Sahara (13 page)

Mansa leaned back, a growing look of triumph and satisfaction in his eyes. “Yes, the General has often expressed gratitude for my loyalty and service.”

The interview was over, and Hopper returned to the aircraft and directed the unloading of the cargo. Mansa watched from the window of the terminal office, a faint smile on his lips.

“Shall I restrict their investigation to unclassified areas?” asked Batutta.

Mansa slowly shook his head without turning. “No, allow them to go wherever they wish.”

“And if Dr. Hopper finds signs of toxic sickness?”

“No matter. As long as I control communications with the outside world his reports will be altered to show our country to be clean of illness and hazardous wastes.”

“But when they return to the UN headquarters—”

“Won’t the true findings be exposed?” Mansa finished. “Yes, most certainly.” He swung around suddenly, his expression menacing. “But not if their aircraft tragically meets with an accident during the return flight.”

10

Pitt dozed off and on during the plane ride from Egypt to Nigeria. He woke only when Rudi Gunn came down the aisle of the NUMA executive jet, three coffee mugs firmly gripped in both hands. Taking a cup, Pitt looked up at Gunn in weary resignation, his expression devoid of enthusiasm and any expectations for fun times.

“Where in Port Harcourt are we meeting the Admiral?” he asked without really caring.

“Not exactly
in
Port Harcourt,” Gunn hedged, handing Pitt a coffee.

“If not there, then where?”

“He’s waiting on board one of our research ships 200 kilometers off the coast.”

Pitt fixed Gunn with the gaze of a hound staring at a cornered fox. “You’re holding out, Rudi.”

“Would Al like some coffee?”

Pitt glanced at Giordino who was snoring in sweet bliss. “Save it. You couldn’t wake him with a lighted firecracker in his ear.”

Gunn eased into a seat across the aisle from Pitt. “I can’t tell you what Admiral Sandecker has on his mind, because I honestly don’t know. I do, however, suspect it has to do with a study NUMA marine biologists have conducted on coral reefs around the world.”

“I’m aware of the study,” said Pitt, “but the results came in after Giordino and I left for Egypt.” Pitt was comfortable with the fact that Gunn would eventually level with him. He and Gunn had an easygoing relationship despite the obvious differences in their lifestyle. Gunn was an intellectual with degrees in chemistry, finance, and oceanography. He would be totally at home living in the basement of a library inundated by books, compiling reports and planning research projects.

Pitt, on the other hand, enjoyed working with his hands on things mechanical, especially on the old classic automobiles in his collection in Washington. Adventure was his narcotic. He was in paradise when flying antique aircraft or diving on historic shipwrecks. Pitt had a master’s degree in engineering and took great pleasure in tackling the jobs others thought impossible. Unlike Gunn, he was seldom found at his desk in the NUMA headquarters building, preferring the excitement of probing the unknown depths of the sea.

“The bottom line is the reefs are in peril and dying off at an unheard-of rate,” Gunn answered. “Right now, it’s a hot topic among marine scientists.”

“What parts of the oceans show this trend?”

Gunn stared at his coffee. “You name it. The Caribbean from the Florida Keys to Trinidad, the Pacific from Hawaii to Indonesia, the Red Sea, the coasts of Africa.”

“All with the same attrition rate?” asked Pitt.

Gunn shook his head. “No, it varies by locale. The worst-case scenario appears to be along the West African coast.”

“I didn’t think it uncommon for coral reefs to go through cycles where they stop reproducing and die before becoming healthy again.”

“That’s correct,” Gunn nodded. “When conditions return to normal the reef will recover. But we’ve never seen such widespread damage at such an alarming rate.”

“Any idea of the cause?”

“Two factors. One, the usual culprit, warm water. Periodic rises in water temperature, generally from changes in sea currents, cause the tiny coral polyps to eject, or vomit if you will, the algae they feed on.”

“The polyps being the little tubular devils that build the reefs with their skeletal remains.”

“Very good.”

“That about sums up my knowledge on coral,” Pitt admitted. “The life-and-death struggle of coral polyps rarely makes the evening news.”

“A shame,” Gunn said briefly. “Especially when you consider that changes in coral can be an accurate barometer of future trends in sea and weather conditions.”

“All right, so the polyps spit out the algae,” Pitt prodded. “Then what?”

“Because algae is the nutrient that feeds the polyps and gives them vibrant colors,” Gunn went on, “its loss starves the coral, leaving it white and lifeless, a phenomenon known as bleaching.”

“Which seldom occurs when the waters are cool.”

Gunn looked at Pitt. “Why am I telling you this if you already know it all?”

“I’m waiting for you to get to the good part.”

“Let me drink my coffee before it gets cold.”

There was a silence. Gunn wasn’t really in the mood for coffee, but he sipped away until Pitt became impatient.

“Okay,” Pitt said. “Coral reefs are dying around the world. So what’s the second factor in their extinction?”

Gunn idly stirred his coffee with a plastic spoon. “A new threat, and a critical one, is the sudden abundance of thick, green algae and seaweed that is blanketing the reefs like an out-of-control plague.”

“Hold on. You say the coral is starving because it’s spitting out the algae even though it’s smothered in the stuff?”

“The warmer water gives and takes. It acts to destroy the reefs while it aids in the growth of algae that can prevent nutrients and sunlight from reaching the coral. Somewhat like smothering it to death.”

Pitt ran a hand through his black hair. “Hopefully the situation will be corrected when the water turns cooler.”

“Hasn’t happened,” said Gunn. “Not in the Southern Hemisphere. Nor is a temperature drop in the water predicted in the next decade.”

“You think it’s a natural phenomenon or fallout from the greenhouse effect?”

“A possibility, along with the usual indications of pollution.”

“But you have no solid evidence?” Pitt put to him.

“Neither I nor our NUMA ocean scientists have all the answers.”

“I never heard of a test tube junkie who didn’t have a theory,” Pitt grinned.

Gunn smiled back. “I’ve never looked at myself in that light.”

“Or those terms.”

“You love to stick it to people, don’t you.”

“Only opinionated academics.”

“Well,” Gunn began, “King Solomon, I ain’t. But since you asked for it. My theory on the proliferation of the algae, as any school child can tell you, is that after generations of dumping untreated sewage, garbage, and toxic chemicals in the oceans, the saturation point has finally been reached. The delicate chemical balance of the seas is irretrievably lost. They’re heating up, and we’re all, particularly our grandchildren, going to pay a heavy price.”

Pitt had never seen Gunn so solemn. “That bad.”

“I believe we’ve crossed the point of no return.”

“You’re not optimistic for a turnaround?”

“No,” Gunn said sadly. “The disastrous effects of bad water quality have been ignored too long.”

Pitt stared at Gunn, mildly surprised that the second-in-command of NUMA was prey to his own thoughts of doom and gloom. Gunn had painted a dire picture. Pitt did not share Gunn’s total pessimism. The oceans might be sick, but they were far from terminal.

“Loosen up, Rudi,” Pitt said cheerfully. “Whatever assignment the Admiral has up his sleeve, he’s not about to expect the three of us to sally forth and save the seas of the world.”

Gunn looked at him and made a wan smile. “I never second guess the Admiral.”

If either of them had known or even guessed how wrong they were, they’d have threatened the pilot with great bodily harm if he didn’t turn the plane around and fly them directly back to Cairo.

* * *

Their ground time at an oil company airstrip outside of Port Harcourt was short and sweet. Within minutes they were airborne in a helicopter beating out over the Gulf of Guinea. Forty minutes later, the craft was hovering over the
Sounder,
a NUMA-owned research vessel Pitt and Giordino knew quite well, having directed survey projects aboard her on three different occasions. Built at a cost of eighty million dollars, the 120-meter ship was loaded with the most sophisticated seismic, sonar, and bathymetric systems afloat.

The pilot swung around the huge crane on the
Sounder’
s stern and settled onto the landing pad aft of the superstructure. Pitt was the first to step down to the deck, followed by Gunn. Giordino, moving like a zombie, brought up the rear, yawning every step of the way. Several crewmen and scientists, who were old friends, met and exchanged greetings with them as the rotor blades spun to a stop and the helicopter was tied down.

Pitt knew his way about and headed up a ladder to the hatch that led to one of the
Sounder’
s marine laboratories. He passed through the counters piled with chemical apparatus and into a conference and lecture room. For a working research ship, the room was pleasantly furnished like an executive board room with a long, mahogany table and comfortably padded leather chairs.

A black man stood in front of a large, rear projection screen with his back to Pitt. He seemed engrossed in a graphic diagram that imaged on the screen. He was at least twenty years older than Pitt and much taller. Pitt guessed him at slightly over 2 meters tall with the loose-limbed movements of an ex-basketball player written all over him.

But what caught and locked the eye of Pitt and his two friends was neither the colored graphics on the screen nor the incredibly tall presence of the stranger: It was the other figure in the conference room, a short, trim and yet commanding figure who leaned indifferently with one hand on the table while the other held a huge unlit cigar. The narrow face, the cold, authoritative blue eyes, the flaming but now graying red hair and precisely trimmed beard gave him the image of a retired naval admiral, which, as the blue blazer with the embroidered gold anchors on the breast pocket suggested, was exactly what he was.

Admiral James Sandecker, the driving force behind NUMA, straightened, smiled his barracuda smile, and stepped forward, his hand extended.

“Dirk! Al!” The greeting came as if he was surprised by their unexpected visit. “Congratulations on discovering the pharaoh’s funeral barge. A beautiful job. Well done.” He noticed Gunn and merely nodded. “Rudi, I see you rounded them up without incident.”

“Like lambs to a slaughter,” Gunn said with a grim smile.

Pitt gave Gunn a hard look, then turned to Sandecker. “You pulled us off the Nile in a hell of a hurry. Why?”

Sandecker feigned a hurt expression. “No hello or glad to see you. No greeting at all for your poor old boss who had to cancel a dinner date with a ravishing, wealthy, Washington socialite and fly 6000 kilometers just to compliment your performance.”

“Why is it your highly dubious blessing fills me with anxiety?”

Giordino dropped moodily into a chair. “Since we did so good, how about a nice fat raise, a bonus, a quick flight home, and a two-week vacation with pay?”

Sandecker said with forbearance, “The ticker tape parade down Broadway comes later. After you’ve taken a leisurely cruise up the Niger River.”

“The Niger?” Giordino muttered moodily. “Not another shipwreck search.”

“No shipwreck.”

“When?” asked Pitt.

“You start at first light,” answered Sandecker.

“What exactly do you want us to do?”

Sandecker turned to the towering man at the projection screen. “First things first. Allow me to introduce Dr. Darcy Chapman, chief ocean toxicologist at the Goodwin Marine Science Lab in Laguna Beach.”

“Gentlemen,” said Chapman in a deep voice that sounded like it rose out of a well. “A sincere pleasure to meet you. Admiral Sandecker has filled me in on your exploits together. I’m truly impressed.”

“You used to play with the Denver Nuggets,” muttered Gunn, bending back at the waist to stare up into Chapman’s eyes.

“Until the knees gave out,” Chapman grinned. “Then it was back to school for my doctorate in environmental chemistry.”

Pitt and Gunn shook hands with Chapman. Giordino merely waved wearily from his chair. Sandecker picked up a phone and ordered breakfast from the galley.

“Might as well get comfortable,” he said briskly. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before dawn.”

“You
do
have a rotten job for us,” Pitt said slowly.

“Of course it’s a rotten job,” Sandecker said matter-of-factly. He nodded at Dr. Chapman, who pressed a button on the screen’s remote control. A colored map showing the meandering course of a river appeared on the screen. “The Niger River. Third longest in Africa behind the Nile and Congo. Oddly, it begins in the nation of Guinea, only 300 kilometers from the sea. But it flows northeast and then south for 4200 kilometers before emptying into the Atlantic at its delta on the coast of Nigeria. And somewhere along its course . . . somewhere a highly toxic poison is entering the current and being swept into the ocean. There, it’s creating a catastrophic upheaval that is . . . well, incalculable in terms of a potential doomsday.”

11

Pitt stared at Sandecker, not sure if he heard right. “Doomsday, Admiral? Did I understand you correctly?”

“I am not talking off the top of my head,” Sandecker replied. “The sea off West Africa is dying, and the plague is spreading because of an unknown contaminant. The situation is rapidly developing into a chain reaction with the potential of destroying every single species of marine life.”

“That could lead to a permanent change in the earth’s climate,” said Gunn.

“The least of our worries,” Sandecker remarked. “The end result is extinction for all life forms on land, and that includes us.”