"You have a welcoming committee," said the pilot, pointing to the landing pad.
"My, my," said Giordino, squinting in the bright sunlight. "It looks like our old pal, Captain Brunone."
"And a squad of his goons," Pitt added. He tapped the pilot on the shoulder. "Keep your firepower aimed at them until we wave you off."
The pilot hovered half a meter from the ground, keeping his rocket launchers and Chain gun pointed at the waiting security guards. Giordino dropped lightly to the concrete pad and then helped Pitt step down to favor his leg. They walked over to Brunone who stiffened as he recognized them and stared in astonishment.
"I did not expect to see you two again," said Brunone.
"I'll bet you didn't," muttered Giordino nastily.
Pitt stared hard at Brunone, reading an expression in the Captain's eyes that Giordino missed, an expression of relief instead of anger or fear. "You almost look happy to see us."
"I am. I was told no one ever escaped from Tebezza."
"Did you send the project engineers and their wives and children there?"
Brunone shook his head solemnly. "No, that travesty occurred a week before I arrived."
"But you knew about their imprisonment."
"I only heard rumors. I tried to investigate the matter, but Mr. Massarde pulled a wall of secrecy around it. Anyone connected with the crime has vanished from the project."
"He probably slit their throats to shut them up," said Giordino.
"You don't much like Massarde, do you?" said Pitt.
"The man is a pig and a thief," Brunone spat. "I could tell you things about this project--"
"We already know," Pitt interrupted. "Why don't you quit and fly home?"
Brunone stared at Pitt. "Those who resign from Massarde Enterprises receive funerals within a week. I have a wife and five children."
In for a penny, in for a pound. Pitt had a hunch he could trust Brunone. The Captain's cooperation could prove valuable. "As of now, you're no longer in the employ of Yves Massarde. You're working for Pitt and Giordino Industries.
Brunone thought over Pitt's proposal, more like a statement of fact, for some time, eyed the hovering helicopter that had enough firepower to level half the project, and then studied the resolute and supremely confident looks on Pitt and Giordino's faces. Then he shrugged. "Consider me hired."
"And your security guard force?"
For the first time Brunone grinned. "My men are loyal to me. They hate Massarde as much as I do. There will be no protest over a change of employers."
"Cement their loyalty by informing them their pay has just been doubled."
"And me?"
"Play your cards right," said Pitt, "and you'll be the next managing director of this establishment."
"Ah, now, a first-class incentive. You can be assured of my full cooperation. What would you like me to do?"
Pitt did a sideways nod of his head toward the project's administration building. "You can begin by escorting us to Massarde so we can give him the sack."
Brunone suddenly hesitated. "Forgotten General Kazim, haven't you? He and Massarde are partners. He won't sit by and see his share of the project go elsewhere without a fight."
"General Zateb Kazim is no longer a problem," Pitt assured him.
"How can that be? What is his present status?"
"Status, status?" Giordino replied in a mocking tone. "The last time anybody saw him he was drawing a lot of flies."
Massarde sat behind his massive desk, the steady, watchful blue eyes reflecting benign displeasure, as if the surprise appearance of Pitt and Giordino was no more than a passing annoyance. Verenne stood behind him like a loyal disciple, face scowling in disgust.
"Like the avenging furies of Greek mythology, you never cease to plague me," Massarde said philosophically. "You even look like you ascended from the underworld."
There was a large antique mirror on the wall behind the desk with a baroque gilded frame crowded with fat cherubs. Pitt looked into it and he could see Massarde had made an accurate assessment. He was in stark contrast to Giordino who was reasonably clean and intact. Combat suit tattered and filthy from smoke and dust. Bloodstained rips and tears revealing bandages on the left arm, shoulder, and right thigh, a gash that ran from cheekbone to chin, face sweatstreaked and haggard, if he could have found a street to lie in, Pitt thought he could pass for a hit-and-run victim.
"Ghosts of the murdered who torment the wicked, that's us," Pitt retorted. "And we've come to punish you for your evil ways."
"Spare me the droll humor," said Massarde. "What do you want?"
"The Fort Foureau hazardous waste project for starters."
"You want the project." He said it as if it were an everyday occurrence. "Then I must assume your brazenness indicates General Kazim failed in recapturing the escapees from Tebezza."
"If you're referring to the families you forced into slavery, yes. As we speak, they're all on their way to safety, thanks to the sacrifices laid down by the UN Tactical Team and the timely arrival of an American Special Operation Force. Once they arrive in France they'll expose your criminal acts. The murders, the hideous atrocities at your gold mine, your illegal waste dumping operation that has caused thousands of deaths among the desert peoples, enough to make you the world's number one criminal."
"My friends in France will shield me," he said firmly.
"Don't count on your high connections in the French government. Once the public outcry hits your political buddies, they won't admit to ever having heard of you. Then it's a nasty trial and off to Devil's Island or wherever the French send their convicted criminals nowadays."
Verenne clutched the back of Massarde's chair, hovering like one of the flying monkeys over the Wicked Witch of the West. "Mr. Massarde will never stand trial or go to prison. He is too powerful; too many world leaders are in his debt."
"His pocket, you mean," said Giordino, moving over to the bar and helping himself to a bottle of mineral water.
"I am untouchable so long as I remain in Mali," said Massarde. "I can easily continue to operate Massarde Enterprises from here."
"I'm afraid that's not possible," said Pitt, circling for the kill. "Particularly in light of General Kazim's well-deserved demise."
Massarde stared at Pitt, his mouth slowly tightening. "Kazim dead?"
"Along with his staff and about half his army."
He looked then at Brunone. "And you, Captain. Do you and your security guards still stand with me?"
Brunone shook his head slowly. "No sir, in light of current events, I have decided to accept Mr. Pitt's more attractive offer."
Massarde exhaled in a long, defeated sigh. "Why on earth would you want control of the project?" he asked Pitt.
"To set it straight and attempt to repair the environmental damage you've caused."
"The Malians will never permit an outsider to take control."
"Oh I think government officials will come around once they're told their country will receive all profits from the operation. Considering Mali ranks as one of the poorest of poor nations, how can they refuse?"
"You'd turn over the world's most technically advanced solar waste project to a bunch of ignorant barbarians to run it into the ground?" asked Massarde in surprise. "You'll lose it all."
"Did you think I slithered in on your slime with the intention of making a financial killing? Sorry, Massarde, there are a few of us around who aren't driven by greed."
"You're an idiot, Pitt," Massarde said, rising from the desk in rage.
"Sit down! You haven't heard the best half of the deal yet."
"What else can you possibly demand besides control of Fort Foureau?"
"The fortune you've got stashed away in the Society Islands."
"What are you talking about?" Massarde demanded angrily.
"The millions, maybe hundreds of millions in liquid assets you've accumulated over the years from your shady manipulations and ruthless business transactions
. It's a matter of record you don't trust financial institutions or follow usual investment practices, nor do you have your money socked away in Grand Cayman or the Channel Islands. You could have retired a long time ago and enjoyed a good life and invested in paintings or classic cars or villas in Italy. Or better yet, you might have become a philanthropist and shared your inventiveness with needy charities. But greed begets greed. You can't spend your profits. No matter how much you hoard, it's never enough. You're too sick to live like normal people. What you don't keep in Massarde Enterprises for acquisitions, you hide somewhere on a South Pacific island. Tahiti, Moorea or Bora? My guess is one of the lesser-inhabited islands in the chain. How close to the truth am I, Massarde?"
He had no reply to make on how close to the truth Pitt was.
"That's the deal," Pitt continued. "In return for giving up all control of this project and revealing where you've hidden your ill-gotten gains, I'll let you board your helicopter along with your stooge, Verenne here, and fly free wherever you wish."
"You are an idiot," Verenne snapped hoarsely. "You don't have the authority or power to blackmail Mr. Massarde."
Unnoticed by the others, Giordino stood behind the bar and spoke softly into a small radio transmitter. The timing was near perfect. There were only a few moments of silence before the Eagle helicopter suddenly appeared outside the office window, hanging menacingly in the air with its deadly armament seemingly poised to blow Massarde's office into dust.
Pitt nodded at the hovering aircraft. "Authority no, power yes."
Massarde smiled. He was not a man who could be cornered without a fight. He seemed to have no fear at all. He leaned across the desk and said evenly, "Take the project if you will. Without a despot's backing like Kazim, the stupid government will allow it to deteriorate and become abandoned scrap like every other piece of Western technology that's come to this godforsaken desert. I have other projects, other ventures to replace this one."
"We're halfway home," said Giordino coldly.
"As to my wealth, don't waste your breath. What's mine is mine. But you're right about it being on an island in the Pacific. You and a million other people could search a thousand years and never find it."
Pitt turned to Brunone. "Captain, we still have a few hours of afternoon heat left. Please gag Mr. Massarde and remove his clothes. Then spread-eagle and stake him to the ground, and leave him."
That jolted Massarde badly. He could not comprehend being treated as brutally as he had treated others. "You cannot do this to Yves Massarde," he said savagely. "By God, you're not--"
His words were broken off as Pitt backhanded him across the face. "Tit for tat, pal. Except you're lucky fm not wearing a ring."
Massarde said nothing. For a few moments he stood there motionless, his face masked in hate and turning white from the beginning sensations of fear. He looked at Pitt and saw there was no reprieve, because there was an emotionless coldness about the American, an utter lack of compassion that negated the slightest possibility of escaping the ordeal. Slowly he removed his clothes until he stood white-skinned and naked.
"Captain Brunone," said Pitt. "Do your duty."
"With pleasure, sir," replied Brunone with obvious relish.
After Massarde was gagged and securely staked on the baked ground outside the administration building under the merciless Sahara sun, Pitt nodded to Giordino. "Convey my thanks to the men in the chopper and send them back to Colonel Hargrove."
Upon receiving the message, the pilot of the chopper waved and dipped his craft toward the battlefield. Now they were alone with their own creative devices, relying on an enormous amount of bluff.
Giordino looked down at Massarde and then at Pitt with a curious glint in his eyes. "Why the gag?" he asked.
Pitt smiled. "If it was you roasting in the sun out there, how much would you offer Brunone and his men to escape?"
"A couple of million bucks or more." answered Giordino, admiring Pitt's finesse.
"Probably more."
"Do you honestly believe he's going to talk?"
Pitt shook his head. "No, Massarde will suffer tire tortures of the damned and go to hell before revealing where he's hidden his wealth."
"But if he won't tell you, who will?"
"His closest friend and confidant," said Pitt, gesturing at Verenne.
"Damn you, I don't know!" Verenne's voice was a despairing shout.
"Oh I think you do, maybe not the exact location, but I think you could put us within spitting distance."
The shift of his eyes, the fearful expression was evidence enough that Verenne knew the secret. "I wouldn't tell you anything if I could."
"Al, while I take advantage of Massarde's fancy quarters and clean up, why don't you escort our friend to an empty office and persuade him to sketch out a map to Massarde's private money vault."
"Sounds good to me," Giordino said casually. "I haven't drilled any teeth for nearly a week."
Almost two hours later, after a shower and short nap, Pitt felt almost human again; the biting soreness from his wounds was almost bearable. He was seated at Massarde's desk in a silk robe at least two sizes too small that he'd found in a closet containing enough clothes to open a men's store. He was probing through the drawers of the desk, studying the Frenchman's papers and files when Giordino walked through the door, pushing a white-faced Verenne in front of him.
"You two have a nice chat?" asked Pitt.
"Amazing what a great conversationalist he can be in the right company," Giordino acknowledged.
Verenne looked around through wild unfocused eyes that seemed to have lost all contact with reality. He slowly moved his head from side to side as if he was clearing away a mist. He looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
Pitt studied Verenne curiously. "What did you do to him?" he inquired of, Giordino. "There isn't a mark on him."
"Like I said, we had a nice chat. I spent the time describing in vivid detail how I was going to dismember him millimeter by millimeter."
"That's all?"
"He has a great imagination. I never had to lay a hand on him."
"Did he pinpoint Massarde's island cache?"
"You had the right idea about it being owned by the French, but it's almost 5000 kilometers northeast of Tahiti and 2000 southwest of Mexico. Truly the backside of beyond."
"I don't know of a French island in the Pacific off Mexico."
"In 1979, France assumed direct administration of an atoll named Clipperton Island after the English pirate John Clipperton, who used it as a lair in 1705. According to Verenne, its land mass is only about 5 square kilometers with a 21-meter promontory as its highest point."
"Any habitants?"
Giordino shook his head. "Not unless you count a few wild pigs. Verenne says the only remnant of human activity is an abandoned lighthouse from the eighteenth century."
"A lighthouse," Pitt turned the word over slowly. "Only a slick, wily pirate like Massarde would think of hiding a treasure near a lighthouse on an uninhabited island in the middle of an ocean."
"Verenne claims he doesn't know the exact spot."
"Whenever Mr. Massarde anchored his yacht off the island," murmured Verenne, "he always took a boat ashore alone, and only at night so no one could observe his movements."
Pitt looked at Giordino. "Think he's telling the truth?"
"I am, I swear to God!" Verenne implored.
"Could be he's just a natural-born storyteller," said Giordino.
"I told the truth." His voice came like the pleas of a child. "Oh God, I don't want to be tortured. I can't stand pain."
Giordino stared at Verenne fox-like. "Or then again, he might be a naturally gifted actor."
Verenne looked stricken. "What can I do to make you believe me?"
"I'll be convinced when you inform on your boss. Supply his records, names, and dates of his victims, every filthy business deal he ever created, expose the guts of his entire rotten organization."
&nbs
p; "I do that and he'll have me killed," Verenne croaked in a frightened whisper.
"He'll never touch you."
"Oh yes he can. You don't know the power he wields."
"I think I have an idea."
"He won't hurt you half as much as I will," said Giordino menacingly.
Verenne sank into a chair, stared at Giordino with a sweat-moistened face, with fear-widened eyes that carried the faintest flicker of hope as he turned and trained them on Pitt. These men had stripped his chief of all dignity, of all arrogance. If there was a chance of saving his life, he knew he had to choose.
"I'll do as you ask," he moaned softly.
"Let me hear it again," Pitt demanded.
"All records and information on Massarde Enterprises, I will turn them over to you for investigation."
"That includes unrecorded records on illegal and immoral activities as well."
"I will supply what isn't on paper or computerized."
There was a brief silence. Pitt stared out the window at Massarde. Even at that distance he could see the white skin had turned a deep red. He rose stiffly from behind the desk and put a hand on Giordino's shoulder.
"Al, he's your project. Extract every shred of evidence out of him you can."
Giordino put his arm around Verenne, who cringed. "We'll have a real friendly rap session you and I"
"Work on the names of the people Massarde victimized or murdered. Those first."
"Any particular reason?" Giordino asked curiously.
"When the time is right for a voyage to Clipperton Island and a search proves successful, I'd like to set up an organization to use Massarde's stashed wealth to pay back those he hurt and the surviving families of those he killed."
"Mr. Massarde will never permit that," Verenne muttered hoarsely.
"Speaking of our favorite villain," said Pitt, "I think he's baked in the oven long enough."
The front of Massarde's body looked like a shellfish after it had been broiled in a pot. Already he was in excruciating agony, his skin blistering. By the next morning it would begin to peel in huge strips. He stood there without support between Brunone and two impassive guards, motionless, his lips drawn back like a snarling dog, his reddened face contorted in rage and hate:
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