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  "With the approval of the Secretary General," replied Levant. "How do I know you're Rudi Gunn?"

  Gunn gestured around the desolation in the surrounding countryside. "How in hell many Rudi Gunns do you think just happened to be roaming around this part of the desert waiting for your beck and call?"

  "You have no papers, no proof of identity?"

  "My personal documents are probably on the bottom of the Niger River. You'll just have to trust me."

  Levant passed the bullhorn to an aide and nodded toward the aircraft. "Recall and board," he ordered tersely. He turned back to Gunn and regarded him with a marked lack of cordiality. "Step into the plane, Mr. Gunn. We have no more time to waste in idle conversation."

  "Where are you taking me?"

  Levant threw a glance of irritation at the sky and said, "To Paris. From there you will be flown to Washington by Concorde where a number of very important people are anxiously waiting to debrief you. That is all you're required to know. Now please move along. Time is crucial."

  "What's the rush?" Gunn demanded. "You've obviously destroyed their air force."

  "Only one squadron I fear. There are three others based around the capital city at Bamako. Once alerted they can still intercept us before we escape Malian air space."

  The armed dune buggy had already driven on board and was quickly followed by the ground forces. The flight attendant who had bravely cut the control tower cables took Gunn by the arm and hustled him up the boarding ramp.

  "We don't have a first-class cabin with gourmet meals and champagne, Mr. Gunn," she said brightly. "But we do have cold beer and bologna sandwiches."

  "You don't know how good that sounds," Gunn smiled.

  He should have felt a great surge of relief as he climbed the boarding stairs, but suddenly he was swept by a wave of anguish. Thanks to Pitt and Giordino he was safely escaping to freedom. They had sacrificed to save him. How on heaven's earth did they ever manage to find a radio and contact Sandecker, he wondered.

  They were mad to stay behind in that scorched land, he thought. Their commitment to finding the contamination was madness. Kazim would unleash his entire security force to hunt them down. If the desert didn't devour them, the Malians would.

  He hesitated before entering the aircraft, turned, and gazed out over the ugly vastness of sand and rock. From his elevated position he could clearly see the Niger River, little more than a kilometer to the west.

  Where were they now? What was their situation?

  He tore himself from the sight and entered the cabin, the air-conditioned air striking his sweating body like a breaking wave. His eyes were smarting as the aircraft lifted off the runway past the flaming jet fighters.

  Colonel Levant sat in the seat next to Gunn and studied the sorrowful expression. He searched Gunn's eyes for understanding, but found none. "You don't seem happy to be getting out of this mess."

  Gunn stared out the window. "Just thinking of the men I left behind."

  "Pitt and Giordino, they were good friends?"

  "For many years."

  "Why didn't they come with you?" asked Levant.

  "They had a job to finish."

  Levant shook his head, uncomprehending. "They are either very brave men or very stupid."

  "Not stupid," said Gunn. "Not stupid at all." "They will surely end up in hell." "You don't know them." Only then did Gunn force a grin. "If anyone can enter hell and walk out again carrying a glass of tequila over ice," he said with renewed confidence, "it's Dirk Pitt."

  <<27>>

  Six elite soldiers of General Kazim's personal bodyguard force snapped to attention as Massarde stepped from his launch to the dock. A Major stepped forward and saluted. "Monsieur Massarde?"

  "What is it?"

  "General Kazim has asked that I escort you to him immediately."

  "Did he know my presence is required at Fort Foureau and I do not wish to have my schedule interrupted?"

  Politely the Major bowed. "I believe his request for a meeting with you is quite urgent."

  Massarde gave a Gallic shrug of annoyance and motioned for the Major to lead. "After you."

  The Major nodded and gave a curt order to a sergeant. Then he walked over the worn and bleached dock planking toward a large warehouse that bordered the dock. Massarde duly followed in the Major's footsteps, surrounded by the security guard.

  "Please, this way," the Major said, gesturing around the corner of the warehouse while stepping into a small side alley.

  There, under heavy security by armed guards, stood a Mercedes-Benz truck and trailer that was General Kazim's private mobile command and living quarters. Massarde was ushered up steps and through a door that immediately closed behind him.

  "General Kazim is in his office," said the Major, opening another door and standing aside. The interior of the office felt like an Arctic ice floe after the heat outside. Kazim must have kept the air conditioning running at full blast, Massarde surmised. Curtains were drawn over bulletproof windows and he stood motionless for a moment waiting for his eyes to adjust after the bright sunlight.

  "Come in, Yves, sit down," Kazim called from a desk as he replaced the receiver from one of four telephones.

  Massarde smiled and remained standing. "Why so many guards? Do you expect an assassination?"

  Kazim smiled back. "In light of the events of the past few hours, extra security seems a valid precaution."

  "Have you found my helicopter?" Massarde asked directly.

  "Not yet."

  "How can you lose a helicopter in the desert? It only had enough fuel for half an hour's flight."

  "It appears the two Americans you allowed to escape-"

  "My houseboat is not equipped to contain prisoners," Massarde snapped. "You should have taken them off my hands when you had the chance."

  Kazim stared directly at him. "Be that as it may, my friend, mistakes were made. It appears that after the NUMA agents stole your helicopter, they flew to Bourem where I have reason to believe they sank it in the river, walked to the village, and then stole my car."

  "Your old Voisin?" Massarde pronounced it Vahsaan.

  "Yes," Kazim acknowledged through taut lips. "The American scum made off with my rare, classic car."

  "And you haven't found it or apprehended them yet?"

  "No."

  Massarde finally sat down, anger at losing his aircraft mixed with delight over the theft of Kazim's precious automobile. "What of their rendezvous with a helicopter south of Gao?"

  "Much to my regret, I fell for their lie. The force I positioned in ambush 20 kilometers to the south waited in vain, and my radar field units detected no sign of aircraft. They came instead to the Gao airport in a commercial airliner."

  "Why weren't you alerted?"

  "It did not appear to be a security matter," Kazim answered. "Only an hour before sunrise, Air Afrique officials in Gao were notified that one of their aircraft was making an unscheduled landing so a group of tourists could visit the city and take a short cruise on the river."

  "The airline officials believed it?" asked Massarde incredulously.

  "And why not. They routinely asked for confirmation from company headquarters in Algiers and received it."

  "Then what happened?"

  "According to the airport controller and the ground crew, the aircraft, flying the markings of Air Afrique, supplied the proper identification on approach. But after it set down and taxied to the terminal, an armed force along with a weapons vehicle shot from the plane's interior and gunned down the security guards on the military side of the field before they could resist. Then the weapons vehicle destroyed an entire squadron of eight of my jet fighters."

  "Yes, the explosions woke everyone on the houseboat," said Massarde. "We saw the smoke rise in the direction of the airport and thought a plane had crashed."

  Kazim grunted. "Nothing that ordinary."

  "Did the ground crew or controller identify the assault force?"

  "T
he attackers wore unfamiliar uniforms with no badges or insignia."

  "How many of your people were killed?"

  "Fortunately, only two security guards. The rest of the base personnel, maintenance crew, and pilots were on leave for a religious festival."

  Massarde's face grew serious. "This is no mere intrusion to find contamination. This sounds more like a raid by your rebel opposition. They're smarter and more powerful than you give them credit for."

  Kazim waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. "A few dissident Tuaregs fighting on camels with swords. Hardly what you'd call highly trained special forces with modern firepower."

  "Maybe they've hired mercenaries."

  "With what funds?" Kazim shook his head. "No, this was a well-conceived plan carried off by a professional force. The destruction of the fighters was purely to eliminate any means of counterattack or interception during their escape after picking up one of the NUMA agents."

  Massarde gave Kazim a bitter look. "Forgot to tell me about that little item, didn't you?"

  "The ground crewmen reported that the leader of the attackers called for a man named Gunn, who appeared out of the desert where he'd been hiding. After Gunn boarded the aircraft, it took off on a northwesterly course and flew toward Algeria."

  "Sounds like the plot for a second-rate motion picture."

  "Do not be facetious, Yves." Kazim's tone was smooth but with a sharp edge. "The evidence points toward a conspiracy that goes far beyond a search for oil. I strongly believe both our interests are threatened by outside forces."

  Massarde was hesitant to completely buy Kazim's theory. Their minimal trust was built on respect for each other's shrewd mind and a healthy fear of their respective powers. Massarde was very leery of the game that Kazim was playing. A game that could only end with the General on the receiving end. He looked into the eyes of a jackal while Kazim gazed into the eyes of a fox.

  "What brought you to that descriptive conclusion?" asked Massarde sarcastically.

  "We know now there were three men on the boat that blew up on the river. I suspect they set the explosives as a diversion. Two came aboard your houseboat while the third, who must have been the man called Gunn, swam to shore and made his way to the airport."

  "The raid and evacuation seem incredibly well conceived and timed to coincide with the pickup of this Gunn fellow."

  "It developed quickly because it was planned and carried out by first-rate professionals," Kazim replied slowly. "The assault force was alerted to the time and place of Gunn's location, most certainly by the agent who called himself Dirk Pitt."

  "How can you know that?"

  Kazim shrugged. "A calculated guess." He looked at Massarde. "Are you forgetting that Pitt used your satellite communications system to contact his superior, Admiral James Sandecker? That's why he and Giordino came on board your boat."

  "But that doesn't explain why Pitt and Giordino didn't make any attempt to escape with Gunn."

  "Obviously you caught them before they could swim across the river and join him at the airport."

  "Then why didn't they flee after stealing my helicopter? The Nigerian border is only 150 kilometers away. They could have almost made it with the fuel remaining in the helicopter's tanks. Makes little sense to fly deeper into the interior of the country, then ditch the craft and steal an old car. There are no bridges across the river in the area so they can't drive south to the border. Where can they possibly go?"

  Kazim's ferret eyes looked at him steadily. "Perhaps where no one expected."

  Massarde's brows pinched together. "North, into the desert?"

  "Where else?"

  "Absurd."

  "I'm open to a better theory."

  Massarde shook his head skeptically. "For what possible reason would two men steal a sixty-year-old car and strike out across the most desolate desert in the world? They'd be committing suicide."

  "Until now their actions have defied explanation," Kazim admitted. "They were on some sort of covert mission. That much is certain. We still aren't certain what it is they were after."

  "Secrets?" Massarde offered simply.

  Kazim shook his head. "Any classified material on my military program is no doubt on file at the CIA. Mali has no secret projects that would interest a foreign nation, even those of our bordering nations."

  "There are two you've forgotten."

  Kazim looked at Massarde curiously. "What are you suggesting?"

  "Fort Foureau and Tebezza."

  Was it possible, Kazim thought, that the waste disposal project and the gold mines might be connected to the intruders? His mind tried to sift for answers, but there were none. "If those were their objectives, why are they mucking around over 300 kilometers to the south?"

  "I can't answer you. But as my agent at the United Nations insisted, they were searching for a source of chemical contamination that originated in the Niger and caused an expansive growth of red tides after entering the sea."

  "I find that utter rot. Most likely a red herring to hide their real mission."

  "Which might well be the penetration of Fort Foureau and a human rights expose of Tebezza," Massarde threw out seriously.

  Kazim was silent, his expression reflecting doubt.

  Massarde continued. "Suppose Gunn already had vital information on him when he was evacuated. Why else would such a complex operation be mounted to rescue him while Pitt and Giordino headed north toward our joint projects?"

  "We'll find the answers when I capture them," said Kazim, his voice becoming tense with anger. "Every available military and police unit has already closed all roads and camel trails leading out of the country. I've also ordered my air force to conduct aerial reconnaissance over the northern desert. I intend to cover every option."

  "A wise decision," said Massarde.

  "Without supplies they won't last two days in the heat of the desert."

  "I trust your methods, Zateb. I have no doubt you will have Pitt and Giordino in one of your interrogation cells by this time tomorrow."

  "Sooner, I should think."

  "That's most reassuring," Massarde said, smiling.

  But somehow he knew Pitt and Giordino would not be easy game to run down.

  Captain Batutta came to attention and saluted as he stood in front of Colonel Mansa who merely returned the salute with an indifferent wave.

  "The UN scientists are imprisoned at Tebezza," Batutta reported.

  A slight smile touched Mansa's lips. "I imagine O'Bannion and Melika were happy to obtain new workers for the mines."

  Batutta flashed an expression of disgust. "She's one cruel witch, that Melika. I don't envy any man who feels the sting of her quirt."

  "Or woman," added Mansa. "She makes no distinction when she metes out punishment. I give Dr. Hopper and his party four months before the last of them lies buried in the sand."

  "General Kazim will be the last to shed a tear over their demise."

  The door opened, and Lieutenant Djemaa, the Malian air force pilot of the UN scientist's plane, walked in and saluted. Mansa looked up at him. "Did everything go off all right?"

  Djemaa smiled. "Yes sir, we flew back to Asselar, dug up the required number of corpses, and loaded them on the plane. Then returned north where my copilot and I bailed out over the designated area of the Tanezrouft Desert, a good 100 kilometers from the nearest camel track."

  "The plane burned after it crashed?" asked Manses.

  "Yes sir."

  "Did you inspect the wreckage?"

  Djemaa nodded. "After the driver of the desert vehicle you stationed to pick us up arrived, we drove to the crash site. I had set the controls so it went down in a vertical dive. It exploded on impact, blasting a crater almost 10 meters deep. Except for the engines there wasn't a piece of wreckage larger than a shoe box."

  Mansa's face broadened with a smile of satisfaction. "General Kazim will be pleased. Both you men can expect promotions." He looked at Djemaa. "And you, Lieutenant, will be
in command of the search operation to find Hopper's plane."

  "But why would I direct a search," asked Djemaa in confusion, "when I already know where it is?"

  "Why else would you fill it with dead bodies?"

  "Captain Batutta did not inform me of the plan."

  "We play our benevolent role in discovering the wreckage," Mansa explained. "And then turn it over to international flight accident investigators, who will not have enough human remains to identify or evidence to provide the cause of the crash." He gave a hard stare at Djemaa. "Providing the Lieutenant has done a complete job."