AN ALGERIAN EXPERIENCE—1976 TO 1977

 

PREFACE

            For one and one half years during 1976 and 1977 while I was working for Bechtel Corporation in San Francisco, I was given the opportunity to work on a major feasibility study for the Algerian Government. Taken from my personal journal during that period and from dialogues I remembered from that time, I have recapped the account of my trips to Algeria, the intrigue and personal danger I was subjected to there and in Southern France where I traveled once on part of my work with the Algerians and of the friends I made while I was in the country. A difficult part of the story relates to the problems I created for myself by hiring a vivacious local Interpreter/Translator to whom I became very attracted. Attempting to maintain my loyalty to my wife I kept her informed of this union that was developing with me and the Algerian woman, believing I could handle both having a wife and a close female friend, I pretty much failed at both. These personal frustrations added to the frequent and long-term travel, the intrigue and the fast-paced efforts of my work made this a season of my life that I shall always remember and sometimes regret.

 

Chapter  1  --Introduction to Algeria

 

         By 1976 I had been with the Bechtel for almost ten years, which years had been a steady uphill climb in promotions for me. I had risen from a simple Field Engineer managing survey crews on a construction project in Utah to the Manager of Construction Manpower Development for the entire company. I was by then located in Bechtel’s San Francisco Home Office and was living in Petaluma City north of San Francisco.

         At the time I was working under the tutelage of Stan Knoblock, Rick Wall and Bill Cummings who were providing me with many opportunities to do things that I never dreamed possible. By then I had completed my company-sponsored schooling and had received my MBA in International Project Management from Golden Gate University. While I was working on several assignments I had gotten to know many of the senior VP’s in the company and had worked hand in hand initiating major development programs with these men’s lieutenants in their various divisions. On one occasion along with Rick Wall, I had participated on a Manpower Plan for the Jubail industrial city in Saudi Arabia. Before that I had worked on planning for other large industrial sites in other countries and in the U.S. and was at the time seen as an “expert” in the new emerging field of Transfer of Technology. Because of my expertise I had also been invited to speak and present papers on Transfer of Technology at several special developing country seminars and on one occasion had taught a short course in the prestigious George Washington University in Washington D.C.

            Partly because of my experience with Transfer of Technology and the planning studies on which I had participated in the company my name was mentioned as possible team member of a new project Bechtel had been awarded by the Ministry of Heavy Industry of Algeria. By the time I became a candidate for the project it was already underway and a large staff had been assembled in a separate building by the company’s Research and Development Division. The Project Manager of this fifty million dollar feasibility study had heard about my work in Arabia and other countries came to Stan Knoblock and asked that I be seconded to his project for over a year to be the Team Leader of the Manpower Plan for his project. Stan came to me with the offer and asked if I would like to take the assignment. I accepted and in a very short time had assigned my duties to an assistant on my staff and had moved to the other building.

            On my first meeting at the new office I received a short orientation to the project and was being told to get ready for a quick trip to Algeria to meet the on-site team that was already there. This project was to consume my full-time efforts for almost two years while my assistant ran the Construction Manpower Department back in the Home Office in my absence.

In this first-day orientation to the project I learned that the project had a name that was called CEMEL, which was an acronym for the French name of the feasibility study. The study involved examining the feasibility of constructing an industrial city in the desert south of the Atlas Mountains several hundred miles south of the capital city, Algiers. The industries near the new city would produce large electric motors for the expanding electrical industrial system in the country, trucks and other mining equipment for the mining industry and large diesel engines for railroad engines and fishing boats. The Manpower Plan of which I would be responsible would entail identifying what jobs were needed and determining the training requirements for some twelve thousand jobs required for eight manufacturing plants and fifteen thousand jobs that would be required to run the city of over one hundred thousand residents. I was also required to determine where all these workers would come from and how the plants and the city would eventually become self-sufficient with a complete cadre of Algerian workers. I was told that because of the takeover of the Algerians from the French and the “brain drain” that occurred when the French left the country, there were not enough trained workers in the country to man the factories and for the first several years expatriates would have to be hired for the new jobs that were created in the city and the industries.

            With a staff that I would eventually assemble as part of my team, we would rack up over eight thousand man hours of time on the project and would publish as part of our study, two books of over three hundred pages describing my sector of the overall plan. Just hearing the sketchy details of my part of the study in that one day of orientation hardly opened my eyes to the enormity of the project and what I would have to accomplish in the next year and one half to make my part of the project a success.

Chapter  2  --Getting to Algeria and Settling In

 

Less than a week after my brief orientation to the CEMEL project, I had my visa in hand along with an air ticket to Algiers with instructions that I might have to remain in Algeria for up to eight weeks on this first visit there. My route took me from the San Francisco airport directly to the Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport. From there the com­pany had booked me into the Hotel George V, an old Hotel one block off the Champs Elysees. I would stay over until the morning of the next day then fly out of Paris Orly Airport to Algeria. This was to be my forth overseas assignment for Bechtel, but it was not to be my last. Before this new as­sign­ment on the CEMEL Project was over, a year and one half later, I had made eight trips to Algerian. This country was a fascin­ating and dynamic place I would grow to love.

My introduction to the project had come from John Valencia, Bechtel’s V.P. when he called me on the phone to come over to his office located in a rented building on the next street over from Bechtel’s Home Office on Mission Street. He got right to the point after a short introduction describing the Algerian feasibility study for a grass-roots industrial city in which he was in charge:

“Jack, I want you to know that we are bring­ing you into this feasibility study late and we apologize for that, but we didn't know at first that we would need some­one with your back­ground. The project team has been working on the study for almost a year already. In fact ten of my people are over in Algiers right now pre­paring to make a presentation to the Minis­ter of Heavy Industry.

"Specifically, what we want you to do is as­semble some experts . . .you are to be the leader of this team. . . who can assess the situation over there and come up with a Manpower Plan that would assist the rest of the project team in designing a reason­able mobiliza­tion plan for this enormous project. We have determined that there are not enough skilled people in the coun­try to get the project under­way in the time-frame the Algerian Govern­ment wants the facili­ty in place, and this, basically, is the problem we want you and your team to solve."

That was my brief introduction to the pro­ject. Very little else was said to me except that I was to get my Passport down to the com­pany travel agents so they could secure a Visa and set me up for my initial trip. I was to leave the next week.

John Valencia, the V.P. was very busy so I never received any other information from him before I left. The main part of the project team was already in Algiers and only a few clerks and technicians were left behind, so I was pretty much on my own to find out what was going on. All I had heard up to then was that Bechtel was doing a fifty million dollar feasibility study for the Algerian Government that had something to do with development of heavy industry in the country. The rest, I guessed I would learn over there. Valen­cia had cleared my involve­ment on the project first with Stan Knoblock the Manpower Development Department Head and with Rick Wall, my boss who had given me full support to work full time on the project for as long as it would take. For that time period Steve Hansel, my assistant, would be running the Construc­tion Man­power Develop­ment section in my place.

In the next week before my departure, I scram­bled around the project office assembling any­thing I could read about the project on the way over. That was mostly a hopeless effort. So little had yet been document­ed, every­thing I found was sketchy. I did learn that there were some "Heavy-Weights" on the project drawn from several sec­tions of the Bechtel Organization. There were people who were experts on heavy indus­try, mining, cities and airports and there was me, apparently from Valencia’s point of view, the company's new "expert" on Manpower Plans.

I did feel pre­pared for an assignment like this, however. My work with the Jubail Industrial City in Saudi Arabia and all the other smaller involvements I had experi­enced with Bechtel’s divi­sions performing various models of Transfer of Technology had established me as the company expert in this field. This, however, was going to be a greater challenge because I would be heading up the entire Man­power Planning section of the study instead of just working on one part of it like I had done on the Jubail Project. 

My only full-scope manpower planning expertise would be carried forward from my involvement in a gas gathering project on one island in Indonesia and a major nickel mining project on another island. Each had its unique differences, but each had as its goal to involve the indigenous populations as much as possible. One similar project in Saudi Arabia that would eventually employ over fifty thousand people was quite different in its reality. While the Saudi Govern­ment wanted to involve the Saudi Nationals in the workforce, it was obvi­ous in my study of the culture there that Sau­dis would only be involved in the middle to upper management jobs and that lower level "blue collar" jobs, would most often be manned by expatriates.

During the period that I was travel­ing heavily to study and implement Manpower Plans on these projects, my so-called "transfer of technology expertise" was getting wide exposure with a small network of people in govern­ment, education and other businesses that were also involved in similar ways in the Third World Countries. A few weeks before my Algeri­an as­signment, in fact, my reputation had reached the planners of a symposium on Third World Coun­try Develop­ment. They had asked that I deliver a paper on my involvement in Indonesia. It looked like a great opportuni­ty for me so I asked my boss if I could attend and speak on behalf of the com­pany's efforts in that country. Bechtel's upper management was apprised of the opportunity and the V.P. in charge of the project in Indone­sia contacted me to discuss the options and strategy. After re­viewing my paper outline, he agreed to approve my trip to Southern Califor­nia and said he would plan to attend at least one of the three days.

I went to this wonderful setting in the Orange County where I expected there might be in atten­dance a hundred or so people interested in the subject. To my sur­prise, there were literally hundreds crowded into the conference facility, all seem­ingly there for the entire ses­sion. I delivered my paper on the second day of the symposium. Up to then most of the talks had been very boring and dated and no one else was address­ing the subject I had cho­sen, "The Social-Cultural Impact of High Tech Industrial Devel­opment in Third-World Coun­tries." My paper that I delivered in a large conference room adjacent to the main ball room was heavily attended and many people ap­proached me after to complement me and dis­cuss the subject further. One individual's line of ques­tioning, however, caught me off bal­ance.

"Mr. Williams," the gentleman started, "I want to introduce my­self. I'm Randy McClellan, Direc­tor of Medi­terra­nean Studies for the University of Ohio. We have been working on a project in North Africa for some time and I'm very interested in learn­ing more about your comp­any's in­volvement there. Would you mind answering a few ques­tions for me?"

Mr. McClellan went on to describe his job at the University. He asked me what I knew about a new job Bechtel had in Algeria called CEMEL. I told him I had heard the company's Research and Development Group had that job, but I did not know any­thing about it. That, of course, was the truth since the symposium was occurring weeks before I received my new as­signment from Valencia to work on the CEMEL feasibility study.

McClellan and I talked for some time and finished over a cup of coffee in the confer­ence center restaurant. I liked the fellow and his line seemed legitimate since I had run into people from other universities who had similar interests as his. I couldn't, however, figure out how he had gotten to know so much about me and my background and how he knew as much about the CEMEL Project that was so new. I knew I had a well-established reputation in my field, but this man seemed to have it all memorized. The whole trip to Southern California had been a boost to my ego, so I just added this man's interest in my work to the rest of my recent kudos.

My travels over the years with Bechtel had taken me to some pretty interesting places. I had been in large and small airports had traveled into remote loca­tions where the taxi drivers seemed more like Demoli­tion Derby Drivers and I had been with very strange people. Nothing, however, had prepared me for my first experience with the Orly Air­port in Paris. I arrived in Paris from San Francisco at the larger Charles de Gaulle Airport. It was not unlike any other foreign airport I had passed through. Orly, however, was more like a commu­ter airport that was on an International scale. When I walked into the place, I noticed most of the airline ticket booths were for airline companies serving North Africa, Central Africa and the Middle East. Air Algiers, the airline company with which I would be traveling the last leg of my trip to Algiers, was one of the larger ones and it seemed to have the most passen­gers. I noticed right away that most of the people that were lined up at the ticket counters were, or at least looked, Ara­bic. I noticed, too, that "lining up" at the ticket coun­ter was not the thing to do. Rather, what seemed to be ac­ceptable was pushing, shoving and shouting at the ticket agent from wherever one was stand­ing. . .whether one was in line or not. When I stepped into the "line" I could easily see over everyone's head, so right away, I knew I had an advantage. It took me only a minute to discover that if I was going to get my boarding pass, I had to "do as they do in Rome." I had just graduated from Algeria, 101, I thought to myself.

Things seemed to calm down somewhat when I got into the gate waiting area. People were unusually noisy, but I thought that was due to the excitement of travel and discounted it.  Announce­ments were in French, Arabic and English, so I had to pay careful attention to the instruction we were receiving. An hour after the scheduled departure time, I finally heard the announce­ment for my flight. Everyone else did, too, and there was immediate pandemo­nium. 

The planes were parked some distance from the waiting area and busses came to take peo­ple to the plane. Our buses had arrived and that was what had caused the bedlam. The doors out to the bus were still closed, but people were crow­ding up to it like they were not going to get a seat. There were two other busses parked behind the first one, so there was really no problem. In addition, every­one to my know­ledge had seat assign­ments. I couldn't figure out what was the problem, so to hedge my bet, being bigger and much taller than most of the peo­ple, I just pushed my way to the front of the crowd and stood next to the door until it opened. Even at that, I was beaten by a dozen or so men and women in the race the few yards to the bus. There were no seats on the bus . . . only hand straps and vertical bars to grasp for the short trip to the waiting plane. In minutes we were making the short ride to the plane.

The next mad dash was from the bus to the boarding steps, so I took my place well in advance of the crowd this time. No losses of races ever again for me, I concluded. Once on the plane, though, I found my assigned seat like everyone else did. In fact, I noticed when the hostess closed the door for departure there were still a dozen or more empty seats on the plane.

The ride from Paris to Algiers was little more than an hour. I thought at the time how odd it seemed to be passing from one country to anoth­er and across the Mediterranean Sea and that it took no longer than the ride I had taken many times from San Francisco to Los Angeles. The ap­proach to the Dar El Bleda Air­port in Algiers gave me my first look at the beautiful blue of the Mediterra­nean Sea. Most of the flight from France had been over clouds with no view of the land or water below, but as the plane pre­pared for landing we broke out of the clouds and approached over the bay, di­rectly over the grand city of Algiers.

The sight of the strikingly beautiful blue of the Mediterranean contrasted by the bright whites of many of the marble-faced buildings of the city gave me an initial shock. I never dreamed I would be seeing a place in Africa so green with the lush plants surround­ing the city nor the brightness of the city itself. Foreign travel to the Middle East had brought me to be­lieve the cities in North Africa would be dull colored, blended with even more dull colors of its surroundings. I had seen several cities in Europe, and I had made three trips to Arabia before this and nothing amaz­ed me like Algiers. On the ground howev­er, my realities would soon led to my disap­pointment of the city's supposed beauty.

My fellow passengers seemed to have calmed down when we disembarked from the airplane in Algiers. The airport was smaller than I thought it would be for such a large city, and like Saudi Arabia, most everything was in ill-repair and dirty. Armed soldiers stood every­where with their AK-47’s slung over their shoulders. I was surprised that it seemed to be such a police state. My trip through customs was simple and unevent­ful, and to my surprise as soon as I came through the door, I saw a short-staunchly, unshaven man in a white shirt, no tie and wrin­kled sport coat holding a sign up read­ing "CEMEL - Mr. Williams."

I had been told before my departure that I would be met at the air­port in Algiers by a driver from the Minis­try of Heavy Indus­try who would take me to the Bechtel Project Office.  I had no further instruc­tion about the person's name or how this person would know me. When I approached the man and nodded that I was his contact, he spoke something to me in a language that sounded a little like Arabic, took my bag and led me to his car parked in front of the terminal in a no-parking zone. He opened the back door of this low-slung, black Citroen and ushered me in. With no more cere­mony than that we sped out into the surging rush-hour traffic. Just as we left the airport my driver reached over the seat and handed me a bulging envelope. When I opened it, I found it full of Algerian Di­nars . . . all bills of one hundred Dinar denomina­tions. There was over five thousand Dinars in the envelope, but I had no idea of their value.

While the harrow­ing ride into the city progressed I soon learned my driver was not only daring, he was aggressive and continu­ally sought advan­tages in the packed express-way by honking and reaching out of the front window to shake his fist at other drivers and shout what I be­lieved were obsceni­ties in French or Arabic. I didn't know where we were head­ing, so I eventually relaxed and tried to enjoy the sights. 

A thirty-five minute ride brought us all the way through the city and up several hills into a residen­tial area above the city. I could not believe how much the geography reminded of San Francisco while we went up steep hills and down others to get to our destina­tion. I was disappointed to discover the build­ings in the city I had admired from the air were not as white as they seemed at closer view. The larger buildings in the downtown area were faced with a white stone of some sort, but all were in very poor condition. Most of the rest of the buildings away from the down-town area were no more than three stories high, packed in next to each other, all made from tan stone and all adorned with ornamental iron around the win­dows, decks, and doors. The style was very much reminiscent of the French section of Switzerland I had seen years before. I would later learn that the entire city looked like all of South­ern France both in architecture and land­scape. The sad part of what I noticed was how dilapidated and out of repair every­thing was and how dirty it all seemed. It was an experience that opened my eyes and gave me some hint of the difficulty of my new assignment.

While the car rolled past the city, things chang­ed considerably. The outskirts of the city presented many once beautiful, old mansions and parks. I could see the strong European influence in every street, gate and walled enclosure. Many of the places still retained the French names such as Villa Maurice or Villa Marseilles. Strangely, how­ever, I noticed every street sign in the city and the out­skirts had been spray-painted to cover the French street name, and Arabic characters were hand-written in their place.

At least five or more miles out of the city the driver swung into a driveway of a walled enclosure. I noticed had a name on the entrance ironwork, "Villa de Valace."  It was a large place; I would say at least five acres, beautifully landscaped with large trees, lanes and quaint buildings. A circular drive around these soon bought us to the main building . . . the office of Bechtel’s CEMEL Project team. Four other black Citroens sat outside the building with men, dressed almost identically to my driver waited in the shade of one of the large trees. They all seemed about the same age; all wore wrinkled clothes and were unshaven. It was almost like they were in uniform.

I had not yet met any of the project staff, so I had no idea of the makeup of the people I was about to meet. From some docu­ments I received from the Project Adminis­trator before I left San Francis­co, I had all their names and had done a pretty good job memoriz­ing most of them. When I entered the building, I was greet­ed by a local national who said the staff mem­bers were in a meeting. He asked me to wait and then asked if I needed anything. This person I learned later was a file clerk. He showed me the facility, told me how to work the broken toilet equipment, and then led me into the room where eight people were engaged in an obvious struggle to come to agreement about something. I was given a chair, intro­duced to all the team, and told I would have to wait until this meeting was over to receive a more thorough briefing.  The Field Project Manager explained apologet­ically that the group had a presentation to make to the Ministry the next day and that there were some urgent conclusions to make before they left the meeting.

It was already late in the day and the meeting dragged on until almost 6 p.m. before the group came to some consensus. Finely one of the men told me that we would all be going to the hotel where I could check in and we could have dinner. No more was said about giving me a briefing. In minutes after the closing of the meet­ing we were all loading into the Citroens and were heading back toward the city. Bob Harp­er, the Field Project Manager whose vehicle I had used to come from the airport invited me to join him for the ride to the hotel.

"We're glad to have you join the project Jack," Bob explained as we started out the drive­way toward the hotel. "We really need your expertise at this point. By what little I know of your back­ground, I'm sure you are going to be a valuable addition to the team. You got your money from the driver? You'll be using that money for any ex­penses you incur over here. When it runs out we have plenty more. A special fund was created by the Ministry to allow for all of our in-country expenses. There are only a limited amount of U.S. Dollars being allocated to the project, and that's all being sent to San Francis­co. Because Algeria is experienc­ing such difficulty in their balance of trade, they have only a limited num­ber of dollars to work with. You see, their money is no good on any mar­ket in the world. If you change any of your own dol­lars for your own personal use, make sure you only exchange what you need at the moment, because there is no such thing as changing Dinars back to dollars."

For the entire ride to the hotel, Bob kept talking about the project and difficulties they were having meeting deadlines and satisfying the Minis­ter. I never had a chance to comment or ask any questions. After about a fifteen minute ride we pulled up to the parking entrance to the largest hotel I had ever seen. Once in­side, Bob told me how to go about checking in and in­structed me to meet the project team at the restaurant in half an hour. I hadn't eaten since the scanty meal on the plane so I was anxious for the meal to start. It was past 7 p.m. by then.

At 7:45 p.m. I met the team members assem­bling at the entrance to the large hotel restaurant. I noticed everything in the hotel was on a large scale, but to my surprise, the hotel only had six floors above the ground. Yet, as I discov­ered walking around trying to locate the res­taurant, the place seemed to be set up on the lower floors for a hotel that might have been twenty or more resi­dential floors. I would learn later that the Algerians had hired a Swe­dish firm to design the building and an Italian firm to build it. It was originally planned for twenty three floors and over two thousand rooms, but it seemed that when the foundations were laid in the sloping hillside of the grand over-look of the city, the engineers determined that if a twenty three floor building were build there, it would soon be too heavy for the hill side and the entire structure would topple down the hill. It was then decided that only six floors would be built and all that was planned for the lower sec­tions (several restau­rants, ball rooms, shops and other facilities) would remain.

When the Project Team got together it seemed this was just an extension of the meeting that I had left at the office. The time at the restaurant seemed to be a way to continue the day's work for another two to three hours into the evening. This group of experts was so excited about the project that none could leave the subject alone. The res­taurant manage­ment helped because the five or six course meals always took several hours to complete.

The El Aurassi Hotel restaurant was a classic in miss-management. The project team consumed most of their breakfast meals there and at least two or three times a week, its eve­ning meals. The process was quite unique. On entering the restau­rant lobby, one would see all the meat items and fish that were available that evening openly displayed on a table. Every item was raw so that was a good indication that the main dish was going to be hours away. The head waiter would meet the group, check the reser­vation then leave to see if a table was ready. The group table was never available so we were all invited to wait in the lobby. The wait usually took about ten minutes. Once we were seated at the table any specials for the evening were described in great detail by the Head Waiter. The specials usually compli­mented the meats and fish we had seen on the presentation table near the restaurant entrance. There were no menus, so the Head Waiter would just leave us after present­ing us with the specials.

After a long wait the Head Waiter would return and write everyone's order on a slip of paper that looked like a piece of adding ma­chine paper torn off about four inches long. Each person's order was written on separate pieced of paper and these were left next to each person's plate. After another long wait of ten to twenty minutes the Table Waiter would come to the table, bring water and bread and pick up the orders.

Wine was usually delivered first, fol­low­ed by small plates of sliced meats and pâté and cooked cold vegetables. This was followed by each per­son's choice of either a three-egg omelet or pasta dish. Either could have suf­ficed as a meal. After another long waiting period, soup was brought. Soup dishes were gathered and then the main dish that was always served fami­ly style was bought to the table. It was always elegant. A light desert and after-dinner brandy followed.

My first “dinner meeting” with the Team turned out to be a serious effort by all the team mem­bers to orient me to each member's role on the project. I was fascinated to finally learn some of the scope of the project. The Algerian Gov­ernment, and specifi­cally the Ministry of Heavy Industry was interested in testing the concept of creating a large new industrial city south of the Atlas Mountains about two hundred kilometers, almost due south of Algiers. The site was very remote with its closest village being forty kilometers further south. The desert site was chosen for its central loca­tion in the country, the availabil­ity of ample underground water and for security reasons.

A grass roots city near the industrial sites was planned to be self-sufficient with all its own power plant, utilities and services, including a large airport nearby. The indus­trial site was to be ten kilometers south of the city. The city's population would exceed two hundred and fifty thousand residents. Em­ployment in the city was estimat­ed at seventeen thousand and the industries would em­ploy over fifteen thousand people.

Because no good road system linked the new city with the major existing towns and cities to the north, new high­ways linking the project to the cities were included in the pro­ject. A natural gas pipeline would be brought up from the south to serve the city's utility needs. The power plant built near the town would serve both the city and the indus­trial site. It sounded much like the Jubail Project I had worked on in Saudi Arabia. However, this one was a little smaller and the industrial sites were intend­ed to produce railroad locomotive engines, large diesel engines for fishing and tug boats, large haulage trucks for the mining indus­try and large electric motors for industry. I learned my job was to determine all the different skills that would be needed in both the city's and the industry's workforce. I would need to deter­mine from where the employees would come along with outlining the training and education require­ments for each of the thousands of different jobs.

After I heard the scope of my work I realized why I had been chosen to head up the Manpower Plan. With several other similar projects under my belt, the major new chal­lenge I had with this one was how expa­triates would eventu­ally be phased out of the work­force and be replaced by trained Algerians. Apparent­ly it was the plan to get the industries going early in the project by using expatriates, then in the mean­time train Algerians to replace them. The project team was estimating twenty five years for this transition. With the focus at the dinner being almost entirely on me and my orientation, and with the jet lag I was beginning to feel after the three days of travel, when the dinner was over at about 10:30 p.m., I was ready for a long and restful night.

For the first three weeks I was in Algeria, I was left on my own to study what had been done as far as planning and to deter­mine what re­sources I would need to as­semble for my team for the contin­ued work in the U.S. I soon realized that I would need some strong people working with me to accomplish the task ahead. Because of the large number of people in the workforce of the city and the industries and the fact that I would have to find ways of locating this work­force of thirty two thousand employ­ees, I would need someone with a strong demo­graph­ics back­ground. I knew very little about this kind of work. But it was evident that we had to learn how many local nationals were currently avail­able to work on such a project and what new or additional skills they needed. I also knew from other involve­ments with Ara­bic people, that social-cultural impera­tives would need to be consid­ered. I would no doubt be considering a major shift of population from farms, desert villages, mountain hamlets, and the three or four major population centers that already existed to fill all the positions needed in the work­force. I was told we would even have to tap into the nomadic Bedouin tribes that lived south of the Atlas Mountains to find enough people and to satisfy the need to diversify the plant and city population—a political issue that had to be dealt with. I would learn later in the study that repa­triation of Alge­rians from France was a possi­bility, though that option was politically volatile.

Every additional day I spent in Algeria brought me closer to the dynamics of the land and its people. Each night I was in Algiers and every weekend I stayed over I made spe­cial efforts to get out among the population to see how they lived, to experience their environ­ment and attempt to under­stand their culture. I had no car in the evenings or most weekends, so most of my initial forays were done by walking and learn­ing how to use the mass transit system of the city. Since the Hotel El Aurassi was high on a hill above the city, most everything was downhill going and uphill returning. I was soon in very good physical condition from the miles and miles of walking I did each afternoon and evening.

During my first visit to Algiers I spent most of my working hours outside of the office environ­ment that I had quickly learned was a hot-bed of arguments and theoretical discussion. I endured enough of that in the eve­nings and soon tired of the imprac­ticality of it all. With a driver and a French speak­ing interpreter avail­able to me each day I was able to quickly learn the ropes and find out where resources for later intensive study would be found. Every­where I went I carried a Letter of Introduc­tion from the Minister of Heavy Industry and soon learned that the skills and background of my driver was a very important compo­nent of my being able to get into almost any office or Ministry.

My regular driver, Mahmoud, was by ethnic background, a Ber­ber. And because he was a Revolution­ary Fight­er during the 1954-55 Revo­lution when the French were driven out of the country and the drive for indepen­dence from the French Occupa­tion happened, he was also considered by most people to be a Na­tion­al Hero. Some­thing about his dress and demean­or al­ways gained him respect wherever we went. If there was any place we had to go and were having difficul­ty doing so, a moment's discus­sion with the inter­preter would motivate the driver to "break the trail" and we would enter the most "sa­cred" halls, and closed offices.

The first interpreter assigned to me, Ahmed, was a loyal young man of Arab descent. He was well educated and he spoke English quite fluently. He was only fair in French, the more common Algerian language. I knew I would be using him most for his fluency in his native tongue, Arabic. He had a hard time communi­cat­ing with Mahmoud, I noticed. How­ev­er, it didn't bother me at first; I guessed it was be­cause the Berber's lan­guage was heavily thread­ed with some ancient dialects that was the origin of the original Berbers.

The city of Algiers was a bustling busy place, very much over-populated and grossly inadequate in its services. The mass transit system was made up of a fleet of Ger­man-made Mann busses that I was certain had not seen a shop since their original purchase. I concluded that from the smoke that billowed out of their ex­hausts. Because of these smoking, over-used busses, open fires where uncollected garbage was burned and thousands upon thousands of cars coursing the broken roads of the city, pollu­tion was worse than anything I had ever seen anywhere. 

Like other Arab com­munities I had visited and from my intro­duc­tion to the Algerian peo­ple at Orly Airport in France, I concluded the Algeri­ans seemed always to be in a hurry to go places. In the city, horns were constantly being honked for any reason. Stop signs and signals were ignored while the drivers of cars and busses flashed their head­lights as they plowed through every intersec­tion. On the narrow side­walks, especial­ly in old section of the city, the Kasbah, people were constant­ly on the move in what seemed to be a pushing and shoving match while they made their ways along the sidewalks.

In places like the Airport, police were every­where, always sporting their AK-47’s on their shoulders. Along the streets there seemed to be an overabundance of police cars patrolling and stopping to make out tickets for illegally parked cars. In this city, however, the police didn't stop at giving a parking ticket or just stopping a speeding driver. Anyone parking their car illegally or stopped for any violation would have their car locked in its place with a device placed on the tire that prevented the car from being moved. Everywhere in the city these hob­bled cars were either sitting next to the curb or were being hauled off to some staging area. I learned that traffic fines were heavy for even the smallest infraction of the law.

In Algiers I saw poverty like I had never experienced in all my foreign travel. Beggars were everywhere in the old part of town and in the Kasbah. But here the beggars were mostly young children and young women with babies. Many of these women would be sit­ting on a street corner on a rug holding a tiny infant on their lap with their hand out to every passer-by. The small boys and girls were a constant bother, running from person to person holding onto clothes, tagging along with con­stant chatter. I learned that parents were encouraged by the government with tax incentives for having as many children as they could manage. The country’s goal was to increase the population by a large margin for long-range economic reasons, so children were everywhere on the streets. Yards seemed to be non-exis­tent until one was in the outskirts of the city, so the streets and alleys in the city’s residential areas were flooded with children using the areas as a playground. On almost every alley there was a popular game being played by the children . . . some­thing like soccer . . . but it was not played with a regular soccer ball. Rather, the "ball" was sewn out of rags and filled to resemble a soccer ball. This was kicked about in small open areas of the streets, in alleys and on the side­walks.

Of all the places I visited in Algiers, the Kasbah created my most vivid memories. This very old ghetto near the wharf was at least a mile square, con­sisting of apartments and shops.  All the build­ings were about three stories high, crowded next to each other and facing narrow alleys and byways. Most streets and alleys in the Kasbah were too small for even one car to pass.  These streets and alleys between build­ings were like a gigantic maze with branches going every direc­tion. Part of the Kasbah was on a hillside so the alleys were stair­ways instead of walks between the buildings. Foul-smelling water flowed down the center of most of the walk­ways giving the place with a fetid smell that I learned characterized most every village I visited in the country. 

The remarkable thing about this maze of streets in the Kasbah was the propensity for fine restau­rants. The difficulty was in locat­ing a restau­rant from a lead was given to us. All the streets were called by their French names but the street sighs were blocked out and re­placed with an Ara­bic transla­tion of the French name. This required us to ask directions, hope­ful­ly from someone who spoke English, then make our way along the maze until we found the place we were looking for. On a couple of occasions my colleagues and I attempt­ed to return to a res­tau­rant a sec­ond or third time. In each in­stance we found ourselves weaving about from alley to alley, asking direc­tions along the way then usually finding the restaurant quite by accident.

Aside from the smells and crowding, the Kasbah was a place with truly special ambience, along with being an intriguing place to visit. Having been there it was easy to under­stand how the intrigue and stories of masterful suspense of the past had been created. On any street I often thought I might run into a modern-day Humphrey Bogart in khaki pants and a slumped fatigue hat. The place was fast moving, noisy and continual­ly boiling with people. The only time it was different was late at night when most of the chil­dren were off the streets. It was never less crowded; the crowd was mostly adults that just looked and acted differ­ent.  

 

Chapter 3 --My Second Trip to Algeria

 

After my first three weeks in Algeria and one month back in San Francis­co, I was again board­ing the plane for my second trip there. This visit was tentatively sched­uled to run seven to eight weeks in duration. The routine was simi­lar . . . a stop-over for one full day in Paris, then on to Algiers the next day. This time I was traveling with the demographer I had con­tracted to work with me on the project, Maurice Radovic. In the month I was home I was able to assemble part of a team from within the com­pany, but Maurice was a real find. He was a free-lance consultant that spoke fluent French, was born in Yugosla­via, but was raised in France. Maurice had traveled the world over, worked for the UN and USAID and knew a great deal about North African culture. My other team mem­bers all Bechtel employees at that point in time included my close friend, Diane Young, who would function pri­marily as my technical writer for the plan and team leader while I was away, and Char­ley Bills, a Training Specialist. Both Diane and Charley worked for me in the Department I had recently left. I was fortu­nate to acquire these people and get them on the project in such a short time. Their pres­ence seemed to solid­ify my team. I was only miss­ing a statisti­cal expert and an anthro­pologist.

On this second trip to Algeria I traveled with several members of the Project Team. This time the trip was an entirely different experi­ence. During our layover in Paris, the group suddenly became a wild bunch bent on partying and seeing how much they could drink. On the way over they talked of nothing but spending the majori­ty of their layover visiting the nude bars and cabarets. That seemed to be a regular thing for them to do. For me, Paris was a place to see and learn about. Maurice was a perfect com­panion for that. Neither of us were boozers nor were we bent on exploring the cabarets. He knew the city from having lived there once, so instead of staying with the rest of the group in one of the plush downtown hotels, he arranged for us to stay in the Relais Chris­tine Hotel, a beauti­ful, very small, old hotel near Notre Dame on the Seine River. With him I could count on seeing a bit of Paris most of my other compan­ions never imagined.

With Maurice at my side in Algiers, my project took on a whole new perspective. His command of the language, along with the tenaci­ty of our Berber driver Mahmoud, assured us access to the files, statistics and other data I had been unable to obtain on my first trip. Most of what we needed was to get a feel of the size and makeup of the population that was in the data from a 1960 Cen­sus. For some reason the government had not taken another census in 1970, so we were working with data that were over sixteen years old. It hampered our accuracy, but it was the best information we had. Having Maur­ice to pour over all the records in the Ministry of Planning left me free to roam the country to see what existed outside of Algiers regarding techni­cal or voca­tions schools.

I planned several trips to see all these facilities. For these visits I would take my Berber driver Mahmoud and my Arabic inter­pret­er. But I also wanted to have someone who could assist me from a histor­ical and cultur­al per­spective. To find that person I placed an ad in the Algiers news­paper. After interviewing several of those that responded I found a perfect match. She was a single French/Lebanese woman. She was educat­ed in anthropology and history and spoke perfect English. Her com­mand of the French dialects was perfect and she spoke some Berber dia­lects with skill—a plus for our ability to communicate with my driver Mahmoud.

Marie Khaldi and I bonded immediately at the beginning of our first trip out of Algiers to a community called Boumerdes, about fifty-five kilo­meters to the north and east of Algiers.  Right away I recognized there was a sincere quality about this woman that I ad­mired. She was obviously very intelli­gent, certainly knew all of Algeria like the back of her hand and her pres­ence was one of support and encour­agement for what I was about. In the first few moments I was with her while we cruised down the highway toward Boum­erdes and she was telling me stories about all the things we were pass­ing, I knew that this was going to be an enjoyable project.

"Mr. Williams, you should know some­thing about me," she said in her wonderful French accent just after we were underway. "I love my country and sometimes I get car­ried away talking about it. Please tell me when you have had enough."

I never had enough listening to her stories and descriptions of places, and some­times with my incessant questioning about this place or that, or about this custom or that, I was the one that hoped I wasn't tiring her. But Marie never seemed to tire. Her energy never waned even on some of the longer sev­er­al-day trips we took to­gether. I loved every moment I was with her. Often in these times when I was having so much fun with Marie, I sensed pangs of guilt like I had experienced when I was traveling with Diane Young earlier in my career with Bechtel and ques­tioned what this might do to my relation­ship with my wife Kay. I was once again beginning a relationship with another woman other than my wife that was attractive, sexy and intimate. It seemed that I was going to have to reevaluate my marriage a second time in the context of a friendship that was bound to devel­op between Marie Khaldi and myself. In addition to her other qualities, Marie was a stunningly attractive woman. Her olive eyes and dark hair were common among the other women in the region, but Marie was excitingly different because she was much taller than most of the native women I had seen. She appeared to be at least five foot ten inches tall. Everywhere we went together I felt I was with someone who was on display, and in a small part of my being, I felt proud and fortunate at being in her pres­ence.

Soon after Marie and I got to know each other and she was more comfortable call­ing me Jack, rather than Mr. Williams. I noticed that she was a person who emphasized much of what she said by touch. It was as if she want­ed to make sure she was establishing a com­munication link with me, when she would reach over and hold my arm while describing something we were viewing out of the car window or along where we were walking. Initially, I was a little ner­vous about this intimate con­tact because I was mildly aroused by it, but soon no­ticed how much I liked it and how I felt being "connected" in this way. There never seemed to be any sexual innuendo from her, albeit in my view, Marie was a very sexy woman. Rather, the contact seemed to enhance our communica­tion and help me to bond more to her in un­der­stand­ing what we were about. I learned much from Marie because of this, and the oppor­tunity seemed to open up many new possibili­ties for relation­ships with others and especial­ly with my wife, Kay.

Boumerdes was known as a dedicated techni­cal educa­tion com­munity created in the early 1960's with help from the Russians. This would be the first introduction into what the Russians had contributed to the country after the Revolution. I would later see much more of the Russian influence throughout the coun­try as I traveled from place to place. Here in Boumer­des however, a grass roots com­munity had been created to provide a base for techni­cal educa­tion to meet the future technical develop­ment needs of the country after the revolution when most of the technical expertise had been lost when the French and thousands of highly skilled Algerians left the country and moved to France. The education facilities were set up for thousands of students. Isolated in the center of a large agricultu­ral region, Boumerdes was a self-sufficient community pro­viding hous­ing, securi­ty, fire protection, trans­porta­tion, and power and shopping for students, faculty and other staff. On the surface it looked like it might be a perfect model for what we were planning south of the Atlas Moun­tains for the CEMEL Project. I would soon learn, however, that I did not want to use this place as a model.

All of my investigative trips around the country to look at existing technical training sys­tems soon took on the same routine: visit the place, talk to the administrators and stu­dents or trainees, and assess its value as a partner in the CEMEL Project and move on to the next. In this second trip to Algeria I was gathering a wealth of information that would soon be written and documented as one major piece of the Manpow­er Plan.

We had all had a very busy week in our team activities and on Thursday when the subject of dinner was raised everyone but me decided to eat at the Hotel El Aurassi restaurant. I had experienced about as much as I could stand of that place, so I said I would eat downtown instead. I invited Maurice to join me since I could usually count on him as a compan­ion, but he was fatigued from pouring over popu­lation records at the Ministry of Planning all day and bowed out for the eve­ning.

Setting out alone on foot from the hotel, I decided to venture down to the Kasbah to see if I could find a small restaurant I had seen on one of my earlier ventures there. On a previous occasion, the group I was with had not wanted to go in be­cause it appeared from the menu on the door that all they served was Arabic food and they were not adven­turous that night. Roaming around the maze of the Kasbah more or less at random, picking up on clues here and there as to the location of the restau­rant, I finally found it. Like many other times I had visited the Kasbah or revisited a place I had seen before, it often seemed like the place was on the wrong side of the street or was facing entirely opposite from my first visit. I had learned to discount my usually accuracy on directions and accept these strange occurrenc­es.

Soon after I found a seat in this Arab restaurant, a waiter came to my table. I asked for a menu in English, and to my surprise, the man spoke English quite well and was able to introduce me to a wonderful traditional menu choice called Couscous that consisted of a boiled wheat starter that was cooked something like rice that was smothered in a light sauce with meat and potatoes. The meal was delicious and was very inexpensive. I tipped the waiter heavily when I left and gave him my special thanks for his suggestion.

"You seem pensive today, Jack," Marie said to me the next day as we raced down the ex­pressway on Sunday, the first day of our work-week, on our way to the airport. Reaching her hand over to touch my arm resting on the armrest of the old Citroen, she continued, "You have had few ques­tions this morning. Are you missing your family? It's been three weeks you have been here this trip, hasn't it? I would hate to be away from my family that long if I had a family. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I'm okay, Marie," I replied. "I didn’t get much sleep this weekend and I'm feeling a little tired right now. I went to the Kasbah Thursday night alone and had a wonderful meal at that one Arabic restau­rant Ahmed told me about. I had a hard time finding the place and you know how long one has to wait for service. By the time I walked back up the mountain to my hotel, it was very late. I bombed out right away and slept well that night, but Friday and Saturday, I just couldn’t get with the program. I guess I was thinking about home."

"We have a big day ahead, Jack. What I suggest is that when we get on the plane, rather than us talking the whole way to Skikda, that you try to rest and sleep if possi­ble. It is about a two hour flight, and that should refresh you. I have a book to read, so I will be just fine."

Her idea was great, but I realized I had to snap out of this fast. I was very tired, but it was not so much that I had been thinking about home and was not sleeping because of that, rather, it was knowing that I would be traveling with Marie for several days and what that encounter might bring to my lonely emotions. All I could think of was how I was feeling at that time about Marie’s sensitivity about my present mental condition.

That Sunday Marie and I were on our way for a trip that would include visiting industrial sites in Skikda and Annaba on the East Coast of the country and later in the week to Oran, far to the west. It was an exciting opportu­nity. Our itiner­ary was set for us to visit the large petro­chemical facility in Skikda; to meet with the construction team from Par­son's Com­pany on the natural gas liquefaction project there; then we would be travel­ing to a mining region east of Skikda in an industrial city called Annaba to visit a large steel mill complex built there by the Rus­sians. A gov­ernment driver was supposed to meet us in the Skikda Airport and be our escort for the next few days. On Tuesday our driver would take us to Constantine to the south of Skikda where we would be flying out that evening to Oran where we would visit a second operating natural gas liquefaction plant near that city.

I had set up this five-day visit to these industrial sites to meet with people at these places that had set up educational pro­grams for the industry workers. So in addition to assess­ing the industry training facilities and programs, I was also visiting government training facilities including two polytechnic institutes. I didn't know it at the time, but I was soon to discover that most of the vocation­al systems all over Algeria were being "man­aged" by Algerians but were actually being operated by Russians.

Right on schedule Marie and I were met at the Skikda Airport by a government appointed driver that immediately whisked us off to a recep­tion/luncheon being held in my honor by the Eastern Region of the Ministry of Heavy Indus­try. It was very obvious by the remarks of the driver, which Marie interpreted for me, that we were going to a very important meet­ing. This was the first time I was the only project team member meeting with a high government offi­cial and my Project Manager didn't even know I was having the meeting. He knew the Minster had made arrangements for my visit and would open doors where necessary, but he did not mention such an important meeting had been arranged for me.

I was amazed as we entered the private room that had been reserved for the Reception in the Es-Salem Hotel in Skikda. It was elegant and I could see the recep­tion was a very formal affair. Antici­pating any surprise that I might encoun­ter, I had dressed quite properly, and as usual my companion, Marie, looked elegant and attracted every­one's atten­tion as we entered. There were several Russians in atten­dance; one American from Parsons Corporation (a serious competitor of Bechtel) and the rest were Ministry officials or people from the industries and schools we would be visiting later. After the formal introductions were completed the focus went to a Mr. Amrami who seemed to be the host. In almost perfect English he welcomed everyone and announced that my visit was being sponsored by the Minister of Heavy Industry and that they were encouraged to give me full coop­eration on my "Audit." I was surprised to hear him use the term "audit" because of the connotations it held for me . . . internal audit, investigation, fact finding mission, etc. Some­how the term seemed to set a negative tone for the meeting that would follow. I had not considered myself as being an "audi­tor," per say. Rather, my inter­vention was more to observe on-going pro­grams and not particularly audit them. I was simply there to see what I could gain in terms of putting a similar pro­gram in place south of the Atlas Moun­tains or to find ways we could joint-ven­ture with those existing programs. I was not there to gather data and report back to the Minister, although I would be putting together a very detailed Trip Report that he would read by the project team and likely later by the Minister. I was just hoping to glean from other's expe­rience in the country.

The conversation became very lively and noisy after Mr. Amrami conclud­ed his introduc­tions. It seemed obvious that this was the first network meeting of all the people that had a stake in training Algerians in the Skikda Region. Very little attention was paid to me. While I did answer a few questions, most of the conversa­tion was between the people there.

While the conversation continued I seemed to notice a split in philosophies between the Rus­sians and all the rest. I notic­ed the Rus­sians were ad­dressed as Dr. this or Dr. that. None of the rest was so addressed. The Rus­sians were represent­ing the large polytechnic institute at Annaba and the schools at the SNS Steel Mill Facility. I also noticed myself being very care­ful to listen behind the words for inflections that would assist me in understanding the politics of the situation in the Region. I even found myself asking questions on a couple of occa­sions with clear intent to get people to elabo­rate on their own experience with the project. At one point I began to feel like I was really doing an audit rather than my afore-mentioned intent. The meeting didn't last too long past the conclusion of lunch and Marie and I were frisked off for the first plant visit on our itinerary.

Arriving at a chemical plant in the midst of a large industrial park, we were imme­diately greeted by a jovial, charismatic Ameri­can who introduced himself as a consultant working for the chemical company. He quickly went through the details of his pro­gram to train Algerian operators and was soon off on a tirade about how poorly the graduates of the Skikda Polytech­nic Institute were trained that were being hired as techni­cians. His main complaints were about the poor system that existed in Secondary Education for separating out those that were slated to go into technical training to complete their secondary education. He claimed the system set up by the Russians was poor and ineffective. I would hear this same com­plaint in many sectors of the country before my project was com­plete.

Similar visits continued until early eve­ning when the driver returned us to the Es-Salem Hotel where we had reservation to stay the night. Most of the visits were with people that spoke English. All Marie had to do all day was make introductions and get us through guard gates.  Otherwise, her job was relatively easy. I was concerned that she would be terribly bored all day, but I was amazed at the end of the day at how energetic she had been throughout the day. She seemed always alert and was obviously interested in all that was being said.

"Jack, you seemed to have gotten over what­ever was bothering you this morning as we de­parted Algiers," Marie commented while we sat together in the booth at the hotel restau­rant later that evening.

"I'm still tired, Marie, but the packed itiner­ary we had today hardly left any room for com­plaining or slacking off."

"Perhaps after a good night's sleep tonight you will be more ready for the long trip to the SNS Complex we will be visiting first thing in the morning in Annaba."

After a brief review of the day and the next day's itinerary, Marie quickly moved the subject to other areas. She had never been inquisitive about my personal life and back­ground, but while we sat through the typically slow process of food service in hotel res­taurant, she fired question after question to me, almost as if she were interviewing me. At one point I kiddingly asked her if she was interviewing me and she acted as if she had been caught at some­thing illegal. Then in a gesture that seemed to put us both at ease, she reached across the table in a warm and sensu­ous way touched her hand on top of mine. There was a brief moment of silence as her hand remained on mine then she said, "You are the first American I've ever known for any length of time and I am very interested in understanding more about you. You have led a very interest­ing life, you know, and I like you very much as a friend."

I had never had that kind of experience with a woman before. First as her hand touched mine and she silently communicated through her beauti­ful olive eyes, I was warmly aroused. But then when she began to speak in such a sincere way, I was swept away with emotion and sensi­tivity to her. I felt befriended in some strange way like I had never felt before with a wom­an friend or companion. I was starting to get the feeling that if this relationship kept up in the way we were pro­gressing I would have a serious problem on my hands. I already liked this woman too much and my project was only beginning. In some ways I was feeling the same about Marie as I had those many months working with Diane Young in San Francisco.

We retired early to our separate rooms that night. I was relieved in a way to be alone again. But after a thoughtful reconsideration of the scene at the dinner table, I convinced myself that I was making too much of the issue. I had only experi­enced having female friends on two occasions before in my life; one time was with a girl in high school and the other was with my colleague at Bechtel, Diane Young. Kay and I were friends in a way, of course, but being married put a different light on our friend­ship. Ma­rie was simply under contract to work travel with me and be my inter­preter. The fact that we were be­coming friends and confi­dants was only an added bonus.

The visit to the SNS steel milling complex at Annaba and to the city of Annaba was my first view at what was possi­ble with a new indus­trial city in a develop­ing country. The area around Annaba had been in existence since the late 1950's with the help of the Russians. From a small exist­ing iron mining region the Russians had expanded it to create one of the largest iron producing areas in the world. In the adjacent valleys near the rich iron-bearing mountains a large city of over one hundred thousand residents had been constructed. Steel mills and several steel fabrication plants fol­lowed until the entire land was con­sumed for miles in every direc­tion. The striking red color of the ground, the buildings and the mountains further exagger­ated the enormity of the place. I won­dered what CEMEL would be like in twenty five years consid­ering it was to be four times larger than this industrial city.

I reflected on this complex and the Iron Region of Northern Michigan where I had worked years earlier as a field engineer. What a contrast I was seeing here. In Michigan despite the fact that much mining was going on everywhere, the place had remained green. Here, everything was dull rust color and seemed worn and dismal. Yet as I looked around it was easy to identify some of the same types of equipment I had seen in Michigan. Even the steel mill part of the complex seemed similar to some I had seen in the U.S., yet this was all Rus­sian technology. I was amazed at the similarity.

We had entered the industrial area from the north having passed through miles and miles of green, lush agricultural areas. As we neared Annaba it was quite a contrast seeing the city and the industries in the distant mountains. Except for the few trees planted in and about the residential areas, most of the surroundings were bleak and bar­ren as the moon. Closer examina­tion of this supposedly "modern" city was horribly disap­point­ing. Everything, while obviously built with quality and elegance in mind, was now terribly run down. Housing complexes looked like lower East Side New York City. Build­ings were caving in, win­dows were missing, garbage was everywhere, and children played in and around stripped down cars and discarded furniture. A playing field near a school was nothing but rock and sand. What seemed to be single dwellings, perhaps company housing for the managers, were also despicable. The city that seemed to have been initially well planned with wide roads, market places and many small shops and larger super markets was also poor­ly kept and lacking of any apparent central garbage removal system or other recog­nizable civil services.

Later when we met with mill officials to view the training facilities we saw similar disre­gard for repair and maintenance. Apolo­getical­ly, the Mill General Manager explained that government cuts had resulted in what we were seeing and that every effort was being made to convert some of their basic steel production equipment over to American made. He then complained how the Russians had let them down by creating a steel mill complex using outdated Russian equipment, and then had never given them the spare parts to keep the equipment running. Massive measures had been taken on the Plant Operations part to train mechanics and machin­ists to build from scratch what was not available from the Russian suppliers. He ex­plained that most of the Rus­sians were now gone from the industry, and that the only remaining Russians were those running the secondary schools and training facilities. He said education had suf­fered equal­ly because of the inefficien­cies of the Russians. He further added that the Rus­sians that were left did not want to leave and were making every effort to make it so the Algerian Government would have to keep them on. Apparently, conditions were much better for the Russians in Algeria than they ever had been at home, and that was further reason for their reluctance to leave. Looking around the place made that statement hard to believe, but I sup­posed that it could be possible. We ended our private visit with the General Manager as he made a sincere plea that if there was anything I could do to change the system, he would be forever grateful for my help. I thought that perhaps there was a chance if what I understood from the Project that in every sector of Industry in the country the Algerians were attempting to change over to more American supplied equipment and spare parts and also for training of technicians.

After our meeting at the plant in Annaba we went to the large Polytechnic Institute located in the city. There we met with the Russian Director of Education that showed us around the facility and brought us through most of the major training classes that were on-going that day. I was appalled to learn the system they were using as curriculum for the training classes. It was explained to me that students coming to this school were chosen after testing in early grades of high school for their technical aptitude. If they met the criteria of the test they continued their high school in the Institute to eventually become trained in one of more technical trades. The training took four years to complete. In one instance that was explained to me, the training of welders, the students entered the school at seventeen years of age and spent the first two years of schooling leaning about the technology of welding, i.e., metallurgy, chemicals, etc., and then at the third year they began to learn about the equipment used by welders. This took one year to complete, but the students never once learned how to use the equipment. Finally on their fourth year of training they were given the tools and taught how to use them. For actual projects they were given the task of building a dumpster-like box out of plate steel and angle iron that would later be used for garbage collection. These four year programs mostly rote programs were similar in the several trades that were taught at the school. No wonder the plant manager at the steel mill was disgusted with the system. I also couldn’t believe that it would take four years to become a welder of plate steel garbage dumpsters.

Marie and I and left Annaba with our driver in the early afternoon for a long, cross-country drive to the Constantine airport where we planned to leave that afternoon for Oran. It was a relief to get out of this city with its red dust and dilapidation and get back into the country of green, rolling hills. Marie was won­derful to be with on a trip like this. The narrow winding roads brought us though small villages and within view of what was once very large olive plantations. Everywhere we looked we saw large groves of old olive trees . . . majestic large trees that Marie said were hun­dreds of years old. The late afternoon sun brought out the contrasting colors of the trees and the landscape and a warm breeze turned the small olive leaves to reveal their metallic gray sides making the trees glitter as if tensile was hung from their branches.

Marie seldom stopped talking in the ensu­ing hours as our driver made his way past farm wag­ons, tractors and large transport trucks. Each turn of the road brought another story about the area, its culture, the people, their costumes, and the wars that had been fought over the ages. As we came nearer to Constantine the land­scape changed. There were different trees and wooded areas with some sort of soft leaf pines. Dotted here and there were ruins of ancient buildings . . . a reminder that the Romans ruled the area in ages past. All these edifices were made from stark, white marble resem­bling photos I had seen of Greece and Rome. Slowly the road rose in altitude and small lakes and rivers appeared here and there. Then about forty to fifty kilometers before we got to the city of Constantine, ruins of a large aqueduct system were still standing where water was once carried to Constantine, the Roman Capital of Algeria at the time. Some aque­ducts were well over one hundred feet high where they had once crossed deep ravines.

Most all the women we saw in the vil­lag­es and farms were covered from head to foot in black heavy robes, unlike the white abaias I had seen worn by Muslim women in other regions of the country. Marie told me that some four hundred years ago a massacre oc­curred near Constantine where many hundreds of women and children were murdered by the Turks. The wom­en wore black now as a symbol of mourn­ing. The women of this region did not wear veils, but their black covers had hoods that they held in front of their faces allowing only a slight space out of which to see.

Not far from Constantine we came upon a road block that had cars backed up well over a kilometer long. As we got closer, we could see there were military vehicles all around the road­block and that every car and truck was being vacated and searched at the check point. Though she looked worried herself, Marie told me it was not serious . . . that the Algerian police regularly conducted these searches looking for drugs and contraband and to check everyone's papers. She said we had nothing to fear.

At the checkpoint armed guards polite­ly asked us to get out of the car and asked the driver to open the hood and the trunk. With wheel-mount­ed mirrors they looked under the car and seemed to search its inside very thor­oughly. All our papers were examined and when they got to Marie's they asked her to step over to the car where the highest ranking officer interrogated her for over fifteen minutes. I was horrified at this special treatment she was receiving and when I started to go over to where they held her, I was told at gun point to stay with the car. 

When Marie returned she was noticeably shaken. I asked her what had hap­pened to cause her to be upset. She said they had found some minor error on her papers and would not let her through until they had called Headquarters. It seemed to me there was more to the interroga­tion, but it was obvious I would not learn the nature of it then. She was too upset for the incident to have been caused by a simple matter of an error on her travel papers. It was also strange to me that when I showed the police the papers from the Ministry they had still taken her away as if the Ministry papers meant noth­ing. I wished at the time I would have had Mahmoud, my Berber driver from Algiers, along. With his skills, he would not have let anything like that happen.

The roadblock had delayed us so much we were going to miss our flight to Oran, so as we approached the city Marie had a conver­sation with the diver that at one point became quite heated. Obviously disgusted with the end result, she ex­plained to me she had asked our driver to stay the night in Constantine so we could use the car to see the sights of the city since we were going to be stay­ing over. He had ex­plained that he had been ordered to have the car back by that night no matter how late it was and that if he didn't he would be punished. By the time the little foray was over, Marie was even more upset than she had been at the road­block. She soon calmed down, however, and we began the search for a hotel where we could make new flight arrangements and stay for the night.

We finally found a quaint, small hotel near the old part of the city called the Cirta Hotel and checked in. Later Marie made all the changes to our flight itiner­ary that had to be made. Our driver left and Marie and I separated to our rooms to freshen up for dinner. I had assured Marie that my almost inexhaustible expense account and my wallet full of money would allow us the luxury of seeing the city sights by taxi and that she should not worry about transportation and our driver any more. She seemed reluctant to do that, but finally gave in. I was not about to let an opportu­nity go by to explore such a famous, historical city as Cons­tantine.

Our first mission was to find a nice restau­rant, so we took a taxi outside the hotel and asked the driver for the best restaurant in the city. He took us to one perched on top of a high water tower overlook­ing the entire city and Lake Constantine. We entered one of the most luxuri­ous eating places I had yet found in Alge­ria. We had not eaten since early in the day and were famished. With the view of the city we had from the water tower, we hardly had to do any more sightseeing. Walking around the tower balcony looking over the entire city was better than we could have done by any other means. Marie knew all about each feature we saw. She had been to the city on two previous occasions, but her historical back­ground and stories made the walk around the circular balcony hundreds of feet above the city seem like a first class paid tour of the city. Hours later when our six course meal was over she asked if I would like to see the old town before returning to the hotel and perhaps even do it on foot. I was game so we began a long walk that reaped more for me than just a thorough sojourn of the city.

Marie had done a wonderful job of ex­plain­ing everything we saw from the water tower bal­cony, but she had still been notice­ably quite during the long dinner wait. I didn't know if she was tired or still angry about what had happened earlier. Realizing there might be some risk associated with bringing the matter up I decided to get it into the open anyway. To ease the diffi­culty I decided to try the same tactic on her that she had used on me the day we left Algiers. Placing my hand on her arm as we strolled along, I said, "Marie, you're looking rather pensive. Is there something you would like to talk about?"

Smiling, I knew she had gotten the pun right away and she immediately nodded in acknowledg­ment to my question. There was a silence for a few seconds then she walked over to a bench next to a public water foun­tain, sat down and waved me over by patting the bench next to her. I thought as I walked over by Marie, what a place to have a serious conversation. We were sitting on an ancient stone bench likely carved by some Roman's slave. In addi­tion we were facing a huge wall across the street that Marie explained once surrounded a fort used in the early part of the first or second century by Romans as a military head­quarters. It pleased me that Marie took my cue so well and so fast and I was anxious to hear what she had to say.

"Yes, I was rather preoccupied, Jack," she began. "You have been very kind to me, and I feel like I can trust you even though I don't know you very well. It is good for me to talk to you about this matter. That interrogation I had with the police today was what angered me. The thing with the driver was only an extension of my earlier anger and unfortunately had little to do with him. I am very em­bar­rassed at having been so rude with our driver. I knew he was just following orders. He really would have been punished if he had done what I was asking and stayed the night. He was right.

"The incident at the roadblock really fright­ened me. This is not the first time some­thing like that has happened. Just out­side of Algiers last year I was stopped at a similar roadblock and was interrogated for the same thing. This stems back to the Revolution, Jack. I was of course much younger at the time and I was very active with an under­ground move­ment resisting the Revolu­tion. My parents were prominent citizens in the communi­ty. My mother was French and my father was Lebanese. He was very rich mostly because of his con­nection with the French who ruled our country.

"I was just out of high school and had a promise of a bright career with the French still occu­pying the country. If the Algerians ran the French out, I could see my father's fortunes being subscribed and possibly see an end to our stay in the country. I was, of course, a citizen having been born in Algeria, but nei­ther of my parents had their citizen­ship. In addition, my father was Christian, which did not put him in the best favor with the mili­tant Alge­rian Revolu­tionaries.

"My activity was mostly done under­cover though I played a small part in several demon­strations and was arrested once. As we predict­ed, when the French were driven out of Algeria, my father's business assets were taken by the revolutionaries and we lost every­thing except our villa. Mother died of a heart attack during the fighting and Father was killed by the Berbers when he tried to resist their taking over his business. I was a citizen and even though I had been arrested, was needed because I was still of an age where I could go to college and become a contributing citizen to the ruined economy. There had been such a brain drain when the French left and took many of the Algerians with them who were educated, the new government was looking for anyone who could be educated, so the new govern­ment left me alone. I became the sole heir of our estate, what was left of it.

"Even so, I have continued to be watched for all these years because of my arrest and short prison term for being caught demonstrating against the Revolutionists who later become the core of the new government. Plus, all my official travel papers carry a code that identifies me as a possible mili­tant. On an incident like the one today, when the police see that, they are obligat­ed to call in for details, and I can always expect to be ha­rassed. Thank God I never got caught again for all the under­ground activi­ty I was in­volved in after my initial arrest.

"What makes me most angry, Jack, is that I am a marked and harassed person here in the country I now love and am proud of. The Revo­lution was twenty years ago. Why can't all of that be forgotten? It is especially diffi­cult for me when I travel. I am ‘assoc­iated’ with the subver­sives who still exist all over the country."

At that, Marie began to softly sob and leaned her head over onto my shoulder. I quietly held her hand for a moment, and then she seemed to quickly recover. In what seemed like a sudden burst of energy, Marie got up from the bench, thanked me for listening and briskly walked down the street ahead of me. Now she was again lively, talkative and busily explaining everything we came across. While I kept up with her brisk pace I felt there was still a lot I did not know about my fasci­nating companion and hoped someday I would hear the entire story.

The next morning heralded an early rising, a quick Continental Breakfast at the hotel and a mad dash to the airport for the re­sched­uled next leg of our journey. The flight was nothing outstanding, but the ground below amazed me as it slowly changed from the lush mountainous landscape to hilly, dry areas desert-like sur­rounding Oran in the far west of the country. Like before, a pre-assigned driver met us. He was an employee of the natural gas liquefaction plant we were scheduled to visit in Arzew near Oran. This driver was entirely different from others we had used. He was young and was dressed in pastel green coveralls. He was clean shaven and spoke French rather than Arabic.

The city of Oran was unlike any I had visited in the east. The low buildings looked like they were just an extension of the desert. The women who wore tradition­al dress were in all white instead of black and did not use veils. Instead, the shawl they wore thrown over their shoulders was pulled up to cover their hair. In all cases, the women pulled one side of the head cover over their face and held it there with their right hand. While waiting at an intersection for a donkey-pulled cart to cross I noticed one young woman going along with two small children. In one hand she was leading a small tod­dler; her other hand was occupied holding the veil closed over her face. This seemed reason­able until her one child that she was not holding onto bolted and was going to cross the street unas­sisted. I instantly wondered how she would catch the boy and still hold her veil in place. But to my surprise, she just put the shawl in her teeth so it still covered her face then grabbed her son with her free hand. Once the boy was back holding onto her skirt she re­turned the shawl to her hand and was again "properly" veiled.

            The visit to the new gas liquefaction plant was interesting but daunting in some ways. I noticed immedi­ately upon entering the plant gate that all the employ­ees were in uni­form. Every­one was wearing the same style coveralls as our driver with match­ing hard hats. In the plant confines, howev­er, there seemed to be at least six differ­ent colors of uniforms. Our driver told Marie that each color designated a different operation. It was puzzling to see such regimen­tation every­where.

As soon as we got to the plant we were rushed to the General Manager's office for our scheduled visit with him. Mr. Monrey was an elegant looking man. He also wore a color-coded uniform. He spoke perfect English with hardly any noticeable accent. From his very articulate presentation I learned much about the plant's history and about its two-year genesis from construction comple­tion to where they were at present. This man spoke also of the Russians and the part they had played in the technical education programs in the area. Not surprising, many of his comments were nega­tive. The technology for the plant was U.S. and the plant had been built by Americans. To my surprise, start-up was being done by a division of Bechtel. I had heard of the division, but did not know they were operating in Algeria. 

The only prob­lems Mr. Mon­rey spoke of were the inadequa­cies of the techni­cal training courses employees got before they became employ­ees. Apparently, the polytechnic institute located and run by the Rus­sians left much to be desired. He told us he had arranged a visit there for us late in the day after we finished visiting the plant and its internal train­ing center. At the conclusion of the tours Mr. Mon­rey invited us to share lunch with him and his top team in a separate room adjoining the company cafete­ria. Here I witnessed one of the strangest scenes I had encountered so far in all of Algeria. Marching music was playing as we en­tered the cafeteria. A voice droned over the P.A. system in French and Arabic alter­nately. I learned later from Marie that the dialogue was all plant politics and propaganda. People were quietly eating as we passed their tables and all were in one color of uniform. Soon a bell rang and these people as if they were regimented rose and left the room while a crew of women in uniform cleaned off the tables. As quickly as that was done a flood of people entered the room totally quiet while the marching music played on. Just as quietly, they all picked up pre-filled food trays and went to their tables sitting in the same order as they had entered. 

There was a small amount of nodding among the people as they seemed to be whispering while they ate, but little or no noise was to be heard above the P.A. system. Our section of the cafeteria was separated by a low wall and no glass, so it was as if we were subjected to the same rules since we were served a prepared dish on a metal tray. We ate quiet­ly and departed when the next bell rang. Surprisingly, the food was varied and quite good for cafeteria-type food. Just before we left the area I could wait no longer to question Mr. Monrey about the disci­pline and the kind of ambience that exist­ed all through the plant and the cafeteria. To my surprise, he related that the idea came from the Russians and that this was the only contribution from them that pleased him. In his words he said, "We have a poor class of people to work with here in the Oran area, and this sort of strict discipline gives us a means of control over them. We maintain a very subdued envi­ronment here, productivity is low, but tolerable for the class of people we have to work with. And through constant indoctrination they receive every­where they go and even in the cafete­ria, as you may have noticed, we are developing a fair work force."

I was sickened by what I heard, though initially I had been impressed with the plant and its operation. I wondered what effect this model may have on the CEMEL Project since it, too, was to be located in a remote area like that surround­ing Oran.

When we left the place I could see that Marie was also noticeably dismayed over our visit. I didn't know why, but I suspected it had some­thing to do with her days as a revo­lutionary militant. I wanted to know more and hoped we would be able to discuss it over dinner that night.

Our visit to the Oran Polytechnic Insti­tute hosted by the Russian Director and one of Mr. Monrey's lieutenants was equal­ly an insult to Marie's and my values. It was plain to see the plant's "Big Brother" atti­tude had been inherited from the school. The Direc­tor's attitude and biases on the locals was abhorrent. This pomp­ous Dr. Rubgleski seemed to come from the same stock as the Plant General Man­ager. It seemed like the little I knew about the Commu­nist System of Russia had really been imbedded here in this community and that this entrench­ment would be very difficult to replace with a more Demo­cratic or Capitalistic system.

Our hotel in Oran, La Residence, was fairly large, but it was a dumpy remnant that seemed like it was left over from some old movie about the French Foreign Legion. Its red stucco, Arabic style was repeated inside with louvered doors and ill-repaired louvers hanging from window frames. There was no glass in any of the windows, the one toilet per floor served all the rooms, and the room itself was bleak and untidy. A single-faucet wash basin hung on the wall of my room under a faded and cracked mirror. The bed was narrow, high and put together out of a simple brass frame that looked like it might date back to the early 1900's. A single Persian rug next to the bed decor­ated the dingy plank floor. One high-back chair and a small three-drawer dresser were the only other pieces of furni­ture. A board with hooks on it nailed to the wall severed as a clothes rack.

Marie and I met in the lobby after a brief rest in our separate rooms. She had inquired about a place to eat so we left the hotel to find it. Sur­prised again like I had been many other times in the country, the French restaurant we found in the dilapi­dated old sec­tion of the town was actually quite ele­gant. At least it was a major cut above the hotel that was the best one in town.  When we came in we found ourselves to be the only custom­ers. We ordered and immediately our conver­sation reverted to our experience of the day. I wanted to know how Marie viewed things, so I asked . . .

"Marie, I noticed as the General Manag­er was giving us a briefing of the plant em­ployee training systems that you seemed to get notice­ably irritated at what he was saying. Does this have anything to do with your prior underground involve­ments we spoke of last evening?" 

"I have very much difficulty talking about this, Jack," Marie replied, "but I feel like I need to tell you at least how I feel. What we saw today is the very thing I and my classmates envisioned would happen to our country if the revo­lution were successful. It was very appar­ent to us at the time that the Russians were more than willing to support the rebel's efforts and that they had an agenda of their own that would serve the larger interest of implanting communism in North Africa. Don't be mis­taken, I am glad to see the French are no longer using our country the same way they did for so many years. It was when the Russians so will­ing­ly sup­plied arms to our people and later when they moved tens of thou­sands of Russian Na­tionals in to work on redevel­opment that I began to see red . . . no pun intended. Literally, what we were seeing over the horizon of the future was anoth­er occupation of our wonderful country under the Red Flag of the Communist World. Many people saw it only as assistance to help us drive the hated French out of the country; they didn't see the longer vision of our Russian friends.

"It is to our advantage now that in most parts of the country the Russians have done such a poor job of what they came here to do that our more sensible leaders are seeing the light and are inviting more U.S. companies in to assist us in our crusade to lift the country out of poverty by industrialization. I am grateful that you and your company are so dedicated. After more than twenty years of an­guish over this situa­tion, I'm begin­ning to feel that our earlier efforts have paid off.

"I have never shared this with anyone outside of my small circle of friends who share similar views. But I see in you, Jack, a sinceri­ty that goes beyond being here to just `do the job' for your company."

With that, Marie slid her chair around the small table, reached over and took my head in her hands and planted a kiss square on my lips.

"Thank you, Jack," she said as she slid her chair back in place. "Perhaps I am too bold, but I wanted to thank you for choos­ing me to assist you in your campaign for infor­ma­tion."

Down deep I hoped there was more to the kiss than a mere "thank you," but I dis­missed the thought remembering how much Marie used such inti­mate communications to enhance her im­pacts. It was still nice howev­er, while I noticed the warm feeling I had for my new friend.

In a few more minutes our meal was finished and we were on our way back to our dumpy hotel. It was dark when we walked along the almost empty streets. Quite a difference from the Kasbah at 9:30 p.m., I thought. No more was said about Marie's political views. I believe she must have con­cluded there was little else to say. We were walking in silence when Marie moved closer to me, reached her arm into mine and laid her head on my shoulder while we continued a few more yards. When the silence was bro­ken, it was Marie who said . . .

"You are a very good friend, Jack. I feel closer to you than I have to any man for some time. Thank you again for tolerating my strange ways."

When she said that, I noticed a tender feeling coming over me again. It scared me to observe what I was feeling and once again I reverted in my thoughts to Kay and how I felt about her. Was I dis­tancing myself from Kay by allowing this woman to get so close to my heart? This was new stuff for me and it was frightening. When I got home again would I be able to talk to Kay about my friendship with Marie? Would Kay sense my strong emotional tie to Marie? It was an excitable thing I was experi­encing and it was having a powerful effect on my behavior. I could not possibly deny this and I knew I must begin to deal with it soon.

I broke the silence next. Marie was still holding my arm and was walking very close to me when I said, "You are a wonderful and exciting wom­an, Marie. I, too, feel I have developed a bond with you that is different than I have ever expe­rienced with any other woman . . . in­cluding my wife, Kay. I want us to con­tinue to have this mutual feeling, but I also want to be up front with you, or totally honest with you about the implications it has for me and also about my fears.  When you kissed me at the table earlier and a few moments ago when you took my arm and laid you head over on my shoul­der, I believe I was in complete under­standing about what you were saying and at­tempt­ing to com­municate to me. But I will admit that if I were not a happily married man I would have taken your communications in a different way. You are about the most excit­ing and sexy woman I have ever known, Marie. I could fall in love with you in a moment's notice. But I have strong ties at home with my wife Kay that I want to maintain. We have worked long and hard to develop our relation­ship to the level it is right now, but in all relation­ships, they are fragile and must be delicately handled. My travel and being away from home, for example, puts a very big strain on us and I don't know if we will survive this. I feel more vulnerable right now than I ever remember feeling, and I believe that is a bit dangerous. It's like wanting the better of two worlds. Do you understand what I am saying, Marie?" 

Before she answered, Marie held me even tighter then said, "Jack, of course I under­stand. I, too, could fall in love with you at a moment's notice, as you say. And I too, value a long-term relationship like you say you have with your wife. But Jack, I also be­lieve one can have both, and that our relation­ship . . . friend­ship does not have to affect your alliance with your wife in any way. Perhaps this is one of those cases where our cultures have some bear­ing on the situation. Regarding my background, which as you may remember is also Christian at its base, we are able to under­stand that relationships between married people must always be valued and main­tained at all cost. It is also within that parame­ter to have a friend such as I see in you, as a person with whom I work, with whom I can talk and share intimate feelings and whom I can love in a special way. Because of those two beliefs, our culture sees little in the way of jealousy, and divorces are seldom heard of. At the same time, however, our culture does not tolerate adultery, which is considered not only by the Chris­tians, but the Muslims as a dread­ed sin. Per­haps, Jack, this is a time for us to examine if our two cultures can endure together especially when we are sepa­rate in some of our basic beliefs. Does that make any sense to you?"

Marie's long statement of belief did raise some major questions that I wanted to ex­plore, but we were arriving back at the hotel so we con­tinued to walk the rest of the way in silence. When we stepped into the hotel lobby, I said, "Marie, I would like to talk about this subject some more, but what I suggest now is that we get some sleep and continue this conversa­tion later since we have an early flight out tomor­row."

"I am very well with that. I shall see you here at 6:00 a.m.  I will arrange for a taxi.  Perhaps we can wait breakfast until we return to Algiers."

With that, Marie picked up her key from the Front Desk and disappeared around the corner to the stairs. I soon followed and went to my room.

Marie and I talked some more on the plane going back to Algiers that morning, but nothing new came out of the conversation, other than a commitment that we would keep both our concerns on the top burner, and be willing to talk any time we felt like it about this matter.

Most of the remaining weeks of this second trip to Algeria involved working with the other CEMEL team members and prepar­ing a plan for my next visit. From the work I had to review back home and the additional data I had to collect in Algeria, I was sure the next trip would be at least six or seven week’s duration. I wondered as I planned my pro­gram how that would go over with Kay. There had never been any indication nor had I had any conversa­tion with Kay about how much this project would de­mand of all of us, but I was already dreading the implications it presented.  

 

Chapter  4 –Back Home Between Trips

 

I had been back home about two weeks when one evening after the children were down and I was busily occupied with fixing the back fence where the steers had gotten out, Kay came outside and started to talk with me.

"I've noticed a difference in you since you have been home this time, Jack. It's almost as if you have changed. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there is a difference I have detected. This is not a biggy I'm talking about, and the change has felt very positive. I guess I'm just curious."

            "You've got me, honey," I replied. "I don't know what I am doing that has affected you. Can you be a little more specific?"

"I'll try. While I was in high school once every week my girlfriends and I used to sit around after school playing this serious game. To prepare us for this activi­ty, we had all prom­ised each other we would try to learn some­thing about life every day. Then each time we met some­one had to volunteer some­thing they had learned. It had to be some­thing that was current and real and that affected us all some­how. Sometimes we could not think of anything and would soon be dis­tracted and the whole process would be forgot­ten until the next time we got together.

"On one of these occasions, I don't re­member who brought it up, but someone decided to discuss why we were friends and what made it so. I'll never forget that conversation be­cause we spent literally hours looking at how we felt and what it was like to be a friend or to be friendly. Well, to make a long story short, Jack, since you've been home this time, I have felt that you have been treating me more like a friend than the way you have always treated me before. Now I am not saying I have not felt that we were friends before, but when I think of the defini­tion my friends and I came up with years ago, your behavior matches that more than any­thing I can think of. I really like the feeling, but I'm curious as to why it has become this way all of a sudden. Did something happen this time in Algeria to cause this? Am I just imagin­ing things, or have we been friends all these years and I'm just now notic­ing it?"

My head was just racing when Kay got through. I knew she was right . . . there was a differ­ence. I knew I had been feeling and acting differ­ently, but I had no good explanation for it.

"You know," I replied finally. "I have noticed a difference too. I feel closer to you now than I've ever felt. It's strange that I've felt inclined to act certain ways with you since I've been home. It has been important that I hear everything you say, that I am near to you and touching you more often. I have noticed a drive within me to be more sensitive to what you are saying or not saying."

"Yes, now that you mention it, I know that’s part of the difference Jack. When you talk to me, like now, you reach out and hold me somewhere like on the arm or on my waist. You never did that before that I can remember. It's like you are reaching out to communicate with me."

While we spent more time on this it began to feel like there was something I was over­look­ing. Then I remembered my interactions with Marie and our trip to Oran. We had talked then about friend­ships. But more im­portant, I had made some discoveries about being a friend and a better com­municator. Things she did, like touching and the things she pointed out to me, I could see that I had been applying them with Kay since I'd been home. This is some­thing, I thought, that I ought to be talking to Kay about. But do I dare? Or should I? I knew I had to.

"Come here, honey," I said finally as I directed Kay over to the deck where we could sit down to continue the conversation. "Now that I think about it there are two things that have been happening in Algeria that may have a bearing on this matter. I think it's important that you know what they are."

I shut the flood light off on the back yard leaving only the one light on over the sliding door leading from the deck into our bedroom. Sitting down next to Kay I started to tell her about the strange relation­ship I was having with Marie Khaldi. Kay sat quietly listening without comment while I reeled off the story of our work and travel in Algeria, and that it was slated to continue when I got back. I don't recall ever having done anything that was more difficult. I hid no details of my relation­ship with Marie, and as best I could, told of my strong feeling for this woman. I told Kay of my uncertainty and guilt at feeling the way I did about Marie, and I at­tempted to explain my "friend­ship" with her and how that was new to me. I ended with an explanation of Marie's and my discussion in Oran about friends.

Kay sat for some time without reply­ing, and then she said, "Jack, I can understand how difficult this must have been to talk about anoth­er woman to me . . . especially one you obvi­ously care for a great deal. My reaction right now is more shock than anything else. I just don't know how to reply. In a way, this is the second time this has happened in our marriage . . . I'm speaking of similar conversa­tions we have had about your colleague, Diane Young when you were working and traveling with her so much. I'm kind of numbed and I am actually feeling threatened by it all. I've always trusted your loyalty to me and I have no doubt about it even now with the things you've told me tonight. But what I'm more afraid of is manifest in what has happened the past couple of weeks. Apparent­ly, by what you have learned being with this extraordinary woman, your behavior toward me has changed and the effect has been more than positive. I guess I'm afraid because of what these changes in you might require of me. I'm feeling already a need to do some things differ­ently than I've been doing and I don't have a Marie to coach me. Frankly, Jack, I'm feeling a little intimi­dated by this Marie, more so even than I was when you were working closely with Diane Young."

"There isn't anything that has to change about you, Kay," I answered rather weak­ly.

"Maybe you think so, but you'll be gone again in a few days and it’ll just be me trying to keep up with the children, the house­hold and our farm. I'm not sure I'll have the time to do anything but just exist. I'm afraid, Jack, that I'm not going to be able to keep up."

Kay began to cry. My throat tight­ened up and clogged as I tried to console her. My voice cracked each time I tried to say any­thing until I, too, was crying. Neither of us had much more to say that night as we finally got up from the deck and quietly went into the bedroom. Being naked in bed to­gether seemed to ease the tension and while we had sex that night we seemed even more relaxed and like one. Kay never brought up the subject of Marie again before I left for my return trip to Algeria.

            During my last week in the office before my third trip to Algeria, Diane Young and I made haste as we found an anthropologist to join the team. Diane was aching to make a trip to Algiers, but it just wasn't in the cards this time. In­stead, as the project team made plans to return I would be taking Maurice with me again and the new statistical expert, Bob Polari. In some ways I was looking for­ward to this trip, but in others I was very sad at leaving Kay and the kids again. 

 

Chapter  5 --- My Third Trip To Algeria

 

After a week back in Algeria I had Mau­rice and Bob lined out on difficult data collec­tion missions and I was planning my next trip. The Ministry of Planning had several of the documents ready that we wanted to access and both of my partners would be working to translate and interpret the informa­tion. My plans were set to take an eight day trip into the interior south of the Atlas Moun­tains to see what the villages and small commu­nities in that region had to offer as a poten­tial for workers that could be trained for jobs in the new city and the industries. This was entirely a driving trip and once again Mahmoud would be our driver. Marie would accompany me as my French and Berber interpreter and the fourth person the man I had used before, Ahmed, would come along as the Arab inter­preter. The majority of the populations of the places where we were going were Arabs so we were taking Ahmed along especially to assist us in making contact with Arab-speaking village chief­tains and town mayors or Emir­ates, as they were called.

I had seen parts of the Algerian mountains from the air, but driving through the canyons and over the passes really took me back to parts of the U.S. I had seen years before when I was stationed in Gaithersburg Maryland. The Atlas Mountains were stunningly beautiful with tall pines and lush under­growth reminis­cent of the Appalachian Mountains of Virginia. One major difference I began to see were the mon­keys that perched on rock walls along the roadside like small beggars with their cups. Stopping to photograph clusters of these little mammals always resulted in pandemonium while the creatures noisily retreated to the safety of the thick under­growth. It was fun to see them but a bit fright­ening when I looked into their tiny faces and saw nothing but half-baked grins and snarly teeth that looked very menacing. I learned from Marie that these animals were Barbary macaques.

Once out of the mountains I began to realize that the south side of the Atlas Moun­tains was a region that looked not unlike the West­ern Deserts of the United States. Here and there scrub bushes peaked out of the dry washes and gullies. Most of the countryside was cov­ered with a grass-like grain that I noticed was being har­vest­ed in many places by women and chil­dren using small, hand-held sickles. Marie explained that it was millet they were cut­ting, and that it had several uses. The grassy part was used as animal fodder and for reinforcing clay build­ing bricks called adobe. The small grain seed was harvest­ed for cereal and for the tradi­tional dish, couscous.  I had noticed many of the village homes were made of these adobe bricks that looked very much like ones I had seen in New Mexico.

We moved south on very wide, well-constructed paved roads mile after mile. The driver almost always exceeded one hundred and twenty-five kilometers along the open roads. I calculated that we were going more than eighty-five miles per hour most of the time. But the old, low slung Citroen cruised at that speed like a quiet black leopard.

Many hours after we left the mountains, but were still on a slight descent to lower eleva­tion, Marie told me we were passing through the "Green Belt," a govern­ment desig­nated strip of land that ran east and west across all of Algeria that was being planted with special ground cover and trees to head off the ap­proaching Sahara Desert. She claimed the desert was moving north at a rate of over five kilometers per year. I didn't see much evidence of activity, but she said it was beng done on a very large scale by army draftees who all had to spend at least six months of their four-year tour of duty plant­ing this vegetation. She said it was the most hated part of being in the army. 

Just after we passed through the Green Belt we approached the town of Bou Saada that our driver told us was the closest town to the CEMEL pro­posed site. He said he had instruc­tions to leave the main highway and drive the eighty kilometers out of the way so we could all see the entire region that would include the new city and industrial site. That side-trip was not on our itiner­ary, but I was happy to have the oppor­tunity.

The site for the huge city and industrial complex seemed little different than all the other areas we had seen for these many hours of driving. This site obvi­ously had advantages over others, and I knew water availability was one of them, but there wasn't any water to be seen on the surface. As far as I could see there was just an abundance of millet everywhere and hardly anything else. Here and there we saw tents where Bedouins were living and harvest­ing the millet, but that was the only life we saw any­where except for an occasional camel or donkey.

It was hard to imagine a city and industrial site rising out of this bleak place. I tried to picture in my mind where the airport would go and how the polytechnic institute and other schools would be situated. Where would the roads be? What about the power plant and other industrial buildings? They would have to be very large and complex. How would it seem to have four hundred thousand people living in area like this? Years earlier when I was working on the Jubail Industrial City in Saudi Arabia we had similar questions, but there, at least there was an existing fishing village to start with and a beautiful beach along the shores of the Arabian Gulf. Here there was nothing but rolling hills and millet.

Our excursion to and from the site took sever­al extra hours out of our schedule, so the meeting with town officials at Djelfa would be very late. When we got there, howev­er, the village officials did not seem to be distressed. They were all sitting in a circle on the sidewalk outside of the Emirate's office drinking tea and coffee. To me they all looked and dressed exactly like the Bedouins I had seen in many parts of Saudi Arabia. There was a small wood fire burning on the sidewalk. These Bedouins were using the fire to heat the traditional decora­tive brass coffee pots that I had seen every­where in the Middle East. The group that had assembled was all the officials of the city, but from their looks, there was little to distin­guish them from any others we had seen since we entered this part of the coun­try. The group was friendly and seemed very anxious to talk to us and tell about their situa­tions.

I was invited to join the officials there in the shade of the building on the side­walk and was given a small mat to sit on while the discus­sion ensued. It was an interesting discussion we had for about an hour with the several officials that were present. Ahmed did a good job of inter­preting even though at times more than one person was talking. Marie did not participate, but rather walked around the small town until we were through. When the meeting was finally over and I had to stand up, my legs were so cramped from this affair, I could hardly walk.

My purpose in visiting this part of the coun­try was to determine the attitude that villag­ers might have of becoming employees in either the city workforce, which we were calling the "Ter­tiary" Workforce or the Indus­try Work­force. I was surprised to learn that they were not very enthusi­astic about such an under­taking. Historically, it seemed that just after the Revolu­tion the Russians had come into their region with promises that great cities would be built, water would be transported to the desert areas from the moun­tains and the place would bloom like the north­ern regions of the country bringing pros­perity and wealth to all.

I learned that the concrete ditches and aqueducts had been built, but no water ever reach­ed the areas. No cities were built and the only roads that were constructed were those extending to the south where the more important natural gas and oil was abundant. I was told that all the villages in the semi-arid regions in and around the Sahara Desert where the oil was had benefitted from the production of oil and natural gas, but in the northern regions like Djelfa, their development had been forgotten, and the project was eventual­ly aban­doned.

I had seen the miles and miles of these con­crete aqueducts dismantled, and laying waste all through the region, but the explana­tion I got of their true existence clari­fied the reticence people were expressing about a new venture being launch­ed this time by the Algerian Government. These people be­lieved sincerely that their expectations would again be raised, but rather than benefit them the government would import people from the north and they would be forgotten again. This story was similar to those I would hear throughout the entire southern regions I visited.

I was totally amazed at how politically astute these seemingly simple people were. It was a genuine contrast to what I had seen in Skikda and Oran and at the school at Boumer­des. Here was a group of people living like their ancestors had lived for centuries in these backward conditions, and yet they were totally modern in their thinking. I was quickly learning that the social-cultural challenges we were facing by suggesting this grandiose plan for the Alge­rian people was enormous.

When the meeting was over and I got my legs going again I strolled down the street to see where Marie had gone to tell her we were about to leave. In the center of the village a small public flowing well bubbled with fresh water. Alongside of the well sat an old yellow well-used taxi. I had only seen about three cars all afternoon and all of them were taxis. The area around the well was almost deserted except for a small circle of men sitting on the ground next to the build­ing by the well. Like the group of town officials I had met with, these men were drinking coffee and were having a very serious conversation that didn't even slow down when I passed them. I wanted to see the well closer, so I walked over by it. The over­flow from the pipe coming out of the ground was flooding all around the structure, but was dissipating into the ground a few feet away. However, the area all around the well was muddy and teeming with flies and other flying bugs. 

On one side of the puddle I saw what appeared to be a dead dog lying in the mud. The site was rather repulsive to me. I could hardly imagine that the local people were okay to leave a dead animal lying next to the public well without moving it. When I walked over closer to the well, however, I discovered that what I thought was a dead dog was in fact a skin of a black goat or sheep that had been made into a water bladder. The legs, tail and neck were intact and tied with leather thongs to keep the water in. It was apparent to me that someone had filled the bag, tied the top and left it there for later pickup.

When I walked near the well I had not seen a young woman standing behind the men in the shade of the old building. Just then another taxi pulled up and one of the men jumped up to stop it. A short conversation and apparent negotia­tion began, and then the driver got out of his car and opened up the trunk of the old Fiat. The man that had stopped the car shouted something to the woman standing in the shade of the building some distance away, then he got into the front seat of the taxi. The slight-built woman then walked over to the water bladder, tried to lift it but couldn't. After several tries lifting the bag she simply dragged it over by the car next to the trunk. She shouted to the man in the car several times, apparently to help her lift the bladder into the trunk, and then he finally got out acting quite dis­gusted and helped her load the thing into the car. The driver remained sitting be­hind the wheel all the time revving the motor as if he wanted to go. The woman got into the back of the car, her man in the front, and they were off in a cloud of dust.

After I found Marie and explained what I had seen. She said it was common of the Bed­ouin men to leave all the heavy labor to their women while they take all the important, easy jobs. I wondered how that would translate into a modern workforce at CEMEL where we were already project­ing four percent of the workforce would have to be women to make it a success. In the other industrial sites we had visited so far the percentage of women in the workforce was less than one tenth of one per­cent.

When we were leaving and had seen several other taxis in the town I asked about the existence of so many taxi drivers in such a small town. Marie told me the young men that were driving them were men who had finished their military duty. She said they had learned some skills, had gotten a dis­charge bonus to be used for school or a busi­ness, but had chosen to come back to their village with a new car they would convert into a taxi and would thus be instant business­men with some prestige in the town. It was very common, she said, for these men to return to the village because conditions in the cities were so deplorable with overcrowding, filth and pollu­tion and unemployment was so high. In their home villages they can make a decent wage and feel useful to the community, and they can be near their families. This I con­cluded would be some­thing that needed to be consid­ered for the creation of the new city.

In the late afternoon after visiting two more small villages, Aflou and Aïn Madhi, we finished the day by driving easterly to the city of Laghouat where it was planned we would spend the night at the El Marhaba Hotel. This hotel was the largest hotel in this city and it seemed very nice when we checked in. It had been an ex­hausting day for all of us and I was planning to eat and go right to bed. But after spending a very pleasant time in the open-air restaurant there on the main street of town I was begin­ning to change my mind. The evening had cooled off and the air was crisp and clear . . . a refreshing change after the filth and smoke of Algiers.

The restaurant adjoined the hotel and the four of us had gone down together. Ahmed and Mahmoud ate at one table and Marie and I ate at another. When we had stopped for lunch at one of the small villages we passed, the same ar­rangement had been made for some reason. I guessed Ahmed and Mahmoud were just more comfortable being together. Not once in all the times that I had used Mahmoud as a driver had he ever spoken one word of English. And yet the drivers for everyone else on the project spoke English most all of the time. Mahmoud was always nice and seemed inter­ested enough in what I was doing, but for some reason it seemed he had never attempted to learn any Eng­lish either. 

One thing that continued to puzzle me, now that I had used Ahmed several times as my Arab interpreter, was how strange and distant he always seemed to be. The more I got to know him the less I felt like I under­stood him. I asked Marie a couple of times about her reac­tions to him since I had noticed she did not ever talk to him unless there was a very good reason, and she said frankly that she did not trust the man and that was that.

When we sat down to eat, the waiter was very prompt in bringing the food. I was fam­ished so I ordered a full meal. Marie on the other hand ordered a simple salad and as soon as she was through excused herself saying she was tired and wanted to go to bed. While I thought it was un­usual for her to do such a thing, I did not question her leaving.

Like the larger city of Algiers, Laghouat was a busy, noisy place compared to the small villages we had seen throughout the day. While I sat at the table alone, watching the people pass on the side­walk and the cars go by, I noticed that one car had passed several times in just a few moments. Each time, I noticed the pas­sengers looked in the direc­tion of the restau­rant. While I thought it was okay it was still unnerv­ing to see the same white Fiat pass so many times.

When I got through with my meal I got up and went to the other men's table and told Ahmed that I was planning to stroll around the city before I went to bed. Strangely, Mahmoud then spoke up. I thought at first he was asking Ahmed what I had said, but then he began an animated conversa­tion that bordered on an argu­ment. In the end, Ahmed angrily said that Mahmoud was advising me not to walk around town, but rather to go straight to my room, that it was not a good night to go for a walk. I didn't want to go to bed, but rather wanted to at least walk down to the marketplace I had seen a few blocks away. When I told this to Ahmed and he told the question­ing Mahmoud what I had said, Mahmoud then stood up, took me by the arm and led me forcibly to the hotel. Ahmed followed behind explaining to me that Mahmoud did not want me to be tired for the long ride the next day and that he would be waiting for us to leave in the morning at 6:00 a.m. I did not want to get on the bad side of Mahmoud, so I went to my room. Later I was glad I did, because I was really exhaust­ed and I conceded that Mahmoud knew what he was talk­ing about.

A little after 6:00 a.m. the next morning we were sitting at the same restaurant eating a simple Continental Break­fast. Marie and I were the only ones having breakfast even though I had invited the others to join us. The trip so far with Marie had been formal like this and while I did not like it that way, I thought it was because she did not want to appear too famil­iar with me to the other men. So I had not enjoyed any of the touch­ing I had come to enjoy before on our trips. Rather, I had to rely on her eyes for that special com­muni­cation she was so good at. 

When we finished eating, we all left together for the car. As we left Mahmoud explained through Ahmed that he was out of gas and needed to get some before we left town. To my surprise, Ahmed seemed very angry with Mahmoud and shouted at him for not having gotten gas the night before. For a sec­ond Ahmed argued with Mahmoud over the situa­tion, but Mahmoud just ignored him and drove on until he came to the service sta­tion. The matter seemed over, but Mahmoud was obvious­ly miffed at being castigat­ed by the interpreter.

There seemed to be only one gas station in town and when we approached it there was a line of cars at least twenty cars long waiting at the one-pump, self-service gas station. Mahmoud sat for a moment at the end of the line, then cram­ming the car in reverse pulled out and around the cars and went down another street. I thought at first he was going to another gas station, but he just went around the block and backed the Citroen right up, bumper to bumper, in front of the first car that was parked by the gas pump. I was amazed to see that the gas pump was one of the old style pumps where the attendant or customer had to pump the gas with a long handle located on the side of the tall pump into the enclosed glass tank at the top of the device. When the customer pumped the amount of gas he wanted into glass tank . . . the tank was marked by gallons or liters . . . then the gas was delivered to the hose by gravity feed. I had not seen one of these since I was a kid when our family traveled to Callao Utah the first time. The customer getting gas at the pump had filled the glass reservoir to the top and apparently had just started to fill his car’s tank.

As soon as the Citroen was stopped, Mahmoud got out of the car, took off his gas fill lid and walked over to the driver of the first car. Without any conver­sation with the driver, Mahmoud took out the exceptionally long gas hose from the other car and brought it over to the Citroen and started filling the tank. The man in the first car started shout­ing and waving his hands in gest­ures that looked like we were going to have a street fight over Mahmoud's bold behav­ior, but Mahmoud just ignored the man. Immediately a num­ber of the other drivers got out of their cars and started toward ours as Mahmoud continued calmly filling his tank with the other guy’s gas. I thought for sure there was going to be a riot because all the other drivers still in the line of cars started to honk their horns. But Mahmoud stood his ground and continued calmly ignoring all the gestures and what sounded like obscenities.

No one really came up to Mahmoud. Rather, they just stood their distance in a semicircle shouting at him until he was through. When Mahmoud was finished, in a final show of defiance, instead of putting the hose back on the pump or giving it to the driver from whom he had taken it, Mahmoud turned to the group, said some­thing to them then threw the hose on the ground at their feet, splashing gas on several that were closest. Like he was king of the road, Mahmoud then pushed his way through the angry crowd and walked into the building to settle up with the attendant.

The drivers were still shouting or honking their horns when Mahmoud came out, but he just got into the car, started it up and spun gravel as he pulled away in a dust storm. I asked Ahmed quietly how this had oc­curred without all of us getting killed. Ahmed coldly told me that Mahmoud told the crowd that his getting gas was more important than their need, and that was all he had said to them. Once again, I had seen this subtle interplay of the power our driver carried around in just his looks and dress but now is showed up in his behavior. It was truly amaz­ing. But I was puzzled by Ah­med's angry behavior. Through all of this, I also noted Marie glaring at Ahmed from time to time as if she truly hated the man.

The second day's visits to the numerous villages were similar to the first day. Each had its unique difference, but the mes­sage and results were the same in all of them. Everywhere I went I heard negative things about how the Russians and the Algerian Government had sold out on their promises to the Bedouins and left them with little hope of future economic gain. Once we left Laghouat it was a long drive to the next town. As usual the roads were in very good condition and Mahmoud drove like it was going out of style. The countryside was completely barren and not too hilly and it was possible most places to see for miles in every direction. At one point along the way I saw what seemed like a depression and a small hill along the road. When we got closer, we could see there was a rather large herd of camels down in the depression and a small boy as their herder. Unlike my experience in Arabia, I had not seen many camels in Algeria. When we approached the depression I thought it would be a good time to take a short break, have some water and look at the camels and the boy a little closer. So I asked Ahmed to tell Mahmoud to stop. I also wanted a picture of the boy and didn’t want to just take it as we whizz­ed by.

On Ahmed’s suggestion, Mahmoud slowed the car and pulled off the road near the animals. Marie, Ahmed and I got out of the car and walked over to the boy. Ahmed said something to the boy in Arabic and he smiled holding out his hand, apparently for money. I asked what Ahmed said, and he replied that he had asked the boy if I could take a picture. The boy had said yes, but that it would cost something. I was amazed. Here in the desert, apparently miles from any village or campsite, was a ten or twelve year old boy that first off knew what a camera was and secondly wanted money for having his picture taken. One more big surprise for me.  I took the picture, and then I gave the boy some change and one of our bottles of water and we left.

Sometime in the late afternoon we could see another village in the distance that seemed larger than others we had visited earli­er that day. Marie told me we were approaching Berriane the place we would be staying over the week­end. She ex­plained to me that since this was the day before the weekend there would be no places we could officially visit on the weekend. This was a place, she continued, where there was a fair hotel and a little better accommodation.

Approaching the town we had passed by several large sand dunes and I thought we were either in the Sahara or we were in its close prox­imity. But Marie said that the Sahara covered most of the southern regions of Algeria much farther to the south and that we would never get near it on this trip. She said that when we reached Ghardaïa, the most southerly city on our itinerary, we would still be several hun­dred kilome­ters north of the main part of the Sahara.

Berriane had a large com­plex of build­ings on its outskirts that I first thought was a military reservation. But when we passed Marie said it was a government complex, but not a military encamp­ment. Rather, it was the National Train­ing Center for Waiters. I could­n't believe what I was hearing. Here in the middle of the desert hun­dreds of miles from all the larger cities in the country sat this large training center for, of all things, Waiters. Marie coolly reminded me that this was another brain­storm of the Russians and that I shouldn't be surprised.

When we entered the town I saw a sort of city center or open marketplace Marie told me would be bustling with ven­dors selling their wares the next day. She suggested that I plan to visit the place since it would be a colorful activi­ty showing much of the desert culture and many wares fashioned by the Bed­ouins.

The hotel we checking into, the El Ksar, was small and rather run down. There were only about ten to twelve rooms and several of them were already occupied. When we checked in our group filled it to capacity. It was much like the place in which Marie and I had stayed in Oran except that it seemed older and more run down. One bathroom with a toilet and sink served all the rooms on each of the two floors. In my room itself, it had a little sink and a tiny shower that looked like it was put up in the 1800's. However, the bed was soft and the place was clean, so I imagined I would have a fair night's sleep.

We all met at 8:00 p.m. at the common dining table in the hotel's restaurant. Food service was prompt. No one took orders, the food all just arrived, and course after course was served family style on one large table that sat the entire hotel residents. The ambience reminded me of eating in an old Basque restaurant sever­al years earlier in Winnemucca, Nevada. I thought it was funny that in areas so far apart, customs and traditions would be so much alike. Even the food was similar. Marie announced when we finished the wonderful dinner, "I will not be leaving the hotel all day tomor­row. You must plan to fill your day as best you can. As I said, it should be an interest­ing day for you if you want to go to the mar­ket. If you need something later on I shall be in my room."

I woke early preparing to shower and then take a walk around the village. To my surprise, there was no water. When I complained to the Front Desk, the Hotel Manager told me in very broken English that the water was only on for showers three days a week and this was not one those days. He invited me to go to the pool instead. I had seen the pool and it was beauti­ful, set in a landscape of tall palm trees and beautifully land­scaped sur­roundings at the rear of the hotel.  It was a major relief from the bleak dunes and gravel plains that surrounded the city. I com­mitted to visit the pool later, but in the meantime, I wanted to see the rest of the place had to offer.

Just outside of the hotel a young boy I guessed was about twelve was hunkered down near two mangy camels. In front of one of the camels he had placed a sign on an old three-legged chair. The characters were Arabic but I guessed he was advertising "Camel Rides." It seemed like a fun thing to do right then, so I approached the boy. I had no idea how much a ride cost or how long it would be, but judging from what I paid for a good meal in a decent restaurant, I held out an equal amount of Dinars to the boy and signaled I would like a ride. At the sight of the Dinars I was holding out to the boy, I guessed the sum was more than adequate. Taking the money he immediately took me by the hand to show me how to sit on the saddle properly and where to hang on. I could tell by his gesture that hold­ing on to the wooden saddle was extremely important while he role-played what would happen when the camel stood up.

The camel ride was indeed an experience of a lifetime. I sat down on the saddle the camel came to life and started to get up. First his back feet came up throwing me forward. This put me about ten feet off the ground. Then he raised his front feet throwing me back in the saddle until I thought I was going to fall off. The boy mounted the other camel that was tethered to mine and with a short snap of the whip we were off on a trot.

I had experienced trotting, running and even bucking horses as a kid, but this creature was truly out of my realm of imagination. I kept looking at how the boy ahead of me was managing, but I couldn't acquire the grace in which he rode. To me it was bounce, bounce and bounce down on the hard wood saddle, cushioned only by a thin, worn wool blan­ket. I tried shifting back on the saddle, all the time shouting at the boy to slow down, but he ig­nored my pleas and the ride went on. After about a half mile we came to the first of many sand dunes we would cross. They seemed ominous close up. I had never been this near a large sand dune. The ones we were approaching seemed to be at least one hundred feet high. While the animal easily climbed the steep slope I had to hang on for dear life for fear of sliding off the back of the animal. To make things worse, the saddle was on the back side of the camel's single hump. At the top of the dune there was only a momentary pause while I looked at the sea of sand dunes stretching for miles in every direc­tion, then the animals took off in a trot cross­wise down the dune. Again was I forced to concen­trate wholly on keeping from falling off the critter. 

The ride went on and on over sever­al more dunes even­tually circling back around the town to the hotel. It had been over one hour ride when the camel finally knelt down in front of the three-legged chair and I was able to dis­mount. The boy shook my hand profusely, smiling through broken and brown-stained teeth while I at­tempt­ed to leave. I assumed he was being especially thankful hoping that I would give him a tip, so I did and hobbled back into the hotel for a rest before continuing my original expedition to the marketplace.

Berriane's marketplace was a mass of small temporary stalls with hundreds of people haggling every­where over the price of every­thing. It reminded me of a sleazy flea market I had seen in Los Angeles some time before. Everything one could imagine was being sold there from fresh vegetables and grains to appli­ances and household goods. I was sur­prised at the abun­dance of goods as compared with simi­lar super­markets and Suqs or market­places I had visited in Algiers where the shelves were usually bare and people waited in long lines on certain days to get spe­cial items like meats, cheese and canned goods. Here there seemed to be plenty of everything. Cars were parked everywhere, but I couldn't imagine where they had all come from. I could only guess that some­where out there beyond the sand dunes were more villages and many more people. 

There were more people sitting around in circles drinking tea than there were actually shop­ping. I was surprised when I walked from stall to stall noticing the dry goods that were for sale. Most were from Taiwan and Japan. Few items were made locally. I had seen nothing like this in Algiers and wondered why there was so much of a differ­ence. I thought at the time that Marie would have the answer. I would ask her later. Finding nothing that interested me I soon tired of shopping in the flea mar­ket and wandered over to a more permanent part of the marketplace that housed dry goods stores, baker­ies and a butcher shop. I was fascinated by the meat market and walked over to get a photo of the bearded character leaning on the open door frame of the small enclosure. Signaling it was okay to take his picture; he nodded quite willingly and straightened his bloody apron as if that would make a differ­ence in the quality of the photo.

I took a few more pictures and was about to leave when I noticed a small cart pulled by a donkey coming my way. I waited to get a photo of this unusual conveyance. When the cart and driver approached I noticed the flatbed cart was made from an old truck rear end with two large truck tires and a flat wooden bed that was high off the ground. The driver sat on a makeshift bench on front of the flatbed. Behind him were two dead, dressed-out animals I guessed by their size were either sheep or goats. The driver stopped in front of the butcher shop, jumping down to greet the butcher who left his leaning post and walked out to the road. Then they hugged and kissed each other's cheeks as if they were best of friends. I had seen this behavior many times on these Mid­dle East trips and was not sur­prised at it.

A friendly negotiation began that I as­sumed was about the sale of the meat. Soon the two bargainers were shouting at each other as though they were bitter enemies. Almost as quick­ly as it started the argument was over and money was being ex­changed. The driver was obviously angry about the settlement and while the butcher stood near his doorway the seller took one of the animals off the cart and threw it on the ground at the feet of the butcher. The butcher just threw up his hands in the common gesture that I had seen many times before . . . something like "flipping a birdie." Then the butcher leaned over, shooed the flies away from the carcass and carried the ani­mal into the shop. By then I had expe­ri­enced enough of this town's strange environment and headed back to the hotel.

When I returned to my room I was ready for a rest after the active morning and early after­noon. Even with the windows full open the room seemed stuffy and the shower water was still not on. Feeling quite grimy after the camel ride and walk to the dusty market, I decided to put my swimming suit on and try out the pool. Walking out on the patio surrounding the pool I noticed I had it all to myself except for the waiter standing behind a small bar at the far side of the pool. I thought after I took a quick plunge I would see what he had to sell. The water was wonderful and after swimming a few laps I got out, purchased a warm Coke from the bar and found a lounge chair where I could dry off and enjoy the book I had brought with me.

I was almost asleep when I was distract­ed by the hotel exit door latch click. I turned to see that a woman was joining me. I had not seen this woman at dinner the night before so I guessed she had checked in that morning. I had never seen such a beauti­ful, stately woman since I arrived in Algeria. She was obviously of African descent since her skin was almost jet black. Her walk out to the pool with her colorful, long robe swinging at every step reminded me of fashion models I had seen on TV. She had some sort of col­ored wrap on her head and large turquoise ear rings hung almost to her shoulders. She was at least six feet tall.

To my surprise the woman sat on the lounge chair next to me and greeted me warm­ly in French. I wondered why she had chosen to sit by me since there were ample lounge chairs located around the pool, and there were no other guests lounging by the pool but us. Pleased that she had decided to sit by me, however, I returned the greet­ing in the best French I could muster. I guessed she immedi­ate­ly picked up that I was American and started a conversation with me in perfect English.

"You are American?" she said.

I nodded and introduced myself and said I was in Algeria on busi­ness. She introduced herself simply as Ada. We passed several questions back and forth and I found out to my surprise that she was originally from Somalia but lived and worked in Paris. She said she had come to this part of the country as a tourist and was traveling with two other women she had met in Algiers before coming south. Her compan­ions, she explained, chose to stay in the hotel for the after­noon. The woman was still sitting and facing me while I remained prone on the lounge chair.  As the conversation contin­ued, she asked how the water was and told me she was going to try it out. At that she loos­ened the three or four ties on her robe and dropped it to the chair. Under it she was com­pletely naked except for a bikini bottom that was little more than a string hold­ing a small triangular cloth patch covering her pelvic hair. I know I must have gasped at the site. The woman's body was magnificent. I had never seen a naked black woman before and I must have stared in awe at her com­plete beauty. She apparently paid no attention to my stares while she tiptoed over to the pool for a grace­ful and perfect dive into the water.

Embarrassed at my significant arousal over the scene of her walking away from me, I tried to look and act nonchalant. For a few moments she was in the pool, I tried to gain my composure, but soon she was popping out of the pool and was drying herself a few feet from me with a large beach towel. The drying process with the towel was like something out of a movie, it was so sensuous. When she got through, she spread the towel out on the lounge chair next to mine and stretched out facing me to continue the conver­sation. After a few mo­ments I noticed I was having a hard time con­cen­trating and had to force myself to focus on what she was saying.  My arousal persisted, so I finally excused myself and walked to the pool to see if I could cool off. The cold water worked and soon I was back again more calmly listening to what the woman had to say.

Her questioning led me to believe she was very interested in what I was doing. Her knowl­edge of the Algerians was great and I discovered I was learning a great deal about them, especial­ly those that were resident in France. While I picked up bits and pieces of what she was saying I thought it was uncanny how a person who said she worked in Paris and was from Somalia knew so much about Algeria and what the Algerian Govern­ment was up to.

We had been talking like this for almost an hour and I had been in the pool at least three times when again I heard the click of the hotel exit door and looked to see that it was Marie coming to the pool. For a panic second I wished that I was somewhere else because I was sure I would be discussing this matter of my sitting next to an almost naked woman in one of our future conversa­tions. I'm sure I had turned completely red by the time she came up to me.

"I'm glad you are here, Jack. And I see you have met Ada. We meet again, Ada," Marie said nodding to the woman who had been so adequately entertaining me for the last hour.

"Oui, bonjour, Marie," Ada answered with what I picked up as a slight coldness.

            Marie took the chair next to me putting me in the middle between both women. At once she began a conversation with Ada, talking across me in French as if they were best of friends. I was only able to pick up a few words here and there, but I could gather they were talking about me. When they laughed I guessed they were talking about my obvious embarrass­ment at Ada's undress. Shifting then to English, Marie asked how the water was, and then she dis­robed in preparation to enjoy the water. Aghast at this second pleasure of the day, I noticed myself staring at Marie's naked upper body. She also was wear­ing noth­ing but one-piece bikini only centimeters larger than Ada's. With her, there was also no embar­rass­ment nor was there any mention of her lack of attire. The first thing that came to my mind as I tried to hide my embarrassment at a second surge of adrenaline was how could I ever ex­plain this scene to Kay considering my commit­ment to her of being open about my relation­ship with Marie.

So there I was stuck between two al­most naked women worrying about how I would ever explain such a situation to my wife. I commit­ted to myself never to bring it up. I decided, rather, to surrender to the situation and enjoy my good fortune. Before we depart­ed the pool area a couple of hours later I had slipped off to the pool to "cool off" sever­al more times.

For dinner that night I joined Marie in the lobby, but Mahmoud and Ahmed were absent again. I asked Marie if she had seen them anytime during the day and she said no. I could see Ada was already waiting by the window in the dining room with two other women whom I assumed were her traveling compan­ions from Paris. When Marie and I went in Ada greeted me warm­ly, but now for some unknown reason Ada again seem­ed cold to Marie. As Marie and I took our places at the table Ada came over to me and kissed me on the cheek before she sat down and intro­duced her friends. A conversa­tion immedi­ately started between all the ladies and I knew it was about the CEMEL project since I heard the acronym men­tioned sever­al times. I just as­sumed Marie was telling the other ladies about our trips and data gather­ing missions.

When the meal was placed on the table Marie leaned over to me and whispered that we were very fortunate at being served that night with a very traditional Arabic meal called couscous. The meal was elegantly laid out with one large bowl of a thin broth with large vege­tables floating in it. Next to it was an equally large bowl of steamed cracked wheat, and then finally the meat dish made up of large chunks of goat meat Marie explained was cooked like a beef pot roast. The smell was wonderful, but for a moment I hesitated eating it recall­ing the pic­ture of the farmer arriving at the one butcher shop in town and flopping the goat on the ground. I won­dered if what I was about to eat was either that goat or the other fly-ridden one that I saw going toward the hotel on the back of the cart. I finally capitulated to the experi­ence and ate the dish as if it were prepared in the Waldorf Hotel in New York.

The temperature cooled some that evening, so I retired to my bed to read my book hoping to prepare myself for what might happen the next day at the pool if I had courage again to venture out. It was cooler the next day so I spent most of it in my room sleep­ing and reading and wondering how I was going to deal with Marie for the rest of our trip. I con­cluded that I would act no differently with her because of what I had inter­preted as her sincere interest in being a friend.

Later in the afternoon I ventured to the pool and swam a few laps, finally drying off and sleeping on one of the lounge chairs. I re­main­ed alone the whole time. I had not seen Ada or her companions and concluded they had left, her part of her visit here being completed. That evening I met Marie for dinner, and for the second day I had not seen Ahmed or Mahmoud. I asked Marie if she knew of their whereabouts and she said they may be visiting friends in the area, since the Citroen was not in the parking lot. She said she was sure they were around somewhere and that I should not be worried. That frightened me some, but I knew I could do nothing about it anyway. 

Again the meal was fabulous and less trau­matic than the night before. Served as the main dish were grilled shrimp like I had en­joyed in Algiers several times. After the meal, Marie and I retired to the lobby to discuss the next day's itiner­ary. This was the first opportunity I had alone with Marie since we left Algiers. Our conversation fo­cused on our business but I kept recalling the scene from the pool. Marie must have sensed my uneasi­ness or lack of focus and asked me about it.

"I hope you were not too embarrassed at my nakedness at the pool yesterday," Marie commented out of the blue. "Ada and I both noticed that you seemed uneasy and talked about it. I hope you will accept my apology that we laughed about your obvious embarrass­ment. It was crude of both of us to laugh and talk about it in French so you would not understand."

I never admitted that I was embarrassed as such, but only commented that it was very unusual to see this behavior and that I was not used to seeing topless women in public places. To ease the situation and help her to under­stand my culture, I explained how big a thing it was when I was a teenager to swim naked in the irrigation canal with girls in the community in which I lived. She laughed when I told her that only the wildest girls ever participated in the activity with the boys and that we called it "skinny-dipping." Marie said she had never heard the expression.

"Those of us with European heritage get much pleasure in enjoying the sites of each other's bodies," Marie explained. "There is no embarrass­ment in it for us and it is not uncom­mon to enjoy the beaches while com­pletely naked. However, Algerians of Arab or Berber descents would never consider such an activity. Those of us who enjoy this naked­ness on the beaches near Algiers must be very dis­crete. Before I attempted it here, I made sure with the hotel management that it would be okay. Ada never con­sidered it would be a problem to you and was acting very natural­ly."

"I will say this Marie, how much I en­joyed being at the pool with you and Ada. Being in­volved with such openness is some­thing as an American I envy you for enjoying. I must say to you as well, Marie, you have a beautiful body that is easily enjoyed."

"Thank you, Jack," she answered a little embarrassed, I believe. "But you must have no­ticed how much more beautiful Ada was than I. After seeing her at the pool, I was myself a little taken back and felt much inferi­or to her. I don’t know if Ada told you, but in France, Ada is a professional model of some renown."

Marie then got up from her chair walked around the coffee table and kissed me on both cheeks and the mouth, then quietly left for her room. Of all the times I might have ever been tempted with adultery, this was one. But again, I held my ground and my commit­ment to Kay and went off to my room alone.

When we got ready to leave Berriane after the weekend, Mahmoud was there as if he had been the entire time, and so was Ahmed. It seemed, as Marie had supposed, that both of them had gone off to visit friends in the region.

We were a little later than expected when we left Berriane­. We had already missed an appointment at one village about seventy five kilometers east of there and the rest of the visits to the villages were also de­layed some. Mahmoud told Marie he could make up some of the time, but that he estimated our arrival in Touggourt, our next over­night, would be 8:00 p.m. at best.

The busi­ness we con­ducted at various villages was very predictable. The farther south we got we began to notice a definite difference in people's attitudes. Appar­ent­ly the Americans were in quite good favor farther south since there had been a good deal of activity in the last four years by Ameri­can compa­nies develop­ing the petroleum resources in the area. The Rus­sians, of course, had come into the area many years earlier with promises of grandeur, but again had not deliv­ered. The few drilling rigs they had delivered to the Algerians in the 1960's were now down to one and all the other Russian-made rigs had been stripped down for parts to keep that one rig going. Just like at the SNS steel com­plex, the Russians had let the Algerians down when it came to spare parts for the oil drilling industry in the country. The Americans had now won great favor in this region of the coun­try because of swift and on-time deliveries of equip­ment, adequate spare parts and service guaran­tees that were work­ing.

Like Mahmoud predicted, we arrived in Toug­gourt about 8:00 p.m. It had been a long and grueling day of driving. Mahmoud hummed and whistled almost every hour of the day and for the first time that since I had known him he was smiling, cheerful and talk­ative. Of course, I didn't understand any­thing he said, but Marie kept up on the interpre­tation when it was necessary. Most of what Mahmoud had to say was small talk and I never learned a great deal about him.

The Les Rostemides Hotel in down-town Touggourt looked like it was right out of old Mexico. It was a squat one-story building that had over one hundred fifty rooms spread out and around what seem­ed to cover almost an entire city block. In front along the street, the building had scalloped para­pets that extend­ed down to the ground like arch­ways. In a dusty, dirty way the hotel locat­ed in the city center was a beautiful sight. I was also impressed with the city of Toug­gourt. It seemed newer than anything I had seen elsewhere in Algeria. It even seemed as if it were a planned city. The streets were wide, access to different parts of town were reasonable, and it seemed to have some sense of ambience . . . fitting well into its bleak, desert surroundings.

The hotel was clean and roomy inside. The rooms were even modern and reminded me of many nice U.S. motels where I had stayed.  As soon as I checked in and went to my room I called Bob Harper to give him an update on our travels and to see if there was any news from home that needed to be passed on. He was pleased with our progress but little interested in details, which he said he would go over more thoroughly when he read my final report.

As the last rays of sunset settled over the dusty horizon, Marie and I met and left the hotel to find a place to eat. Mahmoud and Ahmed chose to eat at the modest hotel café.  Marie and I walked for several blocks fol­lowing a lead Marie had for a good restaurant. Walking along the streets we passed something I had not seen in any other parts of the country. On every block we saw open store fronts with racks for large and small Persian-like rugs. Every variety of rugs anyone would ever imagine was hanging across these crude wood­en frames. Marie knew a little about those particu­lar types of frames and displays, but ex­plained that Touggourt was famous for these rugs that were all made by a single tribe of Bedouins that lived in this area. Marie had learned that in the past few years the government had been relocat­ing Bed­ouins to Touggourt for the purpose of centraliz­ing the rug manufacturing businesses and that the pro­cess had been a resounding success. I made a mental note to ask about this relocation system when we met with the town council the next morning. It certainly looked like a success­ful venture and I was anxious to pursue it fur­ther.

            It was comforting and pleasant being alone with Marie again for the first time on our trip to the South. She was gracious and bubbly and again communicating in that very unique way that I had come to enjoy so much. We found a restaurant a few blocks from the hotel and decided to stop our shopping and eat. The meal was traditional Ara­bic . . . much different than the more common French dishes ­we had seen so many other places. With the conversation bouncing from one subject to another, we sat at our table eating and drink­ing wine and tea until almost 11:00 p.m., neither of us even realizing how late it was becoming.

By the time we sauntered back to the hotel it was past 11:30 p.m. We walked down the long hall to our rooms and paused a moment in front of Marie's room. I noticed her looking both ways up and down the hall, and then she reached over and put her arms around my neck in a wonderful embrace. Holding me like that for a moment, she then kissed me on the mouth and retired to her room.

I went to my room once again feeling that surge of excitement with having been with this strange and wonderful woman. With Marie's warm­ness, I wondered, was I being sucked into some­thing, not even realizing it because of my attraction to her? However, I didn't spend much more time thinking about it. After the long day on the road, when I hit the bed, I remembered nothing more until my alarm woke me at six the next morning.

Except for the business with the oil rigs I heard very little else about the Russians at the meeting with Touggourt's Town Council mem­bers. The part about the relocated Bedouins, howev­er, was a topic of a long conversation. The idea for the relocation came from a U.S. consul­tant that had come to this part of the country with the oil-drilling people. He had been the one to suggest that while the city was being developed to serve the oil and natural gas indus­try in this region, that it also try to implement something that would support this already centu­ries-old indus­try rug weaving industry. The consultant had predicted correctly that many thousands of for­eigners, espe­cially Americans, would be coming into this town and that the market for the rugs could not help but grow. Up to the time the consultant Mr. Frazier came to this region the Bedouins had made the rugs in crude settings outside their camel hair tents in the desert then brought them to town to sell in the Market Place. Frazier, it seems, had envisioned that this simple industry could pros­per if it had a central outlet for its goods and if visitors to the region could get ready access both to the selling and to the making of the rugs. At first the Bedou­ins resisted being relocated from their nomadic life to this more semi-industrialized, static setting, but after a few families understood its benefits more people agreed to the relocation options and took the challenge. The Bedouins that raised the animals for the wool were soon prospering also because fewer grazers were competing for the scarce fo­liage. The central location also made it first possi­ble for the wool commerce and trade to exist in the country since wool was shipped in from other regions of Algeria to Touggourt. The availabili­ty of power also made it possible for rug assem­blers to mecha­nize some of their operation, thus making them even more productive.

Our visit to Touggourt ended before noon that day and we were off to visit two more towns nearby before we headed north for the beginning of a two or three day trip back to Algiers. Until this time I had been taking sketchy notes of the visits to each of the villages and needed to compile those notes into a Trip Report. Trip and Conference Reports were a vital part of the Project and one means the project administrators had of keeping the Minis­ter informed of our progress in all various sectors of the study.

After we finished our last visit and had lunch in town I set my mind to writing my Trip Report. While I was getting things spread out in the back seat of the Citroen, Marie asked if she could assist me in writing the document. She suggested I dictate from my notes while she wrote. Her convincing argument was that she could write the report in English in such a way that it would be easier to translate into French in its final version that would be delivered to the Ministry. She said since she would be doing much of the translation work for the project that this method would make her job much easier and ultimately cheaper for the project since she worked on an hourly basis in this effort.

I was pleased with the way this method moved the writing of the Trip Report along with ease. Marie was marvelously attentive to my dictation and as I noticed her writing I could see that her handwriting, despite the motion of the car, was much better than mine. I thought at the time that this was also going to help the clerk who had the job of typing all our reports. I didn't notice it for a long time, but after we had traveled for several hours, Mahmoud seemed to be getting irritated over something. On occa­sions when we stopped I would see him having words with Marie, but I was unable to tell what was going on even after I asked Marie. Her answer was that he was just getting exasper­ated because of being away from home so long and she was merely trying to sooth him.

On our return trip we had several more towns to visit so our route took us east of the route we had taken while we were going south. In doing so we went through El Oued that was quite close to the Tuni­sian border. When we neared this area Marie told me a little about the politics of this volatile part of North Africa and how the Rus­sians had for years been trying to implant the Communist doctrine in all the people of North Africa.

We stopped the first night of our return trip in Biskra and stayed in a hotel called Sidi Okba. The larger Ziban Biskra Hotel was full when we arrived. It seemed there was some confusion about our reservation. Mahmoud tried to throw his weight around to get us rooms, but was unsuccess­ful. The Sidi Okba Hotel remind­ed me some of the hotel we stayed in at Oran, but it didn't measure up to Oran's stan­dard. We managed, however, and the food was quite good. It didn't matter much since we were all tired, so we ignored the inconvenience and left the next morning in the early hours.

Before we had gone too far I noticed Mahmoud's attitude was back to pleasantness and joking with Marie. At one point Marie began to interpret a long story he was telling her about his experiences during the Revolution. The story was fascinating and told about his leaving his mountain home to follow the leadership of the young Alge­rian Activist who got the revolu­tion underway. The story seemed to go on all morn­ing as we gained more and more elevation and were getting back into the benches of the south slopes of the Atlas Mountains. When we entered the mountains, Mahmoud launched into more stories of hunting expedi­tions him and his brothers and family took each year for wild pigs that roamed the tops of the moun­tains. We were now entering the area where Mahmoud grew up and he was getting more excited.

During a pause in his hunting story, Marie whispered to me that Mahmoud was working up to ask me if it would be all right to side step our main route back to Algiers about sixty kilometers to travel to his home town of Aïn Oulmerre.  He had spoken about a nice hotel there and the restaurant owned by his uncle where we could eat.

After Mahmoud finished his hunting stories we went for many miles before he finally asked Marie to interpret the very request she predicted. The side-trip sounded great and as we were getting home on the last day before the weekend I could see no reason for not stopping there for the night. Mahmoud was obviously elated to hear my accep­tance and soon we were on our way.

We weren't yet in the high moun­tains, but I could see from our map that the town Mahmoud had been raised in was about twenty five hundred feet above sea level compared with the near sea level desert we had traveled through near Toug­g­ourt. Enter­ing Aïn Oulmerre was another new experi­ence. I had been in many mountain towns in the U.S. that reminded me much of this one. I was especially interested in how similar the town was to some rural towns I had seen on the West­ern highlands of the Rock­ies in Colora­do. Large pine trees circled the town and many of the houses were wonder­fully crafted out of logs. Mahmoud dropped Marie and I off at the hotel and told us to meet him outside in about one hour. He said he would be taking us to his uncle's restau­rant for dinner.

As directed, Marie and I were out front of the hotel in one hour. Marie had changed into a beautiful outfit, more than proper for the occasion. And for the first time since I had known her she was wearing a slight touch of makeup and had ruffled her hair in a very loose style that brought out her beauty. She was stunning and when I saw her I was sure she must have noticed that I was staring because she walked over to me and nudged me with her elbow.

"You have never seen me dressed up," she teased. "I thought this being a special occasion . . . our last night on the road for a while, and cele­brating Mahmoud's homecoming . . . I would dress up."

"You look stunningly beautiful, Ma­rie," I followed. "As I said once before, it would be easy to fall in love with you."

"Now you are the one who is teasing," she replied.

Just then Mahmoud drove up. I was very relieved at having someone else around. When we got into the car Mahmoud commented something to Marie that I guessed was a compliment as I understood her shy Arabic, "Thank you."

Mahmoud rattled on to Marie while we drove across the small town finally coming to a rather nice café he announced was his uncle's. As we entered, it was as if the entire town had come to the restaurant to greet us. Mahmoud showed us both off as if we were his prized catches for the night, introducing us to all the men first then to a handful of women who remained a bit in the background. I was sur­prised to see these rural women unveiled and assumed by what I saw, that the Berbers did not require their women to be veiled. I wondered if they were Muslim.

We were soon ushered to a table that had been set and decorated with a beautiful flower arrangement. When we sat down, in the corner a trio of men joined us and began to play some interesting, but rather disso­nant music on stringed instruments of a type I had never seen before. Soon a quartet of men was singing and a half dozen more were danc­ing. Mahmoud, I thought, had really organized this party in a hurry; and I was pleased that Marie and I seemed to be the guests of honor. I really noticed after a while, however, that most of the attention was being paid to my French/Lebanese companion. Mahmoud popped in and out of the picture from time to time, but he played a very small role in the goings-on.

Dinner was served family style and several of the other patrons joined us at the table. Marie explained she would be of little use to me in inter­preting much of what they were saying because of their strong rural Berber dialect of which she was not familiar. It all melted together for me anyway while the party got more and more rowdy. While I had seen only a small amount of wine being served with dinner, I assumed by their ostentatious behavior that most of them had been drinking long before we got there. I concluded from what I was seeing, that Berbers were not Muslims, or that these Muslims were okay about alcohol. Mahmoud seemed a little tipsy, even though it was hard to tell from his usual mild behavior that seemed to prevail ever since I had known him. Ahmed ate with us, but remained rather subdued during the party. Long before the party was over he left for the hotel saying he would walk back.

The music and dancing went on until almost midnight. I was getting tired so I asked Marie if she could find some way to excuse us so we could go back to the hotel. In a moment she was having a private conversation with Mahmoud and we were soon on our way. I had enjoyed my first experience at a real ethnic gathering in Algeria and vowed I would somehow manage to return to the moun­tains at a later date on a weekend or on another business trip. Marie encouraged me to do so saying that she knew some places on the high mountain tops nearer to Algiers where exquisite jewelry was handcrafted by the Berbers. It was a must to visit, she insisted. I got the feeling that she was fishing for me to arrange for the trip and invite her, but I let it drop for the moment and didn't take the bait.

When Mahmoud dropped us off he requested that we have a late start back to Algiers the next day since it was Thursday, the beginning of the weekend and he did not get paid for his driving hours on the weekend. I accepted his request after consulting with Marie and we were dropped off at the front entrance of the hotel.

Walking to our rooms after picking up our keys, Marie asked if I would like to accompany her in the morning on a walk through the town market place we had seen as we came into town. She said it might be an interesting experience and that I should bring my camera. I accepted her invitation, and was glad she hadn't asked me to go to her room. We then parted compa­ny. I really hated to leave Marie that night. The party atmosphere and how she had looked through­out the evening had left me rather en­chanted. I realized after thinking about it, however, that I was more homesick knowing that I was coming into another weekend away from home.

I was barely out of the shower and dressed when I heard Marie's knock at the door the next morning. It was just past 8:00 a.m. when she came by inviting me to join her for a Continen­tal Break­fast at the hotel café before we took our walk. The morning flew by as we hurried to the market place and returned just in time to meet Mahmoud. For the first time since I had started using his services, Mahmoud showed up clean shaven wearing a different tweed sport coat. He had even gotten a trim on his usual short-cropped hair. We loaded our bags without cere­mony and were soon heading out of town for what would be about a four hour drive through moun­tain roads back to Algiers. We made it to Marie's house about 3:00 p.m. and I was soon delivered to the El Aurassi Hotel.

While the project work progress­ed I estimated I was going to be in Algeria two more weeks on the present trip so I started to make plans to use my weekends to see some of the places Marie and I had discussed. There were two places that seemed most appealing. One was the high mountain villages where jewelry was being made by Berber crafts­men and the other was a place along the Medi­terranean shoreline west of Al­giers. I had learned of an ancient city that was once the Roman seaport for most major ship­ments of wine and fresh vegetables and fruits by the Romans to Italy during the reign of the Roman Empire.

After talking it over with some of the other project team members I learned that spe­cial ar­rangements could be made to acquire the Ministry drivers to chauf­feur for weekend activities.  The project just had to be willing to pay for the driver's time out of Bechtel petty cash, not CEMEL expense funds, and it could be managed. When I learned this I discussed the matter with Harper and he agreed to the arrange­ment for at least one of the two week­ends I had left on this trip. For several days after I made the arrange­ments and secured Mahmoud to be my driver that weekend, I struggled with the notion of inviting Marie to accompany me. Every time I tried to justify it on the basis of my own personal need to have someone along to interpret, I talked myself out of it. I was feeling guilty wanting to spend time with Marie. But I was getting very lonely, I knew that, and I knew I was very vulnerable having been in Algeria almost six weeks already. I was caught up in an impossi­ble situation that seemed to have no good solu­tion.

Marie had been working in our office trans­lating documents that week and apparently had talked to Mahmoud about my plans to go to the moun­tains. All the time Marie worked in the office I tried to be discrete about our close rela­tionship and avoided just passing time with her. There were times, of course, when we had to talk about her translation work when it was on documents I had generated, but for the most part we stayed away from each other. Then it hap­pened. She ap­proached me on the patio outside the office. Most of the other team members were in a meeting outside the office and I had stepped out to the patio to have a Coke.

"Jack," Marie said as she approached me. "There is something I have learned that I wish to ask you about. Mahmoud was telling me that you have arranged to contract his servic­es this com­ing weekend and that you are plan­ning to visit some of the villages in the moun­tains east of here. I have this weekend com­pletely free and would look forward to a chance to go with you. I have no car as you know, and would dearly love to visit that part of my coun­try since I have only heard about it and never visited there."

I knew I must have blushed when she asked me because I had a hunch I was going to be asked that question. But before I could answer her, she continued . . .

"I have saved my money for just such a trip hoping I might talk you into it. After we talked about these places on our last trip, I hoped this might materialize for us. It would cost you nothing for me to go along, and of course, you would have my interpretive services free of charge."

Without even considering the consequenc­es, I immediately and enthusiastically agreed to her proposal. I did, however, stipulate in my agree­ment that she should say nothing to anyone on the project about this since I was nervous about any possible implied improprieties being dis­cussed among my colleagues. I asked also that she discuss this same concern I had with Mahmoud. Marie assured me that she would keep the details of our trip to­gether a secret. She said she would also discuss the matter dis­cretely with Mahmoud. I was relieved to have it over with. At least, I convinced myself, I had not asked her. That somehow seemed easier and cleaner.

Mahmoud picked me up at the hotel about 8:00 a.m. the next Thursday. A few minutes later we were at Marie's front gate picking her up and we were on our way. The trip to the east took us into some startlingly beautiful country. Of all the places I had been in Algeria, nothing compared to this. Once we got into the mountains the road winded along narrow steep canyons that were so thickly wood­ed it was almost impossible to see more than twenty feet or more off the road. There was just the road and the walls of the canyons, but the road itself was mostly flat and didn't raise much in eleva­tion. Other than small streams along the canyon bottoms, the walls of the canyons rose abruptly at almost cliff-like angles to heights I estimated must have exceeded over half a mile in most places. The side hills to their tops were completely covered with low growing vegetation with few trees more than twenty feet high. Looking ahead I could see these steep canyon walls rounded off on top. It seemed like I was looking at rows of hills about a half mile high that were rounded on top like loaves of bread with no sign of outcrops or rocky ledges that I had sus­pected there might be. Rather, right to their tops the trees and undergrowth were thick and unbroken.

We traveled for untold miles in these canyons that did not open up that had no signs of villages or people anywhere. Even to see a car or truck was a rare sight. In some places the roads were paved and fairly smooth and in others the road was no more than a smooth gravel bed with patches of asphalt here and there. Finally we came to a branch in the road. Mahmoud took the one to the left and began to make his way up a very narrow dugway cut into the side of the canyon wall. The road had literally been carved out of the rocky hillside and was held in place on the outside by high rock retaining walls. There were only a few places in this five to six mile incline where two cars could pass. Luckily, we met no cars coming down.

When we got nearer the top I noticed trails were cut along the steep hillsides and women were carrying large bundles of twigs on their backs up these steep trails to the top. Marie explained through Mahmoud's interpreta­tion that the villages were all built on the tops of the mountains and most had no access from the canyon bottom except these trails we were seeing. This was one of the few places where a road had been constructed to a village and we would soon be seeing it. When we got nearer the top of this loaf-like mountain, it became almost flat. But the top was still narrow and like the side we had ascend­ed, the other side went just as steep down to another parallel canyon far below.

I could see for miles in all directions. It was amazing. There was a hamlet on almost every ridge-top in every direction I looked. Mahmoud explained that the villages had been built on the tops of the mountains many hun­dreds of years earlier by the Berbers, the remnants of whom were still settled there. It was the only place they could seek refuge when they were driven out of the lowlands by Arab invaders. Eventually the Arabs gave up their fighting with the Berbers, but most of them stayed in these high moun­tain retreats making it their permanent home. Ultimately these remaining Berbers intermarried with the native mountain people (other more ancient Berbers) forming the ethnic groups that existed today.

Over the centuries entire trading econo­mies were devel­oped between the Berbers and the people in the lowlands, but all supplies going either way had to be brought up or down the foot trail networks that were carved out of the hill­sides. What we had seen with the women carrying the wood for fuel was only a piece of the total economy. Mahmoud ex­plained that none of the men did any of the hauling of supplies up the mountain. Rather it was all done by the women and chil­dren. This included the necessi­ties such as water, food and fuel. The men were designated as shop-keepers, jewelry makers and tradesmen.

            The village came into view as we arrived at the top of the mountain. I learned that the nearest city to this village was called Akbou, a fairly large industrial city down in the valley below. For such a remote place, this mountain-top village was quite large; seeming almost precariously perched on top of the small razor-back ridge. Even though it was con­struct­ed along the ridge it had several parallel streets with homes and shops strung out for a good half mile. Many of the homes were con­nected one with another and most were two stories high made entirely from stone. Small alleys connect­ed the parallel cobble-stone streets linking them in a checker­board-like grid. The architecture was like nothing I had seen anywhere in Algeria. It was certainly not of French origin like most of Algiers. I supposed it must have come from some other source.

I estimated the population of the village to be at least two thousand, but there were no more than five to six cars and trucks in the entire place. I saw a few small wagons and a couple of don­keys, but it appeared that most things were carried to the village by hand or on people's shoulders. When we passed people walk­ing along the trails and roads, I noticed most of the women seemed to be very robust. Many were carrying water on double yoke frames on their shoulders. The wooden water buckets were at least five gallons in size making them each weigh about thirty five pounds. The sight of manu­al labor sustaining a community of two thousand people abso­lutely took by breath away.

Mahmoud stopped the car along the street at what looked like the village center and then he excused himself to find a place where we could eat. Marie and I were soon busying ourselves looking for jewelry-making shops. We discov­ered that almost every shop had one or two jewelers bending over small vices holding bits and pieces of silver they were busily fash­ioning into earrings, broaches and necklaces. All were using either simple solder­ing torches or more elaborate brazing equipment.

The process was fascinating to watch and each jeweler we saw seemed pleased that we were watching them. All the pieces were made from silver, but the craftsmen were most intent on inlaying the silver with small bits of melted, col­ored glass. The designs were ex­tremely fine, lacy and colorful. The jewelers all seemed to be using ordinary colored glass that was ground into fine powder then melted so it could be poured in place on the silver lattice­work. We purchased a few pieces and found they were quite expensive. For one set of earrings I purchased, I had to pay the equiva­lent of about fifty dollars, but it was worth it since I had found very few me­mentos I felt like pur­chasing any­where in the country. In most places outside of this village the quality of goods was really lacking and hardly worth consider­ation.

After about an hour of moving about and watching the jewelers Marie and I thought we better find Mahmoud and get some lunch our­selves. We soon found him in the only restau­rant in town, a tiny quaint place with intricate cut glass windows adorning the front of the building. It was a nice place inside and we enjoyed a very good meal there. We learned that this mountain-top village was the most accessi­ble and nearest to Algiers, so it got more than its share of tourist trade and that's why it could sustain such a nice restau­rant. How­ever, it seemed that on our day to visit the town we were the only tourists about. Mahmoud explained that most people worked six days in Algiers and that Friday would be a busy one for the village.

Marie and Mahmoud had arranged the itiner­ary for this trip and I was simply told the places we would go. As we journeyed from place to place I was very pleased with their choices. After visiting the first village Marie asked if I would like to change plans slightly and see a couple more like it then we would leave the mountains and head down to the coastline where we would find a resort hotel to stay in.

"I'm quite happy to just go along for the drive," I agreed. "I am enjoying this trip immensely. Let's just stay with yours and Mahmoud's plan."

            It was late afternoon when we finally left the mountains and headed north toward the coastline. While we traveled, the coun­tryside opened up and became farm­land with fewer forest­ed areas. Every­where I looked there were fruit orchards. These were like no other I had ever seen. Marie explained that sunlight was a premium along the upper benches of the north­ern slopes of the Atlas Mountains that re­quired that fruit trees be spe­cially pruned and strung to capture the most sun. To receive the most sun, trees had been planted in rows be­tween high power poles that had cables strung between them beginning about two feet above the ground then every four or five feet until there were about four or five parallel rows of cables. The pruned trees were tied to the cables much the same as grape vines are tied to wires stretched between posts. I could understand the logic in it, but these narrow tall trees certainly looked strange.

Our travels soon brought us to the coast and to the resort area hotel where we would spend the first night. The Hotel Manager greet­ed us in French when we walked into this simple but quite nice hotel located next to the most beauti­ful beach I had ever seen in the resort area Marie said was called, Tigzit. "Welcome to the Hotel Mediter­ranean," he said, "how may we help you?"

Marie was sensitive that I was struggling to understand and communicate with the gentle­man in my rather weak French. "We need three rooms for the night," she explained.  I paid for all three of the rooms and soon we were off to see what we had paid for. The cost was very modest and the rooms seemed about what we had paid for . . . very little luxury, but clean and simple.

We met in a few minutes at the hotel restau­rant. By that time, Mahmoud had already found someone he knew and was going to eat with him. The night was very warm, so when we finished eating Marie suggested we try out the beach before going to bed. It was a beauti­ful night and we were on no time schedule for the morning, so I agreed.

"Get your towel and swim suit, Jack, and I will meet you here on the Boardwalk in a few moments," Marie suggested as we left the dining room.

I went to my room and changed into my swim suit and was on the Boardwalk just as Marie arrived. She had let her hair down and in the moonlight with her colorful large towel, she looked radiant. As soon as we met she grabbed my hand and literally pulled me on a run down to the water that was several hundred feet out across a sandy beach. The sand was smooth, fine and warm here . . . and white like the courser sand we had seen on the beach at Skikda.

When we got to the water Marie just dropped her towel and ran to the water. This time I was not so surprised to see she was topless and was wear­ing her string bikini. I just followed her to the water and tried to play it cool. Back on the beach after the freezing dip we stretched out on the warm sand to dry off and get warm again. Marie threw her towel down close to mine and laid out on her back just inches away from me. I had gotten there first and was lying on my side facing her when she stretched out on her towel, still wet from the swim. In the moonlight her breasts sparkled with the drops of water and her nipples stood up hard from the chill of the breeze that cooled them. At first she said nothing while she lay there watch­ing me helplessly staring at her beautiful body.

"I think you like the view, Jack," she ex­claimed quite forthrightly. “Once again I sense that you are longing for home and being with your wife, and my lying her near you somehow makes this more difficult for you.”

There was no teasing in her voice and my blood surged when I thought about what she said.

I relaxed a little and was finally able to say something.

"What a mysterious woman you are, Marie. I don't know how to read you. Yes, you are right. I do miss Kay desperately and I do love her very much and miss being with her. It amazes me that you see that so clearly."

"I believe I am knowing you better, Jack, after all these weeks of being with you. You are a wonderful man and I admire and love you, so much in fact, that I would never violate your love of Kay. Please know that my observation is done so because we are such dear friends."

"It is a gift, Marie; and I, too, love you in a very special way. You are a comfort and a joy to be with and I'm glad that we are here tonight."

There was a pause, then Marie took her hand and cupped it over mine using both hands now to hold my hand.

"Look at the stars, Jack," she continued after the long silent pause. "It is a sight we rarely see so clearly in Algiers because of the smoke in the air. Do you love it as much as I do?"

To see where she was looking I had to remove my hand from hers and turn back on my back.

"Yes, Marie, it is a beautiful sight. With the sound and fresh smell of the water, and the gentle light of the quarter moon, I can't think of a more beauti­ful sight."

While I lay there quietly staring into the sky, Marie rolled over next to me bringing her large blanket-like towel over both of us, then she laid her head on my shoulder. This caused her breasts, now warm, to lie against my bare body, and some­how it seemed all right, though my erection must have been plainly noticeable to her. I think she knew that and so for the next hour or more we lay like that with the sound of our breathing mingling with the slow, gentle surf. My thoughts were random and won­derfully calm.

The later it got the cooler it became until it was evident to both of us that we had to stop what we were doing and return to the hotel. With our towels wrapped around us again, we walked to the hotel and directly to our rooms stopping only long enough in front of Marie's room for a warm and tender embrace.

We spent most of the next day wandering about on the beach. To my surprise Mahmoud even came out with a towel and slept part of the time in the sun. Marie and I did not talk about the previ­ous evening, but the reminder of it was still there with me. Later when we walked along the beach picking up stones to throw or a sea shell here or there, I felt the bond we had created the night before . . . a friend­ship existed that was unique and different. When I looked at Marie I saw her more than a sexy, desirable woman who had presented herself to me the night before. I felt that in being with her both of us had benefited . . . a mutual giving that somehow made us both grow. I thought that once again I would be taking some­thing home that was special . . . some­thing I could share and enjoy with Kay.

During the day I noticed that while we were in view of the ever watchful Mahmoud, Marie acted like the colleague that she was . . . like a professional associ­ate at work and at play. But when we were alone, she was the touching, communicat­ing and de­lightful friend I liked so much. By the time we were ready to leave Tigzit for the return to Algiers I felt completely comfortable that Marie had offered to go along on this expedition, and was feeling little or no guilt about my feelings for her.

            While I played out the last few days of my third trip to Algeria the work I was doing accel­erated and I was able to complete what I was working on in less than the two weeks I had estimated earlier. Two nights before I was to leave, Marie invited me to her home for dinner. At first I thought it might be an improper move, but finally yielded to it and accepted. The taxi I took to her home traveled through a part of Algiers I had not previously seen. This suburb of the city must have been at one time the most affluent part of the city with villa after villa spread out over the rolling hills high above the city proper. It was beautiful in some ways, but most places were ill-kept. I assumed they were once occupied by French government officials or rich French business people who fled and left them to the Algerians after the Revolution. I had no way of knowing the truth of that, however, and the taxi driver who spoke only minimal English was of no help.

Marie's home sat well into this once affluent area and I could see by her house and yard it had been a wonderful place in its day. I had, of course, seen the place on two other occasions when we had dropped her off after trips, but I had never seen it up close. The lane leading into the villa was long and tree-lined like most I had seen in the neigh­borhood. Her lot, however, was much smaller than most. I estimated its size about one acre. The old home was very Victorian and was architecturally similar to places I had seen on the outskirts of Paris; no doubt built by the French, I thought.

"I am so glad you could come, Jack," Marie said as she greeted me at the door. "Please come in."

Marie was dressed in a silky gown with a low cut top that exposed her cleavage and accen­tuated the beautiful, large pendent that hung around her neck. I noticed also she was wearing some type of musty smelling perfume I had not smelled before. The whole scene was sensual and immediately captivated me. Once again I found myself staring at her when I entered and she openly teased me about it showing it in her words and her actions.

"The woman who helps me with the home a few days of the week has finished for the day and now we have the entire house to ourselves," Marie said as she took me by the arm to bring me in. "Would you like to see it all before we eat?"

"This is a beautiful place, Marie," I said, accepting her invitation. "I never dreamed it was so large just seeing it from the road. How long ago was it built?"

"Long before my father acquired it, actual­ly. We don't know for sure, but believe it was built by a French family who owned it before my father. It was built sometime in the late 1800's. I apologize that it is not as pristine as it once was. Though I own it free of any debt, it is still very expensive to maintain and my taxes are quite high on the property. I am fortunate that the woman who assists me works for very little and is dedicated to keeping the place inside as nice as it is. It has been a place I could com­fortably live in and do much of my translating work. Actu­ally, Jack, I feel very fortunate to still have this grand old home."

Marie flowed from room to room; her gown hung from her body like a ghostly shroud. It looked very much like she had nothing else on. I was so dis­tracted by her grace and beau­ty I hardly noticed anything she showed me. Soon we arrived at the dining room where our places were al­ready set and candles were waiting to be lighted.

We had a wonderful meal with mini­mal amount of small-talk. I sensed Marie had some­thing on her mind, but I didn't press her for it. When the dinner was over she reluctantly allowed me to help her clean up the table but quickly ush­ered me out of the kitchen when I volunteered to assist with the dishes. She said her housekeeper would take care of that in the morn­ing. Marie then took me by the hand to a sitting room and led me to a small carved love seat facing the large window looking out to the dark side-yard.

From a bottle she brought from the small refrigerator in the kitchen before we went into the sitting room, Marie poured each of us a small glass of sparkling cider and then sat down next to me. I was puzzled at the con­cerned look on her face when she pulled her legs up on the couch under her and turned in my direction. I waited as she stared at me for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

"Jack," she finally began, "There is some­thing I must share with you before you leave for home."

She paused again and was quite emotional based on the color in her cheeks and the blotch­ing around her bare neck. My heart was beating up to my throat waiting for what she might be prepar­ing to say. I didn't know what to expect, but dreaded the thought that it might be some­thing about her wanting our relationship to move forward. But she caught me off guard when she finally got around to talking . . .

"Some time ago I told you about my involve­ment with the Algerian Underground during the Revolution. Do you remember?"

I nodded, waiting speechless at what I might next hear.

"Well, my dear, I have pondered long on telling you about my current situation," she contin­ued, "but we have become so close lately, I can no longer hold this back with any con­science. I feel that if I keep this matter a secret our friendship would greatly suffer, and there is nothing I want to get in the way of that.

"You see, I have continued over the years to be very active in the underground political move­ment in Algeria. I am not in total favor of our present government and I believe that some of its decisions are not in the best interest of our nation. Part of the work I am doing is to see to it that our government does not make some of the drastic mistakes of the past. We made many mistakes right after the Revolution and there are factions in this country right now that would want to see those mistakes perpetuated at all cost. I am speak­ing, of course about the Russian influence in our country. You may have noticed when we went to various places these past weeks and months that I did not hold back my emotions about how the Russians have betrayed us.

"What you must know, my dear Jack, is that I have been using you in a way to gather informa­tion for the people with whom I work. I have not been totally honest with you in my dealings on matters of national interest."

Marie paused, caught in her own emotions and then slid over nearer to me on the couch where she could reach out and take my hand in hers. Then, seemingly a bit relaxed by the physical contact with me, she continued . . .

"Jack, it is hard for me to tell you that I have lied to you or held back information from you when I love you so much and know you have been so honest with me. I have not done anything to cause you any harm, but I have passed on certain infor­mation you . . . we have gathered to my friends and associates.

"Don't be mistaken. What you are doing is exactly the direction my organization wants our government to move, but we see that certain ele­ments in our government are not fully in agree­ment with what you are doing and would like it to fail. I have never thought you were ever in any danger in what you are doing, but I do know you have been under surveillance every­where you go. While I have not been able to establish anything for sure, I believe Ahmed is some­how in­volved in that surveillance. From my own research, I have certain knowledge that he had in the past worked for the Russians and we speculate that he might still be doing some work with them. We have no proof, however, and that makes my comments even more tenuous.

"One other thing that I must warn you of, Jack; I believe there is some third party involved in what you are doing and I'm not sure who that is. I've had some of my people attempt to find out who that is, but as yet I have been unable to turn any­thing up."

All she was telling me was somehow very terrifying news to me. I knew from my visits around the country and all the things that I had seen and heard about the Russians was somehow intriguing, but this news was startling to me. But with whom was Ahmed involved, if he was? Was it the Russians or this old-line Algerian Government faction Marie spoke of? I would just have to hear her out.

"You've said nothing, Jack. Do you have anything to say?" Marie insisted.

"I'm shocked, Marie," I stammered, knowing I had to say something. "I don't know what to say. I came to your country to do a job for Bechtel and I suddenly find myself locked into a compli­cated intrigue of friendship and underground investigations."

"I'm sorry, Jack," Marie said as she pulled closer to me and now laid her head on my shoulder. "I do not want our friendship to be affected by this, but I am prepared for what may be."

"You must know, Marie, that I think the world of you and what has occurred does not have to affect our friendship. I am concerned however that you may have taken docu­ments or that you may be using Bechtel with your translating work there, in some illegal manner. And . . . is there any danger for either of us in what you . . . we are doing?"

The questions surrounding this intrigue were really surfacing now and I was fright­ened at the prospects of danger I had not anticipated. I thought I had better get to the bottom of this before it got out of hand.

"Marie," I continued, "if what you say is true about Ahmed, for example, what are the chances that you or I might be whisked off some evening and disappear into the night?"

"You should not be concerned about that, Jack, for yourself anyway," she insisted.  "What you and your firm are doing is much too impor­tant and too visible for one of its members to just disappear. And another thing, what you are doing is very valuable to my organization's goals. We want you to continue your studies . . . I mean by that everyone involved in CEMEL, and we have taken measures to see that your work continues unham­pered. You must know that ours is a very powerful and influential group in this nation. We have mem­bers that are in very high places and we have some money to back up our cause. You see, we have been working at this since the mid-Fifties so we've had some prac­tice.

"And this third party that is involved; we have reason to believe the U.S. State Depart­ment is participating for long-term com­mer­cial reasons or it could be the CIA is protect­ing your government's interest here in Algeria. We do know your activi­ties and those of your col­leag­ues are being care­fully monitored, and it is not by us or the Algerian Government, we are sure. It could, however, be the Rus­sians. We know the KGB is involved here in our country but as you have been able to learn, the Russians are quickly losing favor in most parts of the coun­try."

"If it is the KGB, then," I countered, "isn't there some immediate danger for all of us? I'm concerned about you, Marie. What about you?"

"Do not worry about me, my dear. This is just part of my job," Marie assured me. "I have lived with danger and intrigue since I was in school and I have survived. Look at me, Jack, do you see any scars? I will be fine. You must not worry about me."

"One other thing does concern me, Ma­rie," I continued to query. "If it ever becomes known that I am collaborating with an agent of some secret, underground movement in Algeria, I could perhaps be arrest­ed and my life or career could be affected. I feel in a way an innocent party to this.

            "Let me restate my position, Marie," I went on, "I see no conflict in what I am doing and what your mission is about as long as it doesn't come to taking of documents. In fact, it would seem we are working as a team for the same good. I don't feel deceived by your actions. I am only surprised by your involve­ments. I am ever amazed and intrigued by them . . . how you can so skillfully main­tain two lives and not let it be known. Do not be disturbed that it may affect our rela­tionship. I still want it to be what it is."

There was a silent pause when I finished my statement and Marie slid over closer to me, drop­ping her crossed legs to the floor and almost push­ing her body next to mine like she was comforted by what I had said. I noticed again that surge of desire for this woman and weakly held my ground while I looked at her full voluptuous, inviting breasts inches away from my face and smelled and felt her warmness next to me. The spell was broken when Marie continued her grave serious­ness . . .

"I am relieved to hear you say that, Jack.  What I most feared this evening was that you would walk away angry, feeling de­ceived and dishonored by my actions and by my bold advances toward you. I am indebted to you, Jack."

I had been at Marie's house several hours by then and her statement about indebtedness struck me as good reason to leave the place soon. I was becoming much too vulnerable to be able to carry on this way and in the position I was in much longer. With that resolve I explai­ned to Marie that it was getting late and I must go. Marie did not resist. I guessed she was sensing my uneasiness at our compromising and susceptible situation. We called a taxi and in about fifteen minutes I was holding Marie in a tender embrace saying goodbye. It had been quite a night and I was very emotion­ally charged by it.

Marie and I saw each other in passing once or twice at the office before I left for the States. We spoke only cursory greetings but never had any more time alone. I kept wonder­ing if I was being followed around the city and who might be follow­ing me. I wondered too, if those people who were out there somewhere were also onto Marie by now. The thought even occurred to me with Marie's involvement in the matter, was her house bugged while we were talking the other night? I had many more ques­tions than I had answers. I realized I was also taking home a num­ber of things to be handled with Kay. 

 

Chapter  6 ---Back Home Once Again

 

When I first got home I didn’t share the news about any clandestine things that may have been happening as I traveled and worked in Algeria. I thought if I did, it would just upset Kay. She was already upset with me on the last develop­ments regarding Marie and my relationship that I had shared with her. I had told her briefly about my visit with Marie at her house, but I had not told her about Marie's disclosure to me that she was an undercover agent. I just thought that might unduly muddy the water for now and only serve to upset Kay even more.

A few days after I was home and things seemed to be settling down between Kay and I, I decided I had to share all the details of my last visit to Algeria whatever the results might be. With some hesitation I then went to great detail to tell her more about my most recent trip to Algeria and especially about Marie, my weekend trip with her and my visit to her home. I even told her about Marie's divulgence to me about her membership in the underground organization in Algiers. After I had finished with all the details, Kay just sat there staring at me. Her mood was serious and thoughtful, but I sensed it was more fear or concern than anger or frustration. Then she started…

"I want you to tell me more about Marie. I want to know how serious your relationship with her has become. She sounds like a beauti­ful and exciting woman from what you tell me. How much of that is getting in the way of your judgment of the complicated situation you are currently in?"

I knew there may be serious consequences in my answer, but I felt I owed it to Kay. "I don't fully understand this myself, Kay," I started, "but I hope I can relay this in a way we both might understand it. I want you first to know that noth­ing and I mean nothing has changed in the way I feel about you. Nothing that has happened be­tween Marie and I is any­thing that I would ever be ashamed to tell you about.

"There is a certain special bonding that has occurred between Marie and me, but it has not been a sexual bonding. We have not made love nor have we done anything that was leading in that direction. It's almost like something has been added to my life rather than her moving in and taking the place of something that previously existed. I look forward to being with her like I look forward to being with you. While I am there I sense a sort of a need we fill for each other. We talk about things . . . I talk about you to her, and she seems to understand and supports me in my loneliness for you without supplanting it or trying to replace you in my life.

"One evening, for example, when we were on the beach on the weekend I told you about, we were drying off after a late evening swim. The stars were shining and the moon was out . . . the setting for what may have been a very romantic affair. She had been swimming topless and was still wet from the water. She was lying along side of me on a large beach towel still topless with the water droplets sparkling on her body. I was looking at her, but I was in another place in my mind. At the moment I was think­ing about lying next to you. I had not said anything, but I knew she sensed that I was thinking about you without my even saying it. Then to my surprise, she took my hand in hers and held it there for a few moments. After a short period of silence, she said that she knew I was thinking about you and about home and she wanted to comfort me. It did, too, Kay. I swear to you that as I lay there I thought not about her, but at the pleasure I had enjoyed on the many times you have taken my hand and held it like she did. I felt that moment an incredible surge of love for you by her gift to me. Marie has this special sense for such things and she has demon­strated it in different ways on several other occa­sions."

"You know what you are telling me is an incredible story, Jack," Kay replied in a tone that was not comforting to me. "If I just listened to the words purely from a non-feeling place you and I would be in very big trouble. But, somehow there is a level of sin­cerity in it and I want to know more. This “bonding” you speak of; tell me more about that."

"Yes. Marie is a person I bonded to from the very first time I met her," I continued. "She has a remarkable way of communicating. I've told you about that, and you have even com­mented that I have adopted, in my interactions with you, some of the gentle and nurturing ways she communicates. Marie seems to know me almost as well as you do. She knows for exam­ple when I am feeling most vulnerable and knows how to strengthen me when I’m feeling vulnerable. She is a stunning woman; one who would be easy to fall in love with, but she displays this charm that is magnetic, and she never uses it to manipulate me or draw me to her. 

"A good example of that is when I went to her house for dinner just before I left the coun­try to come home this last time. I told you about that visit. When I arrived, she came to the door dressed in a sexy outfit that would weaken any man's knees; then we ate a wonder­ful dinner by candle­light that was followed by a glass special juice we en­joyed in a love seat in her library while she sat cross legged next to me. Under normal circumstances I could not have been in a more vulnerable posi­tion . . . just a few days before going home after spending several weeks away, lonely for compan­ionship, already blinded by this woman's charm. But then as I sat there sipping my drink totally lost in the ambience of the moment she reaches over to me and gets my attention by touch­ing my arm and announces to me that she has something to tell me that was very impor­tant. For a second I almost lost it and must have jumped back as she began to talk, but what she had to tell me was about her involvement with this Algerian Underground movement that had a strong agenda to keep the present govern­ment from making mistakes it had made in the 50's when it invited the Russians in to help it recover from the post-revolu­tionary emergency the country was in at the time.

"I listened for a long time while Marie told me how guilty she was feeling about waiting so long to tell me about her involvement in this group and how she had used her relationship with me to gather information for the movement. She even admit­ted that the entire evening was set up to make her job of telling me easier. Then she literally cried on my shoulder and asked for my forgiveness. But she didn't press for any­thing else, nor did I feel in any way obligated to provide her with anything except to tell her that she had no reason to ask for forgiveness, point­ing out to her that we were both working for the same goal for her country.

"Many times when I have been with Marie I have felt like I was with you. I felt as com­fortable with her as I do you right now. I was able to share concerns and issues in the same abundance as I do with you, and in many ways I feel a love for her like the love I feel with you. Yet in all of it, I don't feel with Marie that it is a long-term relationship. I only feel it is an interim period of my life where a void is being filled."

There was a long silence when I finished my statement. I let that silence happen without saying any more. While I watched Kay I detected emo­tions that Kay was feeling betrayed, and angry. I wasn't sure, of course, but I knew her well enough that these surges I was seeing in her physical movements and expressions seemed quite clear to me. After what seemed like an eternity Kay shifted on the couch, then moved closer to me and took my hand while she laid her head on my shoul­der. It was a peaceful feeling that commu­nicated her under­standing.

"Jack, my dear love," Kay finally said, breaking the silence, "I can only say I will attempt to understand what you are experiencing with this other woman in your life. I do under­stand the void that is created when you leave. I experience that same thing myself. However, my work and friends and children fill some of that for me. I have also felt some of that same vulnerability when some gentleman with whom I work or associate befriends me with a kindness or a look. I, too, have had to fight off the sadness and loneliness in your absence and had I been even an ounce less strong I could see myself failing that test. What troubles me, Jack, are my own feelings and the threat I feel from this Algerian woman. Perhaps it’s just my nature, but I don't want to share you with anyone, no matter how innocent it is. But on the other hand, I see how our life has changed for the better, apparently as a direct result of this wom­an's influence on you. I see that as a gift to me no matter how I cut it. This whole thing leaves me as puzzled and confused as you say you are. In that regard, I feel the same as you and feel I understand most of it. Let me just say this, Jack, before we set this subject aside. I love you, and will fight for our relation­ship with all I have to fight with. You know I am a good fighter. I shall not let another wom­an win you over. Don't let me have to fight for you over Marie. Marie will lose, I guarantee even if she is eight thousand miles away. I will see to that."

When Kay said that to me, I felt the tears well up in my eyes and the lump in my throat grow, stopping me from commenting. When I coughed to clear my voice to say something, Kay reached up and touched my lips as if to stop me from saying anything. Then without a word, she took my hand, assisted me up from the couch, still touching my lips as if to curtail any further discus­sion. Leading me into the bedroom, Kay had me sit on the side of the bed where she proceed­ed to unbutton my shirt and take it off. Taking the clue I continued to undress. Kay then walked to the bedroom door, locked it and began herself to disrobe slowly as if she were acting out a part in a slow-motion movie. When we were both through undressing Kay led me to the shower where we stood embracing and soaping each other down until the hot water ran out. Without drying Kay led me out of the shower and encouraged me to join her on the comforter and pillows she had slipped off the bed and spread on the floor. Stretched out on the cool cotton of the comforter with droplets of water still glisten­ing on her body from the shower, Kay took my hand and cupped it on her breast holding it there with both hands. Without a word, we lay like that until we were molded into one in wonderful love-making that ended with restful sleep on the floor wrapped in the comforter.

The short visit home ended too soon for me. Kay and I had fewer days together than I want­ed to think about, and it seemed like every time we talked Marie somehow came into the picture. When I finally departed, however, Kay seemed very supportive and comfortable with the fact that I would be spending more time with Marie when I got back. 

 

Chapter 7 –Trip Four to Algeria

 

About two days after my return to Algeria things chang­ed dramatically in a way that was feared but not anticipated. I got the call from Kay with a message that she was having trouble with our oldest boy and our Native American Indian boy that was living with us during the school year. I called her back when I could get down town to the phone a few days later, learning that she had resolved the problem and all was well again.

Marie had been in the office translating confer­ence notes those two days and she picked right up on the stress I was feeling. In a moment when we were alone in the conference room the second day after Kay's call, Marie ap­proached me, put her hand on my arm and said . . .

"Jack, my dear, you seem to be very far away these past two days. Has something happened at home to upset you? Is there any­thing I can do?"

"No, thanks, Marie," I replied, once again amazed at the intuitive nature of this woman. "I received a call a couple of days ago from Kay and she has been having some difficulties with Doug, our thirteen year old son and our foster son that I told you was living with us during the school year. I'm sure things are going to be okay. I've just been more worried about it than I thought, I guess. I’ve been attempting to reach her by phone these past two days from the Telephone Exchange down town, and when I do, I’m sure I will find that she had resolved the problem. Thank you anyway."

With the little I could do about the situation at home, I launched into my work with accelerated vigor, knowing that if I completed this phase of the work early, I might be able to go home a few days earlier than planned. The days were passing quite fast on this trip to Algeria. Data acquisi­tion was getting easier and more people at the var­ious government agen­cies I was contacting almost on a daily basis were cooperating better each visit. I was feeling I was getting closer to some con­clusions about how my part of the plan should be put together.

One thing that I concluded from visits made to the training centers run by Rus­sians was seeing firsthand the lack of functional education the Russian were giving to the Algerians students. My job of coming up with enough people to meet the deadlines set for self-sufficiency on the project were looking very unreal. At first the Ministry wanted the project to be fully operated by Alge­rians in fifteen or less years. When I began to put the numbers I had to the test for the over thirty-two thousand man workforce the data showed that it would be twenty to twenty five years before the Algerians would have enough experi­ence to run the entire industry complex and make the city work successfully. In fact, though the project was getting pressure from the Ministry, I was quite confident about my numbers. While I was in San Francisco on my last visit home I arranged with the Bechtel Computer Department to create a program on which I could place the data I had and have it make some calculations of expatriate replacement. The program designers had taken on the task with vigor and had come up with a suitable program that gave me the data I needed. All I had to do then was convince my superiors that the data were sound, which I was able to do after I got back to Algeria and showed it to them.

The existing training and education system run by the Russians or the Algerian's own methods where they existed were entire­ly too protracted. Never would enough gradu­ates from these existing schools be ready to step into the workforce in the CEMEL industries or the city services. They were barely able to meet the needs of the industries for which they were currently supplying gradu­ates. I had to come up with something more substantial. There was little hope of convincing the Ministry that expa­triate foreigners would have to be used in the industries until twenty-five years before they were replaced by Algerians.

I had already conceived several new major training centers and a polytechnic institute on the CEMEL site and in the industries, but in order to keep these centers from becoming unused giants many years into the project life, they had to be reason­ably sized. I couldn't justify over-siz­ing them for only a few years of peak output. I thought if only I had a source of existing train­ed labor, I could manage the transition to self-sufficiency in twenty years or less. I had tested each of the major indus­tries already existing in the country and they were understaffed for the same reasons . . . lack of trained people and not enough budget to hire the high-cost foreigners to come into the country to work. Balance of Trade issues would become more critical than they already were if profits from the industries started going out of the country into the pockets of foreigners. In a short conversation I was having with Marie about my dilemma, she suggested I ex­plore the option of repatriation of Algerians that had left the country after the Revolution and were now residing in France. The numbers were large according to Marie. She wasn't sure, but she believed there were over one million Algerians living in France and many of them were older, skilled workers that might con­sider returning should conditions for their return be politically and economically attain­able. It was an interesting idea and so I probed it more with Marie.

"You must go there and see of yourself, Jack," Marie challenged. "I have read the local papers and I have concluded the political climate for repatriation of these people has substantially changed over the last three or four years. There may be thousands or tens of thousands of Alge­rians that may like to return to their homeland after all these many years of being away. Another issue that makes this idea more plausible is that the French don’t want the Algerians in their country any more. Too many French citizens are out of work looking for jobs the Algerians are currently holding. For the French, at least, this would be a perfect solution to their problem."

I thought about this situation for several days before presenting the idea to Bob Harper. He questioned me heavily on the numbers I had gener­ated that took self-sufficiency out twenty-five years, and then he suggested we have a conference with the Minister about the idea. In a few days the conference was set up. In the meantime, in preparation for that meeting I had several more sessions with Marie to get more of an idea of the historical perspective as well as her understanding of the politics of repatriating Algerians. The more I dug into it the more I felt this was the breakthrough I needed. If this were a plausible idea, I knew the Minister would be very inter­ested in it too. For one, the pros­pect would be a very big plus for the Amer­icans that wanted to increase their presence in the country, and con­trarily, it would fly in the face of the Russians and make them and their pro­grams less palatable. The idea of repatriating Algerians would also support all that we were doing and would assure the poten­tial for success­ful manning of the workforce at CEMEL. Amer­ica's deeper involvement in the coun­try would be further assured while more U.S. technol­ogy was imported to support the new projects.

Marie was very excited that I was using her idea, and, of course, I had given full credit to her to the Harper; and he too was pleased. Before the meeting with the Minister was set up, Marie brought into the office a book she had found written by a French Anthropologist that sup­ported and talked about a vision this author said prevailed among the French Algerians. The author, a Dr. Claude René, talked also about the French perspec­tive of getting the Algerians out of the country. They not only welcomed the idea; there were some factions of the French political system that were working on a plan to force deportation of the Algerians back to Algeria.

The meeting with the Minister finally hap­pened and he supported the notion of taking the time to explore all possibilities for shorten­ing the time for self sufficiency of CEMEL. For the project he could see it would save a great deal of money, but more importantly, he ex­plained, the idea of repatriation of Algerians for this project, if it were possible, would fur­ther the cause of the project itself, giving it more political clout against those opposed to such an industrial expan­sion in the country.

I wondered if the Minister knew how much "clout" was behind the movement to stop CEMEL altogether. I wondered too, how many more people in the country like Marie were fighting their own battles to save this emerging country and were taking risks every day that were even more courageous than the ones I was taking. As I thought about it and heard the Minister's words I wondered, how much he knew was going on behind the scenes, while the Bechtel staff being guests of his country worked away at our own agendas and for his.

Bob Harper was pleased at the results of the meeting with the Minister. He compliment­ed me on my presentation and on the homework Marie and I had done to prepare for the meet­ing. I let him know how valuable Marie's contributions had been to this effort and ex­plained to him that I thought it would be useful if I could take her along on the trip to France if she were willing and able to go. I explained how much I would need an interpreter for this trip, and Marie was my choice rather than attempting to find someone in France when I got there. He supported the idea and emphasized this was an important a trip for the project and that we must pull out all the stops.  Harper would ask Marie the next day if she could do it. He thought if it were possible the trip should be planned within a week or two.

The next day at the office Marie ap­proached me to thank me for suggesting she go along on the trip and said she had told Bob she could go. Privately, she told me, however, that she had never attempted to leave the country and that she might get the same treatment from the authorities that she got near Constantine when she was hassled at the road block. I told her I would have a conversation with Bob about it to see if we could get a passport, visa if needed and a special letter of introduc­tion and support from the Minister that could be shown by us when we exited the Airport. I thought as well a letter of introduction for any French officials I would meet would also be useful.

That next week we made our plans and the Office Manager arranged to get our tickets.  The letter finally arrived from the Minister and when Marie translated it for me it was evident it was a strong motion to keep our trip to France clean and easy. Marie was very pleased with the accomplish­ment.

I continued to feel very excited while I prepared for the trip to France. Marie and I made several trips to libraries and magazine stores before going to gather any mate­rial we could about any work that was being done by the Algerian Government to pave the way for French Algerian expatriate's returns. We found several important documents and even found several editorials in various Algerian newspapers alluding to the fact that the French were very anxious to get things moving on Algerian repatriation.

In searching through one paper we found a reprint of a paper written by the French col­lege professor, Dr. René whose book Marie had found. This article told about how the professor had dedicated his entire life to study­ing the Algerian problems in France and had written several articles and one book (the one we had) on the subject. This was someone we both agreed should be contacted when we got to France. I had Marie place a call to the University of Nice where Dr. René worked to make arrangements to meet the man if we could. After only two tries, she made contact with Professor René who was excited for the opportunity to meet with us. He told Marie where we could meet him on a day after our arrival in Nice. He also promised us he would have with him several statistical studies and other materials we could take back with us and use on the project. Everything seemed to be falling in place so when we finalized our sched­ule, I had Marie send Dr. René a wire confirm­ing our arrival time and where we were planning to stay in Nice. I let Marie take the lead on all the arrangements except for the tickets that the Office Manger had already arranged for. Along with all her other talents, I was learning Marie was very good at this part of the work I was assigning to her. And to make it even better, Bob Harper re­leased her temporarily from all her translating duties so she could spend more time with me on our French activity.

Our exit from the Algiers airport was smoother than we had expected. The letter from the Minister cleared the way and no questions were asked. Our flight connections were from Algiers to Mar­seilles, not Nice, so that would require us to travel by train to Nice. The short air trip across the Mediterranean put us down on the beautiful South Coast of France just moments by taxi from downtown Marseilles. It was going to be a long train ride to Nice, so we bought first class cabin tickets for the trip. On boarding the express train when it arrived, we found our­selves the only occupants in the first class cabin. After the hustle-bustle at the office getting away and the constant noise and clatter at the airport, it was good to be alone for the ride to Nice. The weather was extraordinary. Every­thing was green and beautiful and we were both excited to travel together again.

Instead of sitting across from me so we could both enjoy a window seat, after we put our bags in the overhead compartment, I sat down at the window and Marie sat right next to me and took my hand in both of hers. For the first few minutes of the ride out of the station and into the Marseilles suburbs we were both silent. I was nervous about Marie's proximity to me and her stroking of my hand in hers, but I submitted to it and enjoyed the view as it reeled by. Marie eventually broke the silence to thank me for making it possible for her to take the trip. She said on her meager wage she would have never in her life been able to do this on her own. Then she began a long story about how as a young girl her parents had often talked of going to Paris or to the South of France on holiday, but had never done it. Then when the war began it became only a dream of hers that was never fulfilled. When she told me the story she cried silently and nestled her body closer to mine eventually laying her head on my shoulder. I found myself almost instinctively reaching up and stroking her face and running my hand through her long dark hair that by that time had fallen down over her face. My attention seemed to soothe her and soon she was silent again and very melancholy. I guessed she was re­member­ing how it was when her parents were alive.

Having this woman by my side again was like magic to me. While she leaned against me in silence I felt at peace with myself and with the world. I experienced no guilt at my compassion for her and didn't even blush at the feelings of arousal I was noticing in my groin. Everything she did reminded me some­how of the feelings I got so often with Kay. When I was with Marie, it was seemed like an extension of some of the won­derful times I had spent with Kay. How could this be, I pleas­antly mused? How could I could simulta­neously be in love with two women? Was that what it was? Could I be in love with Marie? I concluded I was. Yet all the same feelings I was having for her I had experienced with Kay. Even on the last trip home I had enjoyed these same feelings as I was feeling right then on the train.

Marie again broke the silence as she reached up and touched my face, "You are thinking about us right now, aren't you, Jack? Somehow I am experiencing that you are trying to explain to yourself why you are feeling such compassion and love for me. Being this close to you, Jack, I am feeling the same and I think it is mutual. Am I close in what I say?"

"Yes," I answered almost in a whisper. "As a matter of fact, I was wondering just then how I could love two women like I love you and Kay. Do you find that strange? I am feeling very strange, I know that, Marie, and I frankly do not know how to handle it."

"I think all is possible, Jack," Marie followed. "When two people are close to each other like we are and then add to that how you feel toward Kay, I believe a your capacity to love is just expanded making room for both. Do you believe that is possible, my dear?"

"I was noticing a moment ago," I ans­wered, "that I was feeling no guilt with the strong feeling I was having for you, and I was noticing also that it felt good and right and that my feelings for you in no way deterred my love for Kay."

With that, Marie and I once more went silent. Again I noticed myself enjoying the beautiful land­scape with its rolling hills, the endless grape fields and the quaint villages we passed. For at least an hour we sat like that saying nothing but never moving from the nestled position we had assumed there next to the window in the com­fort­able, plush cabin we had chosen for the ride to Nice. For that entire time, I don’t think there was a moment I did not think of Kay home in Petaluma with our children and our foster son. I had to convince myself over and over and simply trust that her good sense and practical mindedness was enough to keep things going well at home.

It was getting to be evening when we finally arrived in Nice. We hadn’t eaten on the train so the first thing we did after leaving the train station was find a restaurant. While there we talked about the place Marie had arranged for us to stay, the Plaisance Hotel, on some street called Rue De Paris. From Algiers Marie had in­quired about places to stay in Nice and had decided rather than going to one of the casino hotels that we would stay in something smaller and more representa­tive of the ambience of the old city. I was in full support of that remember­ing the several times I had stayed in crowded and noisy casino hotels in Las Vegas.

It was a short taxi drive to the hotel where we had reservations. The outside the building was ornate in the style that made me believe it was built in the late 1700's. The old place I guessed must have no more than forty rooms at most. Sitting crowed between two other buildings it looked almost like it was being held up by them. Marie ex­plained this building had the same archi­tectur­al style that had once domi­nated all the Mediter­ra­nean cities includ­ing Algiers, although it was hard to tell that from the way Algiers had be­come so run down over the past twenty years.

When we entered the large door at the hotel we found ourselves in a very narrow lobby and were greeted by a short, heavy set old woman that looked to be well into her sixty's. Marie asked her for our reservations and was told matter of fact that we would be occupying the last two available rooms in the hotel, and that because we were not staying together, she had to turn down other customers that wanted rooms there. I could not understand much of what she said, but it was clear to me that Marie was arguing with the woman about the reservation. The old woman, I learned wanted us to stay together in one room so she could let the other room to someone else. But her argument seemed not to go anywhere and the old woman finally gave in and booked us in separate rooms. After that, the old woman took the two antique keys out of the key box and directed us to a rickety looking elevator in the back of the hall. She in­sisted on carrying our bags and seemed insulted when I tried to take them away from her.

The elevator looked like one cage inside of another with a floor. It surely must have been something out of the 1800's by its looks. Ca­bles were hanging everywhere and when it took off, it sounded like the cable cars in San Francisco. We slowly ascended to the fourth floor where the woman tried several times to get the elevator to line up with the floor. Without success she opened the scissor-type cage door, warned us of the step up and pointed to the left to our rooms about three doors down the hall. Old antique dressers sat in the hall by each room entrance.  Each dresser had a pot of beauti­ful, fresh-cut flow­ers on it. I had never seen any­thing so quaint and colorful for an old place like it was. Even the place where Maurice and I had stayed in Paris earlier in the year was nothing compared to this.

The old woman opened both our doors then ush­ered us in by then dragging our suitcases along. Despite her insistence on taking them, it had obvi­ously been a chore for her to carry our bags all that way. She said some­thing to Marie that I could only half under­stand was getting her approval that her room was all right. After she showed me my room next to Marie’s I tipped her then she shuffled down the hall puffing like she had just done a one hundred yard dash.

Both rooms were like no other hotel room I had ever stayed in. Each had only one bed that further confirmed my argument that we have two rooms rather than share one. My heart skipped a beat when I thought about the complications that might have occurred had it been necessary to share this one room with only one double bed. Marie was quick to point out that it was lucky for both of us that she had made the reservation for two rooms. I think she might have been thinking the same as I about the vulnerability we would both have experienced sharing one room and one bed. When the old lady was well out of earshot and back down the rickety elevator we both stood in the hall outside our rooms and laughed. I invited Marie to come to my room when she got settled to discuss our itinerary for the next day after she had a chance to settle into her room.

In one corner of my room was a small enclosure I guessed was the toilet. But on far corner of the large room a tiled area with an old cast iron bathtub on four legs sat completely in the open. The tub had a single pipe going up the back con­nected to a hose that could be used as a makeshift shower. There was no curtain around the bath. A small wash basin and a mirror were bolted to the wall next to the tub.  The place was beautifully decorated despite the strange arrange­ment, and it was immaculately clean every­where. The bed was some­thing else, though. It was about three feet up from the floor and had a thick feather tick floating on top making the bed seem two feet higher than it was. The bed was a very old four-poster, but it had no canopy that I thought it should have.

After a few minutes had passed Marie knocked on my door and came in. As she entered she said, "How do you like it Jack?  Isn't it wonder­ful?"

It was and I had to agree, but I was still nervous at the prospect of how close we came to having to share the same bed. As usual, though, Marie read my thoughts and eased my mind a bit by continuing . . .

"Do not worry, Jack, we shall survive this. I said to you once before that I would never insist upon or allow you to break your integrity with Kay. I love you too much to allow that to happen. Relax, my dear. It is late and we shall soon both be snoring under those goose feathers."

She was right. I was very tired and was over reacting to my expectations and fears of my own weaknesses. With no more discussion or cere­mony, we spent a few minutes planning our next day’s activities and Marie left to return to her room.

I didn't sleep very well that night. Every time I stirred or change position I woke with a start believing that Marie was in bed with me. Several times during the night I found myself dreaming about the condition that may have existed had we given in to the old lady and taken just one room. To complicate matters even more I couldn't seem to get the feather tick to remain covering me.

By late morning I must have finally fallen so fast asleep that I didn't hear Marie nocking at my door. I started when I rolled over and found she was not there next to me. When I rolled back and opened my eyes to the bright light, I went to the door and let her in. She was completely dressed and ready to find some breakfast. I invited her to remain while I changed into my clothes and in minutes we were making out way down the hall to the elevator.

We found a quaint little café about a half block down the street and had a simple continental breakfast. About a half hour later we were back in our rooms getting ready for our appointment at 9:00 a.m. at the University with Dr. René.

We both got ready for our meeting and were down in the lobby dropping off our room keys when the old lady from the night before gave an envelope to Marie that had been delivered to the hotel early that morning. It was a note from Dr. René advising us to meet him at noon at a restaurant near the wharf in­stead of at the univer­sity. The note had the name and address of the restaurant on it, but there was no explana­tion for the change, only an apology for any incon­venience this may have caused us.

It was no inconvenience; we had nothing else planned until after our meeting with Dr. René. We knew many contacts would come out of that meet­ing so we never attempted to add anything else to our agenda for the day. With the change in René's schedule we decided to spend the morning going through some of the casinos on the water front. Like Las Vegas, this place never closed down. A short taxi ride to the large casino brought us to the front of one of the most beautiful white marble build­ings I had ever seen. Inside most everyone that was gambling on tables and areas hung with majestic cut glass chandeliers was dressed in evening gowns and tuxedos. It was obvious to me that gambling in this country was a whole different experience than that I had seen in the most plush places in Las Vegas or Atlantic City. Both of us felt out of place in such an elegant setting and we soon decided to leave. 

For a good two hours we walked along the beach and went into several more casinos to look around, but found nothing of great interest except the elegance of these old buildings and the decor. We decided that perhaps a show in the evening might be of more interest, so we looked along the waterfront to see what we could find. Not locating anything we decided to ask Dr. René when we saw him for his recom­mendation.

A few minutes before noon we hailed a taxi and asked to be taken to the restaurant Dr. René had appointed for our meeting. In a rather unspec­tacular section of the waterfront our driver dropped us off with direc­tions to walk down a narrow alley and take the first left where we would find the place. The restaurant was actually located central to a cluster of fish, meat and vegetable markets that were buzzing with activity. Marie noted that most of the people in the ghetto were Alge­rians. It was quite a sight and much differ­ent than the bleak and dirty markets I had found in Algiers. Marie looked amazed while she sur­veyed the abun­dance of pro­duce, saying that this was how she re­membered Algiers in her child­hood before the Revolu­tion. An air of sadness came over her as she began to tell me about this part of her life, but it lasted only a moment before we were walking into the tiny restaurant.

I must have been easily distinguishable as an American, because as soon as I walked in this short dark, curly headed man approached me, introduced himself and asked in English if I was Mr. Williams from America. I nodded, shook hands with Dr. René and intro­duced Marie to the man. If for no other reason but his manner of speech, Dr. René looked the part of an intellec­tual college profes­sor. For the famous person I assumed he was, I was surprised that his clothes were wrin­kled and his tweed sport jacket looked so old. However, he acted very professionally and was extremely pleasant and warm with us while he ushered us back to the dark corner of the restau­rant to our table.

Dr. René chattered to me in English and to Marie in French when we first sat down, and then I guessed from Marie's suggestion he switched to English exclu­sively. First he apologized for changing the time and place of our meeting and explained that for purely political reasons he felt it would be easier to keep a low profile about our meeting by being in a restaurant.  I was surprised by his comment never suspecting our meeting with him would have any political overtones. We ordered and were soon in a heavy conversation about the Algerian situation in France. René took great care to explain his tenuous position with regard to the Algerians in France.

"Mr. Williams and Ms Khaldi," he explained, "I have been studying this issue in France for over twelve years and it is a very complicated one. First you must know there is a very strong and pow­erful faction here in France that would like to see all the Algerians leave. From the time they arrived following the revolution Algerians have experi­enced harass­ment and racial prejudice from all sides of our community. Ini­tially after their arrival they were put on the wel­fare roles creating a very large burden for the French citizens. Partly because many had gained re­spect of the repatri­ated French citizens who had been living in Alge­ria, they were soon receiving favors and special treat­ment. That caused more resent­ment and pres­sure to be put on the Algerians and the repatriat­ed French citizens as well. Lead­ers from our Communist-run Labor Parties soon found an outlet for their own frustrations and began to blame every ailment in the econo­my on the Algerians. This attracted attention in politi­cal circles where more repression began to occur for the Algerians.

"The saving grace for these people," Dr. René continued, "was their tenacity and clever ways. Most of the Algerians that came to France were highly skilled artisans and profes­sionals. They found it easy to find jobs and out-produced the lazy French citizens who were used to low productivity and poor quality. Soon these Algerians were establishing ethnic communities and becoming self-suffi­cient. Many have even become rich in their endeavors.

"But France's present economic situation has turned on them again and despite their cleverness and hard work, they are losing their hold in our country and are seeing that soon they may have to return to Algeria or lose everything they have. Officials at a very high level of our government have been negotiating with the Algerian Govern­ment and are slowly breaking down the barriers for these Algerians to return. Agree­ments have al­ready been made that the returning Algerians will be given incentives that will boost Algeria's econo­my. Many of the Algerians who are here and well established do not want to leave France, however. Others cannot wait to go back to their home country. Some will be offered money; others will be offered money and cars."

"But, Dr. René," I interjected with my first opportunity to ask questions "wouldn’t something like incentives given to repatriating Algerians be seen by those who have stayed in the country as an insult rather than a benefit to the economy? Would­n't it seem like a false boost to the economy? And wouldn't the strug­gling low-skill Algerians be threatened by a skilled work­force that had the potential of replacing their jobs?"

            "Yes, Mr. Williams," Dr. René was quick to add. "I have predicted this very thing in several articles I have written that this will be a fall-out of Alge­rian repatriation. I see no short range benefit coming from this unless there is a place for these people to go such as on the project your company is studying. There must be a place in which these people can integrate to cause the least unrest on their return."

Our lunch came, but Dr. René did not stop talking. While he pieced on his meal and we ate ours, he continued . . .

"There is one more complication that you must understand regarding this issue, Mr. Williams. While all this pressure is being put on the systems to get the Algerians out of this country, there is an equally covert operation going on to slow it down or even stop it from happening. I am sure you know from your own studies that the Russians are desperate to keep their foothold in Algeria and even to influence the Algerians to more actively adopt communist ways in the country. But because the Russians that are in Algeria are doing such a poor job of assisting the Algerians and the Algerians are so dedicated to nation­alizing under their own rights, the Russians are quickly losing ground."

"I might add, Dr. René," I interjected quickl­y, "they are also losing their hold on the country because their methods of training Alge­rians for the industrial workforce is so antiquat­ed. America and other western countries are quickly stepping in with new technology and are licensing this technol­ogy with proper spare parts support and training. The Algerians are begin­ning to see that this is the way to go and they are not afraid that the Ameri­cans want to take over their country. I have per­sonally seen the Russian's attempting to stop everything we are doing in Algeria and it doesn't surprise me that they are trying to do the same here."

Marie was beginning to fidget and I guessed she wanted desperately to get into the conversa­tion, but before she could Dr. René continued . . .

"Many times, Mr. Williams, when my studies and writing about the Algerians have been pub­lished I have gotten threats that I must stop my work. While I have no proof of this, I am sure the Russians are the ones behind it. I know that every meeting I have and every connection I make, like this one with you and your companion are seen as a threat to the Russians, and I am sure that every move I make is known to them.  I am convinced that the Russians see the movement back to Algeria by the French Algerians as a major threat to their survival in Algeria. For this reason I chose to have this meeting here today. This little area in Nice, as you may have noticed, is a very strong ethnic community of Algerian Mer­chants. One of the strongest French Algeri­an organizations operating in this country is head­quartered right here in this ghetto. I picked this place because I thought it would be safe espe­cially for you and Miss Khaldi. In the universi­ty there are too many ears. While I took proper precau­tions, I am convinced that communiqué you sent to me con­firming your visit and describing your pro­ject has been seen by these evil forces and has stirred up some inter­est among them. I would further caution you as you move about the city follow­ing up on the leads I will be giving you, that you do so with utmost care."

Just the thought of some covert organization like the KGB being here some­where made me shiver. What if they had found out I was meeting with René, I wondered? Would word filter back to the Russians in Algeria and would they make some connections with my activi­ties here? All at once this conversation was taking on new light and I had no idea if Marie and I would have any protection over here.

The meeting with Dr. René went on for almost three hours. Several rounds of coffee followed the lunch and eventually the waiter brought us a large bowl of fresh fruit on which to nibble. Marie finally stepped in and took an active part in the conversation and contributed much to it. She even added information to René's vast array of data that he seemed grateful to receive. Dr. René gave us a great deal of information and study data before we left and let us know how we might get in touch with some important people regarding the Algerian issues in France. He also gave us information on how to contact the French Official in Marseilles that was doing most of the work with the Algerian Government on working out a peaceable reentry of the French Algerians to Algeria.

When the meeting finally wound down, Dr. René again cautioned us to watch our movements around the city and be aware that we may be watched and followed. In addition, he gave us a private number where we could leave messages to him in complete safety. It was obvious this strange little intellectual was very dedicated to the Algerian cause in his country and would be working as hard as he could to make it a suc­cess. Marie and I both left feeling we had accom­plished a great deal, but uncertain about its implications regarding our safety in France.

When we left, Dr. René showed us an alternate route out of the ghetto where we would have less of a chance of being followed. He also suggest­ed several floor shows and places we could eat in the city. When we finally got into a taxi to leave, we were both looking over our shoulders to see if we were being followed. We didn't talk much about the implications of our initial conference with Dr. René until we were safely at our hotel and in my room. Marie didn't seem quite as nervous as I was about the Russians. I assumed she had dealt with such matters in her lifetime and this would be just another one to deal with rationally and with cau­tion.

Like I suspected, Marie knew exactly what to do. First she continued to go to our window while we talked, looking to see if there was anyone anywhere looking in on our activities or waiting for us to leave the hotel. She was cool about it all and did a great job of comforting me with her levity and excitement about seeing a floor­show in the evening. She also assured me that we would leave the hotel after dark quite dis­cretely so we would not be followed. Already I learned she had scoped out a back entrance we would take as soon as we came down the stairs. We would avoid using the eleva­tor and dropping off our keys like we were supposed to so the lady at the desk would not know we left.

We lounged about in my room through the early evening, and then Marie left to get ready for our night on the town. When she returned a while later Marie had transform from a business woman to a night companion. I was amazed that she had brought such elegant clothes on our trip. She looked like she had stepped right out of a fashion magazine. Once again she was going to wear a gown like the one she wore when I went to her house, except with jewelry this time and a touch of makeup. I was feeling lucky that I had brought my best suit, never knowing what I might need it for.

While we waited for it to get dark, Marie brought up the subject of our previous night's sleep­ and asked if I gotten any sleep. I told her honestly that I hadn't slept too well and added the reason was because I kept thinking about how it might have been had we gone along with the Hotel Manager and taken this one room. While we chatted some about this she surprised me by telling me that she had not had a lover for over four years. This was the first time Marie had ever mentioned anything like that to me about her private life and I was very interested in what she had to say.

"My lover was a man I worked with in the organization," she started quite soberly. "I was very much in love with him and we could have been married by now had he not gotten killed in a strange accident in the city. It was a time when we were most active in our group and when we were receiving the most scrutiny from the Government. André was his name. His mother is Algerian and his father had been a French Government Official before he was killed in the Revolution. I always suspected André was murdered, but no evidence surfaced that was conclusive and the Government was not about to assist in an investigation at that time.

"André and I knew each other for two years and were planning marriage," she added plain­tively. "I have missed him very much, and when I sleep I dream of him often. Lying next door in my bed last night, Jack, I was feeling very lonely at the loss of my André and wished in a way you could have been him. In some ways I am reminded of André when I am with you. Your behaviors toward me are much like how André was with me. Thank you for being such a dear friend."

I was lost for words hearing Marie's story. She had a romantic past, it seemed, and perhaps my being there for her was filling a void created by that loss. That was a switch I never thought may be possible. She was certainly filling a void in my life, and I was, it seemed, filling one in hers.

"That is a most unfortunate story, Marie," I responded when she was finished. "Thank you for sharing it with me. I think I understand you better for having done that."

Having said that I felt a little awkward at the way I had felt all the night before thinking then that her tenderness toward me was more about me than it actually had been. While I sat there quietly looking at Marie, she once again saw into my thoughts with the comment . . .

"Do not be mistaken about my love for you or about my desire to sleep with you. Being near to you does not take the place of André; no one could do that. I loved the feeling of being with you even under our tentative circumstances; it’s not so much that I relate our relationship to what I had with André; rather it is simply that I am feeling more of life than I have felt in many years spending time with you."

There was not much either of us had to say for a while after that revelation and soon it was getting time that we could safely leave. After that discussion, I was glad we were now going to go out into the cool air of the Nice City evening to enjoy the time togeth­er. Staying in my hotel room with Marie any longer just then would have been extremely difficult for me.

            Our night on the town was wonderful. The secret escape was easily accomplished and we both felt we had eluded anyone who might have had intentions of following us that night. Once we had slipped out of the back of the hotel and gotten a taxi and eventually moved into the milling crowds on the waterfront, we were virtually invisible. It was obviously a very international crowd of people and most were dressed like we were. With little trouble we found the small casino that was featur­ing a floor show much like the ones I had seen in Las Vegas. Marie was dazzled not having seen anything like that in her life and once again thanked me profusely for having made it possi­ble for her to come to France. All through the evening, however, I kept thinking about Kay at home with the children. Here I was having a wonderful time in Nice, France and she, I supposed, was being miserable. Marie noticed me hanging back and being distant, and on several occasions she mentioned it. I tried harder to hide my feelings but each time they popped into my head, she caught it and mentioned my pensiveness.

I was not nervous at all about retracing our steps through the back alleys to the rear entrance to our hotel. When we came in we tip-toed up the first and second flights of stairs without arousing the snooz­ing old lady at the front desk. It was very late when we were finally outside our rooms. Both of us had been through a lot with our travel around town and having our long meeting with Dr. René. Before we went into our rooms Marie took my arm turning me toward her and said,

“My dear you must share with me what has been going on with you all day. It’s about your wife isn’t it? Something has happened that you have not told me. I must know, Jack. How can we possibly be in a position like we are right now and not be completely open with each other? Please talk to me about it.”

I was aghast at her intuitiveness. For a moment I remained quiet while I made up my mind what to tell her, and then I decided to just tell Marie that I was tired and feeling some stress about the KGB thing here in France. I knew she knew I was lying, but I didn’t know how else to handle the situation. After several more moments of silence, I put the key in my door, opened it and ushered her inside. Then I relented and told her how confused and emotional I was feeling all night about our being together having such a wonderful time while I knew Kay was home with our children likely solving ordinary every-day domestic problems and being lonely herself. With little more than a short acknowledgement from Marie, she gave me a hug and kissed me on both cheeks and left for her room.

Several of the organizations representing French Algerians that we visited over the next two days provided us with interesting and vital data regarding repatriation of Algerians. Most were very interested in it and were especially interested when I told them about Bechtel’s Feasibility Study for the Ministry of Heavy Industry. Like the profes­sor said, there would be no problem getting people to go back as long as they did not have to step down from the economic status they en­joyed in France. All agreed and talked about the political climate for Algerians in France that was quickly deteriorating. There seemed also to be a lot of agreement that if they did not go on their own soon and accept incentives being promised, then their options would be taken away from them in France and they would lose every­thing; and they would be deported to a "homeland" that didn't want them back.

Some French Algerians with whom we visited were dearly afraid of retaliation if they returned, believ­ing that they had never been forgiven for the part they played in the Revolution  . . . being on the side of the French Colonials. We found only a few that said their roots were so deeply plant­ed in France that they would sacrifice anything to stay. Those were the ones that had raised fami­lies in France and whose children knew no homeland but France. For them the story was a sad one because on the one hand they saw their own home­land as Algeria and their children, while not having full French citizen­ship status, still felt they were true citizens of France. I noticed when we heard those stories Marie got very emotional. It seemed this was her own story when she told me about her parent's dilemma when the Revo­lution was going on.

During those first three days that we traveled in and around Nice, there was some evidence that we were being followed, but no one ever tried to stop us or got so close that we felt threatened. Marie knew what to look for and continued to keep us moving in such a way as to keep from being accosted. On the evening of the third day we spent in Nice, we called the number Dr. René had given us if we needed to contact him for any­thing. Through the person with whom we left the message, we asked Dr. René if we could meet him sometime the next morning. We had decided to get in touch with the French Government Agency for Emigrant Algerians in Mar­seilles and wanted more information on how to do that without causing alarm and without finding ourselves in a bind with the KGB or other faction that might oppose our involve­ments with the candidate repatriates.

The next morning when we went to the lobby to drop off our keys before going to the café down the street, the old woman that seemed always to be there all hours of the day or night said there had been a man there early in the morning that had delivered a mes­sage for us. The message was in a Uni­ver­sity envelope different than the one we had received the first day we arrived. The location where René wanted us to meet him was different than where we had met him before. We were both immediately suspicious and tentatively decided that we should not attempt to meet Dr. René as the note out­lined. We asked the woman if the man who had delivered the message was the one who had come before, but she was unable to remember. She said only that the mes­senger was a young man about college age. Hearing that eased our minds some, so we decided to make the appointment like the note said. The time was earlier this time, so we assumed that the place was not a restaurant like before. So we finally called a taxi from the hotel and waited for it to arrive. There did not seem to be anyone waiting outside, nor did any car follow us to our knowledge. We concluded by this that we were safe again.

Like we suspected the meeting was not at a restaurant but rather at a small office on the Waterfront that Marie said was the headquarters building of a small Algerian owned business. We would learn later that this was the place where many meetings of the Algerian community that was seeking repatriation to Algeria were being held and Dr. René had connections there that allowed us this rather clandestine meeting arrangement.

Like before Dr. René spent most of the three hours we were together talking about his work and giving us information we needed about our trip to Marseilles. When he ran down and our discussion was over, Dr. René said he had another meeting he had to attend at the University and apologized that he had taken so much of our time and did not have time to eat lunch with us. We hadn't eaten all day so before we went back to the hotel, we went into the restaurant that Dr. René suggested we try there at the Waterfront. We thanked him and when he was gone took his suggestion. The restaurant featured some of the most wonderful fish dishes either of us had ever enjoyed. That evening back in my hotel room we went over our notes and plans for our trip to Marseilles the next day. By then it was later afternoon. Marie wanted to read over some of the material Dr. René had given us, so we made plans to meet early the next morning and she retired for the rest of the evening to her room. I spent the evening compiling my notes into what I planned to present to the Project when we got back and finished the evening off with a book I had brought along.

The next morning we took the earliest train we could get out of Nice. Like before, we had a first class cabin to our­selves, but unlike our first trip east, we sat across from each other and spent much of the time discussing the sights passing by our win­dow. The one meeting we had planned in Marseilles was scheduled for early afternoon just after our train would arrive and we didn’t believe it would take long. Knowing we would have the rest of the afternoon free after our meeting with the Government Official, we made plans on what we might do to pass the time before our late evening plane flight. We both wanted to go shopping and to spend some time on the beach, so before we left the train station we checked our bags except for our swim suits which Marie put in her large shoulder purse and set out to our meeting and later to see the town.

            Like we had predicted the meeting with the official took only one half hour including our waiting time outside his office before we were let in to meet with him. He had the material already for us from suggestions he had already received from Dr. René, so we thanked him for his time and effort and was out of there in minutes.

Our shopping spree was short since Marie wanted to go to the beach and have some later afternoon sun. The beach we chose was wonderful and crowded with people from every corner of the world. Like most of the other women on the beach, Marie wore only the bottom of her string bikini that she changed into in the small change booth on the waterfront. After a few runs to the water we were soon under one of the large umbrellas next to a café acting out the part most of the other tourists were playing. We ordered elegant drinks that were brought to us by macho-looking waiters that looked like they should be life guards instead of waiters.

After an hour or more of sitting in our lounge chairs and another couple of drinks from the bar, we changed and walked into town. All the time I tried my best to detect anyone who might be following us, but saw no one. Marie teased me as she walked along holding my arm like the loving companion, saying I would never see our shadows because my eyes were not yet trained. Marie wanted to window-shop so we did that until it was time to return to the train station and retrieve our bags for our late evening flight back to Algiers.

The next afternoon back in  Algiers when I finally had a chance to talk to Bob Harper about our trip he was ecstatic about the data we had accumulated from all our sources; he wanted immediately to go to the Minister with it. I asked him to wait until I had a chance to scan the data we had received from Dr. René and the French Government Officials. Marie would be done with trans­lation in two or three days, I explained, then we would have something to take to the Minister. Harper was pleased that I did not spare any details about our findings.

Within four days after our return from France Marie had translated the essentials of the data we had from Dr. René's work and the materi­als we received from the French Government. Like I sus­pected there were consistent comparisons, but the surpris­ing thing was, as best we could tell, both sets of data were reporting on the same sample . . . the professionals within the Algerian emi­grant popula­tion. Dr. René's figures established without a doubt that these people felt they had been vic­tims of ethnic abuse both from the French Government and from the French people. The French Government indi­cated just the opposite. Both quoted official sources and in some cases the same sources. It was obvious one group had adjusted the data for its own gain.

While I looked at the data and talked over the findings with Marie we were both, from the first, on the side of Dr. René's conclusions. He had helped us. He had nothing to gain from skewing the data and his case from a social/cultural point of view made more sense. My fear was for the personal retribu­tion that either Marie, I or my family might suffer at the hands of the angry Russians when they saw the reports favoring Dr. René's find­ings.

I felt from the first that I had no choice but to prepare my report from what I felt was the right position . . . that stated by Dr. René. I knew it would be feasible within the context of CEMEL so there was only one way to go. When I got to that point and discussed it with Marie I could see her excitement on the one hand that her own wishes were being brought forward, but on the other hand, I sensed that deep concern she had for my safety when the data became public and the Russians got their hands on it.

"I have gone to Bob Harper about this entire matter of the Russian’s interest in this matter, Marie," I explained to her when I had a moment alone with her. "He supports me in reporting the results like I see it despite what they might think. He is also setting up a meeting with the Minister where I can ex­plain what hap­pened in France and why I am reporting the results as I see them.

"I know you must do what is right, Jack," Marie acknowledged. "It is only my knowledge of how the Russians work that worries me. I see no way to get around the things that may happen to you or your family when they learn what you are doing. The KGB exists everywhere and it has been my experience that they are clever as well as tenuous in their efforts to get what they want. They will know as soon as the report goes forward that it has done so."

My stomach rolled when Marie mentioned my family and how they might be implicated. But I must have sound­ed brash and careless to Marie when I rather casually told her that I was not worried about the KGB for myself or my family. I covered my callousness up some by telling her that Bechtel was one of the largest construction/engineering firms in the world, and that within its organization were many people that continually looked after the safety of their professional staff. I did, how­ever, show my concern for Marie and asked her if she was anxious in any way about her own safety.

"We have been confronted before by the Russians in all fronts when we opposed their activities here in Algeria," she explained. "We have dealt with them head on and covertly, and in all cases we have won. Our organization here in Algeria has the power to put pressure on non-KGB Russians, and when we do, the KGB leaves us alone. If they try to do something to me my col­leagues will deal with it forth-with; I assure you."

I had never heard Marie be so forceful and vindictive. It was even a little frightening. I was glad that I was on her side of the issue. We stopped talking about our differences and concerns for each other when the Office Manager and secretary returned to the office after their short break. We never let on to anyone at any time that we had the relationship going.  Mahmoud, out of all the Algerian and U.S. staff was the only one who had seen us together doing any­thing, and even with Mahmoud we had been very discrete.

When the report was done I made my presentation to the Minister. He was obviously very pleased with the report. He told me that he had connections inside the intelligence community in his government and would men­tion to them the implications this data might have with the Russians operating in Algeria. He said he would also put out to the motor pool to have our Berber drivers keep a close eye out for anything that might be suspicious.

After the Minister told me that he went into a long history of the Berbers that were used in the government motor pool almost exclusive­ly, and how they were taken care of because of being veterans and initiators of the Revolution that set the Algerians free from the French. He mentioned most of them were considered heroes in the country and were held in the highest esteem with almost all of the people in the country. I knew most of what he was saying first hand from being with Mahmoud so much, but a few things that Minister said were new to me; like the fact that Berbers were almost exclu­sively used by the Ministry of Transportation to be chauffeurs and that it was recognized as an honorable profession throughout the country. That part I had observed with Mahmoud, but not with the other drivers I had used.

By the time my meeting with the Minister had taken place it was getting close to time I would be returning to the U.S. again. Marie was in the office trans­lating documents every day before I left for home, but we hardly spoke there unless it was about the trans­lated papers or getting my Con­fer­ence Notes typed from the various meet­ings I had attended.  However, three days before I was to return to the U.S., Marie secretly handed me a note in a small envelope. When I was able to find some privacy I read it. It began…

 

"Dear Jack,

"I am writing you this note to give you an urgent message that I would like us to meet before you leave for Amer­ica. I do not want to meet at my house. I believe it would be too dan­gerous. I have arranged to use a villa of my old friend just outside the city. We can meet there in the early afternoon on Friday. Since we are both off work that day, I suggest you walk down town to the Kasbah first and disappear into the crowd there as if you were visiting the market place. Be sure you do this careful­ly since I wouldn't want you followed. From there get a taxi to take you to my friend's villa. The driver will know how to find it. The address is number 103 Rue Boumerdes.  Try to be there by 1:00 p.m.

 

Marie"

 

I never talked to Marie about the reason for the meeting before Friday. All I was able to do with our busy schedule and constant presence of the CEMEL staff was to secretly acknowledge to her that I would be there at one o'clock.

Waiting out those two days was quite a strain. I could tell that Marie also was going through some kind of stress and the note itself seemed quite desperate. When Friday finally came I slipped out of my hotel room but did not exit the hotel from the lobby. Instead I took the lower floor exit out past the pool and service area and made my way down the hill through the side streets.         

As usual the Kasbah was a crowded, pushing mass of people. While I moved about the alleys and finally through the indoor marketplace I was confident I could not have possibly been followed. Down near the pier at the one end of the Kasbah I found a taxi and asked for 103 Rue Boumerdes. The driver just nodded and flew off down the street. We went along from street to street and finally out of the city to the farming district north and east of Algiers. I kept looking back to see if we were being fol­lowed but I saw no indication that anyone had been tracking us at any point along the way. The villa where I was to meet Marie was actually in a small village quite far out of the main part of the city. The area was new to me and by the time I got there I was quite disorient­ed as to the actual district. I only guessed we had gone gener­ally east and north about fifteen kilometers from the Kasbah.

The driver let me off at the large wrought iron gate entrance to the property. Before going through I looked around to see if anyone was waiting on the street or anywhere within sight. Seeing no one I entered the gate and walked down the wide cobblestone drive to the villa. The place was beautiful, but sadly run down. Once again I was seeing the evidence of what France's departure twenty years before had caused. There just seemed to be no one in the country able or willing to take care of mainte­nance of anything . . . be it buildings, grounds or transportation systems. I could see, however, that this place had once been magnificent and thought at the time I could sure make something out of it if I owned it.

I had not counted on it being such a fast ride out of town so I was about fifteen minutes early when I knocked on the door. At first there was no answer, but finally Marie opened the door and welcomed me in. She must have just gotten out of the bath because her hair was wet and hanging uncombed and she answered the door bare footed wrapped in a large towel.

"You are early, my dear," Marie said. "I am sorry I am not dressed yet. I came here last night. It was so nice spending time with my friend. We stayed up very late and I slept in this morning. You must forgive me for being so lazy. Please come in. We will be alone here this afternoon. My friend had some business in the city she had to take care of." 

              When I tried to pass her at the door, Marie stopped me to give me a very warm kiss and hug. I thought she might leave me and get dressed after that, but instead, she took me by the hand and led me into a small sitting room off the en­trance and invited me to sit on the couch. Then she sat down next to me cross-legged still hold­ing my hand in hers. I waited for her to say something, but instead she just sat quietly like she was re­hearsing what to say. This was unusual for Marie who was usually quite talkative. I as­sumed whatever she had asked me to come over for was very serious for her to be so quiet.

"Jack," Marie finally said in a plaintive, serious manner, "two days ago I was contacted by an anonymous person that left a very de­manding and threatening note at my home. The note said a copy of your initial report on the Algerian repatria­tion issue had leaked out and the writer's organiza­tion, I assumed was the KGB, had been made privy to it. The note continued with a threat on my life for having worked with you on it. Since then, I have received two more notes and several calls in the evening. It was for that reason that I have come here to my friend's villa. My friend has offered me this place for as long as I needed it. I am afraid, Jack. For the first time in many years of this work, I am afraid for my life."

Marie then moved closer to me and put her one hand on my upper thigh and her arm around my neck. I could smell her fresh bathed scent and felt the warmth of her body through the wet towel. For a moment while she paused in her story I was very much distracted by her nearness to me and was troubled by her appar­ent sexual advance.

"I say this to you," Marie contin­ued. "I have discovered it is really because of you that I am feeling this way . . . afraid, I mean. Not since André was alive have I felt so much love for someone that I wanted to stay alive to enjoy the benefits of their love. Jack, I know I have told you before that I care very much for you, and that I respect your rela­tionship with your wife and would not interfere in it, but now I am honestly feeling different."

"What are you saying, Marie?" I replied to her. "These threats you have been getting . . . are you saying something has changed for you between us and this was the cause of it? What has happened to this organization of yours? Are they not willing to protect you? I am very confused."

"I believe that is what I am trying to say," Marie answered. "I am also very con­fused. I hope you will understand."

When Marie said that she moved even closer to me then slid her hand along my thigh in a very provocative way. I was stunned at what was happening. On the one hand, I was feeling for the first time an overpowering enthusiasm for sexual relations with Marie; yet on the other hand I was totally puzzled at her sudden change of heart toward me. Both were compelling and confusing and I knew not how to act on either feeling. Before I could say anything, Marie continued . . .

"Before you return to your home again I want the comfort knowing you feel the way I feel about you. I want to test if the way you have been treating me since we went to France was about your desire to make love with me."

"What are you saying, Marie?" I replied, attempting to move slightly away from her, but unable to do so because of the arm of the couch. "Are you asking that I make love to you? I thought we had an understanding about that."

            "Yes, that is what I want," Marie went on to say, this time decisive and frank. "I do not want to live by this agreement we had. This threat on my life has made me feel differ­ently about everything. This is why I am so upset and con­fused. All I can think about is us and how I feel about you. Please, Jack, please understand. I don't want to hurt you or your relationship with your wife, but I do want your love."

"It has been difficult enough for me as it is, Marie," I continued, placing my hand on hers to stop her from continuing to rub my leg, yet trying to be diplomatic. "I can't deny you are a wonderful and desirous woman. I have never thought anything else, but at the same time you must know how I feel about Kay. I love her and have my own concerns about her diffi­cult situation right now. I just can't get in­volved the way you want me too. I think al­ready our intimacy has almost gone across the line."

While I said that I tried to relax some from her grip on me, knowing it was the right thing to do. At the same time I was attempting to pull back from the desire I was feeling for Marie. However, I knew immediately Marie had taken what I was saying differently than I had hoped she would. Pulling her hand away from my neck she said . . .

"What do you mean you can't get in­volved? You are involved with me, Jack. How could we be any more dedicated?"

"I'm sorry, Marie," I answered, clearing my throat so I could even talk. "With what is going on at home, there is no way I can even handle this right now. I don't even know what to say to you, Marie, but that I love you very much, yet I cannot get sexually involved with you."

When I said that, Marie took on a com­pletely different composure. It was almost as if she was her old self again. Then she reached out and took my hand tenderly in hers, this time not looking at me in the seductive and rapturous way as she had before, but in a more concerned way like she had acted toward me other times when we were seriously discussing our relationship.

"What is this difficult situation you speak of between you and your wife? There is something going on at home, isn’t there. You would not speak of it while we were in France. Now you have as much as said there is something wrong at home."

When she said that, she seemed to change her desire to have sex with me. Now instead of being seductive, she was acting like a concerned friend.

"This is very difficult to share with you, Marie," I began. "It seems like if I do it will only make things worse."

"How could things be worse, Jack?" she pleadingly answered.  "I have thrown myself at you shamelessly tonight and you have told me that you cannot get more deeply involved. I don't under­stand. For me, at least, things could not be any worse."

This was truly awful. I had opened up my most dreaded fear with Marie . . . I had held back information from her about what had been going on at home since my last return there. Now that I had un­veiled there was a problem with Kay, did I have to tell her the rest? For a long time I just sat there looking back at Marie, knowing I had come to a major decision point.

"I believe they can get worse, Marie," I said, trying to lead into this serious subject with some remnant of sincerity. "There are serious problems at home between me and my wife. You see, when I was home I shared all the things you and I have been doing here in Algeria in great detail. At first she was understanding and was feeling the same about these things, but now things are beginning to be different. It’s not so much about yours and my relationship any more, it’s about the way Kay and I have been living our lives over the last few years. She believes that she is being treated like an old dish towel by me and wants out of our marriage. When I go home this time she is insistent upon us getting some help with a counselor or even talking to an attorney. For the time being she is willing to wait until I get home before taking any action. But I must tell you, I feel like I am walking on thin ice at home and don’t want things to get worse by having to explain any further about any intimate relations I am having with you here in Algeria.”

After that opening Marie sat there looking at times astonished and at others compas­sionate. I wasn't at all sure how she was feeling. Her physical movement away from me did indicate something, however. Rather than the seductive pose she had graced me with when I came in she was not sitting cross-legged any more. Now she was sitting with her feet on the floor and the towel was more modestly covering her.

"Why did you wait so long to tell me this, Jack?" was Marie's only, but piercing com­ment when I finished the story.

I didn't have an answer at first and felt I had to have some excuse that would appease her and ease the pain I was feeling that had now gotten worse after she asked the question why I had waited so long to tell her. But I knew at that moment I could no longer be dishonest with Marie, no matter what the consequences.

"First, Marie, you must know that I do have a great desire to be with you while I am here in your country. Every minute that I am with you I feel like my life is expanding and getting fuller," I started. "In addition, I feel a great deal of compassion over your own history and current situation. I did not have the courage to tell you. I have continued to hold this back from you because I didn’t want to hurt you."

Marie sat there glaring at me for a mo­ment, then I saw a warmness come over her that once again caused me to feel passionate and warm toward her. Finally she said . . .

"Thank you for being honest about this, Jack. I am disappointed that you did not feel about us the same way as I feel. I take re­sponsibili­ty for that because I was being so deviant myself with my own actions. I am disappointed that our friendship has not been strong enough to overcome such a large obsta­cle. I had, frankly, higher expectations for it.

"However, my dear, I must confess to you also, that I have not been completely honest with you . . .  especially today. I had contrived my come-on to you today to ease my own pain and fear of being harmed somehow after you left for America. I am still frightened that something very bad is going to happen to me. I desperate­ly wanted you to make love to me so that I might feel something in my life that I could hold on to that would give me strength. I beg your forgiveness, Jack and apologize for my shameless behavior.

"One thing further that I want to share with you is that I have turned in my resignation to Mr. Harper as Interpreter and Translator for the Project. My work is almost complete anyway and with you leaving soon for America again, I think the time is right. I know from contacts I have made with my associates in the other organization in which I participate that when I step away from this CEMEL project I will be left alone. So for now I am going to be remaining here until I am sure that my life is no longer under threat.”

All resistance broke down for me at that point. Sliding over next to Marie, I now be­came the seducer. Taking her in my arms, I wanted desperately to kiss her. But Marie did not respond like I had expected she would. Rather, she slipped out of my arms and stood up. The towel cover­ing her had fallen off and she was holding it looking at me with tears running down her face. In an instant, the towel was wrapped around her naked body and she turned and walked away.

"I believe it is time to get dressed, Jack.  Please excuse me a moment," she said when she slipped off to the bed­room.

Now I was the one that felt shameless and stupid for my blatant actions. I was the one now owing an apology. While I waited for her my passion turned to pain and tears welled up in my eyes. I was bewildered beyond belief.

It took only a few moments for Marie to get dressed. Before I could think of what I was going to say to her she reentered the room, walked over toward me. When she did she was throwing her still damp hair about folding it into the large braid I had seen her fashion while we were in France. Her composure was pure grace and her beauty in the gown she had stepped into was stunning. She had a sly smile on her face when she walked up to me and took my face into both her hands. Kissing me gently on the lips, she said . . .

"My dear Jack; my friend. I suggest we forget these last few moments and prepare a meal together to give us nourishment and help us to appease our mistakes of the afternoon."

With that she took my hand and led me like a child into the kitchen. Tears were running down her face. With few words and much pointing, Marie soon had me cutting cheese and arranging it on a platter with some pâté and crackers. In the meantime she prepared a light meal from some items she found in the small refrigerator. In a bustle that was mostly silent, we were soon setting at a small table in the kitchen and Marie was pouring us some cider from a large decanter she found in a refrigerator. Marie had stopped crying by then. We ate in silence, but all the time Marie looked at me with her empathetic smile that said all was forgiven and all was well between us.

After the meal we cleaned up and returned to the living room where we had been earlier.  From that point we talked for more than an hour. As evening was approaching Marie led me into the vast area behind the villa where we walked hand in hand continuing our discussion about strategies on how to avoid any further harassment from the Russians. In the hours we spent together we conclud­ed we would curtail any further contact with each other and when I left, this would be our last and final parting.

There seemed to be no end to what we had to discuss that night and before I knew it, the hour was very late. At about 11:00 p.m., we called a taxi from the villa and we waited for its arrival. For those few moments until the taxi came, I held Marie in my arms. I could tell from the wetness on my shoulder that she was crying again. We both knew with my leaving would result in the end of our relationship that had blossomed so fully over the previous several months.

 

 

Chapter 8 –My Sad Return Home

 

As usual, the long trip back to the States made me groggy and disoriented. I hadn't slept much on the plane because I was so keyed up with coming home and to a situation I could only hope was going to be okay. The last time I had spoken to Kay was when I was in Nice. I had slipped away from Marie while we were at a restaurant to make the call. It was in this call that I learned that Kay had spoken to our LDS Bishop in Petaluma about the difficulties she was having with our relationship. She hadn’t given me any details but only said that when I got home she wanted both of us to meet with the Bishop so that she could lay out all her complaints and see what action we needed to take to mitigate those things she was concerned about.

This last trip to Algeria had been almost six weeks long and I was ready to be home for a spell. But I knew I wouldn't be home long and would soon be heading east again. Coming home this time held a certain amount of disdain for me. Some­how I was going to have to get through the anxiety I was feeling about discussing with Kay my most recent involvement with Marie. In some ways I was relieved that I could tell Kay that Marie had quit the company and I wouldn’t’ be seeing her again, but I knew I still had feelings for the woman that would be hard to speak about to Kay. Then this other thing that Kay wanted . . . to begin counseling . . . I knew I was getting very close to a pivotal point and I was afraid that if I didn't handle things well with Kay it was going to be seri­ously affecting how things would be with us.

I was so exhausted from the long trip home I was ready for the relaxing long ride north on the bus. It was not our custom for Kay to drive all the way to San Francisco to pick me up, so by taking a shuttle, at least I would have that to assist me in recovering somewhat from my jetlag.

I was looking at my watch after we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge to see how long it took to get Petaluma. I knew it would be at least an additional half hour longer ride since the shuttle had other stops in Marin County before arriving in Petaluma. During regular commute hours this trip from the airport to home was always at least two hours. When the shuttle finally arrived in Petaluma Village Kay and the children were waiting there for me when I disembarked. Arriving home a few minutes later the children and I managed to have a grand reunion. With Kay things were a little stiff and formal.

When things finally calmed down and the children were in bed, Kay and I settled into our front room where told me how it had been for her for the past six weeks. She also talked at great length about how strained she felt about our relationship. I was quite content to hear Kay's full side of her complaints and was relieved in some ways that it was not so much about the things I had done with Marie, but rather her having to be alone so much and her perception that I didn’t care that much about her situation. I had been afraid all along that this situation was going to be much more difficult to deal with. At least Kay was willing at this point to consider counseling rather than jumping into a divorce situation right away. When she got through with her comments she asked how things had been with me and what she might expect in the future regarding my continued work in Algeria. I told her first about my trip to France and the success that this trip had brought to the sector of the study that I was working on. And then I told her about the intrigue Marie and I had experienced with the Russians and how that had ended with Marie leaving the company. When I mentioned that I would not be working with Marie in the future, I saw what I perceived in Kay a little relief.

When we finally got in bed that night, I was very nervous and Kay picked right up on it. I said it was just jetlag and that seemed to satisfy her. It took a while, but I finally calmed down and was able to enjoy the closeness and intimacy I knew Kay had been looking forward to. For the next couple of hours while we lay cuddled in each other’s arms, Kay told me in more detail the entire story about how things had developed after her meeting with our Bishop and how things had evolved to where we were that moment.

I only had the weekend at home before I was required to return to the office in San Francisco. Everyone had heard about my trip to France and wanted to know how it had been. Valencia the VP had me come into his office just after I arrived that Monday morning and brief him on the entire details of the presentation I had made to the Minister and what had resulted from that presentation. He also knew about Marie leaving and wanted to know how I felt about that and if there was anything about her performance that had caused her to leave Bechtel’s services. He knew what a great contribution she had made in translating materials and also felt like the trip she had made with me to France was a very good option. I told him about the Russians and the threats they had made to her. He seemed quite surprised to hear about this intrigue and seemed concerned that the project people over there and I when I returned might have to be closely monitored for safety sake.

The next few days when I got into the flow of things getting to work and home went pretty smooth­ly. At home, however, things were differ­ent. At first I didn't notice any change, but after a few days I realized I was looking at everything Kay did or said and I was com­paring it in my mind with how Marie would say something or do the same thing Kay was doing. It was as if I was compar­ing Kay with Marie on everything that happened. I even caught myself at one point while Kay and I were enjoying a shower to­gether thinking about Marie swimming topless in the Mediterranean and in the pool in the southern part of Algeria. Initially I wrote if off, but eventually it began to bother me a great deal. On one occa­sion when this was going on, Kay must have somehow sensed it because she asked me what I was day­dreaming about.

"Jack," she said, "what is going on with you? You seem to be miles away. I was just asking you something and you seemed to hear me all right, and you answered the ques­tion, but it was as if you were on automatic pilot."

I had experienced such devastation at having held back things from Marie and paying the price later, I didn't ever want that to happen again. So after Kay made the comments she did to me about being miles away, I just re­signed to the situation and decided to bring her into this hidden part of my life.

"Kay," I started quite frankly, "there is a lot on my mind and I want to bring you in on it, though I realize I may not be able to make you understand it all."

"Try me," was Kay's acid reply. "I'll do my best"

With that invitation, which I considered more of a threat than an invitation, I asked Kay to go for a walk with me. The children were occupied with homework and our oldest daughter was willing to take care of the two babies so she said she would see to it that the children were bathed and made ready for bed while we were gone.

"You take your time. You guys deserve some time alone," was Jan’s our oldest daughter’s assurance and encouragement.

Kay and I walked out the land and down the gravel road in silence for the first few minutes. The late evening light was enough so we could see and it looked like we were going to have a bright moon to light the rest of our walk. At first I was trying to re­hearse where to start, but finally giving up on that I just started . . .

"I hate to be the one to talk about how difficult things were for me this last trip know­ing that you must have gone through hell with our farm, our animals getting out, things breaking down and the trouble you had with Doug and Vie. I hope that what I have to say will somehow justify my strange behavior of late."

But before I could go on Kay inter­rupted me.

"Look, Jack before you go on," she said, “let me just say that I'm in good shape here. I’m feeling very strong and capable of hearing anything you might have to say. The older children have been very helpful and I’ve been able to manage the other problems without too much stress. It’s those other things that I mentioned the other night that are bothering me the most.

"Well," she continued impa­tiently, "maybe you'll understand things are okay with me, so now get on with what you need to tell me."

"I'll do my best," I started again, "I really don't have any explana­tions, I just have stories, and I guess I have to tell you the story to have it make any sense.

"Everything on my work in Algeria seemed to be going very well until my trip to France was planned . . .”

From that beginning I told Kay about the trip, making sure to give her a true picture about how things developed along the way between Marie and me. It was terribly disconcerting to go over times of intimacy I had with Marie, but I was totally committed at that point to giving Kay an accurate picture of my dealings with Marie, regard­less of what it might create between Kay and me.

Kay had little to say while I talked and we walked along. I was watching for signals, but I per­ceived none. Kay just continued to walk holding my hand or gripping my arm. There seemed to be no indication she was upset or wrought in any way about the details of Marie's and my time together. I believed what I had told her about Marie’s leaving the company had something to do with her attitude at that moment. But while I proceeded I got the distinct feeling Kay was taking it all in, weighing it and somehow preparing for some sort of rebuttal.

When I got to the part about our last meeting in Marie's friend's villa, I noticed a very distinct start or jerk when I told Kay that for an instant I had let down my guard and felt very much like I wanted to go father with Marie that we had ever gone. But when I continued and finished how things had finally turned out that night she re­laxed and seemed to be calmly taking it all in again. When I got through we walked silently for a while then Kay broke the silence . . .

"Jack, I'm stunned once again at this compli­cated three-party situation we seem to be in. One side of me says that I should be freak­ing out right now and throwing things at you, but the other side somehow says, understand what he is saying and try to see the possibilities in it. That second part is hard but I believe it is winning . . . especially if it is really true that this “relationship” you’ve been having with Marie is really over.

"But knowing how honest you have been with me on details, perhaps best forgotten, I believe there is something yet miss­ing you haven't told me about. Now I realize all what you have told me must be weighing heavily on your mind, they would be mine. But honey, I believe there is more to this than meets the eye. What about the way you have been acting these past couple of days? You have been noticeably different. What else do you need to tell me?"

"Yes, there is more, Kay," I contin­ued. "The past few days I have been doing something that has really bothered me. I have been look­ing at everything you do and listening to every­thing you say and I have been looking for similar­ities in your ways and words with Marie's."

At that statement, Kay seemed to freeze in her tracks and dropped her hand out of mine.

"So, Jack, how am I stacking up?" she said with dramatic emphasis standing facing me with her legs far apart.

"That was not an evaluation, Kay. It was something else, I believe,” I weakly re­plied.  "You two are so much different in every­thing you do and say. I find no comparisons at any level. There is no weighing of good or bad, of better or best. All I'm seeing are these very broad differ­ences and how I am attracted to both and admire them all. It's amazing to me, Kay, that in my mind you two have existed as if there were space for both of you in my heart. What I am most afraid about and this may be the reason I am most both­ered, is what happens when those two tracks cross. I'm having a very hard time understanding what's keeping them from crossing even now as we speak."

We had stopped walking and for a while, there in the dim glow of the moonlight, Kay just looked at me quietly.

"We talked about this when you were home last time, Jack," Kay replied, “and while the story is the same, it appears to me that you became much more involved this last time away. I hear you saying that she’s no longer in the picture work-wise, but are you still pining over her right now? You are expecting me to believe there are no compar­isons? You are expecting that I understand and still believe in your loyalty to me? You believe I should not be threatened by all this, Jack? Look at what you are asking me to do. Yes, I believe our paths have crossed."

With that detailed response, Kay then stepped away from me and sat down on an old fallen log along the gravel road. I could see now in the dim light she was crying. At first I wanted to comfort her since it was very obvious she was hurt, but I was at a loss for words. Everything she said was true. I had hoped she would under­stand and see things the way I had seen them. I had hoped she would not be threatened or read anything into what I was saying, but looking at it from her point of view I under­stood the pain she must have been feeling.

Not knowing how to comfort Kay, I wanted to run away. Now she was sitting with her head bent down on her knees and she was sobbing, and I was still standing there. Moving a little closer, still without words, I put my hand on Kay's shoulder and just stood there mo­tionless for a moment. When she didn't attempt to move my hand I then knelt down next to her knees and put my other hand on hers. Still no reaction and again I didn't have anything to say. Finally in a choked voice that was hardly audi­ble, I said . . .

"Kay, honey, I want to apologize for hurting you. I don't know how else to say this except I love you and I don't want to see you hurt. I have no excuses for what I have done. Never once did I ever feel I loved you less when I was with Marie. Never once have I desired her any more than I have ever desired you. I know I loved Marie, and I love you, and it seem­ed for a time I had the capacity for both. But I know I had not considered you in this triangle and how difficult it would be for you to understand . . . or more impor­tantly, tolerate. I just never thought that through."

Kay had stopped crying and as I said that she looked up from leaning on her knees and watched me while I said that. When I was finished she again looked down and buried her head in her hands. But this time, she held my hand in hers. After a long silence she raised her head again and said . . .

"Am I losing you, Jack?  I don't want to lose you. Our life together means too much to me. You may have this enormous capacity to hold two women in your heart, and it seems to be true because you seem no less loving to me, unless you are a fantas­tic actor. But, Jack, I only have you, and my capacity doesn't seem to be as big as yours. I have none other in my life. And since I am spending most of my time with the children when you are gone, I haven’t even had time to develop any close friends here in our Church or in the community. I only thank God for my Church Calling and the support that has given me."

Kay's voice trailed off as she again began to cry, this time leaning against me and holding my hand even tighter. The silence continued. I was in great turmoil in my mind. What could I do, I thought? Do I leave? Do I try to make her understand and trust that I will never be seeing Marie again? Do I quit Bechtel? I could just walk away from it all. I could refuse to go back to Algiers. I had no contract with Bechtel. Could I go on like this . . . leading this crazy life of being away from home so much, pretending I can manage it all with my "great capacity"? Who was I kidding? Not Kay, for sure.

As these thoughts raced through my mind, Kay again leaned back and began to speak . . .

"I feel trapped, Jack. I feel like an inno­cent victim of a complicated issue that has made me terribly vulnerable and angry at the same time. I am afraid for you . . . for me, for all of us. Look what's happening. Your life and mine are tenuous every minute. The children are in this with us. You’ve had this compli­cated affair going on with Marie. I see that you are trapped too, Jack. We are both hopelessly trapped. You can't even quit now. Look what would happen if you did. How long could we expect to continue to maintain our current life style if you were to quit Bechtel? We're entangled in this mess and it's all our own making. We bought into this. When we got married we committed to the good and the bad. We're in the bad now and there's no way out but through it."

"I could quit, Kay," I interrupted quite desperately. "I could just tell them I'm out of here. What could they do? They couldn't force me to go back. There are more jobs out there. We could leave the area. We have a little savings and I have money in my retirement that’s now vested. We could go anywhere . . . back to Utah even. It would be possible."

            "No, Jack," Kay interjected, "it would not be possible. We couldn't do it. Somehow we have to find a way to get through and finish what's been started. How can you walk away from what you’ve worked so hard to accomplish with your years now with Bechtel?

 

Chapter 9 –Preparations for My Fifth Trip to Algeria

 

"Diane, can you come into my office for a few moments?" I called to Diane Young over the intercom.

"Give me a few moments to clear this stuff off my computer, and I'll be right in," Diane an­swered, shouting across the cubicles rather than using the intercom.

I was just finishing my plan for my next mission to Algiers when I got a Telex from Bob Harper from Algiers that I should be prepared with a report to give to the Minister. Marie Khaldi had finished her translations before she left but did not have time to get it to San Francis­co and pre­pare the report, so I was in a real bind. I needed Diane's help on the report, so I called her in to see if she had any ideas.

"What's up, Jack?" Diane said when she burst into my office while I was deep in thought. 

"Oops, did I wake you?” she said when she entered.

"Diane. Thanks for coming in," I an­swered. "I need your help on something. I just got a Telex from Harper in Algiers and he wants the report on the expatriate replacement issue ready for the Minister on October 6. That means that we have less time by two weeks than I had planned. Marie Khaldi is gone now as you may know and her translations are complete. But there is some information we need and by the time it gets here it will be too late. Do you have any ideas on how we can manage to get it done in time?"

"I don't want to make this sound like I am trying to get a trip to Algeria," Diane answered almost too quickly, "but I really am. How about if I go over there with you and finish the report there? That way we would have enough time to get it done if like you say it’s all been translated."

"Are your passport and shots up to date?” I asked enthusiastic at her idea. “If they are I’ll speak to Valencia about getting your set up to go. I think I can make a good case for this, especially with the short timeline we have to get the report out."

"Yes they are. Where's my ticket?" she an­swered almost instantaneously. "I wouldn't miss it for a bet."

            "That's wonderful, here's what we will have to do . . ." I went on to ex­plain.

After telling Diane, I could hardly hold her down from running out and shouting the news down the hall. Diane was that way . . . another of those characteristics I loved about this woman. 

We had only a few days to wind things up before my next trip. Everyone was excited for Diane, and I was too. It had been a long time since I had traveled with Diane, and here we were going to take a trip half way around the world together.

At home while the days I would be at home were quickly winding down, Kay and I had finally come to some understand­ing on a few things. After we both conceded that night that we were almost hope­lessly trapped that included trust, ro­mance, intrigue and confusion, it was clear we had to find some answers and get at least through the trust issues. I promised her that when I was through with this project I would willingly enroll us in some serious counseling and we could just see where that all took us. She seemed quite satisfied with my promise.

Before I left, I told Kay that I had been forced by the critical nature of the project schedule to invite Diane Young to travel with me this trip. I felt, since Diane had once been part of our life together, I should tell her right away that I was going to be with her again for a few weeks. I was surprised when Kay said she was glad Diane was going. She had met Diane a couple of times at parties and such and knew how vivacious she was. Her thoughts were that with Diane working closely with me over there, that there would be less time that I would be thinking about Marie. I was relieved at Kay’s attitude about the situation, but I knew better. I still had to face the music about being with Diane again. Somehow I just continued to create these crises in my life. When I departed, I felt Kay was in a way relieved to have me go this time. I believed she knew that this would be a test for me and with­out it we could have batted this thing around until hell froze over without getting to any solutions. 

"We've got over twenty four hours we are going to be on this plane, Jack," Diane exagger­ated almost the minute we took our seats on the 747 for the long non-stop flight to Paris. "I want you to tell me every detail of your activi­ties so far on this project. Sure, I've read all your Trip Reports and Conference Notes . . . in fact, after trying to make some sense out of them; I think I have them memo­rized. But I want the details now . . . what's between the lines. I'm wide awake . . . try to put me to sleep with your stories. I dare you."

Diane knew I loved to tell stories and she had teased me about them before. Now she wanted to hear them. What a switch, I thought.

"What if I want to sleep and watch the two movies we get on the way over?" I teased. "I've had some rough weeks this last trip home. I think I'd rather do that. Go talk to that hunk Flight Attendant. I'm sure he'd have some stories to tell you."

"Look, buddy," she fired back, trying to make a joke of it, "you're not shoving me off this time. You're on the window seat and I've got you trapped. You've got to talk to me.  I'll take copious notes, I promise. You'll only have to tell me once."

I couldn't have gotten out of that one if I had wanted to. So with that little introduction we started a question and answer session that lasted almost the entire trip. Diane’s questions sometimes puzzled me, however. She seemed to know more even that I did about some aspects of the project. She was especially keen on some of the details of my trips and activities over there than anything that had gone into my trips reports. I concluded she had been talking to the other members of the team when they were back in the office to have known so much to have such creative and in-depth questions to ask me.

To have a break from it all, I pretended to snooze a few times and Diane let me alone. But what I was really needing was time to think about what Kay and I had talked about almost the entire time I was home and what I was going to do once I got to Alge­ria.

It was delightful being with Diane again on an extended trip like this. During part of the trip over we mused about all our other trips all over the U.S. and Canada from 1973 to 1975 and the week-long trip we took to the Washington Office in 1975. When I thought over these trips I was amazed at the similar feelings I had travel­ing with Diane that I had been having being with Marie over an extended time. Diane, of course was very different from Marie, but in many ways there were similarities in how I felt about Diane and how I felt about Marie. She was single; there was a natural bonding between us; when we were out of the work environment we always acted like best of friends, supporting each other, sharing thoughts and concerns and most impor­tant, being a listening post for each other.

In many ways I loved Diane much the same as I loved Marie. Once again, though, while I had experienced many questions about what it would be like to be with her in a sexual relationship, I had never entered that realm, even the slightest amount. Diane had also very seriously accepted my loyalty to Kay and had never attempted to violate it in any way. So here I was again traveling with this dynamic and assertive woman whom I cared for. I would likely be seeing her day after day and night after night for at least a month while we prepared the report for the Minister and while we passed the long and lonely evenings together. Knowing Diane, she would want to visit every restaurant I had fre­quented, see as many sights as time would allow and do everything one might do to learn more about the country in which we were working.

When I thought of these things, I thought also how important it might be to enroll Marie in being with us if we do some of these tourist-like activities to act as interpreter and guide. Her being with us, I concluded would enhance our experience of places in the country as well as keep any complications from happening with my being alone with Diane. I believed it might be a “safe” triangle with Marie along. While I thought about this option I believed it might be best to explained to Diane something about how my relationship with Marie had developed and what the benefits might be on Diane's and my after-hours activities if Marie was part of those activities. So when an opportunity availed itself, I jumped in . . .

"You've heard me talk about Marie Khaldi on several occasions, Diane. I thought it might be important to explain to you some things about Marie that may affect how things develop while we are in Algeria this trip."

"Yes, you've spoken of Marie and I'm excited to meet her," Diane replied, “but I thought she was not working for Bechtel any more. What's she like?"

"Frankly, Diane, she's a lot like you . . . beauti­ful, energetic, brilliant, fun to be with and a very dear friend; and like with you, I enjoy being with Marie to share her experience of the coun­try and to learn about it and to have a friend I can count on when I have something of which I want to talk. I must admit that Marie was more than an interpreter and translator; for example, while she has collaborated with me on drawing up opinions about certain issues we've had to confront regarding the project, and while we were traveling together on several occasions she served as a wonderful guide. She’s like a walking encyclopedia about this country. Everywhere we went together she added so much to those trips that made them interesting and fulfilling, I just can’t describe how much those trips were enhanced. One other example of how this incredible woman performed, when it became apparent that some faction against what we were there to do was following us around and attempting to distract us, Marie was very practical and level-headed about it, while I was totally emotional. Marie has had a great deal of experience for years working within the complicated political system in Algeria and she knows where many of the skeletons are buried. When you get to know her, I believe you will see that she will have valuable insights into what you and I are trying to do here in her country. If I can find her and make contact with her after we get there, I will do everything I can to enlist her help for any tours or adventures we will want to pursue on our free time.

"On at least one of our free weekends while we are here, I'll see what I can do about getting a driver and we'll go see some of the sites in the area. And if Marie is willing to come along with us we’ll have a wonderful tour-guide since she is so well versed in the history of the country."

"It sounds wonderful, Jack,” Diane enthusi­astically replied. "I can hardly wait to get there."

"There's one more thing I want to tell you about Marie, Diane. I think it is important that you know this. You must remember how it always was when we traveled places. When we were together so much we got very intimate at times with our feelings and our thoughts, and shared much with each other."

"Yes, I remember." Diane added serious­ly, "Those were wonderful times. I still cherish all of them.”

"Much the same has happened with Marie and me. She is a very intimate person and at times we have gotten very close; so close, in fact, that it has been very difficult for me to sort out my feel­ings and emotions with Marie from my commit­ments to Kay. I share this with you in confidence, Diane, because I think you will understand how it is having experienced much of the same when we have been together for long periods of time. I think these things just happen."

"How serious were you about this woman, Jack?" Diane commented. "And how serious was she about you?"

"This is so hard to talk about, Diane, since it makes so little sense," I tried to explain. "But it is something I have had to deal with. Of course, I have had very long and frank conver­sations with Kay about Marie like I did when you and I were seeing so much of each other on our trips. How easy these things happen has always been a marvel to me. The same has happened with Marie and I, Diane, except we have carried it any further than you and I did. We never had sexual relations, but we got very close and we both wanted to. We were truly friends, and there have been times when we needed each other's support and love. Because of her past life and experiences here in Algeria when she was younger and even now under the present circumstances that caused her to leave Bechtel, she has experienced a difficult and dangerous life."

That introduction opened up several more hours of conversation and reminiscing while the plane droned on its way to Paris. Hour after hour the conversations went on. Diane seemed to under­stand and took all I was saying with the utmost compassion, I felt. She questioned my motives on everything I said, but I never felt she was judgmental or in any other way rating what I was saying against our own relationship. As we neared Paris, Diane became com­pletely wired and began to grill me on how we would spend our day layover there together. 

I talked about repeating some of the expe­riences Maurice and I had enjoyed when we stopp­ed over on my second trip to Algeria. Diane was very enthusiastic about that but also wanted to visit some of the more famous sites in Paris like Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre. We reach­ed agreement and decided we would do all we could, no matter how difficult it might be to fit it all in.

After our arrival at the airport we took a taxi to the same hotel Maurice and I used when we traveled together. With the time change it seemed more like 9:00 p.m. to us. Diane didn't want to rest, but rather sug­gested we make a day of it and come in early that evening. We didn't have to be at Orly Airport until 10:00 a.m. the next day so she rationalized we could be out all day. We dropp­ed our suitcases, changed shoes and in minutes were walking along the Seine toward Notre Dame.

Diane never ran down all day. We walk­ed across bridges on the Seine, sat on park benches and watched the citizens and tourists. We took lunch on a boat ride on the Seine and we took taxis to the Louvre and the de Gaulle Art Muse­um. We walked for miles and Diane only wanted to see more. Time and time again as we reached points of complete exhaustion, we would stop at an outdoor café and have a warm coke, rest a few moments and we would be off again. The early fall weather was wonderful and so we got to see Paris at its best.

I had warned Diane about the madhouse at Orly Airport while we fought our way to the front of masses of people to get our place on the bus or to get to our assigned seat on the plane.  Diane's five foot eleven inch frame gave her the same advan­tage as I had. We could both see over the heads of ninety percent of the natives traveling with us, so we could bully our way through the crowds with relative ease. Diane had one more advantage . . . her beauty and grace, her light reddish-blond hair and her general composure brought her a lot of attention from the men, and most got out of her way, if only to watch her move along.

Diane never lacked in assertiveness and it showed up big time at the Orly Airport. I was reminded as I watched her take her place, of a story she once told me about one morning she spent in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco. Her apart­ment is adjacent to the park and every day she runs in the park for exercise with her two dogs. Both her dogs are massive creatures . . . one being a Labra­dor retriever and the other a Golden Retriever. The black Lab she calls Killer and the Golden Retriever is called Mack. Both are sissies, but no one would know it by their barks or size.

This one day, as the story goes, Diane was running along the park when she came upon a van that was parked along the curb. When she jogged around the van a man jumped out in front of her and opened his trench coat, flashing her with his naked body. Instead of being frightened, she simply called the dogs to get the man. Seeing the dogs, the man abandoned his van and took off running. Neither dog would hurt a flea, but both took the cue to have a little fun and began to chase after the man into the park. Then as coolly as she had called her dogs to the rescue, Diane walked around the car and let the air out of all the man's car tires and then walked to the nearest store and called the police; and then she returned to the van and waited. After a long run the dogs finally returned and eventually the man did also, finding not his abandoned car, but Diane and the police wait­ing.

Diane seemed always ready for any contin­gency, but was wide eyed when she saw the mess at Orly. Later that day when it was re­peat­ed at Algiers, she was again amazed . . . espe­cially when we got off the plane some thousand feet from the terminal and found our baggage on the tarmac with no carts available, to be carried by hand all the way to the Customs station inside. Getting through the usual armed guard customs was again fright­en­ing for her, and her relief was noticeable when I recognized Mahmoud who had driven to the airport to pick us up.

Diane was the only professional woman on the CEMEL Project and this had been her first oppor­tunity to mingle with the Project Team when most of them were together. As a result, when we arrived at the Project Office she created quite a stir . . . both with the Americans and the Algerian locals. But she was cool about it all, and like always, she could be the most "profes­sional" person looking more like the CEO than an ordinary team member. She would become a different woman in those instances, but always, she retained her charm, wit and assertiveness. It was almost closing time when we arrived at the office so we didn't do any work that first day. That night when we got to the hotel, the project team members wanted Diane and I to eat with them in the hotel restaurant, so we did and spent a long evening while everyone but Diane and I became drunk and talked shop all evening.

When we arrived at the office the next day we were able to get right down to work. Marie’s research and translations were there waiting for us. She had done a great deal of research before she left. I was surprised to see how much had already been done on the report we were supposed to be finishing. It was obvious right from the first that things were going to go very well these next few weeks.

When Marie and I parted company weeks before I was convinced then as was she that our parting would be permanent and I would never see her again. But being back I the country again, I couldn’t wait to be in contact with her again, even though it might be difficult to find her. I thought she still be staying at her friend’s house since it had only been a few weeks since she arrived there to have a safe place to live, so that was the first option I thought might be available for me in contacting her. A few days after we had settled in and Diane was being whisked off by the project team for a group dinner in the hotel, I opted out saying I didn’t feel like spending the evening in the hotel restaurant and would be eating out at a small café up the hill from the hotel that I had found. After they all left for the restaurant, I took a taxi at the hotel and gave the driver the address of Marie’s friend. I didn’t have a phone number to call, so I just took my chances that she would be there and I would surprise her.

When the taxi arrived I asked the driver to wait while I enquired if Marie was still living there. Lights were on in the villa so I knew someone was there. It turned out, however, that Marie’s friend said that Marie had returned home that week and would likely be at home. She gave me the address, which I had forgotten to bring with me and I returned to the taxi for the ride across town to see if I could meet up with Marie.

The lights were on in her villa when I arrived, so I paid the driver and took my chances that Marie was home and it was not the lady that worked for her who was in the villa. She was home and when she opened the door, a look of surprise and joy was immediately apparent on her face. Before I could say anything, she was on the porch throwing her arms around my neck and kissing both my cheeks.

I didn’t spend much time with Marie since I made it sound like I didn’t want anyone back at the hotel to believe I had done any more than go to the café near the hotel. Marie was amenable to that arrangement, but in the time I was there, I did bring her up to speed on what I had come to ask of her and to tell her a little about Diane being with me on this trip and our desire to see some of the sights of the country and have her be our guide. Marie told me that she had a new job now with another American company doing translation work, but she said she had weekend off and would be happy to accompany us when we had our plans made. She gave me her phone number to call when we were ready. When I asked about how things had gone for her after she left Bechtel, she said that for a while she was looking over her shoulder everywhere she went, but the people that had been harassing her had stopped immediately after she left Bechtel. Her friends had also kept a close eye on her movements, so she had felt quite safe during the few weeks she stayed at her friend’s house. In the short time I had with her before I left, I briefed Marie about the situation at home and what I had committed to Kay I would do about our relationship after I got back to Algeria. Marie, I knew by her composure, was ready for what I would say and accepted the conditions completely. But she did add this as I was getting ready to leave . . .

“In fact, Jack,” she started, “I believed that my role in this affair would be the most challenging thing that I would ever en­counter in my life. You seem to have the capac­ity for this type relationship, I thought, but would I be able to hold the line with you? I was not sure after my last visit with you and my shameful display of seduction. One thing seemed certain, that if we both had uncon­ditional love for each other, any­thing would be possible. As long as I knew that I could work within all these other re­straints. It was certain to be difficult, but not impos­sible. The key would be if our love could be un­conditional.”

Both of us were serious and quite as she walked me out to the waiting taxi we had called.  I knew we had not concluded our relationship as yet, and more discussion would follow at some future time.

Diane and I remained Algiers-bound for the first week and one half after my return. We had the report to prepare for the Minister and with the information Marie had left for us our entire time was consumed writing the report and having it translated. Harper had hired a new person to translate right after Marie left. Once that was done, I had another mission to accomplish if it were possible. I had still not visited the old costal village that had once been a Roman port city.  So when we had time, Diane and I made those weekend plans. When we decided on which weekend it would be I called Marie and arranged for her to accompany us. She agreed. For this trip, however, I arranged for a different Ministry driver to take us on this trip. It was timely since Bob Harper had already arranged to use Mahmoud that same weekend for a trip he and three other team members were also taking. I never mentioned to anyone other than Diane that Marie would be coming along with us.

Two weeks went by without any incidents occurring that may have given us any hints that the Russians were still interested in disarming our work in the country.  On Saturday, however, the beginning of my third week back in Algiers, I had planned to visit for the second time the Fiat truck assem­bly factory outside of Algiers.  I had been there once for a short visit with the training people, but this visit was to be more detailed.  Accord­ing to my plans I was to get into all of their training records and assess how successful their programs had been for expatriate replacement. I also wanted to see if any of the techniques the Italians, as licensors for the plant, had used would transfer to CEMEL.

According to what I had learned, Fiat had made arrangements with the Algerian Gov­ern­ment some ten years before to build one model of their light trucks in Algiers. Fiat initially would supply experts at all levels of the program and then phase them out as Algerians were capable of taking over. It looked like a perfect model for us, only on a smaller scale. I was in need of something in the country that was in any was successful so I had set up the meet­ing for that purpose.

This was the first opportunity I had since getting back to Algeria to get Diane out in the business communi­ty.  Armad, the new translator/interpreter Bob Harper had hired would be our interpreter and one of the other Ministry driv­ers, was to be our chauffeur.  I had used this driver before and found him to have much of the same clout as Mahmoud when it came to getting through some of the resistance we experienced in some places. We arrived at the plant a few moments before our scheduled meeting time and presented our normal papers of introduction.  The guard left and in a few minutes returned to tell us the people we were to meet were gone. I thought that strange because the preceding Wednesday before the weekend, I had asked the CEMEL Office Manger to confirm our visit for Saturday and he had done so.

After conferring with Armad to see what we should do he stepped forward and had a conver­sation with the guard.  I could see he was very nervous and soon returned to report that he felt something was wrong.  After anoth­er cau­cus, I asked Armad to see if our driver could get us more information about what was wrong. The introduction paper from the Ministry was given to the driver who then approached the guard. They had a brief confrontation then the driver blatantly pushed the guard aside and went into the plant. The guard just stood there open-mouthed, but did nothing to stop him.

About ten minutes went by before the driver returned, obviously angry. Armad and he had a discussion about it, and then he came over to me to report. Apparently, at a very high level the plant management had closed the door on our "audit" as he called it. Once more the term audit had been mentioned, but this time it apparently held that negative connotation I had always felt the word held. At that I went to a phone and called Bob Harper to report the incident. He suggested we return to the office and he would attempt to get through to the Minister about the incident.

I was upset about what had happened, but I had no inkling it had any connection with our Russian resistance until later. That evening when I got back to my hotel room a small note was lying on the floor next to the door just inside my room, as if it had been slid under the door.  It was written in English, but it obviously had been translated by someone that wasn't good at that.  It read . . .

"You have seen what we can do today.  No more audits or you will be pun­ished."

At first I couldn't figure out what it was about, and then it dawned on me that our KGB agents were again on the move. What had happened at the truck factory was their doing. The whole thing angered me; especially that someone was still trying to get in the way of our program with the Algerians. While I was pondering the consequences of the note, already tense and wondering what was happening next, a loud knock came on the door. I about jumped out of my shoes as it broke my concentration on the note. Then I realized I had forgotten that Diane and I had planned to go to the Kasbah that evening and she had gotten tired of waiting for me.  Opening the door, finally, I heard . . .

"What's going on, Jack?  Were you trying to stand me up?  It's getting late.  Don't we need to get going?"

"Come in, Diane," I replied rather sheep­ishly. "I lost track of the time. I'm sorry. But we'll make it up. I know a short cut through the back streets to the Kasbah. You are in for an adventure."

We left immediately. But instead of going out the lobby, I went to the lower floor and exited the way I had a number of times when I did not want to be detected. That night I was just not going to take any chances. It was really a short cut to go through the back alleys and Diane loved the mystery of it all. She also loved the Kasbah since we had been there together two times before. So in all we event­ually had a good time and I forgot about the note until I re­turned.

First thing the next morning, I had a private conversation with Bob Harper. He was obviously very concerned and said he would mention this to the Minister that morning. Later that day Bob Harper got back to me with a message that he had talked to the Minister about the incident and had found out that the Fiat management believed we were there as corporate spies and that was the reason we were blocked from getting into the building. He said it was now a political matter that he would have to handle later. I was a little relieved that a new meeting had not been scheduled right away since I wasn’t really anxious about going there again without having some assurance that things were not going to explode.

How the matter had eventually been resolved was that it was learned that the phones at the Bechtel office were being tapped; someone in the Ministry was cutting in on our information network or one of the Alge­rian employees of CEMEL was dirty. All the security around the CEMEL villa was then increased, the phones were checked by the Ministry and our twenty four hour security was tightened.

For the rest of the week all the project team stayed low profile hoping to hear more from the Ministry but no more communication came our way. Diane was like a Jack-in-the-Box trying to keep her down. She wanted to get out of the office more and couldn't be told what was going on. To appease her restfulness, I finalized our arrangements for a driver for the next weekend and we decided to go to the old port city of Gouraya. Another driver, Mohammed, would be going with us. Our driver was in­structed by Bob Harper very specif­ically on keeping us safe the entire weekend.

At 8:00 A.M. sharp on Thursday, Moham­med was waiting outside the hotel lobby to pick up Diane and me. Diane was wound up like a top having been relatively incapacitated the past couple of weeks.  In moments we were outside of Marie's house picking her up. Before we could leave, Diane insisted on seeing Marie's villa, so we were a little delayed before leav­ing.

           Once we were all in the car again we were on our way. As soon as we left Marie's villa, how­ever, I noticed a difference came over the driver. He seemed like he was taking some unusual turns to get to the expressway leading out of town. I suspected he was attempting to take a route where he could avoid being fol­lowed. This was further confirmed when he drove down into the busiest part of town and took several side streets I had never been on before leaving the city. I asked Marie if he knew the way to see if she had any hint of what was going on and she simply replied that it was okay. But behind her words I saw the glimmer in her eye that Mohammed was indeed avoiding any possi­bility of being followed.

When we got to the open highway heading north toward the sea coast highway, I look­ed back several times to see if we were being followed and I was convinced we had not been. Mohammed's 125 kilometers to 150 kilometers speed soon convinced me without a doubt that if anyone was following us they would have to be in another Citroen. I had seen no other car in the country I thought could keep up with these old busses. Diane was too busy talking and taking in all of Marie's tour guiding to pay any atten­tion to the intrigue that had been unfolding.

             When we got to the sea coast highway we turned west paralleling the Mediterranean for I guessed at least 100 kilometers, then on direc­tions from Marie, we left the main highway and headed up a mountain we could see and a sort of a pyra­mid on its top. Marie called it the Pyra­mid of Cleopatra, and then she told us the story . . .

"My dears, this is a famous and wonderful story about the Roman ruler that governed the city we will be visiting later. He had a wife whose name was Cleopatra--not the queen of Egypt. It seemed the Roman ruler was so in love with this Cleopatra that when she died unexpect­edly he decided he must erect a monu­ment to her memory that over­looked the sea she loved. So he sent slaves to build a road up this mountain from the city. At the same time he had another group cut off the top of the moun­tain to make it flat for the edi­fice. Then he covered it all with a great rock court made from stones quarried from distant mines. In the center he erected an underground crypt where his wife would be finally put to rest. Encircling this crypt with a high carved rock wall some one hundred or more meters in diameter, he then ordered that the entire city be disman­tled stone by stone and all the stones be brought to the mountain and placed on top of the crypt.  This done, the entire city was flattened leaving no­where for the over one hundred thousand people to live. Soon the city was surrounded by huts and shacks where people lived for a time before they all eventually left. The ruler never let the city be rebuilt and it stands now much the same as it did when he left with only the small village sur­rounding it and a few fishing huts on the wharf."

The evidence of the pyramid story was clearly defined by the large court I guessed was at least ten acres in area. We parked the car near the wall surrounding the crypt and could see the entrance the ruler had left in which we sup­posed he could enter the under­ground chamber. The stones making up the court were most at least four feet square and were so perfectly carved not even a knife blade could fit in be­tween the cracks.  They were not exactly square, which made it even more interesting because even the odd shaped stones were fitted most perfectly. The ten foot high wall surrounding the crypt was also beautifully fashioned with stones cut to preci­sion to fit together without mortar.

Most fascinating was the generally circular pile of stones encircled by the wall that had once been the building blocks of the city--placed not in a pyramid shape, but more rather conical.  The building stones, some I guessed were at least four feet square by six feet long, were piled on top of each other ran­domly as if they had been thrown there by some unseen force of nature. It was amazing that the struc­ture was well over one hundred feet high. How the stones had been placed so high was even more amazing.

Like regular tourists, we marveled at the sight, posed for pictures, and ate snacks we had brought along for the trip then moved to the next site, the city cemetery located two or three kilometers out of Gouraya on our way to the ancient city--or what was left of it. The huge cemetery was located on a hillside facing the sea covering at least a five or six acre area.  All of the graves were above ground--actually coffins--literally thousands of them, made entire­ly from two pieces of stone--one where the bodies had been placed and another, an accurately carved, tongue and grove lid. Some were stack­ed on top of each other; others were sitting ran­domly on the ground. All had been broken into. On the outside the stones were carved to resemble the shape of a coffin. Inside the stones were carved out to the shape of a human body. Each one had a lid that had once fit tightly and appeared to have been sealed at one time with some kind of tar.  Each coffin with its lid must have weighed over a ton. It was an amaz­ing sight, especial­ly when we got close and noted that each was inscribed all over the outside with writing. Marie told us the inscriptions were all in Latin and that they spoke of the life of the person that had been buried and when the person's death had oc­curred. 

Some grave sites were elaborate­ly decorat­ed with stone fences, archways leading to the graves and posts deco­rated with ornate shapes. There was not one coffin that had not been broken into. There were no sign of bones in any of them and many of the lids and coffins had been broken in the process. The place, despite its overwhelming interest, and undisput­ed beauty at the same time emphasized some men's vanity and other's lack of respect for the dead.

The site of the ancient city of Gouraya covered at least a square mile in area bordering on a beautiful deep-water bay. Two sides of the bay were skirted with high cliffs extending down to the water.  A wharf still existed in the center of the port, partly made of stone and part a more modern boat dock.  On one side a small, but beautiful beach extended one or two thou­sand feet along the shore. As the inlet to the bay was rather nar­row, opening up to a pear shaped bay, the bay itself was relatively free of wave action.

Where the city had been, now only foun­dations and an occasional wall stood, but by the size of it and the foundations themselves it was easy to tell the city had been a very modern for its time.  In some areas were the roads had caved in it was apparent that each street between the hous­ing areas had a sewer or storm drain sys­tem. These were made from stone with hole cut through them like "pipes." Along the same routes other “pipes” must have been used for a central water sys­tem.  All the under­ground systems were made from the same stone we had seen on the moun­tain carved by highly skilled artisans with tight fitting, non-mor­tared joints. In many of the home sites or possi­bly stores we saw large vessel-shaped, stone-lined holes in the ground that had small one foot diameter open­ings on top that widened out until they were at least four to six feet wide inside. The holes were shaped inside like large pears. Marie told us they were wine storage casks since the city's prime economy was the export of wine to the European main­land. After spending more than two hours walking around the city site we worked our way to the beach where we had a pleasant picnic before continuing west to the resort of Ténès where we would be staying for the night.

Marie had recommended we stay at Ténès because it was fairly new, having been built shortly after the Revolution. She said for the first few years of its existence it had been used exclusively by the Russians, but now was used primarily by the Alge­rians. When we drove up to the place most of what had apparently been a beautiful beach-side resort-hotel seemed to be completely vacated. What seemed even worse was the dilapidated exterior and rundown landscaping. The beach, however, was pristine--even more beautiful than Tigzit where Marie and I had stayed in June. All through the afternoon the weather had been warming up and as we talked about the place we were staying we were hopeful we would be able to enjoy the water the next day.

When we went into the hotel lobby it still appeared we were going to be the only residents. As we checked in we asked and were told it was the off-season and that later more people might be coming for the last day of the weekend. We were satisfied with the cost and the rooms were at least clean, though modest. There were no towns any­where nearby, so we had little choice but to stay there.

Mohammed left with the car after we check­ed in. He said he was driving north to the next town to get gas and would not be joining us for dinner. After the long day we were all pretty exhausted so when we finished our meal we all departed for our rooms and planned to meet again at breakfast. I had brought a book so it seemed like a good arrange­ment.

At about 9:00 p.m. I heard a light knock at the door. When I opened it, I was surprised to see Marie standing there in her bare feet in a loose-hanging long tee shirt I guessed was her night dress. I let her in and she immediately made her way to my bed where she laid down and propped herself up with my two pillows. I sat next to the bed near the small writing table. She looked rather serious.

"Jack," she began, "I could wait no longer to talk to you more about all that has happened since you left Algiers to return home. I know we all have been very busy, so I waited for a time like this. I could wait no longer to talk to you. I hope you do not mind my coming in like this."

"No, Marie," I replied rather happy to be with her alone for only the second time since I returned. "I am happy you came. I also wanted to talk to you, too, but it had not occurred to me to do it tonight. What was it you wanted to dis­cuss?"

"I had some pretty difficult times after you left, Jack," Marie continued. "I told you about the letters and phone calls, but there was more to tell. When you left after we had experi­enced such a dramatic evening at my friend's villa, I fell into a very serious state of depres­sion for several days. I could not deter­mine if I was still feeling bad be­cause of my inexcusable behavior or because I was feeling simply lonely for you. As I thought about it, however, I realized I was in distress because I was miss­ing you. What I was feeling, Jack, was a desper­ate longing that I could not over­come.

"As days added to days that you were away, the condition got worse. At first though I needed the money, I didn’t make any effort to find new work. It was not until I had learned from Mahmoud whom I called one day that you were returning that I began to feel better. I counted the days for your return. While I knew I would not be able to contact you, I really hoped you would somehow get in touch with me when you returned. I was so thankful that you did.

"I know what this must mean to you, Jack, and I still feel like I need to maintain my com­mitment to you. But I am caught with this hopeless feeling of love for you that cannot be served."

Marie was crying as she finished her state­ment to me and I was struck dumb by it. In my heart my compassion for Marie was throb­bing. In my mind I was once again fighting her off. Not knowing what else to do, I walked over to the bed and sat down next to her. Shaking as if I were approaching a fearful mo­ment in my life, I reached over and stroked her face. When I did so she rolled away from me and began to sob. I felt helpless to do anything for her, but in desperation, I lay down beside her and drew her close to me and held her hard against my body, but she did not respond and remained stiff and tense.

This time I was not feeling the surges of sexual desire for my friend. Instead, I felt sad and tears began to flow down my own face and drop in her hair. I felt responsible, like I had created this sadness she was feeling. I had expressed my love to her and nurtured our friendship, knowing too well the hopelessness in it. I had once dreamt that I could hold both her and Kay next to my heart . . . that I had this over­whelming power and capacity for two women's love; but now I knew better. It was truly hopeless; and what Kay and I had discussed, it was a situation in which we were both trapped.

Marie quivered in my arms, but said no more. Finally I felt her relax as she al­lowed her body to fit snugly against mine. Then she began to stroke my arm that was holding her against me. As she did she drew her fingers down to mine and slid the palm of her hand over the back side of my hand. Slowly, she turned her hand over and strok­ed my arm and hand with the back of her hand. I felt her pain; I felt her desperation and loneliness and once again I was fooled into believing I could hold her in my heart.

I don't know how long we lay there like that. I seemed to float in and out of conscious­ness. I wasn't falling asleep, but rather I was momentarily falling from the present to the past with flashes of feelings and memories. I saw us lying like this on the beach east of here . . . her topless and me staring at her bare breasts. And I saw her flowing toward me like a ghost in her silky white gown when she greeted me at her villa. My moments of unconsciousness and re­called mem­ories caused me even more sorrow when I fell back to the hours Kay and I had spent looking for some answers to this very dilemma. I began to noticeably quiver myself at my own thoughts and my own sorrow and it broke the spell we were in.

Marie forced herself free of my grip on her and rolled over facing me, her eyes still wet with tears. Then tenderly, she took the back of her hand and wiped my cheeks dry where tears had been accumulating. As she did, she began to speak again . . .

"Jack, my dear, dear friend, see what I have caused with my nonsense again. What are we to do? I feel trapped by my own feelings and worse, I feel I'm now causing you more pain than you can bear.

"Tell me, Jack.  I know you must have dis­cussed our situation with Kay. Do you still have a marriage? Did you leave this time with anything to look back to? Have I ruined everything for you?"

While Marie lay there inches from me asking these questions I was hardly able to resist draw­ing her close to me and kissing her passionately. I could feel her breast lying against my arm and her general closeness was something I had wanted these many weeks that I had been away. She always invaded my normal space when she talked to me with her closeness, but this was even nearer than usual. She was so near I could feel the heat of her skin through the thin tee shirt that only accentu­ated the curves of her body. I could also feel the moistness of her breath and longed to touch her lips with mine and share the moisture of her mouth. Sighing a long sigh, I finally answered . . .

"Oh, my, Marie, you are such an en­chant­ment to me when I am near you. I lose all logic and all resistance, and I find myself en­gulfed by your immediacy. I feel helpless and lost when you are by me like this.

"But yes, I did discuss this with Kay and I believe she did everything in her power to under­stand. But who, Marie, who would under­stand the intimacy and grace in which we touch each other? How could she understand the comfort I feel when I am with you? She tried, Marie. She is a strong and loving, caring woman. But she be­lieves she is losing me to you. She is terribly afraid, Marie, and I can see why. A part of me is with you all the time and I have less to spare for her. I can't hold you both; I am too shallow for the love you both have for me. I thought I could hold it all, but that was only a dream. I'm lost at know­ing what to do. I love you, Marie; I know that now. I've loved you from the first time I saw you. There are things, however, I must consid­er and they are at a high priority for me. I am invested in my marriage and my children. In fact, when I return again I have committed that Kay and I will be entering intensive marriage counseling to see if we can resolve all the issues we have together . . . not all of which involve my relationship with you. This love I feel for you comes in between that, but it must be considered in light of Kay and my children. You must understand, Marie. I don't think I'm helping you, but I don't know how either."

Almost as if she were collapsing, Marie rolled back on the bed flat on her back blankly looking at the ceiling above the bed. For a long time she was silent, then she reached over to me and touched me; it was like patting me to get my attention.

"Look, Jack," she said finally. "Look at the ceiling above the bed. See that little crack there? It's short and I suppose deep, but the ceiling does not fall down. The ceiling is bro­ken like my heart. It is deep as the deepest chasm I can imagine and it tears into my soul. But, look at me, Jack, I am still whole. I am not caving in on myself and I shall not do so in the future. I can love you and feel whole, though I know I shall never have you. I can be your friend, Jack, as long as you come to Alge­ria, and I can still love you and be with you as a friend. As much as I would like to, I cannot be your lover, but I will be your friend. You will see, Jack, how strong my friendship can be. Tell Kay she need not worry. I will help to bring you back to her. You are right, Jack. You have priorities and they are Kay and your chil­dren.

"I thought at first if I couldn't have you, I would be a martyr with my love, but I see it will only cause more pain and sorrow for both of us. But as your friend, I can serve you and show my love to you by assisting you to be loyal to Kay and to maintain your stand.

"I must leave now, Jack. I've kept you too long. Don't worry about me. This will make me strong. I have all I need to grow from this experience."

When Marie raised herself to a setting posi­tion and began to slide off the other side of the bed, I reached for her hand, but all I got was air. That was good; at that moment I was certainly too vulnerable to resist anything. Had I gotten her hand I would not have let it go. With a caring smile, Marie slid off the bed and walked to the door. Waving coyly she swished out the door quietly as she had come in.

"See you at breakfast, my dear friend," she said as the door latched behind her.

The three of us played the entire next day. Marie acted as if nothing had happened the night before. The day was too cold to swim, but it was warm enough to sunbathe when we got tired of throwing things to each other and play­ing tackle football with an old wool cap we found near the hotel.

At first Marie started with both pieces of her bikini on but when we fell exhausted on the sand on the towels we had ransacked from the hotel, she dropped her bikini top and sunbathed like I had seen her do before. Diane got a kick out of my embar­rassment at having her there while Marie did her thing. Then teasing me Diane commented that it was no wonder that I liked Marie so much. I nodded weakly "yes" and blushed again. Diane took the cue and followed suit with Marie. So there I was again like I had experienced in Berriane caught be­tween two beautiful and well-shaped women trying to keep my cool and not doing a very good job at it. The cold water of the Mediterra­nean looked very inviting just then and I almost took the challenge. Instead, I rolled over on my stomach and tried to pay little attention to the scene as if these two beautiful women did not exist any­where in the world.  When Diane noticed I was ignoring her, she whispered to me . . .

"Enjoy this while you can, Jack. As I always say, `When in Algeria, do as the Algeri­ans do.'  But if I ever hear you have told anyone about this moment, I shall personally strangle you with my bare hands."

I knew she meant it!

The trip back to Algiers went along without incident. Before we dropped Marie off at her villa she instructed the driver to not to tell anyone that she went with us on this expedition. He said he understood and would keep that confidence with her. And then the driver took Diane and I back to the hotel. The next day was a work day, so as usual Diane and I made it our high priority to complete the report for the project that Diane had come there to assist with compiling. Two days after it was finished we made the presentation to the Minister. Diane went along for the presentation and met the Minister for the first time. His eyes and the eyes of all his staff seemed to be on Diane for the entire presentation. But it went over well despite the distraction. When we returned to the office we had a short meeting with Bob Harper. He wanted to know if it was necessary to have Diane remain any longer. There was no way we could justify her remaining in Algeria, so the decision was made that she would return as soon as her reservations could be made. She had work to do in the office, so she wasn’t upset at leaving. She privately told me that the visits we had made to the Kasbah and along the Mediterranean Coast far exceeded her expectations of her visit to Algeria. When she finally went to the airport, I went along to give her a sendoff. She hugged me just as she departed through the gate area and whispered in my ear, “Remember what I told you about keeping a secret about what you saw at the beach last weekend. I’m holding to that on stake of your life.”

 

Chapter 10 – The Final Few Trips Algeria

 

Because I was traveling back and forth from the States to Algeria so often and the project continued regardless where I was, I was often left out of some of the finer details that had a great impact on the end results. While I was in the office between my sixth and seventh trip to Algeria I received word that the Minister had decided that more data needed to be collected from projects that were on-going in the western part of Algeria. I had gone to Oran on one of my trips, but he was suggesting that a trip be made to one of the large mining operations located on the west boarder of the country near Morocco. This project being operated by a U.S. company was in the Béchar Region. I was not in Algeria when the order came from the Ministry, Bob Harper decided to have Milan Radovic traveled there to collect the data and make the report. From what I read from Bob Harper’s fax to me was that when the report was submitted to the Minister he questioned the validity because of some major discovery Milan had made while he collected the data. The Minister had then forthwith demanded that the survey be done again. Bob wanted me to do the survey, so he said I had to make travel plans and be on the plane again in no more than two days.

The worrisome trip back to Algeria went without a hitch. For a few days after I got back while I was going over the Béchar Region Report and making plans to travel there myself, things seemed like they were in chaos all over the project. The Minister had not only complained about the report that Milan had presented for the Béchar Region, he had also demanded that several other parts of the project be redone.

"Jack, can you come into my office for a few moments," Bob Harper asked me, "I have to talk to you about something else the Minister is anxious for you to investiga­te when you go over to the Béchar Region?"

"Sure, Bob, give me just a minute and I'll be right in," I answered, puzzled at what the Minister wanted.

The meeting was short. The part of the report that Milan had made on his visit to Béchar Region in the western part of Algeria was such a significant and important discovery, that the Minister, not having total confidence with Milan's findings that I make sure I meet this time with the highest level people in the mining operation rather than simply gather data from the project staff like Milan had done. Bob instruct­ed me drop what I had been doing attempting to go over the data Milan had collected and make my plans to leave as soon as it could be arranged.

I knew it had taken Milan and the driver that I learned had been Mahmoud two days to get there and two days to return plus the one day to do the visits, so I could expect the trip to be at least five days in length. By the end of the week I had the plans made for the trip, and had made arrangements to leave on Thursday so we could take advantage of week­end travel. That would put us at the plant site in Béchar on Satur­day the 13th if all went well. I made arrangements for Mahmoud to be my driver.

Since I got back to Algeria on this trip I had seen little of Mahmoud so I was looking forward to having this time with Mahmoud again as my driver. I knew I would have to have a good interpreter that spoke French and Arabic and Mahmoud’s Berber dialect so I asked that I take Ahmed the new Interpreter that had replaced Marie with us on the trip. I knew he could handle both Arabic and French and could also communicate with Mahmoud, so I was granted permission to use him. When I got word to Mahmoud that I wanted to use him as my driver he passed the word back to me that he too was anxious to work with me again.

Before I left I went over Milan’s Conference Notes again noting who he had met with and who I needed to contact and make arrangements with on the mining project. Milan had gone home and was released from my team already, so he was not available to answer any questions I had. Going on what I did have I made some calls and requested that I have some meetings with the top brass of the project when I arrived in the region. As usual, I had to make all my own hotel ar­rangements and take care of the logistics, but it all went off smoothly.

I had hoped I could keep my travel plans low profile, but before I left everyone knew the sched­ule. The people I would be meeting with on the Béchar Mining Project were all Americans, so I knew that any interpreting that I would need was during my travel time and handling any of the logistical problems that might arise along the way or in the place where I would be staying.

            While the Minister had his doubts about the validity of the data Milan had collected, after I reviewed it I was certain his findings were solid and had no doubt that I would be learning nothing more than he had. When I mentioned that to Bob, he said he had suggested the same with the Minister but the Minister was not convinced. He explained to Bob as an aside that he especial­ly was doubtful of Milan's viability because of him being more of a statistical analyst than a human resource person.

I was looking forward to the trip by the time I was ready to go. Diane had done such a good job of organizing the writing of my chap­ters of the plan and the people in San Francisco with Maurice's help were so far along, I knew my week away from the Project would make no difference in my section meeting the deadline for completion.  In fact, when I looked over the report and talked to the people in San Francisco before I left, I knew I had very little to do to finish my chapters of the study. There were some details about the writ­ing style and the transla­tion that were being worked out by the Project Writer that would be putting the entire study together, I knew it would all be rewritten anyway during the last stages. I had experi­enced that before with Project Writers and knew that a good draft was all they needed, and things didn't need to be completed to the last dot.

On Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m., Mahmoud was outside of the hotel with the old Citroen ready to roll. Having me look at his map as we left, Ahmed explained that we would be taking the Algiers-Oran highway as far west as ReDiane­ane, then we would cut off south from there over the moun­tains to Saida then across the desert through the Chott Ech Chergui sand dunes that I had heard were some of the largest in all of Algeria. Our itinerary would put us in Aïn-Sefralate evening on Thursday. The next day, the Sabbath, we would stay over in Aïn-Sefra at the base of the Monts des Ksour or Mountains of Ksour, do some sightseeing in the area and then take the last leg of our trip to Béchar early Saturday morning in time to meet our contacts at noon.

Dawn was just breaking in the east when we started to parallel the Mediterranean.  The highway skirted the base of the mountains for many miles and from time to time the sea would come into view in the distance. The beauty of Algeria never ceased to amaze me and this morning while we traveled along the foothills of the north side of the Atlas Mountains the view was even more special than ever.

Ahmed seemed to know the country very well, and like Marie had done on many of my trips with her, Ahmed talked about the coun­try he loved and for which he had so much hope.  We talked about Marie in general since Ahmed had known her, having worked with her a short time before she started working for Bechtel. He knew the general story about her having to leave the project and supported that action. He claimed he had heard from a good source that her life had really been in danger and it would have been only a matter of time before she was struck down. He knew even more about Marie than I did, I learned that as the miles rolled along and he continued to chat about her. It seemed that even more than I had suspected, she was very much involved in the movement that was afoot to reedu­cate the government about the poor job the Rus­sians were doing in the country. He said much had come to light in the community after she left Bechtel and resumed her work in her organization. While we were together when the threesome took our little vacation along the Mediterranean Coast Marie had not mentioned anything about getting active in her organization again. She only mentioned that she was doing translation work for an American Company that had a project in Algiers. I guessed she hadn’t mentioned this because of Diane’s involvement with us.

During the hours that we were driving along I asked Ahmed to see if Mahmoud could shed any light on the problems the report Milan had prepared when they went to visit the mining property in Béchar. There was a long pause after Ahmed talked to Mahmoud and then Ahmed began to interpret the Mahmoud’s version of the story to me: The visits Milan had made had apparently been with some technical people on the project rather than the General Manager. He had first arranged to meet with this man, but just before he left the General Manager had returned to the States on some critical business. So Milan had no choice when he got there but to get what information he could from the lieutenants that reported to the General Manager and that had been part of the source of the problem the Minister had complained about. It had taken Milan al­most a week to prepare the report, Mahmoud said, and the results had left the few mem­bers of the project who were still in Algeria quite happy that the project had reached one more mile­stone.  This would mean one more progress pay­ment for the compa­ny and Milan had been a major contribu­tor to this effort. Mahmoud said Milan was ecstatic about the results. Bob Harper believed that this was the end of the matter and Milan’s work in Algerian was finished, so he was released to go home right after the report was prepared and reviewed by the Project Team. When Milan got back to the States I had no further work for him, so we terminated his contract and he went back to his home in Southern California.

“If that were the case,” I questioned, “why had Milan’s report been so unfavorably received by the Minister?”

Mahmoud went on to tell say that Milan knew the report was quite lacking in detail. He was clear of his mission, he said, and the information he had gone after, he knew would be quite sensitive if what he was expected to find out was validated. You will recall, Mahmoud reported, that Milan’s primary mission was to visit the train­ing center that had been set up for mining opera­tions west of Béchar there near the Moroc­can bor­der. The opera­tion was being man­aged by the Amer­ican com­pany, Morri­son Construc­tion Com­pany that had been con­tracted by the Algerian Ministry of Min­ing and Miner­als to open up the potash mining opera­tions in that region. Before I returned to the States that last time, Mahmoud reminded me, mine and Marie’s joint research of the operation had shown ­that the train­ing pro­grams had pro­duced very good and mea­surable results in a very short time and that a lot of the expatri­ates who had been brought over to start the oper­ations had been replaced by the trained Alge­rians well ahead of schedule. It was obvious, I remembered, that gathering data there first hand would be important to what we were doing ­to verify the rather sketc­hy reports we had received from the Minis­try of Min­ing and Min­erals and see if the mod­els the Ameri­cans had used for expatri­ate re­place­ment were any­thing like the one I was hoping to promote.

At that point Mahmoud was not relating anything I did not already know, I told him.  Marie and I both knew that the informa­tion, if it proved correct, would be very sensi­tive, espe­cially if it were com­pared with the Russian-influ­enced programs we had seen in Annaba and Arze­w. What I didn’t know, Mahmoud countered, was that when Milan put the report togeth­er, the statistics made far greater disparities between the Russian and the American programs than had ever been imagined. That was the key factor in what the Minister was looking at when he reviewed the report. All the data he had been receiving from the Russian sources was that things were not as bad as Milan’s report made them seem.

Mahmoud explained that as soon as the report was drafted, a copy was given to Bob Harper who reviewed the report and instructed Milan to go ahead and complete it and he would send a draft to the Minister for his preliminary review. Three days later, Mahmoud continued, the day after the draft report went to the Minister for review, a letter arrived at the CEMEL office.  The letter was addressed to Bob Harper and contained a short accusation that the report that had been sent to the Ministry contained false accu­sations and that it would not be accepted by the Ministry. Bob figured right away that a leak had occurred with the draft that was sent to the Minister, so he called that day to speak to the Minister about the letter. The Minister didn’t know anything about the letter, but by that time he had read the draft report and was questioning its conclusions. It was shortly after that when the Minister ordered Bob Harper to have the report reviewed and have someone return to Béchar to get more solid data from higher authorities from Morrison Construction. That was about all Mahmoud knew about the report. I reviewed again some of the things he said and then stopped any further discussion of the matter.

After several hours of driving and talking I decided have Ahmed ask Mahmoud to relate if he would some his involvement in the Revolution and how he had become a hero in the minds of the people in the Ministry and seemingly everywhere we went. Mahmoud was hesitant to talk about his experiences but finally revealed the whole story. It was his people, the Berbers, according to him, that were so anxious to start the movement toward freeing the country from French colonial­ism. He was not one of the leaders of that move­ment, but was a charter member of a group that began the first resistance that led to the revolt and eventual revulsion of the French. Many of his country-men died, he said. When he talked about that I saw for the first time a real tenderness and love that was underneath the normally rough-hewn appearance he carried around on the surface.

I asked about his attire and whether it had any bearing on his being recognized everywhere we went. He said the sport coat and simple dress was typical of the Berbers and had become the hallmark of those that were considered heroes in the country. He said that no one except a small group of men like himself was ever seen in the exact dress like he wore. I had not felt it was so easily discernible, but took his word for it. I had seen him in action on several occasions and had no doubt that some­thing in his manners or appearance or even the way he talked or his accent was the trigger that caused people to immediately respect and revere him.

The time flew quickly and soon we were leaving the Oran highway at HeDianeane and work­ing our way through the low mountain valley to Mas­cara where the road began to increase in eleva­tion on its way to Saida. This region was less spectacu­lar than the country I had seen near Skikda and Constantine. Here the moun­tains were less dra­matic, more rounded and drier.

Leaving Saida we also left the mountains and were soon in dry, harsh desert for the next two hundred and sixty-six kilometers it would take to get to Aïn-Sefra where we would spend the night. Half way across this desert region I could see in the distance the sand dunes I had heard about. More like mountains than dunes, these massive mounds loomed on the hori­zon for as far as I could see in every direc­tion. Estimating distanc­es on the map I had it appeared the dunes ex­tended at least fifty kilometers to the west and over one hundred kilometers to the east of us. We drove through the dunes a good twenty kilometers before the land became flat and gravelly again. There were places I could see where the dunes had covered the road and had to be moved much like snow drifts. I thought of crossing such a barrier on foot or camel and wondered how people had ever done it or if anyone ever could.

When we passed Naama the highway began to climb in elevation again and to the east we could see a long range of dry moun­tains paralleling the road that seemed to be getting higher every kilo­me­ter. By the time we were in Aïn-Sefra we had raised from sea level where we started to over one thousand twenty meters or about thirty three hundred and fifty feet above sea level.  This was high desert country and the mountains near Aïn-Sefra looked like pictures from the moon.

Aïn-Sefra was a pleasant, but small village with only one gas station and a few homes scat­tered around in the palm groves that sprout­ed here and there where apparently there was ground water. I never saw any sign of water on the sur­face and one central community pump and water kiosk seemed to be the stopping place for many of the villagers that were busy filling up bladders, buckets and barrels with water. The El Mekter Hotel, a sixty room, ancient establishment out of the French Foreign Legion time stood proudly in the center of town and was the only facility in the city that seemed to have any life left in it. It was a busy place with a small restaurant on the main floor. Mahmoud explained it was very typical of this part of the country. It looked just like the place we had stayed in during out trip to Oran, except that it was nicer. 

The hotel man­ager, a Mr. Ghoumari Ghouti, greeted us and welcomed Mahmoud as if he were his lost broth­er. Apparently he had remembered Mahmoud from his previous visit with Milan. After dinner I felt I had experienced enough for one day, so I excused myself and went to bed early that night.

I slept very restlessly that night. The next morning at about 10:00 a.m., I was in the lobby talking with the Hotel Manager about checkout time. We had planned to leave late in the morning since we had arranged to meet the General Manager at the mine site the morning of the next day. We had a reservation at a hotel in Béchar, so there was no hurry to get to the place. Just when I leaving the lobby to return to my room, I noticed two men came in and went to the Registra­tion Desk. One looked very much like an American and the other was obviously an Alge­rian. They were looking for me.

"My name is Jerry Randolph," the Ameri­can announced as he approached me with his hand outstretched. "This is Mohand Hamai, my driver. We're here to escort you and your driver down to Béchar to our office. We work for Morrison Construction Company in Béchar . . . the company doing the civil construction and open­ing up the new potash mining project near Lahmar, north of Béchar. We received a telex from the Minister of Mining that the Minister you are working for was concerned about Mr. Radovic’s earlier visit and the data he gathered from me. I was the one Mr. Radovic spoke to since our General Manager was out of the country at the time. We’ve been instructed by our Minister that we are to personally escort you to the project and make sure this time that you have a conference with the General Manager.

"Yes, my name is Jack Williams,” I replied after Randolph’s lengthy introduction," I an­swered. My driver was the one who accompanied Milan Radovic on his initial visit, so we really didn’t need you to come all this way to escort us to your project, but thanks for coming. As soon as I can find my interpreter and driver, we will check out of the hotel and be on our way.

"You must have left quite early,” I continued. “Why don’t you and your driver get some breakfast while we get packed and checked out.”

When we left I wanted to spend some time with Randolph so instead of riding with Mahmoud and Ahmed I suggested they follow us and I would ride with the Morrison people.

"What's all the fuss about you coming down here to visit us again?" Jerry inquired after we had settled in for the long drive south.

I told Jerry about my part of the study and how much intrigue had been generated about the data I was collecting. He was surprised to hear that what they were doing in the Béchar area was causing such a fuss. He said they were just doing the job they were paid to do. It was nothing more than would be expected by any others.

"What do you think of this God-forsaken country down here, Jack?" Jerry asked after our conversation had gone on for some time.

"This part of the country is pretty desolate compared to some parts I have been in," I answered. "But it is beautiful compared to the flat desert I visited near Ghardaïa."

It was enjoyable talking to Jerry. I learned he was from Boise Idaho and had joined Morrison just out of college as a fledgling Civil Engineer looking for some excitement in his life. This was his first overseas assignment with Morrison and he had been here a little over six months serving as Con­struction Manager over the civil work on the project. 

We talked for over an hour before arriving at the small town of Beni-Ounif that Jerry explained to me was only nine kilometers from the Moroccan boarder. When he explained this he got into how politically heated this area was and that we were in a war zone from this location south. The border over to Figuig in Morocco was closed and there had been fighting south of there sporadically for the past several years. He explained all he knew about the border dispute over the lands containing large deposits of potash and said their project was under constant guard for fear that the Moroccans were going to cross over the desert and fight right on their project.  When I heard the story I wondered why Milan had never mentioned he was so close to the war zone when he was down there on his investigation. I asked if Jerry had met Milan. He had and wouldn't quit about how impressed he was about him and how well he had conducted his interviews. He concluded by saying how lucky I was to have worked with him. I agreed and mused quietly about my past rela­tionship with Milan and mentioned that we had terminated his contract after he returned to the States.

The winding road through the mountains from Aïn-Sefra had been slow. After we left Beni-Ounif the road straightened out and the driver was able to speed up in the Italian-made four wheel drive station wagon in which we were traveling. The top speed of this car, I noticed was nothing compared to the speed of the old Citroen.

It was late evening when we rolled into Béchar and located the El Boustene Hotel where we had reservations to stay. The reserva­tions had been made for us by the people from the Morrison Construction Company, so as soon as we checked in the Hotel Manager had instruc­tions to call the General Manager and let him know we had arrived. Jerry left us at the hotel, but assured us that we would be safe there since the company had stationed two of the company’s own armed security guards to remain at the hotel while we were there. The three of us ate dinner together, and then we went to our rooms. Jerry had said he would have someone there in the morning to pick me up. He said since everyone spoke English at the project my two companions could remain in the hotel if they so choose. Ahmed discussed this option with Mahmoud and before we went to our rooms he told me that they would remain at the hotel. It had a very nice outdoor lounge and swimming pool, so it would be a nice place for both of them to relax pending our long ride back to Algiers.

Jerry was with the driver that came back to pick me up the next morning. While we were on our way he laid out the plan for my site visit and the several meetings I would be attending that day. 

I hadn’t realized this when the initial plans were laid out for my visit to the mine, but the Morrison people had planned my itinerary for two days. I would be taken back to the hotel each night after the all-day sessions were over. I guessed something that had gone on between our Minister of Heavy Industry and the Minister of Mines had required that my visit be very thorough. Meeting after meeting was held and it seemed I was just going over old ground.  Milan had done an outstanding job of describing what was there on programs and initiatives the Morri­son group had taken and there was nothing more to learn. But I assumed it was all a political game anyway and I played along with them until we left the area.

When we finally packed up and made ready to leave Béchar, the Morrison officials insisted on sending a car along and two of the plant security guards to accompany us all the way back to Al­giers. Mahmoud argued it was not necessary, but reluc­tantly agreed in the end. I was anxious to just get out of there, so I put up no resistance.

On my return to the office two days later the place was a hub of activity over the past few days’ events. Bob Harper was down in the dumps because it was becoming apparent the project had taken a turn for the worse and may not even be continued. The Minister, Bob told me, was very upset and was on the hot seat for accusing the Agriculture Minister of sabotaging the project. I had found nothing new to report, so the situation with Expatriate Replacement we reported earlier would have to stand as it was originally report­ed by Milan. That, Bob fig­ured, was just one more affront to the Minis­ter who had always believed Milan’s report was not to be trusted. All I wanted to do was go home at that stage, but the chances of that had just gone out the window.

I discussed with Bob the option of just bailing out and going home, but he flatly refused to even consider it. He was in no mood to jeopardize the project team's presence in Algeria right then, and in a way I didn't blame him. I was at the end of my rope, however, and had little more to do than spin my wheels. Most all of my remaining work was complete. All I had to do was review the numbers and concentrate on what facilities were needed to accomplish the training. For that, I needed architectural help that was only available in San Francisco. I really needed to be back and knew all I could do there in Algeria was counter-productive unless I could come up with another scheme.

I was not comfortable with my safety either. Word would soon be out that I was not changing Milan's report any so I could expect to get some flak from that. I had no choice but to remain and attempt to do my final work through telexes to San Francisco and trust that Diane and the rest of my remaining staff would pull together the architectural details I needed for the two study manuals my team was compiling. There was one part of the Manpower Plan that I have briefed the project team about earlier that I wanted now to pursue in greater detail and get approval from Bob Harper. But it was going to take some more study and I would need some help while doing this. I knew I couldn’t use Marie anymore because of the delicacy of her termination, so I approached Bob with an idea I had about how I might accomplish this task and get the resources I needed to do that. So in a meeting I finally got with Bob I brought the subject up:

"Some months ago I mentioned to you that you I was toying with a concept about Regional Training Centers, or RTC's as I called them, that could be set up in different parts of the country to supple­ment or replace the major Central Training Center at the Project Site. 

"It's still just a concept in my head," I added.  "When I presented the idea to you it was not very well developed be­cause I knew it would take money out of the Project and distributed it to locations in all parts of the country. But I still believe that if the idea were explored . . . that is if I could gather more infor­mation as to its viabili­ty in several major popu­lation centers, it would be a winner. I want to push the idea along now in view of our current difficulty with the Minister because I believe it has merit to help us convince the Minister that we have a viable plan for the CEMEL Project that would satisfy some of the things he is unsettled about."

We continued to discuss the RTC concept for some time while I pushed the idea on the basis that if it went it would not only provide for development on a national basis for the Algerians, it could also give more options for U.S. involve­ment in a broader and more region­al sense. Up to this time it had not been clear to me that Bob was really confident that my Manpower Plan was going to help to carry the project to success.

"What I have in mind,” I continued, “was that I contract with a person that I have come to know that is currently working as an analyst for the Bureau of Regional Planning that is part of the Ministry of Plan­ning. Her name is Ada Carwala. Milan found her first when he was gathering data from the Ministry of Planning. I met her on several occasions and recently discussed this concept of Regional Training Centers with her knowing she had a great deal of information she had generated about what long-range plans were being gener­ated for the country's development.  She is very knowledgeable in regional develop­ment issues. In additional, she has a Master’s Degree in Strategic Planning from Cornell and is consid­ered an expert in her field. She is originally from Somalia, but is now a citizen of Alge­ria, having been here for the past twelve years. I have already taken the liberty to discuss this matter with her boss and since she is currently working on long-range plans like ours he was very willing to have Bechtel second her to our project without it costing anything. She speaks very good English and is fluent in French, and she, like Marie was, is very familiar with the country’s educational systems. So I am convinced she could help me in gathering data, and she knows her way around the country and has good credibility in working with local gov­ernment heads. I know she could come over with us almost immediately and we could get right on with my contacts and gathering the data I need."

Bob sat for a few moments perusing my request and then said he would speak to Valencia today when he called him and see if he could get approval of my moving ahead with this concept. I was excited about this new prospect. I had opened the RTC door only half-heartedly before, partly because I lacked the knowledge to get into places to open doors and work my way through all the political nonsense. When Marie worked with me I had asked her, but was as­sured she would be little help in this area. Later that day Bob Harper came into my office with a telex from Valencia approving me to contact the Ministry of Planning and get Ada over to begin working with me on the RTC Concept.

"I don't know how you do it so consistent­ly, Jack," Bob Harper remarked to me as I passed by his office getting ready to leave for Bou-Saada with Ada.

"What are you talking about, Bob," I an­swered, curious about his rare sarcastic state­ment.

"What I mean is," he answered, a little embarrassed. "I don't know how you find these beautiful women to work with you. First you had Marie, and then Diane came over, now you've somehow made this happen that I felt obligated or should I say conned into bringing Ada to work with you on this RTC concept. You're clever, Jack. I'll say that for you. Good luck, by the way. Keep your nose clean and watch your ass. According to the Minis­ter, we're not yet out of the woods about this business with the Ministry of Agricul­ture. Despite all the denials, he still believes they are trying to sabotage our efforts on the project."

I knew that, but I also knew we were not out of the woods with the Russians either. This trip Ada and I had planned was sure to stir up the political agenda of all these people again. We had tried this time, however, to keep our travel plans quiet. We had only announced that we were visiting a few major cities, but had not published an itinerary this time. I wasn't falling into that trap again if I could help it.

After considering all the possible things that could go wrong with the RTC’s, there was definitely a plus to the concept of setting up these centers. We could possibly sell the notion on its cost savings to the country. Having centers in communities would alleviate having to provide housing at the CEMEL site for the two to four years it would take while people were unproductively going through technical training.

On this initial trip with Ada I had again arranged to have Mahmoud drive and we would be visiting Bou-Saada, Briska, Constantine and Sétif. In each of these locations we would visit local high schools to get some idea of potential graduates in future years and we would look at any current technical training systems either in the public or private sectors. Most importantly, we would be contacting public officials to get their feelings about the concept of training locals that would eventually migrate to the CEMEL Industrial City. Ada had made most of the arrangements and I was able to see firsthand that I had a real profes­sional working with me. As far as the project team was concerned, she had also won all their hearts. Her charm and wit and of course, her beauty was all that it had taken.

We set out from the office right after the short meeting I had with Bob Harper. Once we were in the car and were discussing our travel itinerary, I made the suggestion that we rear­range the visits and reverse the order in which we would be traveling, that is, to start with Sétif rather than Bou-Saada. Unbeknown to me Ada had already made that decision and without anyone knowing had arranged for us to visit with the city officials at Sétif that after­noon. 

The one hundred and ninety kilometers drive to Sétif followed the same route through the mountains we had taken on our first trip south when we visited Mahmoud's home town.  Because of that, most of the first leg of the trip consisted of a lively conver­sation that was part Berber and part English between Ada and Mahmoud and me as he told his stories of his youth over again.

While I knew a little about Ada’s education and where she was working and what she had been doing there, I was curious about how Ada came to be living in Algeria and what her childhood had been like. From what she said, she had come to Algeria as a teenager with her parents who had been connected with the Somalia Embassy. When it was time for them to go home, however, she chose to remain since she had friends in Algiers and wanted to finish her high school there. Her parents agreed and she stayed living with a Somali family that still had connections with the Embassy. She did very well in high school, so her parents provided funding for her to attend school in the U.S. She managed to get entrance to the undergraduate programs at Cornell University in New York where she continued to study until she achieved her Master’s Degree. By then her father had won an assignment to work in the Embassy in Ethiopia and she didn’t want to live with her parents anymore, so she returned to Algeria where she soon got a job with the Ministry of Planning . . . eventually getting her citizenship in Algeria.

We arrived in Sétif early afternoon and decid­ed to eat before our 3 p.m. scheduled meeting at the City Office. We hoped we could go to one or two schools in the area before the end of the day, but the plan was squashed when the City Manag­er kept us occupied until after 6 p.m. and insist­ed we be his guests at dinner. We conclud­ed after that first day's visit that we may be adjust­ing our schedule daily and that we had better contact the people in the other cities to that effect.

Ada handled all of the interpretations and led most of the conversations with the city officials, continually amazing me at her profes­sionalism and knowledge. There was little more for me to do than to take notes. The City Manager had known about the proposed CEMEL Project and was enthusiastic about the concept of creating centers in regional areas like his city. He had experienced the need for something like this and had already discussed a similar concept with the Project Manger of another Bechtel project that was already underway in the moun­tains east of Sétif. He, like many of the other local representatives of the educational system was looking forward to the possibility that this new RTC concept would not only serve the educational system in the country, it also had the potential of boosting the local economies.

I was ignorant of this Bechtel project of which the Manager spoke, but I was not much surprised to hear of it. Bechtel had several major divisions and numerous overseas projects. It was not surpris­ing that these Bechtel projects were part of the Hydro and Com­munity Facilities Division that was restoring damns and irriga­tion systems the Russians had bungled through lack of on-going support. I had just learned of another reason the Russians should be ousted from Algeria and it all support­ed my own of designing my part of the plan to be favorable to U.S. interests.

It was past noon the next day before we resumed our circuit travel east to Constantine. The trip there was only one hundred and thirty one kilometers so we were there in little over two hours. It was too late to make any business calls, howev­er, so we had a free night on the town. This time I had a driver and Ada was a wonder­ful compan­ion, so we had a good time. Mahmoud main­tained his low profile and stayed with the car like a typical Ministry driv­er would. I felt bad for him, but he insisted on continuing to play his part wher­ev­er we were.

The larger city of Const­antine was propor­tionately larger in bureaucracy, so getting to the proper officials to discuss our RTC concept was considerably more difficult. Even Ada's pull and her knowledge of the system were of little use to us. As a last desper­ate attempt to beat the system, we went for their throats and brought Mahmoud into the picture. Within one half hour of his intervention into the City Manager's office we were talking with the people we needed to see. From that point on the meetings at Con­stan­tine were very productive.

Because of the size of the area and the larger population base around Constantine, our “audit” took two days. In the spare time we had in the after­noons and early evenings we traveled around to some of the outlying areas surrounding Constantine to see some of the Roman ruins. I was most impressed with close-up views of the ancient aqueducts that had brought potable water to the city in those days of the Ro­man rule of the country. The ruins were so fasci­nating to me I could easily have dropped the whole project just to continue studying the ruins in that area.

In the next four days we managed to finish the round trip through Briska and Bou-Saada without incident. We were up to the weekend when we arrived in Briska so we had two days to be tourists. During those days I noticed Mahmoud never let Ada and me out of his sight except at night when we went to our hotel rooms. Even then, I was sure some arrange­ment had been made by Mahmoud to assure our safety. He never mentioned what it was, but only insisted that I had nothing to worry about on this trip. I assumed he had received special instructions from the Ministry in this regard.

We returned to the CEMEL office late after­noon on the 17th of February to find it was closed and armed guards were preventing any­one from entering the gate of the compound. No one was there from Bechtel so Mahmoud took the initiative to talk to one of the guards to find out what had happened. It seemed that the previous night while the office was closed someone got through security and placed a bomb on the front step of the villa. According to the guard, the entire front of the building had been knocked down and damage inside was extensive. The roving night guard was knocked down by the blast, but was not hurt. The guard had no further details except to tell us that the office had been moved to the El Aur­assi Hotel.

We went immediately to the hotel and found the project group in one of the office suites on the sixth floor. Most of the other project people were there when we arrived. Armed guards were present in the hotel, and we even had to show evidence of our connection with the project to get into the sixth floor office.

The damage done by the blast, I learned was extensive to the building, but had very little effect on the project files. The building, howev­er, was damaged to such an extent that the project had to move out and the suite in which they were currently working was sufficient for the time. Once again, I was told, the Agricultural Ministry was being blamed for the insurrection, but there was no proof and the accusation by the Minister of Heavy Industry had worsened rela­tions with all the rest of the Ministers.

Bob had been in touch with the V.P. in charge of the project, John Valencia, and he was currently on his way to Algeria. Most of the field work had been halted after the incident and Bob had put all the project members on alert that we all might be leaving post-haste. The entire project was in turmoil and morale was lower than I had ever seen it. People that had really committed a lot to the project now understood how I had felt at being threatened, followed and interfered with.  No one really knew what the issues were and that made everyone pretty shaky. In addition, having armed guards outside of the new office and watching every­one's moves made the whole affair even that much more disjointed.

Once more I felt imprisoned and trapped by a situation for which I had little control and imme­diately felt that same lack of enthusiasm I was seeing all around me in the new office. To ease some of that stress, Ada and I immediately buried our­selves in the Trip Report for our recent circuit to the four Eastern cities while our trip activities were still vivid.

For the next three days the project team stayed close to the hotel and our new office. On the next Friday night Valencia arrived and meet­ings began with him, Bob and the Minister. Not too much information came out of the meetings for the first couple of days, but finally Bob announced that the project office in Algeria was going to be shut down and all further activi­ties were going to be done in San Francisco. The only future visits to the country would likely be made by Bob and Valencia to make the final presentation of the Study when it was fin­ished. We would all leave within the next two or three days or as soon as arrange­ments could be managed.

I was fortunate that I was almost through with my data collection and would be able to complete my sections with little difficulty. Other members of the team were not so fortu­nate and felt they had been denied the opportuni­ty to make an accurate assessment of their programs. My visits to the four Eastern cities had given me enough data that I could extrapo­late to the rest of the country and expand the RTC concept, making it a worth­while possibility for the pro­ject. Ada and I agreed that though we had not been to all the cities we wanted to visit, we had enough to make a more than fair assessment of the concept.

I learned the next day at the office that one more major undertaking would involve us all after we got back to the States. The Minister had handled all the political problems he had with the Agricultural Ministry and the project was going ahead as planned until it was com­plete. The new effort involved hosting a visit by the Minister and an entourage of his people to the U.S. to visit several major indus­trial sites in the Mid-West where equipment like that planned for CEMEL was being manufac­tured. For example we would be visiting a locomotive plant in Illinois, a large mine haulage truck assembly plant in Indiana and sev­eral electric motor manufactures in Ohio and Michi­gan. I would be involved in all of the visits, I was told, and for all of us, our next few weeks after returning would be involved in arranging for these visits. Arrangements for our trip home had been staggered because of the availability of flights. I was with the second group to leave Algeria certain this would be the last time I would ever see this beautiful land. 

 

Chapter 11 --Final Stages of the CEMEL Project

 

            When the plane touched down in San Fran­cisco after so many hours in the air, I was completely exhausted. During the entire trip I stewed about what I was leaving behind in that country and the friends I had made with Marie, Mahmoud and Ada and was truly sorry that I would never be seeing these wonderful people again. For the entire return trip the rest of the project team that I was traveling with remained sullen and angry about leaving, but they were more disgusted that they were unable to finish much of what they had planned to do than they were sorry to leave friends behind.

The five weeks I had been away this time had been especially difficult for Kay. She had sensed that things had not gone well for me over there, but did not know any of the details except what Diane had told her when she returned home. I had not talked to Kay the entire time I was away so I was also agonizing during my trip home about what was coming next with our marriage. She had sensed from talking to Diane that something had been amiss, so she was in a very bad state until I walked through the door. Fortunately, I had arrived home on Thursday and decided to stay home over the next four days before returning to the office to work, so there was ample time to allow Kay to vent and we were able to come to terms with it all.

The Algerian Minister and his entourage arrived in Chicago on a Monday two weeks after the Project Team had arrived back in San Francisco. We met them at the Airport Hilton for the extended visit to the several industrial establishments on our itinerary. Since there were fourteen of them traveling together, the seven project team members took two Alge­rians each and began the tour that was planned to last for five days. We would spread out and visit plants for four of the days and then meet back in the Hilton for a final debrief on the next Friday.

The plant representatives were anxious to meet the Ministry people and show them around since each visit raised possibilities for that company to license their equipment to be built in Algeria. Economically for each of the manufacturers it was a potential gold mine that could promise them large revenues for the life of the new manufac­turing operations in Algeria. As a result each visit we made was handled like the Algeri­ans were each Ministers and the greatest effort was put into the presentations to them by the plant people. In every plant I visited with my two delegates, the plant person­nel had retained French speaking interpreters that simul­taneously inter­preted presentations and all com­ments made by the operators when we toured the plants. I had seen good presentations with Bechtel, but these went far beyond anything I had ever witnessed.  Both of my delegates spoke almost perfect English, so when we would leave a plant they would rattle on in English all their impres­sions and their good feelings about what they had heard and seen.

While the week progressed and I was with my two delegates day and night, our relationships jelled until I felt like these men were true and lasting friends. We had fun and laughed about almost everything we saw and they enjoyed learn­ing about America and all it had to offer. More and more our relationships relaxed until we were like three buddies traveling together. Both Algerians had different preferences about what they wanted to see in our after-hours, but it seemed that every evening we had to search out the McDonald's or the Burger King for dinner. They just couldn't get enough of the American hamburger.

As planned, we met in the Chicago Airport Hilton on Friday to summarize the various plant visits. The Minister was truly pleased and excited about all that his delegates had learned from the vari­ous visits. Plans were made for a final dinner where the Minister congratulated all of us for the great job we had done and wished us well on the comple­tion of the project. We left the next morning and all parted our separate ways when we arrived in San Francisco.

Things proceeded quietly until June the next year when the draft of the study was com­pleted and ready for presentation to the Ministry people in Algeria.  Bob Harper, John Valencia, one of the industry experts and me were scheduled to make the presentations in Algiers on the week of June 6. I had not anticipated going on this trip and was surprised that I had been chosen. But Valen­cia had made the final cut on who was going and we were all assured by the Minister that we would have full protection while we were there.

We made our preliminary presentations and were back on the plane for home on the 11th of June without incident. As predicted, the visit was constantly monitored by the Algerian Ministry officials that had one guard assigned to each of us the entire time we were there, day and night. 

I wanted to get in touch with Marie and Ada while I was in the city, and finally found a way by using one of the phones in a Ministry office where I knew I was not being monitored.  There was not enough time to meet either of my friends but they were pleased at what I had been able to tell them about the project over the phone.

I saw Mahmoud on only one occasion long enough to give him a gift of a set of binoculars from the U.S. that I knew he wanted. I had learned in our trip to his homeland that one of his hobbies during short vacations he got from the Ministry was hunting wild boar. He had related to me through Marie that if he had a good set of binoculars he could be a much better hunter of these animals than he was. When Mahmoud opened the box and examined the glasses, he said something that I assumed was “Thank you,” and then he gave me a warm hug and kissed me on both cheeks.

Once we were back in the office in San Francisco things went into full gear on comple­tion of the final publication of the study. Most of my work by then was coordinating the design of charts and graphs I had created to present the training and expatriate replacement statistics. All the art work for the facilities had been complet­ed by a company architect and they were beauti­ful. We had con­ceived of a central train­ing center in the new city and had even designed an RTC model that would be built in some of the regional locations I had decided were ideal for these centers. There were eight RTC’s in the final concept.

On July 5, 1976 the final books were printed for the project in French and English. The ship­ment to the Ministry went out in a couple of days and Bob Harper and Valencia went to Algeria to be there when they arrived so they could make the final presentation to the Minister. The office in San Francisco had been almost totally vacated by then and only a few of us remained to see the final thrust of activity. Overtures were being made to most of us that had lasted through the project as to our next assignments, but I had other plans.

Over the last months while I still remained in San Francisco on the CEMEL Project, Kay and I had started meeting with a counselor about our marriage. We were also discussing and making plans about moving from our home in Petaluma. Divorce was a topic that took most of our time and for months we were on and off again about our decision to part company. Finally, however, in an effort to mitigate some of our problems, we sold the house in Petaluma and moved into a subdivision in Rohnert Park about eight miles to the north of where we had been living for just two years. When we got settled in and had the new home like we wanted it, we jointly made the decision to make attempts to get out of corporate life all together. To do that we looked at many alternatives for small businesses and other occupations I might qualify for. We had traveled to several locations in Northern California and were tentatively plan­ning to choose one of the places we liked the best, Quincy, located high in the Sierras north of Interstate 80.  Quincy was a town that in past years had been supported by the timber industry. With the decline in timber sales, the town had become a center for winter and summer sporting activities, tourism and summer homes. We believed there were possi­bilities there for me to teach in a Community College and do private consulting on the side. Kay had her eyes on a small bou­tique in town she thought she might like to own. Those plans came to an end, however, when we could not agree on taking the risk of moving into a community like Quincy.

Throughout this period Kay and I continued seeing the counselor weekly. The results were mixed for both of us. For me I felt like it was an interesting and intellectual intervention and in some ways I liked going. But for Kay it seemed to only make matters worse and she continued to plea for separation. This went on for over a year before we decided that I would leave Bechtel and we would move to Utah to start our lives over again.

On January 5 that next year an announcement was made that I heard about that the Algerian Five Year Development Plan that had just gone into effect on the first of January. The Algerian Council of Ministers had adopted this Third Five Year Plan and the entire focus of the plan was on the development of the agricultural base in the country. The article said that no new indus­trial development was envisioned for the five years, despite the fact that several major projects had been studied. It also mentioned that the Minister of Heavy Industry and all his staff had resigned in the wake of the announcement. We had spent almost two years on the feasibility study and billed over forty million dollars to the Algerian Ministry of Heavy Industry. I guess I will never know how much of a loss this decision was to the country as a whole. I did see, however, a few years later that the Muslim political movement in the country was quickly gaining control and most foreign companies were leaving as a result. And as it turned out the county went into deep depression from which it has never really recovered.