs. Twenty men could do millions of dollars of destruction and never be found." Johnny growled, "It's not as bad as all that. They've got to eat and drink, and so do their animals. There are damned few places where they can." From the door a voice said, "I am intruding?" They hadn't heard her car come up. The three men scrambled to their feet. "Good evening," Johnny McCord blurted. "Hell ... o!" Derek breathed. Pierre Marimbert was across the room, taking her in hand. "_Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Que puis-je faire pour vous? Voulez-vous une biere bien fraiche ou un apéritif? Il fait trés chaud dans le desert._" He led her toward the table. "Easy, easy there, Reuben," Derek grumbled. "The young lady speaks English. Give a man a chance." Johnny was placing a chair for her. "Paul Peterson, from Poste Weygand, radioed that you were coming. You're a little late, Mademoiselle Desage." She was perhaps thirty, slim, long-legged, Parisian style. Even at Bidon Cinq, half a world away from the Champs Elysées, she maintained her chic. She made a moue at Johnny, while taking the chair he held. "I had hoped to surprise you, catch you off guard." She took in the sun-dried, dour-faced American wood technologist appraisingly, then turned her eyes in turn to Derek and Pierre. "You three are out here all alone?" she said demurely. "Desperately," Derek said. Johnny McCord said, "Mademoiselle Hélène Desage, I am John McCord, and these are my associates, Monsieur Pierre Marimbert and Mr. Derek Mason. Gentlemen, Mademoiselle Desage is with _Paris Match_, the French equivalent of _Life_, so I understand. In short, she is undoubtedly here for a story. So ixnay on the ump-pays."