"Not our fault," Batutta said quickly.
"You know his wrath. It falls on the innocent as well as the guilty."
"We have done our duty," Batutta replied resolutely.
"Keep me informed of Hopper's movements," Mansa ordered. "I'll make your report in person to the General."
"He's in Timbuktu?"
"No, Gao. As luck would have it, he's on Yves Massarde's yacht, moored in the river just off the city. I'll take a military transport and be there in half an hour."
"Good luck to you, Colonel."
"Stay on Hopper every second. Inform me of any change in Hopper's plans."
"As you order."
Mansa hung up and stared at the phone, sorting out the complications of Batutta's intelligence revelation. If undetected, Hopper might have fooled them all and discovered victims of the contamination out in the Sahara where no one thought to search. That would have spelled calamity. Captain Batutta had saved him from a very messy situation, possibly even his execution under trumped-up charges of treason, Kazim's routine exercise for eliminating officers who displeased him. It was a near thing. By catching Kazim in the right mood, he might even wheedle a promotion to the general staff.
Mansa called to his aide in the office outside to fetch his dress uniform and ready an aircraft. He began to sense a creeping euphoria. Near catastrophe would turn into an opportunity to annihilate the foreign intruders.
A speedboat was waiting at the dock under a mosque when Mansa stepped from the military command car that carried him from the airport. A uniformed crewman whipped off the bow and stern lines and jumped down into the cockpit. He pressed the ignition switch and the big V-8 Citroen marine engine roared to life.
Massarde's yacht swung in the middle of the river on its' bow anchor, lights reflecting in the rippling current. The yacht was actually a self-propelled houseboat three stories high. Its flat bottom enabled it to easily cruise up and down the river during the seasons of high water.
Mansa had never been on board, but he'd heard stories of the glass-domed spiral staircase that ascended from the spacious master suite to the heliport. The ten sumptuous staterooms furnished in French antiques, the high-ceilinged dining room with murals from the time of Louis XIV taken from the walls of a Loire River chateau, the steam rooms, sauna, Jacuzzis, and cocktail bar in a revolving observation lounge, and the electronic communication systems linking Massarde to his worldwide empire, they all worked together to make the mansion on the water unlike anything ever built.
As the Colonel climbed from the boat onto the gangway and up the teak steps, he had hopes of seeing something of the luxurious craft, but his expectations turned sour when Kazim met him on the deck beside the gangway. He was holding a glass half filled with champagne. He made no effort to offer Mansa one.
"I hope your interruption of my business conference with Monsieur Massarde is as urgent as you implied in your message," Kazim said coldly.
Mansa saluted smartly and began a hurried but precise briefing, embellishing the facts and polishing the details of Batutta's report on the United Nations World Health team, but never mentioning the captain by name.
Kazim listened with curious interest. His dark eyes deepened and stared unseeing into the glistening lights of the houseboat dancing on the water. A worried crease appeared in his face, but this was soon replaced with a tight smile across his lips.
When Mansa finished speaking, Kazim asked, "When is Hopper and his caravan expected back in Timbuktu?"
"If they leave tomorrow morning, they should arrive by late afternoon."
"More than enough time to circumvent the good doctor's plans." He looked icily into Mansa's eyes. "I trust you will appear disappointed and most solicitous when Hopper announces the failure of his investigation to you."
"I will be at my diplomatic best," Mansa assured him.
"Is his aircraft and its crew still on the ground in Timbuktu?"
Mansa nodded. "The pilots are staying at the Hotel Azalai."
"You say Hopper intends to pay them a bonus to land in the desert north of here?"
"Yes, that is what he told the others."
"We must gain control of the aircraft."
"You wish me to bribe the pilots above what Hopper offers them?"
"A waste of good money," Kazim sneered. "Kill them."
Mansa half expected the order and did not react. "Yes, sir."
"And replace them with pilots from our own military who resemble their size and facial features."
"A masterful plan, my General."
"Also, inform Dr. Hopper that I insist Captain Batutta accompany them to Cairo to act as my personal representative to the World Health Organization. He will oversee the operation."
"What orders do you wish me to give our replacement officers?"
"Order them," said Kazim with evil blackness in his eyes, "to land Dr. Hopper and his party at Asselar."
"Asselar." The name rolled off Mansa's tongue as if it was coated in acid. "Hopper and his party will surely be murdered by the mutant savages of Asselar as were the members of the tourist safari."
"That," said Kazim coldly, "is for Allah to decide."
"And if for some unforeseen reason they should survive?" Mansa posed the question delicately.
An evil expression that sent a shiver through Mansa spread across Kazim's face. The General smiled cunningly, his dark eyes reflecting cold amusement. "Then there is always Tebezza."
<2>DEAD GROUND
May 15, 1996
New York City
<<15>>
At Floyd Bennett Field on the shore of Jamaica Bay, New York, a man dressed like a sixties hippie leaned against a Jeep Wagoneer station wagon parked on a deserted end of the tarmac. He peered through a pair of granny glasses at a turquoise aircraft that taxied through a light morning mist and stopped only 10 meters away. He straightened when Sandecker and Chapman stepped from the NUMA jet and he moved forward to greet them.
The Admiral noted the car and nodded in satisfaction. He detested formal limousines, insisting on a four-wheel-drive for his personal transportation. He managed a brief smile at the Levi-jacketed, pony-tailed director of NUMA's vast computer data center. Hiram Yaeger was the only person on Sandecker's top staff who ignored the dress code and got away with it.
"Thank you for picking us up, Hiram. Sorry to drag you away from Washington on short notice."
Yaeger walked toward him with an outstretched hand. "No problem, Admiral. I needed a break from my machines." Then he tilted his head and stared up into the face of Dr. Chapman. "Darcy, how was the flight from Nigeria?"
"The cabin ceiling was too low and my seat too short," the tall toxicologist complained. "And to make matters worse, the Admiral beat me ten games to four at gin rummy."
"Let me help you throw your luggage in the car, and we'll head into Manhattan."
"Did you set an appointment with Hala Kamil?" asked Sandecker.
Yaeger nodded. "I phoned the UN Headquarters as soon as you radioed your time of arrival. Secretary General Kamil has rearranged her schedule to fit us in. Her aide was surprised she'd do that for you."
Sandecker smiled. "We go back a ways."
"She'll meet with us at ten-thirty."
The Admiral glanced at his watch. "An hour and a half. Time for a cup of coffee and some breakfast."
"Sounds good," said Chapman between yawns. "I'm half starved."
Yaeger took the parkway from the airport and turned off on Coney Island Avenue where he found a delicatessen. They settled into a booth and ordered from a waitress who openly stared at the towering figure of Dr. Chapman.
"What'll it be, gents?"
"Lox, cream cheese, and a bagel," ordered Sandecker.
Chapman opted for a pastrami and salami omelet while Yaeger simply had a Danish. They were silent within their own thoughts until the waitress brought their coffee. Sandecker stirred an ice cube in his cup to cool the brew and then settled back against the booth's backrest.
"What do your electronic babies have to say about the red tides?" he asked Yaeger.
"The projections look pretty grim," the computer expert said, toying with a fork. "I've run a continuous update of the increasing dimensions from satellite photos. The growth rate boggles the mind. It's like the old adage of starting with a penny and doubling it every day until you're a billionaire by the end of the month. The red tide off West Africa is spreading and doubling its size every four days. At four o'clock this morning it covered an area measuring 40,000 square kilometers."
"Or 100,000 square miles," Sandecker translated into the old system of measurement.
"At that rate it will cover the entire South Atlantic in three to four weeks," figured Chapman.
"Do you have a clue to the cause?" asked Yaeger.
"Only that it's probably an organometallic that's promoting a mutation of the dinoflagellates that make up the core of the red tide."
"Organometallic?"
"A combination of a metal and an organic substance," Chapman explained.
"Any particular compound that stands out?"
"Not yet. We identified dozens of contaminants, but none of them appear responsible. All we can guess at the moment is that a metallic element somehow got mixed with synthetic compounds or chemical by-products that were dumped in the Niger River."
"Might even be waste from exotic biotech research," suggested Yaeger.
"There are no exotic biotech experiments going on in West Africa," Sandecker said firmly.
"Somehow this unidentified crap acts as an exciter," Chapman continued, "almost like a hormone as it creates a mutant red tide with a staggering growth rate and an incredible degree of toxicity as well."
The conversation paused as the waitress served their breakfast off a tray. She left and returned with a pot of coffee and refilled their cups.
"Any chance we're looking at a bacterial reaction to a raw sewage spill?" asked Yaeger as he gazed sadly at a Danish that looked as if it had been stepped on by a greasy boot.
"Sewage can act as a nutrient for algae just as manure does with agricultural vegetation on land," said Chapman. "But not in this case. What we're dealing with is an ecological disaster that goes far beyond anything human waste can produce."
Sandecker knifed the cream cheese on his bagel and laid on the salmon. "So while we sit here and stuff our mouths, a red tide is forming that will make the '91 Iraqi oil spill look like a puddle in the Kansas prairie."
"And we can do nothing to stop it," admitted Chapman. "Without the proper analysis of water samples, I can only theorize on the chemical compound. Until Rudi Gunn finds the needle in the haystack and who or what put it there, our hands are tied."
"What's the latest word?" Yaeger asked.
"Word on what?" Sandecker mumbled between bites.
"Our three friends on the Niger," Yaeger answered, irritated at Sandecker's seeming indifference. "Transmission of their data telemetry suddenly stopped yesterday."
The Admiral glanced around the delicatessen to make sure he wasn't heard. "They became involved in a little altercation with two gunboats and a helicopter of the Benin navy."
"A little altercation!" Yaeger blurted incredulously. "How in hell did that happen? Were they injured?"
"We can only assume they survived in good shape," Sandecker said guardedly. "They were about to be boarded. To keep the project intact there was no choice but for them to go into a combat mode. During the fight their communications equipment must have been taken out."
"That explains why their telemetry failed," said Yaeger, calming down.
"Satellite photos from the National Security Agency," continued Sandecker, "show they blasted the hell out of both vessels and the copter and made it safely across the border into Mali."
Yaeger sagged in his seat, suddenly not hungry. "They'll never get out of Mali. They're sailing into a dead-end. I've run computer profiles on the Malian government. Their military leader has the worst record of human rights in West Africa. Pitt and the others will be caught and hanged on the nearest date palm."
"That's why we're meeting with the Secretary General of the UN," said Sandecker.
"What good can she do?"
"The UN is our only hope to get our team and their data out safely."
"Why am I beginning to get the idea our Niger River research was nonsanctioned?" Yaeger asked.
"We couldn't convince the politicians of the immediate urgency," said Chapman in frustration. "They kept insisting on setting up a special committee to look into the matter. Can you believe that? With the world on the brink of extinction, our illustrious elected officials want to strut their self-importance while bunched together in executive chairs and vocalize like an a cappella choir."
"What Darcy is saying," explained Sandecker, smiling at Chapman's choice of words, "is that we explained the emergency to the President, the Secretary of State, and several Congressional leaders. They all refused our request to twist the arms of the West African nations to permit us to analyze the river water."
Yaeger stared at him. "So to get a head start you sent Pitt, Giordino, and Gunn in on the sly."
"There was no other way. The clock is running down. We had to go around our own government. If this operation leaks out, my ass will be dipped in acid."
"This is worse than I thought."
"That's why we need the UN," said Chapman. "Without their cooperation there's too good a chance Pitt, Giordino, and Gunn will go into a Malian prison and never come out."
"And the data we require so desperately," said Sandecker, "will disappear with them."
Yaeger bore a look of sadness. "You sacrificed them, Admiral. You willingly sacrificed our closest friends."
Sandecker gave Yaeger a granite look. "Do you think 1 didn't wrestle with the devil over my decision? Considering the stakes, who would you have trusted to get the job done? Who would you have sent up the Niger?"
Yaeger rubbed his temples for a moment before answering. Finally, he nodded. "You're right, of course. They're the best. If anyone can accomplish the impossible, it's Pitt."
"I'm delighted you agree," Sandecker said gruffly. He looked at his watch again. "We'd better pay up and get rolling. I don't want to keep Secretary General Kamil waiting. Not when I'm about to get down on my knees and beg like a lost soul."
Hala Kamil, the Egyptian Secretary General of the United Nations, had the beauty and mystery of Nefertiti. Forty-seven years old, black eyes with a haunting quality, long ebony hair flowing slightly below her shoulders, delicate facial features enhanced by a flawless complexion, she kept her beauty and youthful look despite the heavy weight of her prestigious office. She was tall, and her shapely figure was apparent even under her conservative suit.
She rose and came from behind her desk as Sandecker and his friends were ushered into her office in the UN Headquarters Building. "Admiral Sandecker, how nice to see you again."
"My pleasure, Madam Secretary." Sandecker fairly beamed when in the presence of a beautiful woman. He returned her firm handshake and made a slight bow. "Thank you for seeing me."
"You're amazing, Admiral. You haven't changed."
"And you look even younger."
She smiled a ravishing smile. "Compliments aside. We've both added a wrinkle or two. It has been a long time."
"Almost five, years." Then he turned and introduced Chapman and Yaeger.
Hala took little notice of Chapman's size or Yaeger's attire. She was too used to meeting multisized people from a hundred nations in a variety of dress. She held out a small hand in the direction of facing sofas. "Please be seated."
"I'll be brief," Sandecker said without preamble. "I need your help in an urgent matter concerning an environmental disaster in the making that is threatening the very existence of the human race."
Her dark eyes stared at him skeptically. "You've made a very weighty statement, Admiral. If this is another dire prediction of the greenhouse effect, I've become immune."
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"Something far worse," Sandecker said seriously. "By the end of the year most of the world's population will only be a memory."
Hala looked at the faces of the men sitting across from her. Their faces were set and grim. She began to believe him. She didn't exactly know why she believed him. But she knew Sandecker well enough to feel confident he was not a man given to fancy, nor would he run around claiming the sky was falling unless he had absolute, scientific proof.
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