Sahara (36 page)

“Thank God, you got through,” he said with unaccustomed emotion. “How was your flight from Paris?”

“Felt like an outcast sitting in a Concorde all by myself.”

“No military planes were immediately available. Chartering a Concorde was the only expedient means of getting you here fast.”

“Nice, so long as the taxpayers don’t find out.”

“If they knew their very existence was at stake, I doubt if they’d complain.”

Sandecker introduced Gunn around the conference table. “With three exceptions I think you know most everyone here.”

Dr. Chapman and Hiram Yaeger came over and shook hands, showing their obvious pleasure at seeing him. He was introduced to Dr. Muriel Hoag, NUMA’s director of marine biology, and Dr. Evan Holland, the agency’s environmental expert.

Muriel Hoag was quite tall and built like a starving fashion model. Her jet-black hair was brushed back in a neat bun and her brown eyes peered through round spectacles She wore no makeup, which was just as well, Gunn thought A complete makeover by Beverly Hills’ top beauty salon would have been a wasted effort.

Evan Holland was an environmental chemist and looked like a basset hound contemplating a frog in his dish. His ears were two sizes too large for his head, and he had a long nose that rounded at the tip. His eyes stared at the world as if they were soaked in melancholy. Holland’s appearance was deceiving. He was one of the most astute pollution investigators in the business.

The other two men, Chip Webster, satellite analyst for NUMA, and Keith Hodge, the agency’s chief oceanographer, Gunn already knew.

He turned to Sandecker. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to evacuate me out of Mali.”

“Hala Kamil personally gave her authorization to use a UN tactical team.”

“The officer in charge of the operation, a Colonel Levant, acted none too happy to greet me.”

“General Bock, his superior, and Colonel Levant both took a bit of persuading,” Sandecker admitted. “But when they realized the urgency of your data they gave their full cooperation.”

“They masterminded a very smooth operation,” Gunn said. “Incredible they could plan and carry it through overnight.”

If Gunn thought Sandecker would fill him in on the details, he was to be disappointed. Impatience was etched in every crease in the Admiral’s face. There was a tray with coffee and sweet rolls, but he didn’t offer Gunn any. He grabbed him by one arm and hustled him to a chair at one end of the long conference table.

“Let’s get to it,” the Admiral said brusquely. “Everyone is anxious to hear about your discovery of the compound causing the red tide explosion.”

Gunn sat down at the table, opened his knapsack, and began retrieving the contents. Very carefully, he unwrapped the glass vials of water samples and laid them on a cloth. Next he unpacked the data disks and set them to one side. Then he looked up.

“Here are the water samples and results as interpreted by my on-board instruments and computers. Through a bit of luck I was able to identify the stimulator of the red tide as a most unusual organometallic compound, a combination of a synthetic amino acid and cobalt. I also found traces of radiation in the water, but I do not believe it has any direct relation to the contaminant’s impact on the red tide.”

“Considering the hardships and obstacles thrown in your path by the West Africans,” said Chapman, “it’s a miracle you were able to get a grip on the cause.”

“Fortunately, none of my instruments were damaged after our run-in with the Benin navy.”

“I received an inquiry from the CIA,” said Sandecker with a tight smile, “asking if we knew anything about a maverick operation in Mali after you destroyed half the Benin navy and a helicopter.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I lied. Please go on.”

“Fire from one Benin gunboat did, however, manage to destroy our data transmission system,” Gunn continued, “making it impossible to telemeter my results to Hiram Yaeger’s computer network.”

“I’d like to retest your water samples while Hiram verifies your analysis data,” said Chapman.

Yaeger stepped next to Gunn and tenderly picked up the computer disks. “Not much I can contribute to this meeting, so I’ll get to work.”

As soon as the computer wizard had left the room, Gunn stared at Chapman. “I double- and triple-checked my results. I’m confident your lab and Hiram will confirm my findings.”

Chapman sensed the tension in Gunn’s tone. “Believe me when I say I don’t question your procedures or data for a minute. You, Pitt, and Giordino did one hell of a job. Thanks to your efforts we now know what we’re dealing with. Now the President can use his clout to lean on Mali to shut off the contaminant at the source. This will buy us time to formulate ways to neutralize its effects and stop further expansion of the red tides.”

“Don’t break out the cake and ice cream just yet,” Gunn warned seriously. “Though we tracked the compound to its entry point into the river and identified its properties, we were unable to discover the location of its source.”

Sandecker drummed his fingers on the table. “Pitt gave me the bad news before he was cut off. I apologize for not passing along the information, but I was counting on a satellite survey to fill in the missing piece.”

Muriel Hoag looked directly into Gunn’s eyes. “I don’t understand how you successfully pursued the compound through 1000 kilometers of water and then lost it on land.”

“It was easy,” Gunn shrugged wearily. “After we sailed beyond the point of highest concentration, our contaminant readings dropped off and the instruments began showing water with commonly known pollutants. We made several runs back and forth to confirm. We also took visual sightings in every direction. No hazardous waste dump site, no chemical storage or manufacturing facilities were visible along the river or inland. No buildings or construction, nothing. Only barren desert.”

“Could a dump site have been buried over at some time in the past?” suggested Holland.

“We observed no evidence of excavation,” replied Gunn.

“Any chance the toxin was brewed by mother nature?” asked Chip Webster.

Muriel Hoag smiled. “If tests bear out Mr. Gunn’s analysis of a synthetic amino acid, it must have been produced by a biotech laboratory. Not mother nature. And somewhere, somehow, it was discarded along with chemicals containing cobalt. Not the first time accidental integration of chemicals produced a previously unknown compound.”

“How in God’s name could such an exotic compound suddenly appear in the middle of the Sahara?” wondered Chip Webster.

“And reach the ocean where it acts as steroids to dinoflagellates,” added Holland.

Sandecker looked at Keith Hodge. “What’s the latest report on the spread of the red tide?”

The oceanographer was in his sixties. Unblinking dark brown eyes gazed from a continually fixed expression on a lean, high-cheekboned face. With the correctly dated clothing he could have stepped from an eighteenth-century portrait.

“The spread has increased 30 percent in the past four days. I fear the growth rate is exceeding our most dire projections.”

“But if Dr. Chapman can develop a compound to neutralize the contamination, and we find and cut it off at the source, can’t we then control the tide’s expansion?”

“Better make it soon,” answered Hodge. “At the rate it’s proliferating, another month and we should see the first evidence of it beginning to feed off itself without stimulation flowing from the Niger.”

“That’s three months early!” Muriel Hoag said sharply.

Hodge gave a helpless shrug. “When you’re dealing with an unknown the only sure commodity is uncertainty.”

Sandecker swung sideways in his chair and gazed at the blown-up satellite photo of Mali projected on one wall. “Where does the compound enter the river?” he asked Gunn.

Gunn stood and walked over to the enlarged photo. He picked up a grease pencil and circled a small area of the Niger River above Gao on the white backdrop reflecting the projection. “Right about here, off an old riverbed that once flowed into the Niger.”

Chip Webster pressed the buttons of a small console sitting on the table, and enlarged the area around Gunn’s marking. “No structures visible. No indication of population. Nor do I make out any sign of excavated dirt or a mound that would have to be in evidence if any type of trench was dug to bury hazardous materials.”

“This is an enigma, all right,” muttered Chapman. “Where in the devil can the rotten stuff come from?”

“Pitt and Giordino are still out there searching for it,” Gunn reminded them.

“Any late word of their condition or whereabouts?” asked Hodge.

“Nothing since Pitt’s call aboard Yves Massarde’s boat,” replied Sandecker.

Hodge looked up from his notepad. “Yves Massarde? God, not that pond slime.”

“You know him?”

Hodge nodded. “I crossed paths with him after a bad chemical spill in the Med off Spain four years ago. One of his ships that was carrying waste carcinogenic chemicals known as PCBs for disposal in Algeria broke up and sank in a storm. I personally think the ship was scuttled in a combination insurance scam and illegal dump. As it turned out, Algerian officials never had any intention of accepting the waste for disposal. Then Massarde lied and cheated and pulled every legal dodge on the books to evade responsibility for cleaning up the mess. You shake hands with that guy and you better count your fingers when you walk away.”

Gunn turned to Webster. “Intelligence-gathering satellites can read newspapers from space. Why can’t we orbit one over the desert north of Gao in search of Pitt and Giordino?”

Webster shook his head. “Negative. My contacts at the National Security Agency have their best eyes in the sky keeping tabs on the new Chinese rocket firings, the civil war going on in the Ukraine, and the border clashes with Syria and Iraq. They’re not about to spare us time from their intelligence scans to find civilians in the Sahara Desert. I can go with the latest-model GeoSat. But it’s questionable whether it can distinguish human forms against the uneven terrain of a desert like the Sahara.”

“Wouldn’t they show up against a sand dune?” asked Chapman.

Webster shook his head. “No one traveling the Sahara in their right mind would walk across the soft sand of dunes. Even the nomads skirt around them. Wandering in a sea of dunes means certain death. Pitt and Giordino are smart enough to avoid them like the plague.”

“But you
will
do a search and survey,” Sandecker insisted.

Webster nodded. He was quite bald with little indication of a neck. A round belly hung over his belt, and he might have posed as a “before” on a weight-loss commercial. “I’ve a good friend who’s a top analyst over at the Pentagon and an expert on satellite desert reconnaissance. I think I can sweet-talk him into examining our GeoSat photos with his state-of-the-art enhancing computers.”

“I’m grateful for your backup,” Sandecker said sincerely.

“If they’re out there, he can locate them if anyone can,” Webster promised him.

“Has your satellite seen any sign of the plane carrying that team of disease investigators?” asked Muriel.

“Not yet I’m afraid. Nothing showed on our last pass across Mali except a small smudge of smoke faintly drifting in from one side of our camera path. Hopefully on the next orbit we can obtain a more detailed picture. It may prove to be nothing but a nomad bonfire.”

“There isn’t enough wood in that part of the Sahara for a bonfire,” Sandecker said solemnly.

Gunn looked lost. “What disease investigation team are you talking about?”

“A group of scientists from the World Health Organization on a mission to Mali,” explained Muriel. “They were searching for the cause behind an outbreak of strange afflictions reported in nomadic desert villages. Their plane disappeared somewhere between Mali and Cairo.”

“Was there a woman on the team? A biochemist?”

“A Dr. Eva Rojas was the team biochemist,” replied Muriel. “I once worked with her on a project in Haiti.”

“Did you know her?” asked Sandecker of Gunn.

“Not me, but Pitt. He dated her in Cairo.”

“Maybe it’s just as well he doesn’t know,” Sandecker said. “He must have enough problems just staying alive without bad news to fog his mind.”

“There’s no confirmation of a crash yet,” said Holland hopefully.

“Maybe they made a forced landing in the desert and survived,” Muriel said hopefully.

Webster shook his head. “Wishful thinking I’m afraid. I fear General Zateb Kazim has his dirty hands in this business.”

Gunn recalled, “Pitt and Giordino had a conversation with the General on our boat’s radio shortly before I hit the river. I got the impression he’s a nasty customer.”

“As ruthless as any Middle East dictator,” said Sandecker. “And twice as hard to deal with. He won’t even meet or speak with our State Department diplomats unless they hand him a fat foreign aid check.”

Added Muriel, “He ignores the United Nations and refuses any outside relief supplies to his people.”

Webster nodded. “Any human rights activist dumb enough to enter Mali and protest, simply vanishes.”

“He and Massarde are thick as thieves,” said Hodge. “Between the two of them they’ve raped the country into total poverty.”

Sandecker’s face hardened. “Not our concern. There won’t be a Mali, a West Africa, or anywhere else on earth if we don’t stop the red tide. Right now, nothing else matters.”

Chapman spoke up. “Now that we have data we can sink our teeth into, we can all focus our skills and work together to formulate a solution.”

“Make it quick,” said Sandecker, his eyes narrowing. “If you’ve failed thirty days from now, none of us will get a second chance.”

31

A brisk breeze was quivering the leaves along the Palisades above the Hudson River as Ismail Yerli peered through binoculars at a small bluish-gray bird perched on a tree trunk upside down. He acted as if his full attention was on the little bird and failed to notice the appearance of a man behind him. Actually, he had been aware of the approaching intruder for nearly two minutes.

“A white-breasted nuthatch,” said the tall, rather handsome stranger who wore an expensive burgundy leather jacket. He sat down on a flat rock next to Yerli. His sandy hair was neatly slicked down with a razor-edge part on the left side. He stared indifferently at the bird through pale blue eyes.