"What do we do while you chaps are gone?" Elmer Allen said sourly. "I wouldn't mind a period in a city myself."
"Read a book, man," Abe told him. "Improve your mind."
"I've read a book," Elmer said glumly. "Any other ideas?"
Dakar is a big, bustling, prosperous and modern city shockingly set down in the middle of the poverty that is Africa. It should be, by its appearance, on the French Riviera, on the California coast, or possibly that of Florida, but it isn't. It's in Senegal, in the area once known as French West Africa.
Their aircraft swept in and landed at the busy airport.
They were assigned an African Development Project air-cushion car and drove into the city proper.
Dakar boasts some of the few skyscrapers in all Africa. The Reunited Nations occupied one of these in its entirety. Dakar was the center of activities for the whole Western Sahara and down into the Sudan. Across the street from its offices, a street still named Rue des Résistance in spite of the fact that the French were long gone, was the Hotel Juan-les-Pins.
Crawford and Abe Baker had radioed ahead and accommodations were ready for them. Their western clothing and other gear had been brought up from storage in the cellar.