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 die 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.'
'Thirsty? I don't understand.'
'Al here, emptied the bottles of mineral water and refilled them with water contaminated by chemicals leaking from the underground storage vault.'
'It's called poetic justice.' Giordino held up the empty bottles. 'He drank almost 3 liters of the stuff.'
'As his internal organs disintegrate, his brain will be eaten away and he will go mad.' Pitt's tone was ice cold, his face chiseled in stone.
'There is no hope for him?' a dazed Brunone asked.
Pitt shook his head. 'Yves Massarde will die strapped to a bed, screaming to escape his torment. I only wish his victims could be there to see it.'
THE TEXAS
June 10, 1996
Washington, D. C.
Two weeks after the siege of Fort Foureau, Admiral Sandecker was seated in a conference room at NUMA's headquarters in Washington at the head of along table. Dr. Chapman, Hiram Yaeger, and Rudi Gunn sat alongside, staring into a large TV monitor embedded in one wall.
The Admiral motioned impatiently at the blank screen. 'When are they going to come on?'
Yaeger was holding a telephone to his ear while studying the monitor. 'The satellite should be downlinking their signal from Mali any second.'
Almost before Yaeger finished speaking, a picture flickered and settled onto the screen. Pitt and Giordino sat together behind a desk piled with file folders and papers while facing into a camera. 'Are you receiving us all right on your end?' asked Yaeger.
'Hello, Hiram,' answered Pitt. 'Nice to see your face and hear your voice.'
'You're looking good here. Everyone is anxious to talk to you.'
'Good morning, Dirk,' greeted Sandecker. 'How are your injuries?'
'It's afternoon here, Admiral. And I'm healing nicely, thank you.'
After Pitt exchanged friendly greetings with Rudi Gunn and Dr. Chapman, the Admiral launched the discussion. 'We have good news,' he said enthusiastically. 'A satellite survey of the South Atlantic, computer analyzed only an hour ago, shows the growth rate of the red tide as falling off. All of Yaeger's projections indicate that the spread is slowly grinding to a halt.'
'And not a week too soon,' said Gunn. 'We've already detected a 5 percent drop in the world's total oxygen supply. It wouldn't be long before we'd all begin to feel the effects.'
'All automobiles from every cooperating nation in the world were within twenty-four hours of being banned from the streets,' Yaeger lectured. 'All aircraft grounded, all industrial factories shut down. The world was a hair
