d this yourself, Homer, but you're
Number One. You're the symbol, the hero these people are going to
follow if we put this thing over. They couldn't understand a sextet
leadership. They want a leader, someone to dominate and tell them what
to do. A team you need, admittedly, but not so much as the team needs
you. Remember Alexander? He had a team starting off with Aristotle for
a brain-trust, and Parmenion, one of the greatest generals of all time
for his right-hand man. Then he had a group of field men such as
Ptolemy, Antipater, Antigonus and Seleucus--not to be rivaled until
Napoleon built his team, two thousand years later. And what happened
to this super-team when Alexander died?"

Homer looked at him thoughtfully.

Bey wound it up doggedly. "You're our Alexander. Our Caesar. Our
Napoleon. So don't go getting yourself killed, damn it. Excuse me,
Isobel."

Isobel grinned her pixielike grin. "I agree," she said. "Dammit."

Homer said, "I'm not sure I go all along with you or not. We'll think
about it." His voice took a sharper note. "Let's go over and see if
there's enough left in that wreckage to give us an idea of who the
pilot represented. I can't believe it was a Reunited Nations man, and
I'd like to know who, of our potential enemies, dislikes the idea of
El Hassan so much that they figure we should all be bumped off before
we even get under way."

* * * * *

It had begun--if there is ever a beginning--in Dakar. In the offices
of Sven Zetterberg the Swedish head of the Sahara Division of the
African Development Project of the Reunited Nations.

Homer Crawford, head of a five-man trouble-shooting team, had reported
for orders. In one hand he held them, when he was ushered into the
other's presence.

Zetterberg shook hands abruptly, said, "Sit down, Dr. Crawford."

Homer Crawford looked at the secretary who had ushered him in.

Zetterberg said, scowling, "What's the matter?"

"I think I have something to be discussed privately."

The secretary shrugged and turned and left.

Zetterberg, still scowling, resumed his own place behind the desk and
said, "Claud Hansen is a trusted Reunited Nations man. What could
possibly be so secret...?"

Homer indicated the orders he held. "This assignment. It takes some
consideration."

Sven Zetterberg was not a patient man. He said, in irritation, "It
should be perfectly clear. This El Hassan we've been hearing so much
about. This