Jumana straightened a sheaf of papers for the tenth time and avoided Lusana's gaze. "What if Somala imagined the Fawkes raid? Perhaps he saw it during a fit of delirium; or, then again, perhaps he made it up."

Frowning, Lusana shook his head in irritation. "You forget, Colonel, I was the one who took Somala's report. He was a damn good man. The best section leader we had. He was not delirious and he had no reason to create a fairy tale, knowing he was about to die."

"There is no doubt that the raid took place," said Makeir. "The South African papers and television newscasts have given it heavy play. Their stories all check with what Somala told the general here, except the government Defence Forces have yet to come up with any reliable witnesses who can provide a description of the attacking troops. We were fortunate that Somala was able to return from his mission and describe in detail what he saw before he died."

"Did he see who shot him?" asked jumana.

"He was hit in the back at great distance," answered Lusana, "probably by a sniper. The poor devil managed to crawl three miles to the area he assigned the rest of his scouting party. They performed what first aid they could and then beat a track back to our camp."

Thomas Machita shook his head in utter incomprehension. "None of it tallies. I doubt that other liberation movements would dress up and masquerade as AAR soldiers."

"On the other hand," said Makeir, "maybe they staged the raid to cast blame on us and take the heat off themselves."

"I am in close contact with my countrymen who are advising your brother revolutionaries," said Colonel Lo. "They are all as angry as disturbed hornets. No one gained by the assault on the Fawkes farm. If anything, it has stiffened the resolve of the whites, the Indians, the coloreds. and many blacks, as well, to stand firm against outside intervention. "

Lusana rested his chin on clasped hands. "Okay, if they didn't do it, and we know we didn't do it, who does that leave as a prime suspect.

"South African whites," Lo answered simply.

Every eye focused on the Vietnamese adviser. Lusana stared into the inscrutable eyes. "Perhaps you'd care to repeat the statement."

"I am merely suggesting that someone in the South African government may have ordered the murder of the Fawkes family and their field workers."

They all stared at him wordlessly for several moments. Finally Machita broke the silence.

"I fail to see a purpose."

"Nor I," Lo said, and shrugged. "But consider this. Who else would have the resources to equip a group of commandos in arms and uniforms that are identical to our own? Also, and most important, does it not strike you, gentlemen, as odd that even though the attacking group retreated within the sound of Defence Force helicopters, none of them was tracked down. It is a fact of guerrilla life that we require a minimum of one hour to insure even a moderate chance of a successful escape. Less than ten minutes' head start on a force using helicopters and dogs is suicide."

"You make an intriguing case," Lusana said, his fingers drumming the table. "I don't for one minute accept it as valid. However, it won't hurt to run a check." He turned to Machita. "Do you have a trusted informer in the Defence Ministry?"

"Someone highly placed," answered Machita. "Costs us a pretty penny. but his information is thoroughly reliable. Odd sort, though; he never appears in the same place twice under the same guise."

"You make him sound like some kind of mystic." said Jumana.

"Perhaps he is," conceded Machita. "Emma materializes when we least expect him."

"Emma?"

"His code name."

"Either the man has a warped sense of humor or he's a transvestite," said Lusana.

"I cannot say. General."

"How do you contact him?"

"We don't. He reaches us only when he has useful information to sell."

Jumana's face clouded. "What guarantee have we that he isn't feeding us falsified documents?"

"To date, everything he passed us from the Ministry has checked out one hundred percent."

Lusana looked at Machita. "You'll see to it, then?"

Machita nodded. "I'll fly to Pretoria myself and await Emma's next appearance. If anyone can clear up the mystery, it will be him."

The African Army of Revolution's camp was not really a camp at all; rather, it was a headquarters in what was once a small university for the Portuguese when they ruled Mozambique. A new university for the nation's black citizens had since risen from the heart of a new city torn from the northern interior, on Lake Malawi.

The converted campus made an ideal base for Lusana's army: dormitories for the troops, cafeterias turned mess halls, sporting facilities now utilized for combat instruction, comfortable quarters for the officers, a newly decorated ballroom for social events.

Democratic congressman Frederick Daggat, one of New jersey's three black congressmen, was impressed. He'd half expected a typical revolutionary movement run by tribesmen armed with Soviet rockets, dressed in drab Chinese uniforms, and spouting inane, overused Marxist cliches. Instead he was pleased to discover an organization run on the lines of an American oil corporation.

Lusana and his officers came off more like business executives than guerrillas.

Everything at the cocktail party went strictly according to New York protocol. Even the hostess, Felicia Collins, would have done a midtown Manhattan party proud.

Daggat caught her eyes and she excused herself from an admiring group of Somalian legislators. She came over and laid her hand on his arm.

"Enjoying yourself, Congressman?"

Very much."

"Hiram and I had hoped you could stay over until the weekend."

"Regrettably, I must be in Nairobi for a meeting with the Kenya Educational Council tomorrow afternoon."

"I hope your quarters are satisfactory. We're a little off the beaten track for a Hilton Hotel franchise."

"I must admit, Mr. Lusana's hospitality is far more than I bargained for."

Daggat looked down at her. Tonight was the first time he had actually seen Felicia Collins up close. Celebrity, singer with three gold records, actress with two Emmys and an Oscar for a difficult role as a black suffragette in the motion picture Road of Poppies. She was every bit as ravishing as she appeared on screen.

Felicia stood cool and poised in green crepe de chine evening pajamas. The small strapless top tied at the waist and the matching pants gave a diaphanous hint of her shapely legs. She wore her hair in a chic short African cut.

"Hiram is on the threshold of greatness, you know."

He smiled at her high-toned statement. "I imagine the same might have been said once of Attila the Hun."

"I can easily see why Washington correspondents crowd your press conferences, Congressman." Her hand remained on his arm. "Your tongue stabs."

"I believe they refer to it as 'Daggat's shaft.' "

"The better to screw the white establishment with, perhaps?"

He took her hand and exerted an increasing pressure until there was a tiny widening of her huge mahogany eyes. "Tell me, Ms. Collins ' what brings a beautiful and renowned black entertainer to the jungle?"

"The same thing that brings the black enfant terrible of the United Status Congress," she countered. "To help a man who is fighting to advance our race."