by John Blaine
THE VEILED RAIDERS
A RICK BRANT
SCIENCE-ADVENTURE
STORY, No. 20
BY JOHN BLAINE
Science and adventure prove to be an explosive mixture for a Spindrift Foundation scientific expedition to the southern fringes of the Sahara Desert . Rick Brant, his pal Scotty, and Dr. Tony Briotti are in Africa on a dual mission: to investigate a remote archaeological site north of Nigeria , and to help conduct a worldwide communications satellite demonstration, using the new technique of modulated laser beams.
Starting with a warning from a friendly Hausa trader in the ancient city of Kano that trouble lies ahead, Rick, Scotty, and Tony Briotti are plunged into a dangerous situation as the unwilling guests of the Emir of Kernel. Captured from the Emir by a roving band of veiled Tuaregs, the Spindrifters must overcome incredible obstacles to regain freedom and carry out their scientific missions.
The fascinating background of West Africa , plus a cast of intriguing characters, make this adventure one of the most exciting stories in the popular Rick Brant Science-Adventure series.
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CHAPTER I
The Hausa Trader
Talata Dankali, whose name roughly translated into English was “Tuesday Potatoes,” squatted on his mat in the shadow of an acacia tree. His agbada, a flowing robe of mouse gray, blended with the deepening twilight. Under a flat, green turban the color of the acacia leaves, his face was the same soft black as bituminous coal. Although he lived in the tradition of his clan, the Hausa traders, enjoying life to the full and getting immense satisfaction out of a session of sharp bargaining, he was now very serious.
He stared at the two who squatted on the mat before him.Every day for five days they had come to his tent in the ancient city ofKano,Nigeria, and bargained with him for many things. They had bought stick paintings, Nigerian knives and swords, animals cunningly fashioned from rawhide, a “talking drum” that still reeked of the smoke of many village camp-fires. They knew how to bargain, which was unusual among Americans, and especially boys of their ages.
Perhaps he had made a bit more profit than he might have made from a Yoruba or an Ibo inLagos , but he knew that was due to their generosity of spirit. They would not bargain a man down to the last centimeter of his profit. What’s more, unlike some foreigners, they did not unknowingly insult him by speakingpidgin English. They had pride, these two, and as a prideful man of a prideful tribe the Hausa trader appreciated it.
The Hausa man liked these two, and he was distressed. He had just learned of their destination, and he knew it meant trouble for them. He had heard tales from other Hausa traders.
“It is better if you do not go to the Kernel region,” Talata Dankali said at last.
The younger of the two boys, Rick Brant, leaned forward. Rick had sensed from the Hausa trader’s sudden silence that announcement of their destination had upset him. “Why? What’s wrong with going to Kernel?”
“It is not a good place. Why must you go there?”
The elder of the two boys, Don Scott, nicknamed Scotty, explained, “You have seen the man with us-Dr. Briotti? He is a scientist, an archaeologist. He is going to look at an ancient site to see if it is worth exploring. We are going to help him.”
The Hausa man nodded.“A dig. There are many such. I understand this. But it is better if you dig somewhere else. I would be glad to tell you of ancient places where no bature has ever been.” The term meant, equally, “whiteman” and “stranger.”
“But why is the Kernel region bad?” Rick inquired.
“Who can say for sure? Everyone knows it is a bad place for strangers. Men go there and do not come back.”
“Hausa men?”Scotty asked.
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“Everyone knows the Hausa traders come and go with the wind. They are like the harmattan.” The trader pointed upward to where the high, dust-laden wind from theSaharaDesert blew southward, obscuring the stars. “I could go to Kernel and be safe.But not you.”
“Are you sure?” Rick demanded.
“Only Allah is sure.” The Hausa trader rose to his feet, a tall figure in the dimness. “Now it is dark, and time for me to break my fast. See me if you return and I will welcome you. If you need help and a Hausa trader is near, say to him that you are the friend of Talata Dankali and that I ask his help for you.”
The boys shook hands with the trader, who was suddenly his smiling self once more. “Maybe I am wrong, eh?”
“ Enshallah ,” Rick murmured.
The Hausa man chuckled. “You know the Arab phrase, eh? It is almost the same in Hausa.‘If God wills it.’ Sai wata rana , Matures. And now I say goodbye, white men.”
The boys watched as he strode away into the darkness, heading for the old walled city. It was the holy month of Ramadan inNigeria , as elsewhere in Islam, the Muslim world, and the Hausa man had fasted all day without even water passing his lips. Now, after sunset, he could eat and drink with others of the Faithful. While the Southern and Western provinces ofNigeria were either Christian or pagan, the Northern section was almost entirely Muslim. The religion of Islam had been brought in by the conquering Fulanis in the fifteenth century, and the native Hausa people had been converted.
Rick Brant watched the Hausa man go, his face thoughtful. One of the first things he had learned aboutNigeria was the reputation of the Hausa traders. They were a legend inWest Africa , ranging north toTimbuktu , northwest toSenegal , and eastward toFort Lamy . The legend said they were honest men, warriors as well as traders. They roamed like gypsies, buying and selling as they went, a combination of walking department stores, tourist shops-where there were tourists-and town criers. If anyone knew what went on inWest Africa , it was the Hausa traders. Now one of them, Talata Dankali, had warned the boys against going to their first destination, the Kernel region just south of the greatSaharaDesert .
As the son of Hartson Brant, Director of the Spindrift Scientific Foundation, Rick Brant had been on many expeditions with his pal Scotty. He had been warned before, and always the warning had been warranted. Still, why should anyone want to harm an archaeological expedition? Dr. Anthony Briotti of
^he Spindrift staff had been retained by theInstituteofAfrica Studies to report on a new archaeological find in the Kernel region. If a major “dig” was warranted, based on Tony’s report, the Institute would undertake it. If his report was negative, it would be crossed off as a future possibility.
Scotty asked whimsically, “Do you suppose Tony is jinxed?”
Rick grinned. “More likely, he’d say we were the ones who put the Jonah on him.” They had been on two previous expeditions with the young archaeologist, resulting in dramatic adventures both times- the adventures of The Golden Skull and The Wailing Octopus. It was Tony Briotti’s firm conviction that the boys were what he called “adventure prone,” attracting adventures as some people attract accidents.
Three Fulani-Hausas strode by on their way to the old walled city. The boys watched them pass, interested as always in the people and customs of the places they visited. When traveling in non-European countries, the boys were used to finding themselves the tallest human beings in sight. Rick Page 3
was tall and slim, while Scotty was of equal height and built like a heavyweight, whereas most non-European races were of smaller stature. But the Fulanis were even taller than the boys and looked taller than they were because of an arrow-straight, proud carriage. The boys had also been surprised to find that while their skins were true ebony, their features were not in the least Negroid.
Tony had explained that the origins of the Fulanis were shrouded in the mists of time. Originally they might have been a Semitic or Europoid people,
and there was some evidence their original homeland had beenPersia , but no one really knew. They had mingled with the native Hausa people, also tall and straight-featured, until few pure Fulanis were left- although they were still the ruling class of the north.
In any case, Rick thought they were a dignified and handsome people. He wondered what Tony would think of their local story that the Kernel region was dangerous. Hadn’t Talata Dankali, who was a pure Hausa, said that “everyone knew” it was dangerous?
The Central Hotel was in the modern section ofKano , across the road from the acacia grove where the Hausa trader had set up shop. The boys crossed the road and walked up the winding drive to the main building, eyes on the ground as they went. They had not yet seen one, but a local American had warned them that two ofAfrica ’s deadliest snakes, the green mamba and the cobra, could be found in the shrubbery and grass ofKano .
Tony Briotti, who looked more like a tanned athlete than an archaeologist, was waiting for them in the main dining room.
“Been shopping?” he asked.
“We’ve been tapping the local moccasin telegraph,” Rick explained. “Our Hausa trader friend says the Kernel region is dangerous, and we shouldn’t go”
To his surprise, Tony took the warning seriously.
“I suppose it may be. It’s not a well-known or populated part ofAfrica . I’m not even sure what country it’s in. I don’t suppose anyone really knows, because the boundaries aren’t that definite. But I don’t know what we can do, except go and see.”
“I wish I had my rifle with me,” Scotty said.
“So doI . But getting a gun permit by mail is difficult, and I didn’t think your rifle would be needed.”
“Could we buy one and get a permit locally?” Rick asked.
“I suppose we could. Let’s try in the morning. There will be time before the big celebration. Then we can see the parade and leave.”
It was the end of the fast of Ramadan and tomorrow was the K’aramar Salla , Kano ’s biggest holiday, an event they didn’t intend to miss.
Tony changed the subject. “Winston called fromLagos . I assured him everything was fine and on schedule. He’s having a few problems getting the station set up, but nothing serious. He’ll be ready on time. I gave him your regards.”
Rick nodded his thanks. The expedition was only half the reason for the Nigerian trip. Parnell Winston’s Page 4
project was the other half. Winston was inLagos , setting up a communications satellite station. There had been other such stations inLagos , starring with the ship Kingsport , which had served as the African terminal for the synchronous orbit satellite Syncom. The communications relay was 22,300 miles in space, where its velocity in orbit just matched the turning of the earth, causing it to remain over theAtlantic , visible from bothAfrica andAmerica .
Winston’s portable station, however, was the first to use a modulated laser beam instead of a radio beam as the communications link. The laser method had been proven in theUnited States , and now it was time to carry it to the world under the auspices of Intercomsat , the International Communications Satellite Group. The laser Comsat link, which Winston and others in the Spindrift group had helped to develop, had one big advantage-small units could be carried into remote places, needing only adequate power supplies. That meant the remote places of earth could participate in the international satellite communications network-and the boys were one of the teams scheduled to prove it.
In one month, during which specially equipped satellites would be launched into synchronous orbits over theAtlantic and Pacific oceans, a worldwide demonstration would take place. Every continent would talk to another. The Prime Minister of Nigeria would hold a phone conversation with the Prime Minister of Canada. Through a European ground station, notables ofEurope would talk with notables ofAsia and theAmericas .
FromSokoto,Nigeria , the Sultan of Sokoto, religious leader of the principal Muslim sect of the area, would talk via theAtlantic and Pacific satellites- with a bounce toAmerica in between-to the Sultan of Sulu, religious leader of the Moros of theSulu Sea . That was the boys’ project. Their portable laser was in a heavy case in their room, and would be carried on the expedition and thence to Sokoto on a trailer hauled by their jeep. Winston, inLagos , would give them the settings. They would check the circuit with a university scientific team now en route to the island of Jolo, then turn the phone over to the Sultan for thirty seconds of conversation over halfway around the world.
Rick and Scotty had trained with Winston for weeks. They could tear down and rebuild the equipment in the dark, and operate it more surely than they tuned in the TV in the library of the big Brant house onSpindrift Island,New Jersey . They were excited, of course, but proud, too. Never before had they been put on their own to conduct an important element of a scientific demonstration.
They ordered dinner and settled down to a first course of assorted fresh tropical fruits. Scotty spooned a luscious bite of mango into his mouth, then made a face. “Gritty,” he said. “The dust that falls out of the harmattan gets into everything.”
Rick looked at him thoughtfully. He muttered, “Let’s hope the dust is the worstAfrica has to offer on this trip!”
CHAPTER II
Under the Baobab Trees
The scene was out of aHollywood extravaganza, needing only a small band of heroes fighting off a Page 5
bloodthirsty horde to make it ideal fare for the late TV movie. There were over a thousand Fulani and Hausa nobles on richly caparisoned, prancing horses. The riders carried ornamented swords with ornate daggers at their waists. Their flowing robes and turbans were the colors of the rainbow, with the holy green of Islam dominating, for many of these nobles bore the title of Hadji , one who has made the pilgrimage toMecca .
The vast parade of horsemen had gathered outside the palace of the Emir of Kano, and with the Emir at their head had made a stately procession through the centuries-old streets of the walled city ofKano , and into the great field before the beautiful green-domedKano mosque. Then, with wild screams and waving swords, they charged!
Rick, Scotty, and Tony worked cameras as fast as they could shoot, catching shot after shot of the plunging mounts, the wild riders, and the watching crowd. All three Spindrifters had stood up in their jeep to shoot pictures over the heads of the mob. Finally the charging horses were pulled up, with much neighing and prancing, and the Emir dismounted to enter the mosque. The parade was over.
Rick Brant sank back in his seat and began to reload his camera. What a scene! All it had needed was a few Foreign Legionnaires meeting the charge, for the entire atmosphere of the parade, costumes worn by the riders-which were colorful, elaborate versions of their everyday dress-and the long swords and keen daggers were typical of the desert tribes of the Sahara.
Like most Americans,Africa had meant rain forests and dense bush to Rick. There were jungles, to be sure, but much closer to the coast. InNorthern Nigeria the country was arid, semidesert . It was savanna land, good mostly for grazing and dry-land crops. TheSaharaDesert was not far to the north, and the Fulanis and Hausa were not far removed from the desert peoples.
The Spindrifters had not yet seen the coastal lands. An Air Force cargo jet had deposited them, complete with jeep and trailer, at the modernKano airport after a trip directly across theAtlantic with only a brief stop at Robertsfield,Liberia . Five days had been occupied in completing local arrangements with Tony’s contact, where only a day had been planned. But nothing moved on schedule in this part of the world, and the boys had been left with plenty of time for sightseeing and bargaining with Talata Dankali.
“Shall we go?” Tony asked. “The show is over.”
Scotty was in the driver’s seat. For answer, he started the motor and moved slowly through the crowd.
A group of children ran alongside as the jeep moved, chanting, “Dash, bature! Dash, dash!”
Dash was a useful word. It meant variously a bribe, a tip, a gift, a bonus, or simply a han
dout-the sense in which the children were using it. It could be either a verb or a noun. “Give me dash, bature.” Or, as the Hausa trader had used it in making a gift to each of them after a pleasant hour of bargaining, “I dash you these bowls.”
The crowd thinned, and Scotty speeded up a bit on the blacktop road and turned north along the great city wall. TheKano wall was from forty to fifty feet high, and about as thick. Once the entire city had been within it, but with years of peace it had gradually moved beyond the original limits until modernKano was completely outside the wall. In its time, it had been an effective barricade against the wild desert tribes from the north.
Rick settled back and got comfortable in the rear seat. It would be a long ride. He turned and made sure the trailer was following smoothly. It contained their camp gear, food and water supplies, extra clothing, and a .30 caliber rifle Tony had purchased for Scotty that morning with the help of his Nigerian contact Page 6
who had managed to cut a bit of red tape to speed things up.
The boys were contented. There was nothing they liked better than new sights and sounds, and there were plenty of those inNigeria . Besides, they had two projects, Tony’s and their own. Tony’s part of the expedition should take about ten days, eight for travel and two to conduct an investigation of the new site. There was plenty of slack, and if Tony needed three or four days, it would not crowd them.
Scotty turned onto the main route and headed northeast, the highway paralleling the railroad line. They would follow the railroad line to where it ended at Nguru, then head north to the Nigerian border.
Somewhere north of Matsena, perhaps inNigeria or perhaps in the country ofNiger , was the Kernel region. The map marked the area as unsurveyed .
They leftKano behind and followed the highway into the open savanna, thinly dotted with neem trees, acacia, and an occasional baobab. Every time Rick saw a baobab he grinned. They were big trees in girth and in height, but they had an unfinished look, like a small child’s drawing of a tree. There were few branches, and those were short and thin in comparison with the trunk. The leaves were silly little clusters of fuzz that would probably shape up into something more natural looking later, when the growing season began.
