Soft Targets

'Curious,' he began, 'how my appetites are whetted by a job well-done.' They spoke English and then Arabic, softly, warmly, and when he remounted it was not on the mare. He forced into her immediately, a pain she ignored in her joy to serve. He coupled like a ferret, grinning fiercely, his need unsullied by affection, and Talith knew that she would not be required to simulate orgasm. She extended her tonguetip between her teeth, her own grin lewd in his face, and reached down to find him. She began to contrive for him that redoubled rapture, a Florentine. His restraint was no match for this and, in moments, he was spent.

Presently they drew apart. The girl combed her hair with impatient fingers. 'You have seen the media coverage of the Pueblo operation this morning?^'

'There was no time for that,' he yawned. 'I nearly missed my flight to San Jose. But I did hear a bulletin. Did Fat'ah obtain suitable coverage?^'

She nodded gravely. 'Hakim will be pleased.'

'Of that, I am certain.' Their great bituminous eyes locked for a moment before, toying with her, he persisted. 'But Hakim must have a media center. You are prepared?'

'Prepared? When I hailed you,' she riposted, 'did you or did you not think I was a local chicana?'

Echoes of repugnance clashed like scimitars behind his quiet words. 'You are clever, you are willing. I speak of greater things than—' and paused after using a grossly sexist Bedouin term for his recent use of her. He saw her pupils ex­pand. Pleasure or pain? 'I must know whether you have the site, the men, and the equipment Fat'ah requires.'

'I cannot say. My instructions are to provide only for the leader himself. He may not arrive, as you know. Or he may.' She shrugged.

'You are clever. But you are prepared for Hakim Arif?'

'We are Fat'ah.'

'And who am I?' He removed his left small finger at the last joint, replaced the prosthetic tip while she regained her composure. 'In our telephone arrangements I spoke to you as 'Rab­binowitz'.'

'But I thought you would first send—sire, you are Hakim Arif,' she murmured, seeming to grow smaller.

'So I am. And angry at continued small talk, and impatient for my media. We have another demonstration to plan, depending on the results we see from this morning's work. You have pro­vided for me, you say? Then show me, Talith.'

She quickly explained the route to the site she had prepared, naming each landmark three times. He did not remind her of his old familiar­ity with travel in the United States, but listened with critical approval. It was best to arrive after sunset, she said, which also gave her time to alert the others.

'Chaim and Rashid know you,' she added. The third, Bernal Guerrero, had been recruited in Damascus, as Talith herself had been, after Hakim Arif's last sojourn there. Hakim had read impressive reports on his new followers, and chose not to say so.

'They will serve,' he said, rising to collect the somnolent mare some distance away. He flung over his shoulder: 'Better perhaps than a woman who deflects my questions.' She could not read the satisfaction in his face. He wheeled the mare and trotted her back to the girl. Again he stared down from a commanding height, stern, refrac­tory: the visage of Fat'ah. 'Soon, then,' he said, eyeing the sun.

'Sire,' she stammered. Her body was controlled; only her voice betrayed her. 'I was led to expect a lieutenant. Your face is known to few in Fat'ah.'

'Or out of it, as Allah is merciful,' he rejoined. 'Perhaps I shall be merciful, too.'

'If God wills,' she said in Arabic.

'Or perhaps—' he waited until she met his eyes again, 'I shall beat you.'

'Perhaps you will,' she said, not flinching.

Hakim Arif whipped the mare mercilessly up the trail with the reins, enjoying the experience, the control, especially enjoying the memory of the girl's eyes. They had dilated again at his threat. Under a westering sun he sped back to the stable. He was thinking: spawn of pain. We Fat'ah are the children of El Aurans after all...

Over an hour later he found the Fat'ah site, temporary as it must be but better situated than he had expected. The bungalow commanded a clear view of the San Jose skyline in the dusk and, on three sides, open pastures beyond car­bine range. On the fourth side a swath of scrub oak followed a brook so near the house he could almost leap from its porch into thick cover. He accepted congratulations for his work in Pueblo as though spurning praise, yet Hakim was pleased. He let his distant smiles and nods say so. Let those idiots in the PLO show all the ersatz egalitarianism they liked: Fat'ah, born of Al Fat'h, born of injustice, was effective because he, Hakim Arif, was so. It was essential to strike a balance between fellowship and personal supremacy—yet a little fellowship became a heavy weight.

Only after his site inspection did Hakim con­jure a show of warmth, with a ritual embrace for gaunt, silent Rashid and then for Chaim. He traced the new scar tissue across the forehead of Chaim Mardor with a finger. 'An honorable wound,' he said, thinking otherwise. He caught the gaze of Bernal Guerrero, who stood slightly apart from the others, stalwart in khaki work clothes. 'And now, Guerrero: welcome.' He of­fered the handclasp then the embrace.

'My regrets that we could not meet in Damas­cus,' the Panamanian said, his bow formally correct.

Hakim felt the aura of strength, like a physical shield of energy surrounding the strongly-built latino. Independent, ingenious, cold; he would need firmer leadership than the PLO had pro­vided. 'I share your regret,' said Hakim. 'Talith, bring us bread.'

They sat cross-legged on the living room floor, Hakim tearing chunks from the uncut loaf. He placed a piece in each mouth, then chewed a piece himself. With this ritual he invoked the ancient Arab law of hospitality; no matter that he thought it a hollow gesture. Rashid, and perhaps Guerrero, would luxuriate in the rite that placed them under Hakim's protection. The site was, for the time, the home of Fat'ah; and Hakim Aril was Fat'ah.

Then: 'They say you are clever with electronic devices, Guerrero.'

'I can fix a toaster,' Guerrero smiled. Then, sensing that he had been too flippant on such short acquaintance, he went on. 'Or a trans­ceiver, or a squib time-delay. From what I have seen of the Pueblo blast, perhaps not as well as you.”

Hakim grunted with pleasure. If Guerrero was hinting for an explanation he was doing it ex-pertly. Besides, a recapitulation of the recent events might impress them afresh. 'Talith, bring us sweet coffee, and my briefcase. I have some new devices of French design, manufactured in Canada. They will be of use.' He darted a glance at Guerrero. 'You are prepared to emplace communication devices tonight?'

'A sus ordenes, at your orders,' Guerrero said. 'But the roads across the coast range are few and well- patrolled. In my van is a vehicle that avoids the highways.'

Hakim hesitated. Even an expert cyclist would have little chance to make good time through those low precipitous mountains. He said as much.

'It is not a scrambler bike,' Guerrero said eas­ily. 'While repairing a small rotary engine last year I learned that it powered a shrouded impel­ler. The unit is slung beneath a parafoil, senor. What I have in the van is my gift to Fat'ah.'

He seemed willing to continue, which would effectively wrest the moment from Hakim. Worse, it would consume minutes which Hakim needed to familiarize the Panamanian with the new microprocessors. 'I assume you are profi­cient,' he said curtly, then took the briefcase from Talith. Moments later he was again the undivided center of attention. And of control.

Guerrero was quicker than quick, more im­pressed with the microprocessors than his fellows because he understood their multiple func­tions without delay. 'With the battery packs and ordinary communication devices patched to these units,' he mused, 'Fat'ah can be everywhere at once.'

'Indeed,' Hakim smirked. 'Perhaps I shall tell you how I used them in Canada. But another time,' he said, seeing Talith check her wristwatch. 'Tonight I shall require remote voice relays at two telephone locations. Show me, Guerrero, how you would use my components.'

Guerrero made mistakes only twice, then cor­rectly assembled the devices three times without error. At length Hakim was satisfied and called for a light meal. Talith, in her wisdom, had managed to obtain honey-rich, multilayered baklava as their dessert. Hakim found himself salivating for it and so, perforce, refused it. He had seen the jumble of communication equipment arranged by Talith and Rashid but this, too, he ignored for the moment. Then it was time for Guerrero's departure, and he sent Talith and Rashid out on picket duty.