"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."
"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:
"You cannot do this to me and live," he hissed. "Even if I'm killed, I have devised methods to make those responsible pay."
"An avenging hit team," said Pitt dryly. "How foresighted of you. After cooking in the sun, you must be tired and thirsty. Please take a chair. AI, bring Mr. Massarde a bottle of his special French mineral water."
Massarde very slowly eased into a soft leather chair, his face suddenly taut from agony. Settled finally in a comfortable position, he took a deep breath. "You are fools if you think you can get away with this. Kazim has ambitious officers who will quickly step into his place, men who are as vicious and cunning as he was, and who will send a force to bury you in the desert before the next sun."
He reached for the bottle of water held out to him by Giordino and swallowed its entire contents within seconds. Without being asked, Giordino handed him another.
Pitt couldn't help but admire Massarde's incomparable nerve. The man acted as if he was in complete control of his situation:
Massarde finished off the second bottle and then looked around his office for his personal secretary. "Where is Verenne?"
"Dead," Pitt said tersely.
For the first time Massarde looked genuinely surprised. "You murdered him?"
Pitt shrugged indifferently. "He tried to stab Giordino here. Stupid of him to attack a man carrying a gun with a letter opener."
"He did that?" Massarde asked warily.
"I can show you the body if you like."
"Not at all like Verenne. He was a coward."
Pitt exchanged glances with Giordino. Verenne had already been put to work and was under guard in an office two floors below.
"I've got a proposition for you," said Pitt.
"What deal could you possibly make with me?" snarled Massarde.
"I've had a change of heart. If you promise to mend your crooked ways, I'll let you walk from this room, board your helicopter, and leave Mali."
"Is this some sort of joke?"
"Not at all. I've decided the sooner you're out of my hair, the better."
"Surely you can't be serious," said Brunone. "The man is a dangerous menace. He'll strike back at his first opportunity."
"Yes, the Scorpion. Is that what you're called, Massarde?"
The Frenchman did not answer, but sat in sullen silence.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" asked Giordino.
"There will be no argument," Pitt said harshly. "I want this scum out of here, and I want him out now. Captain Brunone, escort Massarde to his helicopter and see that it lifts off with him on it."
Massarde rose shakily to his feet; the sunburned skin was tightening and it was with only an agonized effort that he could stand straight. Despite the pain he smiled. His mind was churning again. "I will require several hours to pack my things and personal records."
"You have exactly two minutes to get off the project."
Massarde swore, bitterly and vilely. "Not like this, not without my clothes. My God, man, show some decency."
"What do you know about decency?" Pitt said dispassionately. "Captain Brunone, get this son of a bitch out of here before I kill him myself."
Brunone didn't have to order his two men. He simply nodded and they hustled the wildly cursing Yves Massarde into the elevator. No word passed between the three men in the office as they stood at the window and watched the humiliated mogul roughly shoved aboard his luxury helicopter. The door was closed and the rotors began to thump the hot air. In less than four minutes it had disappeared over the desert to the north.
"He's heading northeast," observed Giordino.
"My guess is Libya," said Brunone. "And then on to hidden exile before recovering his loot."
"His final destination is of no consequence," Pitt said, yawning.
"You should have killed him," Brunone said, his voice sharp with disappointment.
"No need to bother. He won't live out the week."
"How can you say that?" asked an astonished Brunone. "You let him go free. Why? The man has the resilience and lives of a cat. He's not about to di
e from sunburn."
"No, but he will die." Pitt nodded at Giordino. "Did you make the switch okay?"
Giordino grinned back. "As smoothly as decanting wine."
Brunone looked confused. "What are you talking about?"
"Tying Massarde down out in the sun," explained Pitt, "I wanted to make him thirsty."
Sahara Page 58