impatient.
'Okay,' Pitt said. 'Coral reefs are dying around the world. So what's the second factor in their extinction?'
Gunn idly stirred his coffee with a plastic spoon. 'A new threat, and a critical one, is the sudden abundance of thick, green algae and seaweed that is blanketing the reefs like an out-of-control plague.'
'Hold on. You say the coral is starving because it's spitting out the algae even though it's smothered in the stuff?'
'The warmer water gives and takes. It acts to destroy the reefs while it aids in the growth of algae that can prevent nutrients and sunlight from reaching the coral. Somewhat like smothering it to death.'
Pitt ran a hand through his black hair. 'Hopefully the situation will be corrected when the water turns cooler.'
'Hasn't happened,' said Gunn. 'Not in the Southern Hemisphere. Nor is a temperature drop in the water predicted in the next decade.'
'You think it's a natural phenomenon or fallout from the greenhouse effect?'
'A possibility, along with the usual indications of pollution.'
'But you have no solid evidence?' Pitt put to him.
'Neither I nor our NUMA ocean scientists have all the answers.'
'I never heard of a test tube junkie who didn't have a theory,' Pitt grinned.
Gunn smiled back. 'I've never looked at myself in that light.'
'Or those terms.'
'You love to stick it to people, don't you.'
'Only opinionated academics.'
'Well,' Gunn began, 'King Solomon, I ain't. But since you asked for it. My theory on the proliferation of the algae, as any school child can tell you, is that after generations of dumping untreated sewage, garbage, and toxic chemicals in the oceans, the saturation point has finally been reached. The delicate chemical balance of the seas is irretrievably lost. They're heating up, and we're all, particularly our grandchildren, going to pay a heavy price.'
Pitt had never seen Gunn so solemn. 'That bad.'
'I believe we've crossed the point of no return.'
'You're not optimistic for a turnaround?'
'No,' Gunn said sadly. 'The disastrous effects of bad water quality have been ignored too long.'
Pitt stared at Gunn, mildly surprised that the second-in-command of NUMA was prey to his own thoughts of doom and gloom. Gunn had painted a dire picture. Pitt did not share Gunn's total pessimism. The oceans might be sick, but they were far from terminal.
'Loosen up, Rudi,' Pitt said cheerfully. 'Whatever assignment the Admiral has up his sleeve, he's not about to expect the three of us to sally forth and save the seas of the world.'
Gunn looked at him and made a wan smile. 'I never second guess the Admiral.'
If either of them had known or even guessed how wrong they were, they'd have threatened the pilot with great bodily harm if he didn't turn the plane around and fly them directly back to Cairo.
Their ground time at an oil company airstrip outside of Port Harcourt was short and sweet. Within minutes they were airborne in a helicopter beating out over the Gulf of Guinea. Forty minutes later, the craft was hovering over the Sounder, a NUMA-owned research vessel Pitt and Giordino knew quite well, having directed survey projects aboard her on three different occasions. Built at a cost of eighty million dollars, the 120-meter ship was loaded with the most sophisticated seismic, sonar, and bathymetric systems afloat.
The pilot swung around the huge crane on the Sounder's stern and settled onto the landing pad aft of the superstructure. Pitt was the first to step down to the deck, followed by Gunn. Giordino, moving like a zombie, brought up the rear, yawning every step of the way. Several crewmen and scientists, who were old friends, met and exchanged greetings with them as the rotor blades spun to a stop and the helicopter was tied down.
Pitt knew his way about and headed up a ladder to the hatch that led to one of the Sounder's marine laboratories. He passed through the counters piled with chemical apparatus and into a conference and lecture room. For a working research ship, the room was pleasantly furnished like an executive boardroom with a long, mahogany table and comfortably padded leather chairs.
A black man stood in front of a large, rear projection screen with his back to Pitt. He seemed engrossed in a graphic diagram that imaged on the screen. He was at least twenty years older than Pitt and much taller. Pitt guessed him at slightly over 2 meters tall with the loose-limbed movements of an ex-basketball player written all over him.
But what caught and locked the eye of Pitt and his two friends was neither the colored graphics on the screen nor the incredibly tall presence of the stranger It was the other figure in the conference room, a short, trim and .yet commanding figure who leaned indifferently with one hand on the table while the other held a huge unlit cigar. The narrow face, the cold, authoritative blue eyes, the flaming but now graying red hair and precisely trimmed beard gave him the image of a retired naval admiral, which, as the blue blazer with the embroidered gold anchors on the breast pocket suggested, was exactly what he was.
Admiral James Sandecker, the driving force behind NUMA, straightened, smiled his barracuda smile, and stepped forward, his hand extended.
'Dirk! AI!' The greeting came as if he was surprised by their unexpected visit. 'Congratulations on discovering the pharaoh's funeral barge. A beautiful job. Well done.' He noticed Gunn and merely nodded. 'Rudi, I see you rounded them up without incident.'
'Like lambs to a slaughter,' Gunn said with a grim smile.
Pitt gave Gunn a hard look, then turned to Sandecker. 'You pulled us off the Nile in a hell of a hurry. Why?'
Sandecker feigned a hurt expression. 'No hello or glad to see you. No greeting at all for your poor old boss who had to cancel a dinner date with a ravishing, wealthy, Washington socialite and fly 6000 kilometers just to compliment your performance.'
'Why is it your highly dubious blessing fills me with anxiety?'
Giordino dropped moodily into a chair. 'Since we did so good, how about a nice fat raise, a bonus, a quick flight home, and a two-week vacation with pay?'
Sandecker said with forbearance, 'The ticker tape parade down Broadway comes later. After you've taken a leisurely cruise up the Niger River.'
'The Niger?' Giordino muttered moodily. 'Not another shipwreck search.'
'No shipwreck.'
'When?' asked Pitt.
'You start at first light,' answered Sandecker.
'What exactly do you want us to do?'
Sandecker turned to the towering man at the projection screen. 'First things first. Allow me to introduce Dr. Darcy Chapman, chief ocean toxicologist at the Goodwin Marine Science Lab in Laguna Beach.'
'Gentlemen,' said Chapman in a deep voice that sounded like it rose out of a well. 'A sincere pleasure to meet you. Admiral Sandecker has filled me in on your exploits together. I'm truly impressed.'
'You used to play with the Denver Nuggets,' muttered Gunn, bending back at the waist to stare up into Chapman's eyes.
'Until the knees gave out,' Chapman grinned. 'Then it was back to school for my doctorate in environmental chemistry.'
Pitt and Gunn shook hands with Chapman. Giordino merely waved wearily from his chair. Sandecker picked up a phone and ordered breakfast from the galley.
'Might as well get comfortable,' he said briskly. 'We've got a lot of ground to cover before dawn.'
'You do have a rotten job for us,' Pitt said slowly.
'Of course it's a rotten job,' Sandecker said matter-of-factly. He nodded at Dr. Chapman, who pressed a button on the screen's remote control. A colored map showing the meandering course of a river appeared on the screen. 'The Niger River. Third longest in Africa behind the Nile and Congo. Oddly, it begins in the nation of Guinea, only 300 kilometers from the sea. But it flows northeast and then south for 4200 kilometers before emptying into the Atlantic at its delta on the coast of Nigeria. And somewhere along its course . . . somewhere a highly toxic
