Sahara dpa-11 Page 15

  She looked across a coffee table at Sandecker. "Other than promise the cooperation of our United Nations Environment Program Organization, I don't see what else I can do."

  Sandecker's self-confidence took another step forward and his voice, low and tense, came slow and distinctly. "I sent a boat with a team of men up the Niger River to analyze the water in an attempt to find the source behind the red tide explosion."

  Hala's dark eyes were cool and penetrating. "Was that your boat that sank the Benin gunboats?" she asked.

  "Your intelligence is very good."

  "I receive briefings from reports gathered around the world."

  "Yes, it was a NUMA vessel," Sandecker admitted.

  "You know, I assume, the Admiral who was Chief-of-Staff for the Benin navy and brother of the nation's president was killed in the battle."

  "I heard."

  "It was my understanding your boat was flying a French ensign. Doing your devious dirty work under a foreign flag could get your crew shot as enemy agents by the West Africans."

  "My men were aware of the danger and volunteered. They knew every hour counts if we are to stop the red tide before it expands beyond our technology to kill it."

  "Are they still alive?"

  Sandecker nodded. "As of a few hours ago they had traced the contamination across the Malian border and were I approaching the town of Gao unmolested."

  "Who else in your government knows about this?"

  Sandecker nodded at Chapman and Yaeger. "Only the three of us and the men on the boat. No one outside of NUMA except you."

  "General Kazim, the Malian Chief of Security, is no fool. He'll learn about the battle with Benin's navy, and his intelligence will have warned him of your crew's, entry into his country. He'll arrest them the minute they dock."

  "The very reason I came to you, Madam Secretary."

  This was it, Hala thought. "What do you want from me, Admiral?"

  "Your help in saving my men."

  "I thought it would come down to that."

  "It's vital they be rescued as soon as they discover the origin of the contamination."

  "We desperately need their analysis data," said Chapman flatly.

  "Then it's the findings you really want to rescue," she said coldly.

  "I'm not in the habit of abandoning brave men," Sandecker said, his chin thrust forward.

  Hala gave a negative shake of her head. "Sorry, gentlemen, I can understand your desperation. But I cannot jeopardize the honor of this office by misusing my power to take part in an illegitimate international operation, regardless of how crucial."

  "Not even if the men you save are Dirk Pitt and Al Giordino and Rudi Gunn."

  Her eyes widened for a brief moment, and then she sagged back in her chair, her thoughts lost in the past for a brief instant. "I begin to see the picture," she said softly. "You're using me just as you used them."

  "I'm not planning a celebrity tennis match," said Sandecker flatly. "I'm trying to prevent the loss of uncountable lives."

  "You really shoot for the heart, don't you?"

  "When it's necessary."

  Chapman's eyebrows rose. "I'm afraid I don't understand any of this."

  Hala stared off into space as she spoke. "About five years ago, the three men you sent up the Niger saved my life from terrorist assassins, not once but twice. The first time was on a mountain in Breckenridge, Colorado; the other was at an abandoned mine near a glacier on the Straits of Magellan. Admiral Sandecker is playing on my conscience to repay the favor."

  "I seem to recall," said Yaeger, nodding. "It was during the hunt for the Alexandria Library treasure."

  Sandecker rose, came over, and sat down beside her. "Will you help us, Madam Secretary?"

  Hala sat motionless as a statue that slowly began to crack. Her breathing seemed faint and shallow. Finally, she turned slightly and faced Sandecker.

  "All right," she said softly. "I promise to use every source at my fingertips to get our friends out of West Africa. I can only hope we're not too late, and they're still alive."

  Sandecker turned away. He didn't want her to see the relief in his eyes. "Thank you, Madam Secretary. I owe you. I owe you big."

  "No sign of life?" Grimes stared at the crumbling village of Asselar. "Not even a dog or a goat."

  "Certainly looks dead," said Eva, shielding her eyes against the sun.

  "Deader than a flattened toad on a highway," Hopper muttered as he peered through a pair of binoculars.

  They stood on a small rise of rocky desert overlooking Asselar. The only evidence of humans were tire tracks that led into the village from the northeast. Strangely, none appeared to indicate a departure. Eva had the impression of an abandoned city of ancient times as she stared through the heat waves at the ruins surrounding the central part of town. There was an eerie silence about the place that made her feel tense and uneasy.

  Hopper turned to Batutta. "Kind of you to cooperate with us, Captain, and allow us to land here, but it's obvious the village is a deserted ghost town."

  Batutta sat behind the wheel of the open Mercedes four-wheel-drive and shrugged innocently. "A caravan from the salt mines at Taoudenni reported sickness in Asselar. What else can I tell you?"

  "Won't hurt to have a look," said Grimes.

  Eva nodded in agreement. "We should analyze the water from the well to be on the safe side."

  "If you please walk in from here," said Batutta, "I'll return to the aircraft and transport the rest of your people."

  "That's good of you, Captain," acknowledged Hopper. "You can ferry our equipment as well."

  Without a reply or a wave, Batutta spun away in a cloud of dust and headed across a scrubby plain toward the parked aircraft that had landed on a long stretch of flat ground.

  "Damned odd of him to suddenly become helpful," muttered Grimes.

  Eva nodded. "Too helpful, if you ask me."

  "I don't much care for it," said Grimes, gazing at the silent village. "If this was an American western movie, I'd say we were walking into an ambush."

  "Ambush or not," said Hopper, unconcerned, "let's give a go at finding any inhabitants." He set off down the slope in long strides, seemingly oblivious to the noonday sun and the heat radiating from the rock-strewn ground. Eva and Grimes hesitated a moment, and then set off after him.

  Ten minutes later they entered the narrow, alley-like streets of Asselar. The narrow thoroughfares showed anything but a concern for neatness. They had to step over and around small mounds of trash and scattered rubbish that seemed to litter every square meter of ground. A light, hot breeze suddenly shifted, and the smell of decay and rotting meat struck their nostrils. The ugly odor grew more powerful with every step they took. It seemed to be drifting from inside the houses.

  Hopper refrained from entering any buildings until they reached the marketplace. Here, an incredibly disgusting sight met their eyes. None of them in their wildest flights of nightmarish imagination could have envisioned the horror scattered remains of human skeletons, skulls lined up as if' displayed for sale, blackened and dried skin hanging from the tree in the market square that seemed alive under the attack of swarms of flies.

  Eva's first thought was that she was gazing at the human debris of some massacre by an armed force. But that theory was quickly discarded in her mind as it didn't explain the positioning of the skulls or the flayed skin. Something happened here that went far beyond atrocities committed by bloodthirsty soldiers or desert bandits. That much became apparent when she knelt down and picked up a bone, recognizing it as a humerus, the long bone of the upper arm. A chill coursed through her blood as she discovered that it was indented and chipped by what she correctly identified as human teeth marks.

  "Cannibalism," she whispered in shock.

  For some reason, the buzzing of the flies and the revelation uttered by Eva only served to heighten the deathly stillness of the village. Grimes gently took the bone from her hand and studied it.

 
; "She's right," he said to Hopper. "Some bestial maniacs have eaten all these poor devils."

  "Judging from the stink," said Hopper, wrinkling his nose, "there's still some who haven't turned to skeletons yet. You and Eva wait here. I'll check the houses and see if I can find a live one."

  "Doesn't look to me like they take to strangers," Grimes resisted. "I suggest we beat a hasty retreat back to the plane before we wind up on the local menu."

  "Nonsense," Hopper scoffed. "We're looking at an extreme case of abnormal behavior. It might very well be caused by the toxic contaminant we're searching for, and I'm not about to run away until I get to the bottom of it."

  "I'll go with you," Eva said resolutely.

  Grimes shrugged. He was from the old school and not about to be out-braved by a woman. "All right, we'll search together."

  Hopper slapped him on the back. "Good show, Grimes. I'd be honored to be an ingredient with you in the same soup du jour."

  The first house they entered, the walls little more than stacked rocks held together with dried mud, contained two bodies, a man and a woman, dead at least a week, the heat already having dried out their tissue and shriveled and tightened their skin. Death had not been swift but agonizingly slow, Hopper determined after a cursory examination of the shocking remains. Theirs had not been the death of a fast-acting poison. It had been the death of people who suffered excruciating torment until they were released.

  "Can't tell much without a pathological examination," said Hopper.

  Grimes looked down, his face calm and unperturbed. "These people have been dead for some time. I'd stand a better chance of finding solid answers from a fresh victim."

  It sounded so cold and clinical to Eva. She shuddered, not from the cadavers but from recognizing a pile of small bones and skulls heaped in one corner of the darkened house. She could not help wondering if the couple had killed and eaten the flesh of their own children. The thought was too abhorrent to dwell on and she pushed it aside and struck out on her own, entering a house directly across the street.

  She moved through a doorway that was more elaborate than the others. Beyond, there was an L-shaped courtyard that was clean and swept. Almost blasphemous as compared to the others that were filled with debris. The stench was particularly strong in this house. Eva dampened a small handkerchief with water from a canteen on her belt, then stepped cautiously from room to room. The walls were a chalky white and the ceilings high with exposed, rounded poles laid over a matting. There was plenty of light from numerous windows, all opening onto the courtyard.

  It was one of the grander houses of the town, probably belonging to a merchant, Eva judged from the crafted chairs and tables that had somehow managed to remain upright in normal positions, unlike the furnishings in other houses that were tossed about and broken. She slowly edged around a doorway into a large rectangular room. She gasped and stood there, rooted in disgust at finding a grisly pile of rotting human limbs, neatly stacked in what was the kitchen.

  Eva fought back the rising sickness, suddenly feeling drained and empty and frightened. She fled from the hideous sight and stumbled into a bedroom. Shock piled on top of shock. She froze and stared at a man lying on a bed as if relaxing, his eyes wide open. His head was propped up on a cushion and his hands were stretched at his side, palms up. He stared back at her through sightless eyes that might have been on loan from the devil. The whites of the eyes were a bright pinkish color while the irises were a deep red. For a frightful instant she thought he was still alive. But there was no rise in his chest from breathing, and his satanic-colored eyes never blinked.

  Eva stood there, staring back for what seemed a long time. Finally, she mustered up her courage and walked over to the bed and touched the carotid artery in his neck with the tips of her fingers. There was no pulse. She leaned over and lifted his arm. Rigor mortis had barely stiffened his muscles. She straightened as she heard footsteps behind her. She whirled around and saw Hopper and Grimes.

  They moved around her and looked down at the corpse. Then abruptly, Hopper laughed, the sound booming throughout the house. "By God, Grimes. You wanted a fresh victim for an autopsy, and there it lies."

  After Batutta made the last trip into the village with the U N investigation team and their portable analysis equipment, he parked the Mercedes beside the aircraft. The inside of the cockpit and passenger cabin had quickly become an oven under the onslaught of the sun, and the crew was lounging in the shade under one wing. Though they had acted indifferent around the scientists when Batutta was present, they now came to attention and saluted him.

  "Anyone left in the plane?" Batutta asked.

  The chief pilot shook his head. "You took the last of them to the village. The aircraft is empty."

  Batutta smiled at the pilot who wore an airline uniform with stripes on the sleeve. "A fine piece of acting, Lieutenant Djemaa. Dr. Hopper took the bait. You fooled him completely into thinking you were a substitute crew."

  "Thank you, Captain. And thank my South African mother for teaching me English."

  "I must use the radio to contact Colonel Mansa."

  "If you will come to the cockpit, I will set the frequency for you."

  Stepping into the aircraft cockpit was like stepping into a bucket of molten lead. Though Lieutenant Djemaa left the side windows open for ventilation, the heat still sucked the breath from Batutta. He sat and suffered while the disguised Malian air force pilot hailed Colonel Mansa's headquarters. Once contact was made Djemaa turned over the microphone to Batutta and thankfully left the steamy cockpit.

  "This is Falcon-one. Over."

  "I'm here, Captain," came the familiar voice of Mansa. "You can dispense with the code. I doubt if enemy agents are listening in. What is your situation?"

  "The natives of Asselar are all dead. The Westerners are operating freely in the village. I repeat, all the villagers are dead."

  "Those bloody cannibals killed themselves off, did they?"

  "Yes, Colonel, down to the last woman and child. Dr. Hopper and his people believe everyone was poisoned."

  "Do they have proof?"

  "Not yet. They're analyzing the water from the well and performing autopsies on the victims now."

  "No matter. Play along with them. As soon as they've finished with their little experiments, fly them to Tebezza. General Kazim has arranged a welcoming committee."

  Batutta could well imagine what the General had planned for Hopper. He detested the big Canadian; he detested them all. "I shall see they arrive in sound shape."

  "Accomplish your mission, Captain, and I can safely promise you a promotion."

  "Thank you, Colonel. Over and out."

  Grimes set up shop in the house of the dead man Eva had discovered. It was the largest and cleanest of any building in the village. He performed pathology on the corpse found in the bedroom while Eva carried out blood tests. Hopper did chemical analysis of several wells that produced the town's meager water supply. The other members of the team began analyzing tissue and bone samples from a random selection of the dead. In one large storage house behind the market center, they found the trashed Land Rovers from the safari whose members had been massacred. They put the vehicles into service shuttling supplies back and forth between the village and the aircraft while Captain Batutta wandered about, making himself generally useless.

  The stench of the dead was too overpowering for sleep, so they worked through the night and into the next evening before taking a break. Camp was set up around the aircraft. After a brief sleep, dinner of packaged, condensed beef stew, the World Health team sat around an oil heater to ward off the 60-degree drop in temperature from the desert's daily high of 44 degrees C (111 degrees F). Batutta played congenial host and brewed them a pungent African tea, listening intently while everyone relaxed and compared notes.

  Hopper puffed his pipe to life and nodded at Warren Grimes. "Suppose you begin, Warren. And give us a report of your examination of the only decent body we found.
"

  Grimes took a clipboard from one of his assistants and studied it for a moment under the glare of a Coleman lantern. "In all my years of experience, I've never seen so many complications in one human. Reddish discoloration of the eyes, both the iris and the whites. Skin tissue an extreme flushed, bronze color. Greatly enlarged spleen. Blood clots in the vessels of the heart, the brain, and extremities. Kidneys damaged. Heavy scarring in the liver and pancreas. Very high hemoglobin. Degeneration of fatty tissue. No wonder these people ran amok and ate each other. Put all the disorders together and you could easily produce uncontrolled psychosis."

  "Uncontrolled?" asked Eva.

  "The victim slowly went mad as the conditions increased, especially damage to the brain, and he eventually went berserk, as evidenced by the signs of cannibalism. In my humble estimation it's a miracle he lived as long as he did."

  "Your diagnostic conclusion?" Hopper probed.

  "Death by massive polycythemia vera, a disease of unknown cause whose symptoms are increased numbers of red blood cells and hemoglobin in the circulation. In this case a massive infusion of red blood cells that produced irreparable damage to the victim's internal systems. And because blood-clotting factors were not created in enough amounts for heart stoppage and stroke, hemorrhages occurred throughout the body, becoming especially visible in the skin and eyes. It is as though he was injected with massive doses of vitamin B-12, which as you all know is essential in the development of red blood cells."

  Hopper turned to Eva. "You did the blood testing. What about the cells themselves? Did they maintain their normal flat, round shapes with depressed centers?"

  Eva shook her head. "No, they were formed like none I've ever seen before. Almost triangular with spore-like projections. As Dr. Hopper stated, their number was incredibly high. There are roughly 5.2 million red cells per cubic millimeter of blood in the average adult human. Our victim's blood carried three times that number."

  Grimes said, "I might add that I also discovered evidence of arsenic poisoning, which would have also killed him sooner or later."