wn mind was churning.

They shook their heads dumbly.

Kenny said, "Ideas! We've had it, Homer!"

Homer Crawford spun on him and now the force they all knew was
emanating from him. He laughed his scorn. "A month ago we were half a
dozen fugitives. Now we're an army besieging a city. And you say we've
had it? Listen, Kenny, if we have to we'll go back to being half a
dozen fugitives again--those of us that are left. But the dream goes
on! However, we're not going to have to. We're too near victory in
this stage of the operation to sit down on the job because of a
threatened reverse. Now then, let's kick it around. Jimmy! Dave!
Kenny! Ostrander!"

Fredric Ostrander raised his eyebrows only slightly at being included
in their number.

* * * * *

Bey, for once, was seemingly too exhausted to be brought to new
enthusiasm. He tossed a detail map of Tamanrasset to the table. "And
I'd just worked out a bang-up scheme for infiltrating into town,
joining up with our adherents there, and seizing it while most of
Ibrahim's men were out in the desert, trying to capture our nearer
water holes."

Homer snapped, "It sounds like it still might have possibilities."

Ostrander looked down at the map, his face very tight. "How long would
it take?"

Bey scowled at him, defeat dulling his mind. "What?"

"How long do you figure it would take to infiltrate Tamanrasset and
capture it? Behind Ibrahim's back, so to speak."

Bey grunted. "A couple of hours in the early morning. I had a
beautiful picture of the colonel's armor out in the desert, cut off
from its petroleum supplies and ammunition dump while we held the
town. Some of our men, the former veterans of the French West African
forces, could have even operated the antitank guns he has mounted at
Fort Laperrine."

The C.I.A. man's mouth worked.

Homer Crawford's eyes pierced him.

Ostrander walked over to the radio before which Kenny Ballalou sat.
"See if you can raise Colonel Ibrahim for me."

Kenny scowled at him. "Why?"

"Do it."

Kenny looked at Homer Crawford.

Homer said, "O.K. Do it."

Kenny shrugged and turned to the set. While the others watched,
Crawford's face alert, his eyes narrowed, the rest of them dull in
apathy, the face of Colonel Ibrahim finally faded in on the screen.

Fredric Ostrander took his place at the instrument. He nodded,
formally. "Greetings, Colonel, it seems a long time since last we met
in Amman."