you."

There was a long moment of silence, unbroken by any of the others.
Finally in a gesture of desperation, Cliff Jackson waved at the money
and checks sitting on the center table. "Sixteen thousand a year! The
whole organization doesn't have enough to pay me six months' salary."

Homer said mildly, "That's why your pay was doubled. You have to take
risks to make money in this world, Cliff. If El Hassan does come to
power, undoubtedly you'll get other raises--along with greater
responsibility."

He looked into Cliff Jackson's face, and although his words had dealt
with money, a man's dream looked out from his eyes. And the force of
personality that could emanate from Homer Crawford, possibly
unbeknownst to himself, flooded over the huge Californian. The others
in the room could feel it. Elmer Allen cleared his throat; Isobel held
her elbows to her sides, in a feminine protest against naked male
psychic strength.

Kenny Ballalou said without inflection, "Put up or shut up, Cliff old
pal."

Cliff Jackson sank back onto the spot on the bed he'd occupied before.
"I'm in," he muttered, so softly as hardly to be heard.

"None of you are in," a voice from the doorway said.

The figure that stood there held a thin, but heavy calibered
automatic in his hand.

* * * * *

He was a dapper man, neat, trim, smart. His clothes were those of
Greater Washington, rather than Dakar and West Africa. His facial
expression seemed overly alert, overly bright, and his features were
more Caucasian than Negroid.

He said, "I believe you all know me. Fredric Ostrander."

"Of the Central Intelligence Agency," Homer Crawford said dryly. He as
well as Bey, Elmer and Kenny had risen to their feet when the newcomer
entered from the smaller of the hut's two rooms. "What's the gun for,
Ostrander?"

"You're under arrest," the C.I.A. man said evenly.

Elmer Allen snorted. "Under whose authority are you working? As a
Jamaican, I'm a citizen of the West Indies and a subject of Her
Majesty."

"We'll figure that out later," Ostrander rapped. "I'm sure the
appropriate Commonwealth authorities will co-operate with the State
Department and the Reunited Nations in this matter." The gun
unwaveringly went from one of them to the other, retraced itself.

Bey looked at Homer Crawford.

Crawford shook his head gently.

He said to the newcomer, "The question still stands, Ostrander. Under
whose authority are you