Sahara

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.'