Sahara (28 page)

There was a stunned silence in the room. Kazim was in shock. As a virtual dictator for over a decade, his mind refused to accept insubordinate and contemptuous treatment. He was so used to people quivering before him, he did not know how to immediately react at being physically subdued. His breathing came quickly, his mouth a taut white line, his dark face crimson with anger. Only the eyes remained black and cold and empty.

Slowly, deliberately, he eased a gun from a holster at his side. An older automatic, Pitt observed with remote detachment, a 9-millimeter Beretta NATO model 92SB. Unhurriedly Kazim thumbed down one side of the ambidextrous safety and aimed the muzzle at Pitt. An icy smile curled beneath the heavy moustache.

Pitt flicked a side glance at Giordino and noted that his friend was tensed to leap at Kazim. Then his gaze locked on Kazim’s grip on the automatic, waiting for the slightest tightening of the hand, the tiniest flexing of the trigger finger, bracing his knees to dodge to his right. This could have been an opportunity for an escape attempt, but Pitt knew he had lost any advantage by pushing Kazim too far. His death would be slow and deliberate. It stood to reason Kazim was a good shot, and he would not miss at that close range. Pitt knew he might move fast enough to duck the first shot, but Kazim would quickly adjust his aim and shoot to maim, first one knee cap, then the next. The General’s evil eyes did not reflect a quick kill.

Then, half an instant away from when the room would explode in gunfire and convulsive bodies, Massarde made a flourish in the air with his hand and spoke in a commanding voice.

“If you please, General, conduct your execution elsewhere, certainly not in my party room.”

“This tall one is going to die,” Kazim hissed, the black eyes gazing at Pitt.

“All in due time, my good comrade,” said Massarde while casually pouring himself another cognac. “Do me the courtesy of refraining from bloodying up my rare Nazlini Navajo rug.”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Kazim growled.

“Did you consider the fact he might want a fast and easy way out? It’s obvious he baited you, choosing a fast death rather than suffering the agony of long, drawn-out torture.”

Very slowly the pistol dropped, and Kazim’s deathly smile turned wolfish. “You read him. You knew exactly what he was about.”

Massarde gave a Gallic shrug. “The Americans call it street smarts. These men have something to hide, something vital. We both might benefit if they could be persuaded to talk.”

Kazim pushed himself from the chair, approached Giordino, and raised the automatic again, this time shoving the Beretta’s barrel against Giordino’s right ear.

“Let’s see if you are more talkative than you were on your boat.”

Giordino didn’t flinch. “What boat?” he asked, his tone as innocent as a priest at confession.

“The one you abandoned minutes before it blew up.”

“Oh,
that
boat.”

“What was your mission? Why did you come up the Niger to Mali?”

“We were researching the migratory habits of the fuzzwort fish by following a school of the slimy little devils upriver to their spawning grounds.”

“And the weapons aboard your boat?”

“Weapons, weapons?” Giordino made a downward turn of his lips and raised his shoulders in ignorance. “We ain’t got no weapons.”

“Have you forgotten your run-in with the Benin naval patrol boats?”

Giordino shook his head. “Sorry, it doesn’t ring a bell.”

“A few hours in the interrogation chambers of my headquarters in Bamako might jog your memory.”

“Not a healthy climate for uncooperative foreigners I assure you,” said Massarde.

“Stop conning the man,” said Pitt, looking at Giordino. “Tell him the truth.”

Giordino turned and stared blankly at Pitt. “Are you crazy!”

“Maybe you can stand torture. I can’t. The thought of pain makes me ill. W you won’t tell General Kazim what he wants to know, I will.”

“Your friend is a sensible man,” said Kazim. “You would be wise to listen to him.”

Just for a second Giordino’s blank look slipped, then it was back again, only this time it was beaming with anger. “You dirty scum. You traitor—”

Giordino’s verbal abuse was abruptly cut off as Kazim pistol-whipped him across the face, opening a bloody gash on his chin. Giordino staggered two steps backward, then stopped and lurched forward like a maddened bull. Kazim lifted the automatic and aimed it between Giordino’s eyes.

Here it comes, Pitt thought coldly, thrown off track by Giordino’s bursting temper. Pitt rapidly stepped in front of Kazim and grabbed Giordino’s arms, pinning them behind his partner’s back. “Steady, for God’s sake!”

Unnoticed, Massarde pressed a button on a small console by the couch. Before anyone spoke or made another move, a small army of crewmen surged into the room, their combined mass and weight driving Pitt and Giordino to the floor. Pitt barely had a fleeting glimpse of the avalanche before he tensed for the crush. He went down without fighting back, knowing it was useless, determined to save his strength. Not Giordino, he thrashed like a crazy man, filling the room with curses.

“Take that one back to the bilge,” shouted Massarde, coming to his feet and pointing at Giordino.

Pitt felt the pressure fall away as the guards concentrated on wrestling Giordino into submission. One of the guards swung a short snapper cosh, a weight on the end of a flexible cable, and cracked Giordino on the neck just below and behind the ear. A grunt of pain and all fight went out of Giordino. He went limp as the guards grabbed him under the arms and dragged him from the room.

Kazim pointed the automatic at Pitt, who was still lying on the floor. “Now then, since you prefer cordial conversation to agony, why don’t you begin by giving me your correct name.”

Pitt twisted to his side and sat up. “Pitt, Dirk Pitt.”

“Should I believe you?”

“It’s as good a name as any.”

Kazim turned to Massarde. “Did you have them searched?”

Massarde nodded. “They carried no credentials or papers of any kind.”

Kazim stared at Pitt, his face a mask of repugnance. “Perhaps you can enlighten me on why you’ve entered Mali without a passport?”

“No problem, General,” Pitt let the words rush out. “My partner and I are archaeologists. We were given a contract by a French foundation to search the Niger River for ancient shipwrecks. Our passports were lost when our boat was fired on by one of your patrol vessels and destroyed.”

“Honest archaeologists would be begging like simpering children after being chained in a steam compartment for two hours. You men are too hardened, unafraid, and arrogant to be anything but trained enemy agents—”

“What foundation?” Massarde broke in.

“The Society of French Historical Exploration,” Pitt answered.

“I’ve never heard of it.”

Pitt made a helpless gesture with his hands. “What can I say?”

“Since when do archaeologists explore for artifacts in a super yacht equipped with rocket launchers and automatic weapons?” asked Kazim sarcastically.

“It never hurts to be prepared for pirates or terrorists,” Pitt smiled stupidly.

At that moment there was a knock on the door. One of Massarde’s crewmen entered and handed him a message. “A reply, sir?”

Massarde scanned the contents and nodded. “Express my compliments and say he is to continue his investigation.”

After the crewman left, Kazim asked, “Good news?”

“Most enlightening,” Massarde purred. “From my agent with the United Nations. It seems these men are from the National Underwater and Marine Agency in Washington. Their mission was to hunt down a source of chemical contamination that originates in the Niger and causes a rapid growth in red tides after it enters the sea.”

“A facade,” sneered Kazim, “nothing more. They were sniffing around for something far more significant than pollution. My guess is oil.”

“The very thoughts of my agent in New York. He suggested it might be a cover, and yet his source of information didn’t think so.”

Kazim looked at Massarde suspiciously. “Not a leak from Fort Foureau, I hope?”

“No, not at all,” Massarde answered without hesitation. “My project is too distant to impact the Niger. No, it can only be another one of your many clandestine ventures you haven’t seen fit to reveal.”

Kazim’s face went rigid and lifeless. “If anyone is responsible for spilling contamination in Mali, old friend, it must be you.”

“Not possible,” Massarde said flatly. He stared at Pitt. “You find this conversation interesting, Mr. Pitt?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You and your partner must be very valuable men.”

“Not really. At the moment we’re just your everyday, garden-variety prisoners.”

“What do you mean by valuable?” inquired Kazim.

“My agent also reports the UN is sending a special tactical team to rescue them.”

Just for a second Kazim looked shocked. Then he quickly came back on balance. “A special force is coming here?”

“Probably already on its way, now that Mr. Pitt was able to contact his superior.” Massarde glanced at the message again. “According to my agent, his name is Admiral James Sandecker.”

“It would appear there is no fooling you.” The elegant room on the houseboat was cooled by air conditioning, and Pitt shivered uncontrollably after suffering the steamed heat in the bilge, but he was more conscious of a nameless chill. It came as a shock that Massarde was privy to the entire mission. He tried to imagine who might have betrayed them, but no one came immediately to mind.

“Well, well, well, we are not so clever and indifferent now that our cover is blown, are we my friend?” Kazim poured himself another glass of Massarde’s excellent champagne. Then he looked up abruptly from his glass. “Where were you planning to rendezvous with the UN force, Mr. Pitt?”

Pitt was trying to give his impression of a man with amnesia. This was a dead-end street. The Gao airport was too obvious a pickup point. He dared not compromise Gunn, but he took a long shot in hopes that Kazim was as dumb as he looked.

“The Gao airport, they’re flying in at dawn. We were to wait at the west end of the airstrip.”

Kazim stared at Pitt for a brief moment, then suddenly he struck Pitt across the forehead with the barrel of his Beretta. “Liar!” he snapped.

Pitt ducked his head and covered his face with his arms. “It’s the truth, I swear.”

“Liar,” Kazim repeated. “The airstrip at Gao runs north and south. There is no west end.”

Pitt exhaled his breath in a long silent sigh, and shook his head very slowly. “I guess it would be useless to hold out. You’ll get it out of me sooner or later.”

“Unfortunately for you, I have methods for doing just that.”

“Very well,” Pitt said. “Admiral Sandecker’s instructions after we destroyed the boat were to head due south of Gao about 20 kilometers to a wide, shallow ravine. A helicopter is to be flown in from Niger.”

“What is the signal for a safe pickup?”

“There is no need for a signal. The surrounding countryside is deserted. I was told the helicopter will scout the area with its landing lights until they spot us.”

“What time?”

“Four
A.M.”

Kazim looked at him long and pensively, then said caustically, “If you have lied to me again, you will deeply regret it.”

Kazim put his Beretta back in its holster and turned to Massarde. “No time to waste. I have to prepare a welcoming ceremony.”

“You would be smart, Zateb, to keep the UN at arm’s length. I strongly advise against interfering with their tactical team. When they do not find Pitt and his friend, they will fly back to Nigeria. Shooting down the helicopter and killing every man on board will only open a hornet’s nest.”

“They are invading my country.”

“A trivial point.” Massarde waved his hand. “National pride does not become you. The loss of aid and funding for your, shall we say, nefarious programs, would not be worth satisfying a blood lust. Let them go unmolested.”

Kazim gave a twisted smile, and a dry, humorless laugh. “Yves, you take all the pleasure from my life.”

“While putting millions of francs in your pockets.”

“And that too,” Kazim acquiesced.

Massarde nodded at Pitt. “Besides, you can still have your fun with this one and his friend. I’m sure they will tell you what you wish to learn.”

“They will talk before noon.”

“I’m quite sure they will.”

“Thank you for softening them up in your engine room sweat box.”

“My pleasure.” Massarde walked to a side door. “Now if you will excuse me, I must see to my guests. I’ve ignored them far too long.”

“A favor,” said Kazim.

“You have but to name it.”

“Keep Mr. Pitt and Mr. Giordino in your steam room for a while longer. I would like any remaining spirit and hostility melted away before I have them transported to my headquarters in Bamako.”

“As you wish,” Massarde agreed. “I’ll instruct my crew to return Mr. Pitt to the bilge.”

“Thank you, Yves, my friend, for capturing and turning them over to me. I’m grateful.”

Massarde bowed his head. “My pleasure.”

Before the door closed behind Massarde, Kazim refocused his attention on Pitt. His black eyes blazed with fiendishness. Pitt could only remember once before seeing such concentrated malevolence in a human face.

“Enjoy your stay in the sweat bilge, Mr. Pitt. Afterward, you will suffer, suffer beyond your wildest nightmares.”

If Kazim expected Pitt to tremble with fear, it didn’t happen. If anything, Pitt looked incredibly calm. He wore the beaming expression of a man who just hit a jackpot on a slot machine. Inwardly, Pitt was rejoicing because the General had unwittingly unraveled the hitch in his escape plans. The gate had cracked open, and Pitt was going to slip through.

23

Too wound up to sleep, Eva was the first of the dozing scientists to notice the descent of the aircraft. Though the pilots feathered the controls as gently as possible, Eva sensed the slight drop in engine power and knew the plane had lost altitude when her ears suddenly popped.