nd they came hurrying up
from different directions to the support of their chief. They had been a
team for years and operating as they did and where they did, each man
survived only by selfless co-operation with all the others. In action,
they operated like a single unit, their ability to co-operate almost as
though they had telepathic communication.

From where he lay, Homer Crawford could see Bey-ag-Akhamouk,
Tommy-Noiseless in hands, snake in from the left, running low and
reaching a vantage point from which he could cover one flank of the
ancient adobe mosque. Homer waved to him and Bey made motions to
indicate that one of the others was coming in from the other side.

Homer waited for a few more minutes, then waved to Bey to cover him. The
streets were empty at this time of midday when the Sahara sun drove the
town's occupants into the coolness of dark two-foot-thick walled houses.
It was as though they were operating in a ghost town. Homer came to his
feet and handgun in fist made a dash for the front entrance.

Bey's light automatic _flic flic flicked_ its excitement and dust and
dirt enveloped the wall facing Crawford. Homer reached the doorway,
stood there for a full two minutes while he caught his breath. From the
side of his eye he could see Elmer Allen, his excellent teeth bared as
always when the Jamaican went into action, come running up to the right
in that half crouch men automatically go into in combat, instinctively
presenting as small a target as possible. He was evidently heading for a
side door or window.

The object now was to refrain from killing the sniper. The important
thing was to be able to question him. Perhaps here was the answer to the
massacre of the Cubans. Homer took another deep breath, smashed the door
open with a heavy shoulder and dashed inward and immediately to one
side. At the same moment, Abe Baker, Tommy-Noiseless in hand, came in
from the rear door, his eyes darting around trying to pierce the gloom
of the unlighted building.

Elmer Allen erupted through a window, rolled over on the floor and came
to rest, his gun trained.

"Where is he?" Abe snapped.

Homer motioned with his head. "Must be up in the remains of the
minaret."

Abe got to the creaking, age-old stairway first. In cleaning out a
hostile building, the idea is to move fast and keep on the move. Stop,
and you present a target.

But there was no one in the minaret.

"Got away," Homer growled. His face was