Short Fiction by Mack Reynolds (ready to read books .TXT) 📕

Johnny said, “I’ll tell it, Derek.”

Hélène Desage was as surprised as the Malian. “What is going on? Are you trying to whitewash yourselves by casting blame on this gentleman?”

“Let me go on,” Johnny said. “Needless to say, there are conflicting interests. The Soviet Complex obviously would as soon we didn’t succeed. However, wars are impractical today, and the Russkies and Chinese are taken up with their own development. The Southeast Asia bloc wouldn’t mind taking over here themselves, they desperately need land already. But they aren’t our biggest opponents. There’s another group even more involved⁠—the colons of Algeria and Morocco and those of even such Mali cities as Dakar. I suppose it is this last element that you represent, Miss Desage.”

She was staring unbelievingly at him now.

“Their interest is to get the Sahara Reforestation Commission out of the way so that they can immediately exploit the area. They are interested in the now, not the potentialities of the future. They resent the use of the Niger for reforestation, when they could use it for immediate irrigation projects. They would devote the full resources of the Mali Federation and Algeria to seeking oil and minerals and in the various other ways the country might be exploited. Finally, they rather hate to see the western schools, hospitals, and other means used to raise the local living standards. They liked the low wage rates that formerly applied.”

Johnny nodded. “Yes, I imagine that’s your angle.”

Hélène Desage stormed to her feet. “I don’t have to listen to this!”

Derek said, “Honey, we sure aren’t holding you. You’re free to go any time you want. And you can take this pal of yours along with you.” He jerked his head contemptuously at Mohammed Mohmoud.

Pierre Marimbert said, “Mademoiselle, we have no idea of where you two met originally, nor how close your relationship, but the captain should have remembered that I too am French. A gentleman, on first meeting a lady, would never, never address her as tu in our language.”

Johnny sighed again and looked at his watch. “Other things pile up too, Miss Desage. You let slip a few moments ago that you knew about the pumps being destroyed. You said the rumor was all around camp. But it couldn’t be. The only persons who knew about it were myself, Pierre and Derek. On top of that, there were no signs of bedouin or animals near the exploded pumps; the person who did the job must have come in an aircraft or air-cushion car. And, besides, we found the pin of a hand grenade in your land rover this morning. We had thought at first that dynamite had been used, but evidently you smuggled your much more compact bombs across the desert with you. Obviously, no one would have dreamed of searching your vehicle.

“No, Miss Desage, it’s obvious that you detoured from the track on the way down from Poste Weygand, went over to In Ziza, a comparatively short distance, and blew up twenty-five of our pumps.”

Johnny turned to the Malian officer now. “At the same time you were coordinating with her, you and whatever gang is hiring you. Someone supplied those Tuareg with the livestock and paid them to trek up here. You, of course, turned your back and let them through. The same someone who supplied the livestock also supplied Czech weapons.”

Hélène Desage was still sputtering indignation. “Ridiculous! Why? What would motivate me to such nonsense?”

Johnny grimaced. “The whole thing makes a beautiful story at a time when the American government is debating the practicality of the whole project. You could do quite a sob story on the poor, poverty-stricken Tuareg having their livestock destroyed. Then, quite a tale about the bedouin raiding our pumping stations and blowing them up. And quite a tale about the Tuareg being armed with Czech weapons. Oh, I imagine before it was through you’d have drawn a picture of civil war going on here between the nomads and the Commission. Blowing up your own car with a small bomb attached to the starter was just one more item. By the way, were you going to do it yourself? Or did you intend to allow one of our mechanics to kill himself?”

She flushed. “Don’t be ridiculous. No one would have been hurt. The bomb is a very small one. More smoke and flash than anything else.”

“Well, thanks for small favors,” Derek said sarcastically.

She gave up. “Very well,” she snapped. “There is nothing you can do. This whole project, as I said before, is nothing but American boondoggling, a way of plowing endless resources into a hole. Your real motivation is an attempt to prevent depression and unemployment in your country.”

Pierre Marimbert said softly, “So you admit to this whole scheme to discredit us?”

“Why not?” She turned to the door. “I will still write my articles. It’s my word or yours.”

Derek grinned at her. “I think I could fall in love with you, honey,” he said. “Life would provide few dull moments. However, you didn’t notice how nice and automated this office is. Card machines, electric typewriters, all the latest⁠—including tape recorders for office conversations. You talked too much, honey.”

“Cochon!” she shrilled at him. She whirled and was through the door.

Johnny turned to Mohammed Mohmoud. “I guess the best thing for you would be to turn in your commission, Captain.”

Dark eyes snapped. “And if I say no?”

Johnny shook his head. “The Mali Federation passed some awfully strict laws when it was drawing up its constitution. Among them was one involving capital punishment for anyone destroying a source of water in the desert. Miss Desage did the actual work but you were hand in glove with her. I’d hate to have to report that to your superiors.”

Derek jumped forward quickly. His hand snaked out and chopped the other’s forearm. The heavy military pistol fell to the floor, and the Canadian kicked it to one side. “Shucks,” he drawled, “the