producing as much water as possible.”
“You know the results,” Francesca said levelly. “You’re talking about turning much of the world into desert. The consequences would be terrible.”
“Terrible for some, but not those who control the world’s water. We could get any price we ask.”
“From desperate people. You would soon be exposed as the monster you are.”
“To the contrary. Gogstad will say that we are ready to move water from Alaska, British Columbia, and the Great Lakes to other parts of the world in the tanker fleet I have been building. When Gogstad’s beautiful tankers appear off the coast we will be hailed as heroes.”
“You’re already apparently rich beyond the dreams of many. Why do you need more wealth?”
“This could benefit the world in the long run. I will prevent wars from being fought over water.”
“Apax Gogstad, imposed by force.”
“Force will not be necessary. I will reward those who bend to my will, punish those who don’t.”
“By letting them wither and die.”
“If that’s necessary, yes. You must wonder where your desalination process fits in.”
“I assume you would never allow it to spoil your mad plot.”
“To the contrary, your process is an important part of my scheme. I don’t intend to keep my tankers at sea forever. They are only a stopgap measure while the world builds the fantastic infrastructure that will run water down from the polar ice cap. Vast agricultural areas that have gone to desert will have to be invigorated with huge-scale irrigation.”
“No country could afford that. Whole nations will go bankrupt.”
‘~11 the better to snatch them up at a fire sale. Eventually I will build desalting plants using the Cabral process, but I alone will control their output.”
“Again to the highest bidder.”
“Of course. Now let me present my new offer. I will place you in a lab with everything you need at your command.”
“If I say no?”
“Then I will turn your NUMA friend over to the Kradzik brothers. She will not die quickly or pleasantly.”
“She’s an innocent. She has no part in this.”
“Nonetheless she is a nail that must be hammered down if necessary.”
Francesca was silent for a moment. Then she said, “How do I know I can trust you?”
“You can’t trust me, Dr. Cabral. You should know that you can never trust anyone. But you are intelligent enough to see that you are far more valuable to me than your friend’s life and that I am willing to trade. As long as you cooperate, she lives. Do you agree?”
This woman and the deeds hatched in the dark recesses of her brilliant mind revolted Francesca. Brynhild was obviously a megalomaniac and, like so many of her ruthless predecessors, was impervious to the sufferings of the innocent. Francesca had not survived ten years among savage headhunters, blood-sucking bats, and stinging insects and plants without inner resources. She could be as Machiavellian as the most devious. Living in the jungle had given her the quiet ferocity of a stalking jaguar. Since her escape she had been consumed with the desire for revenge. She knew it was wrong and misplaced, but it sustained and helped maintain her grip on her sanity. She pushed her thirst for vengeance aside for the moment. This woman must be stopped.
Suppressing a smile, she bowed her head in submission and with a feigned catch in her voice said, “You win. I will help in developing the process.”
‘Agreed. I’ll show you the facility you’ll be working in. You’ll be quite impressed.”
“I want to talk to Gamay to make sure she is all right.”
Brynhild punched a button on the intercom. Two men in dark green uniforms appeared. Francesca was relieved to see that they were not the Kradziks.
“Take Dr. Cabral to see our other guest,” Brynhild ordered. “Then bring her back to me.” She turned to Francesca. “You have ten minutes. I want you to get to work immediately.”
Flanked by the guards, Francesca was led through a labyrinth of passageways to an elevator that dropped several levels. They stopped in front of an unmarked door opened by punching out the code on a keypad. The guards stood outside while Francesca entered the small windowless room. Gamay was sitting on the edge of her cot. She looked groggy, like a fighter who has taken one too many punches. She brightened and smiled when she saw Francesca. She tried to rise, but her legs buckled and she had to sit again.
Francesca sat on the cot and put her arm around her friend’s shoulders. ‘Are you all right?”
Gamay brushed her straggly hair aside. “My legs are wobbly, but I’ll be fine. What about you?”
“They gave me a stimulant. I’ve been awake for some time. Your drugs will wear off soon.”
“Did anyone mention what happened to Paul? He was up stairs when the kidnappers broke in.”
Francesca shook her head. Putting aside her worst fears, Gamay said, “Do you have any idea where we are?”
“No. Our host didn’t tell us.”
“You mean you’ve spoken to someone I can thank for these glorious accommodations?”
“Her name is Brynhild Sigurd. Those were her men who kid napped us.”
Gamay started to reply, but Francesca pursed her lips and shifted her eyes from left to right. Gamay caught the hint. They were being bugged and probably watched.
“I only have a few minutes. I just wanted you to know I’ve agreed to work with Ms. Sigurd on my desalting process. We’ll have to stay here until the project is complete. I don’t know how long it will take.”
“You’re going to work with the person who kidnapped us?”
“Yes,” Francesca replied with a stubborn tilt of her chin. “I wasted ten years of my life in the jungle. There’s a great deal of money to be made, but beyond that I believe Gogstad has the best chance of bringing my process to the world in an orderly and controlled fashion.”
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
“Yes, I’m absolutely sure,” she said.
The door slid open, and one of the guards motioned for Francesca to leave. She nodded, then leaned over and gave
Gamay a hug. Then she stood quickly and went off with the guards. Alone once more, Gamay pondered what had just happened. As their eyes met briefly, Francesca had winked. There was no mistake about it. Gamay was pleased to think there was more to Francesca’s startling announcement that she was working for the enemy, but there were more immediate concerns. She lay back on her cot and closed her eyes. Her first priority was to give her body and brain a rest. Then she would try to figure out how to escape.
Chapter 35
The man floated high above the cobalt-blue waters of Lake Tahoe, suspended from the parasail under a red- and-white canopy that billowed over his head like an old-fashioned round parachute. He sat in a reclining Skyrider chair attached by a towline to the moving winch boat two hundred feet below.
The rider clicked on his handheld radio. “Let’s go around for one more pass, Joe.”
Zavala, who was at the wheel of the boat, waved to show that he had heard Austin’s instruction. He put the ParaNautique winch boat into a big, slow turn that would take them back along the lake’s California side.
The maneuver gave Austin a sweeping view of the lake. Lake Tahoe is on the California-Nevada border in the Sierra Nevada about twenty-three miles southwest of Reno. Ringed by rugged mountains that are covered with snow in the winter, Tahoe is the largest alpine lake in the United States. It is more than a mile high, more than sixteen hundred feet deep. The lake is twenty two miles long and about a dozen miles wide and lies in a fault basin created by ancient forces deep in the earth. Two-thirds of its two-hundred-square-mile area is in California. At the north end it empties into the Truckee River. At the south end a river of money empties into the coffers of the high- rise gambling casinos at Stateline. The first white man to discover the lake was John C.
Freemont who was on a surveying mission. To English speakers the Washoe Indian name for the lake, Da- ow, which means “much water,” sounded like Tahoe, and the pronunciation stuck.
As the parasail brought Austin around in a wide arc he concentrated his attention on a particular stretch of shoreline and the dark forest rising behind it, imprinting the image on his mind. He would have preferred to use a video or still camera in stead of his imperfect memory, but traffic this close to Gogstad’s lair was sure to come under close scrutiny. Any undue interest on his part, such as pointing a camera lens in the wrong direction, would
