Sahara (14 page)

Gunn murmured accusingly. “Aren’t you overstating your case—”

“Overstating my case,” Sandecker interrupted acidly. “The very words the cretin in Congress handed me when I began sounding the warning, when I pleaded for backing to isolate and solve the problem. They’re more concerned with maintaining their precious power base and promising the moon to get reelected. I’m sick to death of their endless, stupid committee hearings. Sick to death of their lack of guts in standing for unpopular issues, and spending the nation into bankruptcy. The two-party system has become a stagnant swamp of fraud and criminal promises. As with communism, the great experiment in democracy is withering from corruption. Who cares a damn if the oceans die? Well, by God, I do. And I’m going to the wall to save them.”

Sandecker’s eyes blazed in bitterness, his lips stretched tight by vehemence. Pitt was stunned by the depth of emotion. It was strangely out of character.

“Hazardous waste is dumped in nearly every river of the world,” Pitt said quietly, bringing the discussion back on track. “What’s so special about the Niger’s pollution?”

“What’s special is that it’s creating a phenomenon commonly known as the red tide that is reproducing and spreading on a frightening scale.”

“The charmed water burned away, a still and awful red,”
Pitt quoted.

Sandecker flicked a glance at Gunn and then focused on Pitt. “You got the message.”

“But not the connection,” Pitt admitted.

“You men are all divers,” said Chapman, “so you probably know that red tide is caused by microscopic creatures called dinoflagellates, tiny organisms that contain a red pigment that gives the water a reddish-brown color when they proliferate and float in mass.”

Chapman pressed a button on the remote control box and continued lecturing as an image of a strange-looking microorganism flashed on the viewing screen. “Red tides have been recorded since ancient times. Moses supposedly turned the Nile to blood. Homer and Cicero also mentioned a red bloom in the sea, as did Darwin during the voyage in the
Beagle.
Outbreaks in modern times have occurred around the world. The most recent came off the west coast of Mexico after the water turned slimy and noxious. The resulting red tide caused the deaths of literally billions of fish, shellfish, and turtles. Even barnacles were wiped out. Beaches were closed for 200 miles and hundreds of natives and tourists died from eating fish that was contaminated by a species of deadly, toxin-containing dinoflagellates.”

“I’ve scuba dived in red tides,” said Pitt, “and suffered no ill effects.”

“Fortunately you swam through one of the many common, harmless varieties,” Chapman explained. “There is, however, a newly discovered mutant species that produces the most lethal biological toxins we’ve ever known. No sea life lives that comes in the slightest contact with it. A few grams of it if evenly dished out could put every human on the face of the earth in a cemetery.”

“That potent.”

Chapman nodded. “That potent.”

“And if the toxin isn’t bad enough,” added Sandecker, “the little critters consume themselves in an orgy of marine cannibalism that drastically decreases the oxygen in the water and causes any surviving fish and algae to suffocate.”

“It gets even worse,” Chapman carried on. “Seventy percent of all new oxygen is provided by diatoms, the tiny plant forms such as algae that live in the sea. The rest comes from vegetation on land. I see no need to enter into a lengthy discourse on how diatoms in the water or trees in the jungle manufacture oxygen through photosynthesis. You’ve all had that in elementary school. The smothering toxicity of the dinoflagellates as they cluster and bloom into a red tide kills the diatoms. No diatoms, no oxygen. The tragedy is we take oxygen for granted, never thinking that a slight imbalance of the amount created by plants and what we burn off in carbon dioxide could mean our last gasp.”

“Any possibility they’ll eat themselves out of existence?” asked Giordino.

Chapman shook his head. “They make up their losses at a ratio of ten births to one death.”

“Don’t the tides eventually subside and disperse?” inquired Gunn. “Or die out completely when cooler water currents come in contact with it?”

Sandecker nodded. “Unfortunately, we’re not looking at normal conditions. The mutant microorganism we’re dealing with here seems immune to changing water temperatures.”

“So what you’re saying is that there is no hope the red tide off Africa will fade and disappear?”

“Not if left on its own,” Chapman answered. “Like trillions of cloning Frankensteins, the dinoflagellates are reproducing at an astronomical rate. Instead of several thousand in a gallon of water, they’ve mushroomed to nearly a billion per gallon. An increase never before recorded. At the moment they’re unstoppable.”

“Any theory on where the mutant red tide evolved from?” asked Pitt.

“The instigator behind this new breed of prolific dinoflagellates is unknown. But we believe that a contaminant of some kind is spilling out of the Niger River and mutating the dinoflagellates that thrive in seawater and boosting their reproduction cycle.”

“Like an athlete taking steroids,” Giordino said dryly.

“Or aphrodisiacs,” Gunn grinned.

“Or fertility drugs,” threw in Pitt.

“If this red tide goes unchecked and expands without any deterrent throughout the oceans, covering the surface in one massive blanket of toxic dinoflagellates,” Chapman explained, “the world’s supply of oxygen will diminish to a level too low to support life.” 

Gunn said, “You’ve written a grim scenario, Dr. Chapman.”

“Horror story might be a more apt description,” Pitt said quietly.

“Can’t they be destroyed by chemical applications?” Giordino asked.

“A pesticide?” stated Chapman. “Conceivably, it could make matters worse. Better to cut it off early at the head.”

“Do you have a time frame for this disaster?” Pitt asked Chapman.

“Unless the flow of contamination into the sea can be stopped dead within the next four months, it will be too late. By then, the spread will be too enormous to control. It will also be self-sufficient, able to feed off itself, passing on the chemical poison it absorbed from the Niger to its offspring.” He paused to press a button on the remote control and a colored graph appeared onscreen. “Computer projections indicate millions will begin dying by slow suffocation within eight months, certainly not more than ten. Young children with small lung capacities will be the first to go, too starved for air to cry, their skin turning blue as they go into irreversible coma. It won’t be a pretty picture for those few to die last.”

Giordino looked incredulous. “Almost impossible to accept a dead world that ran out of oxygen.”

Pitt stood and moved closer to the screen, studying the cold numbers that indicated the time left for mankind. Then he turned and stared at Sandecker. “So what this all boils down to is you want Al and Rudi and I to run a compact research vessel up the river and analyze water samples until we hunt down the source of the contamination that’s forming the red tide. Then figure a way to turn off the spigot.”

Sandecker nodded. “In the meantime we here at NUMA will work at developing a substance to neutralize the red tides.”

Pitt walked over and studied a map of the Niger River that was hung on a wall. “And if we don’t find the origin in Nigeria?”

“Then you keep heading upriver until you do.”

“Through the middle of Nigeria, northeast to where the river separates the nations of Benin and Niger and then into Mali.”

“If that’s what it takes,” said Sandecker.

“What is the political situation in these countries?” asked Pitt.

“I have to admit it’s slightly unstable.”

“What do you call ‘slightly unstable’?” Pitt asked skeptically.

“Nigeria,” Sandecker lectured, “Africa’s most populous nation at 120 million, is in the middle of an upheaval. The new democratic government was tossed out by the military last month, the eighth overthrow in only twenty years, not to mention countless unsuccessful bids. The inner countryside is torn by the usual ethnic wars and bad blood between Muslims and Christians. The opposition is assassinating government workers who are accused of corruption and mismanagement.”

“Sounds like a fun place,” muttered Giordino. “I can’t wait to smell the gunsmoke.”

Sandecker ignored him. “The People’s Republic of Benin is under a very tight dictatorship. President Ahmed Tougouri rules by terror. Across the river in Niger, the head of state is propped up by Libya’s Muammar Qaddafi, who is after the country’s uranium mines. The place is a festering crisis. Rebel guerrillas everywhere. I suggest you steer in the middle of the river when you pass between them.”

“And Mali,” Pitt probed.

“President Tahir is a decent man, but he’s chained to General Zateb Kazim who runs a three-member Supreme. Military Council that is bleeding the country dry. Kazim is a very nasty customer and quite unusual in that he’s a virtual dictator who operates behind the front of an honest government.”

Pitt and Giordino exchanged cynical smiles and wearily shook their heads.

“Do you two have a problem?” inquired Sandecker.

‘“A leisurely cruise up the Niger River,”‘ Pitt mildly repeated the Admiral’s words. “All we have to do is merrily sail 1000 kilometers of river that’s crawling with bloodthirsty rebels hiding in ambush along the shore, dodge armed patrol boats, and refuel along the way without being arrested and executed as foreign spies. And this while casually collecting chemical samples of the water. No problem, Admiral, no problem at all, except it’s damn well suicidal.”

“Yes,” Sandecker said imperturbably, “it might look that way, but with a little luck you should come out of this without the least inconvenience.”

“Watching my head blown off seems more than an inconvenience.”

“Have you thought about using satellite sensors?” asked Gunn.

“Can’t be done with enough accuracy,” answered Chapman.

“How about a low-flying jet aircraft?” tried Giordino.

Chapman shook his head. “Same conclusion. Dragging sensors in the water at supersonic speeds won’t work. I know. I was in 6n an experiment that tried it.”

“There are first-rate labs on board the
Sounder,”
said Pitt. “Why not run her up the delta and at least pinpoint the type and class and level of contamination?”

“We tried,” replied Chapman, “but a Nigerian gunboat warned us off before we could get within 100 kilometers of the river’s mouth. Too far to make a precise analysis.”

“The project can only be done by a well-equipped small boat,” said Sandecker. “One that can get through occasional rapids and shallow waters. There’s no other way.”

“Has our State Department tried appealing to these governments to let a research team study the river on the grounds of saving billions of lives?” asked Gunn.

“The straightforward approach was tried. The Nigerians and the Malians turned the appeal down flat. Respected scientists came to West Africa to explain the situation. The African leaders didn’t believe the pitch, even laughed at it. You can’t really blame them. Their mentality is not exactly monumental. They can’t conceive on a grand scale.”

“Don’t they have a high death toll among their people who drank from the contaminated river?” asked Gunn.

“Nothing widespread,” Sandecker shook his head. “The Niger River has more than chemicals flowing in it. The cities and villages along its banks also dump human waste and sewage into its waters. The natives along its banks know better than to drink from it.”

Pitt saw the handwriting on the wall and didn’t like it one bit. “So you think a covert operation stands the only chance at tracking down the contamination?”

“I do,” Sandecker said doggedly.

“I hope you have a plan to overcome any and all obstacles.”

“Of course I have a plan.”

“Are we permitted to know just how we’re supposed to find the contamination source and somehow stay alive?” asked Gunn quietly.

“No great secret,” Sandecker said in exasperation. “Your arrival will be advertised as a working holiday by three wealthy French industrialists looking to invest in West Africa.”

Gunn looked stricken, Giordino dumfounded. Pitt’s face was clouded in growing anger.

“That’s it,” demanded Pitt. “That’s your plan.”

“Yes, and a damned good one,” snapped Sandecker.

“It’s crazy. I’m not going.”

“Me neither,” snorted Giordino. “I look about as French as Al Capone.”

“Nor I,” added Gunn.

“Certainly not in a slow, unarmed research boat,” stated Pitt firmly.

Sandecker pretended not to notice the mutiny. “That reminds me. I forgot the best part. The boat. When you see the boat, I guarantee you’ll change your minds.”

12

If Pitt had dreamed of pursuing high performance, style, comfort, and enough firepower to take on the American sixth fleet, he found it in the boat Sandecker promised him. One look at her sleek, refined lines, the brute size of her engines, and incredible hidden armament, and Pitt was sold.

A masterpiece of aerodynamic balance in fiberglass and stainless steel, she was named
Calliope
after the muse of epic poetry. Designed by NUMA engineers and built under tight secrecy in a boat yard up a bayou in Louisiana, her 18-meter-length hull with its low center of gravity and almost flat bottom drew only 1.5 meters of water, making her ideal for the shallow channels of the Niger River’s upper course. She was powered by three V-12, turbo diesel engines that thrust her across the water at a top speed of 70 knots. Nothing was compromised in her construction. She was a one-of-a-kind build for a specific job.

Pitt stood at the helm and soaked up the unrivaled strength and ultrasmooth ride of the super sport yacht as she loafed along at 30 knots over the dull blue-gray water of the Niger Delta. His eyes ceaselessly scanned the waters ahead as the shoreline sped by, shifting occasionally to check the depths on a chart and the digital numbers on the depth-sounder. He’d passed one patrol boat, but the crew merely waved in blatant admiration at the sight of the yacht planing over the surface of the river. A military helicopter had circled curiously overhead, and a military jet, a French-built Mirage, Pitt judged, had dropped low to have a look at the boat and flown on, apparently satisfied. So far, so good. There had been no attempts to halt or detain them.