Sahara dpa-11 Page 9

  Massarde did not get where he was without being a shrewd judge of personalities. He knew Kazim well enough to suspect the General of laying a smoke screen. "If we have outside enemies, it would be a grave mistake to ignore them."

  "It was nothing," Kazim said, dismissing the subject. "Our secret is safe."

  "You say that when a UN World Health team of contamination experts is landing at Gao within the hour? Do not treat this matter lightly, Zateb. If they trace the source here-"

  "They won't find anything but sand and heat," Kazim interrupted. "You know better than I, Yves, whatever is causing the strange sickness near the Niger cannot be coming from here. I see no way your project can be responsible for pollution hundreds of kilometers to the east and south of here."

  "That's true," Massarde said thoughtfully. "Our monitoring systems show that the waste we burn for appearance sake .is well within the stringent limits set by international policy standards."

  "So what's to worry," shrugged Kazim.

  "Nothing, so long as every avenue is covered."

  "Leave the UN research team to me."

  "Do not hinder them," Massarde warned quickly.

  "The desert takes care of intruders."

  "Kill them and Mali and Massarde Enterprises will be at -great risk of exposure. Their leader, Dr. Hopper, called a news conference in Cairo and played on the lack of cooperation from your government. He went on record as claiming his research team might encounter danger after their arrival. Scatter their bones around the desert, my friend, and we'll have an army of news reporters and UN investigators swarming over the project."

  "You weren't squeamish about having Dr. Rojas removed."

  "Yes, but the attempt was not in our backyard where there could be suspicion of our involvement."

  "Nor were you disturbed when half of your engineers and their wives went for a picnic drive into the dunes and vanished.

  "Their disappearance was necessary to protect the second phase of our operation."

  "You were fortunate I was able to cover the situation without headlines in Paris newspapers or on-site investigations by French government agents."

  "You did well," Massarde sighed. "I could not do without your esteemed talents." Like most of his desert countrymen, Kazim could not exist without perpetual compliments to his genius. Massarde Loathed the General, but the clandestine operation could not exist without him. It was a contract made in hell by two evil men with Massarde getting the top end of the deal. He could afford to put up with the camel turd, as he called Kazim behind his back. After all, a payoff of fifty thousand American dollars a month was a pittance against the two million dollars a day Massarde was reaping from the waste disposal project.

  Kazim walked over to a welt-stocked bar and helped himself to a cognac. "So how do you suggest we handle Dr. Hopper and his staff?"

  "You are the expert in these matters," Massarde said with oily charm. "I leave it to your skills."

  Kazim lifted a smug eyebrow. "Elementary, my friend. I simply eliminate the problem they came to solve."

  Massarde seemed curious. "How do you accomplish that?"

  "I've already made a start," answered Kazim. "I sent my personal brigade to round up, shoot, and bury any victims of contamination sickness."

  "You'd slaughter your own people?" Massarde's voice was ironic.

  "I'm only doing my patriotic duty to stamp out a national plague," replied Kazim with more than a hint of indifference.

  "Your methods are a bit extreme." A worried crease appeared in Massarde's face. "I caution you, Zateb, do not provoke an uproar. If the world accidentally discovers what we truly do here, an international tribunal will hang us both."

  "Not without evidence or witnesses, they won't."

  "What about those freakish devils who massacred the tourists at Asselar? Did you make them disappear too?"

  Kazim gave a callous smile. "No, they killed and ate themselves. But there are other villages suffering the same maladies. Should Dr. Hopper and his party become overly annoying, perhaps I can see they witness a massacre firsthand."

  Massarde didn't need an illustrated explanation. He'd read Kazim's secret report of the slaughter at Asselar. His mind easily pictured disease-crazed nomads literally swallowing up the UN investigators as they had the tourist safari.

  "A most efficient means of eliminating a threat," he said to Kazim. "It saves the expense of a burial party."

  "I agree."

  "But if one or two of them should survive and attempt to return to Cairo?"

  Kazim shrugged, the thin bloodless lips under the moustache parted in an evil smile. "Regardless of how they die, their bones will never leave the desert."

  Ten thousand years ago the sand-dry wadis of the Republic of Mali ran full to their banks with water while the barren flatlands were blanketed with forests filled with hundreds of varieties of plant life. The fertile plains and mountains were home to early man long before he rose out of the stone age and became a pastoral herdsman. For the next seven thousand years vast tribes hunted antelopes, elephants, and buffaloes as they herded their long-horned cattle from one grazing ground to another.

  In time, overgrazing along with the decreasing rains caused the Sahara to dry out and become the barren desert it is today, ever expanding, ever creeping into the lusher, more tropical lands of the African continent. The great tribes gradually abandoned the region, leaving behind a desolate and nearly waterless area to the few nomadic bands who have lingered on.

  By discovering the incredible endurance of the camel, the Romans were the first to conquer the desert wastes, utilizing the beast to carry slaves, gold, ivory, and many thousands of wild animals for shipment to the bloody arenas of Rome. For eight centuries their caravans plodded across the nothingness from the Mediterranean to the banks of the Niger. And when the glory of Rome faded, it was the camel that opened the Sahara frontier to the invading, light-skinned Berbers, who were followed by the Arabs and the Moors.

  Mali represents the end of a line of powerful and long vanished empires to rule black Africa. In the early Middle Ages the kingdom of Ghana expanded the great caravan routes between the Niger River, Algeria, and Morocco. In 1240 A.D., Ghana was destroyed by the Mandingos to the south who emerged as an even greater empire called Malinke, the basis of the name Mali. Great prosperity was achieved and the cities of Gao and Timbuktu became widely respected as the centers of Islamic learning and culture.

  Legends were spun of the incredible wealth carried by the gold caravans, and the empire's fame spread through the Middle East. But two hundred years later, the empire had spiraled into decay as the Tuareg and Fulane nomads encroached from the north. The Songhai people to the east gradually took control and ruled until the Moroccan sultans pushed their armies to the Niger and devastated the kingdom in 1591. By the time the French launched their colonial flow southward in the early nineteenth century, the old empires of Mali were ail but forgotten.

  After the turn of the century, the French established the territories of West Africa into what became known as the French Sudan. In 1960, Mali declared its independence, drew up a constitution, and formed a government. The nation's first president was removed by a group of army officers led by Lieutenant Moussa Traore. In 1992, after a number of unsuccessful coup attempts, President (now General) Traore was overthrown by (then Major) Zateb Kazim.

  Soon realizing he could not obtain foreign aid or loans as a military dictator, Kazim stepped down and installed the current President Tahir as a figurehead. A cunning manipulator, Kazim stacked the legislature with his cronies and kept his distance from the Soviet Union and the United States while maintaining close relations with France.

  He soon set himself up as overseer of all trade, domestic and foreign, enriching a number of his secret bank accounts throughout the world. He dipped into development projects and despite installing strict customs controls, profited handsomely on the side from smuggling activities. French business payoffs for his cooperation,
such as his association with Yves Massarde, made him a multimillionaire. Thanks to Kazim's absolute corruption and the greed of his officials, it was little wonder that Mali was one of the world's poorest nations.

  The UN Boeing 737 banked so close to the ground Eva thought its wing tip would cut a groove through the mud and timber houses. Then the pilot leveled out on his approach to the primitive airport at the fabled city of Timbuktu and touched down with a firm thump. Gazing out her window, Eva found it difficult to imagine that the grubby town was once the great caravan market of the empires of Ghana, Malinke, and Songhai, and was inhabited by a hundred thousand people. Founded by Tuareg nomads as a seasonal camp in 1100 A.D., it became one of the largest trading centers in West Africa.

  She found it difficult to envision a glorious past. But for three of the ancient mosques still standing, there were few sights of past grandeur. The town looked dead and abandoned, its narrow and crooked streets twisting around and seemingly going nowhere in particular. Its grip on life appeared tenuous and fruitless.

  Hopper wasted no time. He was out the cabin door and on the ground before the whine of the jet engines died away. An officer, wearing the brief indigo headdress of Kazim's personal guard, walked up to him and saluted. He greeted the UN field researcher in English with a marked French accent.

  "Dr. Hopper, I presume."

  "And you must be Mr. Stanley," Hopper replied with his usual cutting humor.

  There was no answering smile. The Malian officer gave Hopper an unfriendly look that was obviously coated with harbored suspicions. "I am Captain Mohammed Batutta. You will please accompany me to the airport terminal."

  Hopper stared at the terminal. It was little more than a metal shed with windows. "Oh very well, if that's the best you can do," he said dryly, refusing to kowtow.

  They walked straight to the terminal and into a small, oven-hot office that was bare except for a shabby, wooden table and two chairs. Behind the table an officer, who was senior to Batutta and looked like he was going through a very unhappy phase, sat and studied Hopper for a moment with undisguised contempt.

  "I am Colonel Nouhoum Mansa. May I see your passport please?"

  Hopper had come prepared and handed over the six passports he'd collected from his team. Mansa flipped through the pages without interest, noting only the nationalities. Finally he asked, "Why did you come to Mali?"

  Hopper had traveled the world and had little use for ridiculous formality. "I believe you know the purpose of our visit."

  "You will answer the question."

  "We're members of the United Nations World Health Organization on a mission to study reports of toxic illness among your people."

  "Where is no such illness among my people," the Colonel said firmly.

  "Then you won't mind if we analyze water supplies and take air samples in a random selection of the towns and cities along the Niger."

  "We do not take kindly to foreigners seeking out deficiencies in our country."

  Hopper was not about to back down in the face of stupid authority. "We're here to save lives. I thought General Kazim understood that."

  Mansa tensed. The fact that Hopper threw out Kazim's name instead of President Tahir caught him off guard. "General Kazim . . . he's given orders authorizing your visit?"

  "Why don't you ring him up and find out?" It was a bluff, but Hopper had nothing to lose.

  Colonel Mansa rose and walked to the door. "Wait here," he ordered brusquely.

  "Please tell the General," said Hopper, "that his neighboring countries have invited United Nations scientists to help them locate the source of contamination, and if he refuses my team's entry into Mali, he will be scorned and lose face among the nations of the world."

  Mansa made no reply and left the stifling room.

  While he waited, Hopper gave Captain Batutta his best intimidating stare. Batutta locked eyes for a few moments, but then turned away and began pacing the room.

  After about five minutes, Mansa returned and sat down at the desk. Without a word, he precisely stamped each passport and then passed them to Hopper. "You have been allowed to enter Mali to conduct your research. But please remember, Doctor, you and your people are guests here. No more. If you make unkind statements or take part in any action detrimental to security, you will be deported."

  "Thank you, Colonel. And please thank General Kazim for his kind permission."

  "You will be accompanied by Captain Batutta and ten of his men for your protection."

  "I'm honored to have a bodyguard."

  "You will also report your findings directly to me. I expect your full cooperation in this matter-"

  "How will I report from the hinterland?"

  "The Captain's unit will carry the necessary communications equipment."

  "We should get along handsomely," Hopper said loftily to Batutta. He turned back to Mansa. "My team and I will need a car, preferably a four-wheel-drive, for personnel and two lorries to transport our laboratory gear."

  Colonel Mansa's face reddened. "I will arrange for military vehicles."

  Hopper was well aware that it was important for the Colonel to save face and have the last word. "Thank you, Colonel Mansa. You are a generous and honorable man. General Kazim must be very proud to have a true warrior of the desert at his side."

  Mansa leaned back, a growing look of triumph and satisfaction in his eyes. "Yes, the General has often expressed gratitude for my loyalty and service."

  The interview was over, and Hopper returned to the aircraft and directed the unloading of the cargo. Mansa watched from the window of the terminal office, a faint smile on his lips.

  "Shall I restrict their investigation to unclassified areas?" asked Batutta.

  Mansa slowly shook his head without turning. "No, allow them to go wherever they wish."

  "And if Dr. Hopper finds signs of toxic sickness?"

  "No matter. As long as I control communications with the outside world his reports will be altered to show our country lo be clean of illness, and hazardous wastes."

  "But when they return to the UN headquarters-"

  "Won't the true findings be exposed?" Mansa finished. "Yes, most certainly." He swung around suddenly, his expression menacing. "But not if their aircraft tragically meets with an accident during the return flight."

  Pitt dozed off and on during the plane ride from Egypt to Nigeria. He woke only when Rudi Gunn came down the aisle of the NUMA executive jet, three coffee mugs firmly gripped in both hands. Taking a cup, Pitt looked up at Gunn in weary resignation, his expression devoid of enthusiasm and any expectations for fun times.

  "Where in Port Harcourt are we meeting the Admiral?" he asked without really caring.

  "Not exactly in Port Harcourt," Gunn hedged, handing Pitt a coffee.

  "If not there, then where?"

  "He's waiting on board one of our research ships 200 kilometers off the coast."

  Pitt fixed Gunn with the gaze of a hound staring at a cornered fox. "You're holding out, Rudi."

  "Would Al like some coffee?"

  Pitt glanced at Giordino who was snoring in sweet bliss. "Save it. You couldn't wake him with a lighted firecracker in his ear."

  Gunn eased into a seat across the aisle from Pitt. "I can't tell you what Admiral Sandecker has on his mind, because I honestly don't know. I do, however, suspect it has to do with a study NUMA marine biologists have conducted on coral reefs around the world."

  "I'm aware of the study," said Pitt, "but the results came in after Giordino and I left for Egypt." Pitt was comfortable with the fact that Gunn would eventually level with him. He and Gunn had an easygoing relationship despite the obvious differences in their lifestyle. Gunn was an intellectual with degrees in chemistry, finance, and oceanography. He would be totally at home living in the basement of a library inundated by books, compiling reports and planning research projects.

  Pitt, on the other hand, enjoyed working with his hands on things mechanical, especially on the old
classic automobiles in his collection in Washington. Adventure was his narcotic. He was in paradise when flying antique aircraft or diving on historic shipwrecks. Pitt had a master's degree in engineering and took great pleasure in tackling the jobs others thought impossible. Unlike Gunn, he was seldom found at his desk in the NUMA headquarters building, preferring the excitement of probing the unknown depths of the sea.

  "The bottom line is the reefs are in peril and dying off at an unheard-of rate," Gunn answered. "Right now, it's a hot topic among marine scientists."

  "What parts of the oceans show this trend?"

  Gunn stared at his coffee. "You name it. The Caribbean from the Florida Keys to Trinidad, the Pacific from Hawaii to Indonesia, the Red Sea, the coasts of Africa."

  "All with the same attrition rate?" asked Pitt.

  Gunn shook his head. "No, it varies by locale. The worst-case scenario appears to be along the West African coast."

  "I didn't think it uncommon for coral reefs to go through cycles where they stop reproducing and die before becoming healthy again."

  "That's correct," Gunn nodded. "When conditions return to normal the reef will recover. But we've never seen such widespread damage at such an alarming rate"

  "Any idea of the cause?"

  "Two factors. One, the usual culprit, warm water. Periodic rises in water temperature, generally from changes in sea currents, cause the tiny coral polyps to eject, or vomit if you will, the algae they feed on."

  "The polyps being the little tubular devils that build the reefs with their skeletal remains."

  "Very good."

  "What about sums up my knowledge on coral," Pitt admitted. "The life-and-death struggle of coral polyps rarely makes the evening news."

  "A shame," Gunn said briefly. "Especially when you consider that changes in coral can be an accurate barometer of future trends in sea and weather conditions."

  "All right, so the polyps spit out the algae," Pitt prodded. "Then what?"