Sahara

    'My job is to coordinate their travel and see to their logistics, food, transportation, lab equipment, that sort of thing.'

    'You still haven't made clear what you want from me.'

    'I'd like you to recall Dr. Hopper and his investigators immediately.'

    She turned and looked at him in surprise. 'Why would you ask that?'

    'Because they're in great danger. I have it on good authority they are to be murdered by West African terrorists.'

    'I don't believe you.'

    'It's true,' he said seriously. 'A bomb will be placed on their plane, set to explode over the desert.'

    'What kind of monsters do you work for?' she snapped, her voice shocked. 'Why come to me? Why haven't you warned Dr. Hopper?'

    'I've tried to alert Hopper, but he has ignored all communications.'

    'Can't you persuade the Malian authorities to relay the threat and offer protection?'

    Yerli shrugged. 'General Kazim looks upon them as intruding foreigners and cares less about their safety.'

    'I'd be a fool if I didn't think there was more intrigue here than a simple bomb threat.'

    He looked into her face. 'Trust me, Hala. My only thought is to save Dr. Hopper and his people.'

    Hala wanted desperately to believe him, but deep inside her heart she knew he was lying. 'It seems everybody is searching for contamination in Mali these days. And they all urgently require salvation and evacuation.'

    Yerli looked puzzled but said nothing, waiting for her to explain.

    'Admiral Sandecker of the United States National Underwater and Marine Agency came to me and requested approval for the use of our Critical Response and Tactical Team to rescue three of his people from Malian security forces.'

    'The Americans were searching for contamination in Mali?'

    'Yes, apparently it was an undercover operation, but the Malian military intercepted them.'

    'They were caught?'

    'Not as of four hours ago.'

    'Where exactly were they searching?'

    Yerli seemed upset, and Hala detected the strained urgency in his tone. 'The Niger River.'

    Yerli clutched her arm and his eyes turned deadly. 'I want to know more about this.'

    For the first time she felt a chill run through her. 'They were hunting for the source of a chemical compound that is causing the giant red tide off the coast of Africa.'

    'I've read about it in the newspapers. Go on.'

    'I was told they used a boat with chemical analysis equipment to track the chemical to where it emptied into the river.'

    'Did they find it?' he demanded.

    'According to Admiral Sandecker, they had traced it as far as Gao in Mali.'

    Yerli didn't look convinced. 'Disinformation, that has to be the answer. This thing must be a cover-up for something else.'

    She shook her head. 'Unlike you, the Admiral does not lie for a living.'

    'You say NUMA was behind the operation?'

    Hala nodded.

    'Not the CIA or another American intelligence agency?'

    She shook her arm free and smiled smugly. 'You mean your devious intelligence sources in West Africa had no idea the Americans were operating under their noses?'

    'Don't be absurd. What spectacular secrets could an impoverished nation like Mali possibly have that would attract American interests?'

    'There must be something. Why don't you tell me what it is?'

    Yerli seemed distracted and did not immediately answer her. 'Nothing . . . nothing of course.' He rapped on the glass to get the driver's attention. Then he motioned to the curb.

    The chauffeur braked and pulled to a stop in front of a large office building. 'You're tearing yourself away from me?' Her voice was thick with contempt.

    He turned and looked at her. 'I am truly sorry. Can you forgive me?'

    Something inside her ached. She shook her head. 'No, Ismail. I won't forgive you. We will never meet again. I expect your resignation letter on my desk by noon tomorrow. If not, I will have you expelled from the UN.'

    'Aren't you being a bit harsh?'

    Hala's path was set. 'Your concerns are not with the 'World Health Organization. Nor, if they only knew it, are you even 50 percent loyal to the French. If anything, you're working for your own financial ends.' She leaned over him and pushed open the door. 'Now get out!'

    Silently, Yerli climbed from the car and stood on the curb. Hala, with tears forming in her eyes, pulled the door shut and never looked back as the driver shifted the limousine into gear and merged into the one-way traffic.

    Yerli wished he could feel remorse or sadness, but he was too professional. She was right, he had used her. His affection toward her was an act. His only attraction for her was sexual. She had simply been another assignment. But like too many women who are drawn to aloof men who treat them indifferently, she could not help herself from falling in love with him. And she was only now beginning to learn the cost.

    He walked into the cocktail lounge of the Algonquin Hotel, ordered a drink, and then used the pay phone. He dialed a number and waited for someone to answer on the other end.

    'Yes?'

    He lowered his voice and talked in a confidential tone. 'I have information vital to Mr. Massarde.'

    'Where do you come from?'

    'The ruins of Pergamon.'

    'Turkey?'

    'Yes,' Yerli cut in quickly. He never trusted telephones and hated what he thought were childish codes. 'I am in the bar of the Hotel Algonquin. When can I expect you?'

    'One A.M. too late?'

    'No. I'll have a late dinner.'

    Yerli hung up the phone thoughtfully. What did the Americans know about Massarde's desert operation at Fort Foureau? he wondered. Did their intelligence services have a hint of the true activities at the waste disposal plant and were they snooping around? If so, the consequences could be disastrous, and the fall of the current French government would be the least of the backlash.

    Behind him was black darkness, ahead the sparsely scattered street lights of Gao. Gunn still had 10 meters to swim when one of his kicking feet dug into the soft riverbed. Slowly, very cautiously, he reached down and grabbed the silt with his hands, pulling himself through the shallows until he was lying at the waterline. He waited, listening and squinting into the darkness shrouding the bank of the river.

    The beach sloped at an angle of 10 degrees, ending at a low rock wall that bordered a road. He crawled across the sand, enjoying its heat against the wet skin of his bare arms and legs. He stopped and rolled onto his side, resting for a few minutes, reasonably secure that he was only an indistinct blur in the night. He had a cramp in his right leg and his arms felt numb and heavy.

    He reached back and felt the backpack. For a brief instant, after he had struck the rushing water like a cannonball, he thought that it might have been torn from his back. But its straps still clung tightly to his shoulders.

    He rose to his feet and sprinted in a crouching position to the wall, dropping to his knees behind it. He warily peered over the top and scanned the road. It was empty. But a badly paved street that ran diagonally into town had a fair amount of foot traffic. Out of the upper edge of one eye he caught a dim flare and looked up on the roof of a nearby house in time to see a man light a cigarette. There were others dim figures of people, some illuminated by lanterns, happily chatting with their neighbors on adjoining roofs. They must come up like moles,