The desert patrol officer nodded questioningly to the men and said, "Bonjour," to Hélène Desage.
Johnny went on. "Yes, there's tomorrow. And by the time we run out of Lebensraum in Brazil and Alaska, in Central America and the Argentine, in Texas and Saskatchewan, we're going to need the three million square miles of the Sahara."
She said in ridicule, "It will take you a century at least to reforest the desert."
"At least." Johnny nodded agreeably. "And we're willing and able to look that far ahead. Possibly by that time our opponents will also be looking for new lands for their expanding peoples. And where will they find them? The advantage will be ours, Miss Desage."
Mohammed Mohmoud looked from one to the other, frowning. "What are we discussing?" he said. "I should be getting back to my men."
Derek yawned and said, "Forget about it, pal. You're never going to be getting back to your men again."
The desert patrol officer's eyes widened. He turned his glare on Johnny McCord, "What is all this?"
Johnny said, "I'll tell it, Derek."
Hélène Desage was as surprised as the Malian. "What is going on? Are you trying to whitewash yourselves by casting blame on this gentleman?"