Sahara

the sky keeping tabs on the new Chinese rocket firings, the civil war going on in the Ukraine, and the border clashes with Syria and Iraq. They're not about to spare us time from their intelligence scans to find civilians in the Sahara Desert. I can go with the latest-model GeoSat. But it's questionable whether it can distinguish human forms against the uneven terrain of a desert like the Sahara.'

    'Wouldn't they show up against a sand dune?' asked Chapman.

    Webster shook his head. 'No one traveling the Sahara in their right mind would walk across the soft sand of dunes. Even the nomads skirt around them. Wandering in a sea of dunes means certain death. Pitt and Giordino are smart enough to avoid them like the plague.'

    'But you will do a search and survey,' Sandecker insisted.

    Webster nodded. He was quite bald with little indication of a neck. A round belly hung over his belt, and he might have posed as a 'before' on a weight-loss commercial. 'I've a good friend who's a top analyst over at the Pentagon and an expert on satellite desert reconnaissance. I think I can sweet-talk him into examining our GeoSat photos with his state-of-the-art enhancing computers.'

    'I'm grateful for your backup,' Sandecker said sincerely.

    'If they're out there, he can locate them if anyone can,' Webster promised him.

    'Has your satellite seen any sign of the plane carrying that team of disease investigators?' asked Muriel.

    'Not yet I'm afraid. Nothing showed on our last pass across Mali except a small smudge of smoke faintly drifting in from one side of our camera path. Hopefully on the next orbit we can obtain a more detailed picture. It may prove to be nothing but a nomad bonfire.'

    'There isn't enough wood in that part of the Sahara for a bonfire,' Sandecker said solemnly.

    Gunn looked lost. 'What disease investigation team are you talking about?'

    'A group of scientists from the World Health Organization on a mission to Mali,' explained Muriel. 'They were searching for the cause behind an outbreak of strange afflictions reported in nomadic desert villages. Their plane disappeared somewhere between Mali and Cairo.'

    'Was there a woman on the team? A biochemist?'

    'A Dr. Eva Rojas was the team biochemist,' replied Muriel. 'I once worked with her on a project in Haiti.'

    'Did you know her?' asked Sandecker of Gunn.

    'Not me, but Pitt. He dated her in Cairo.'

    'Maybe it's just as well he doesn't know,' Sandecker said. 'He must have enough problems just staying alive without bad news to fog his mind.'

    'There's no confirmation of a crash yet,' said Holland hopefully.

    'Maybe they made a forced landing in the desert and survived,' Muriel said hopefully.

    Webster shook his head. 'Wishful thinking I'm afraid. I fear General Zateb Kazim has his dirty hands in this business.'

    Gunn recalled, 'Pitt and Giordino had a conversation with the General on our boat's radio shortly before I hit the river. I got the impression he's a nasty customer.'

    'As ruthless as any Middle East dictator,' said Sandecker. 'And twice as hard to deal with. He won't even meet or speak with our State Department diplomats unless they hand him a fat foreign aid check.'

    Added Muriel, 'He ignores the United Nations and refuses any outside relief supplies to his people.'

    Webster nodded. 'Any human rights activist dumb enough to enter Mali and protest, simply vanishes.'

    'He and Massarde are thick as thieves,' said Hodge. 'Between the two of them they've raped the country into total poverty.'

    Sandecker's face hardened. 'Not our concern. There won't be a Mali, a West Africa, or anywhere else on earth if we don't stop the red tide. Right now, nothing else matters.'

    Chapman spoke up. 'Now that we have data we can sink our teeth into, we can all focus our skills and work together to formulate a solution.'

    'Make it quick,' said Sandecker, his eyes narrowing. 'If you've failed thirty days from now, none of us will get a second chance.'

    A brisk breeze was quivering the leaves along the Palisades above the Hudson River as Ismail Yerli peered through binoculars at a small bluish-gray bird perched on a tree trunk upside down. He acted as if his full attention was on the little bird and failed to notice the appearance of a man behind him. Actually, he had been aware of the approaching intruder for nearly two minutes.

    'A white-breasted' nuthatch,' said the tall, rather handsome stranger who wore an expensive burgundy leather jacket. He sat down on a flat rock next to Yerli. His sandy hair was neatly slicked down with a razor-edge part on the left side. He stared indifferently at the bird through pale blue eyes.

    'The duller black on the back of the head suggests a female,' said Yerli without lowering his glasses.

    'The male is probably nearby. Perhaps tending the nest.'

    'Good call, Bordeaux,' said Yerli, using the other man's code name. 'I didn't know you were a bird watcher.'

    'I'm not. What can I do for you, Pergamon?'

    'It was you who requested this meeting.'

    'But not in the boondocks under a bone-chilling wind.'

    'Meeting in gourmet restaurants is not my idea of working undercover.'

    'I never took to the idea of operating in the shadows and living in slums,' Bordeaux said dryly.

    'Not wise to act flamboyant.'

    'My job is to protect the interests of a man who, I might add, pays me extremely well. The FBI isn't about to put me under surveillance unless they suspect me of espionage. And since our job-- at least my job-is not to steal classified American secrets, I fail to see why I have to melt into the foul-smelling masses.'

    Bordeaux's contemptuous outlook toward intelligence did not sit well with Yerli. Although they had known each other and often worked together over the years on behalf of Yves Massarde, strangely neither man knew the other's real name and never made an effort to learn it. Bordeaux was head of Massarde Enterprises' commercial intelligence operations in the United States. Yerli, only known to him as Pergamon, often passed along information vital to Massarde's international projects. For this he was paid handsomely up and above his salary as a French intelligence agent. A situation tolerated by his superiors because of Massarde's strong connections with many of France's cabinet members.

    'You're getting careless, my friend.'

    Bordeaux shrugged. 'I am getting bored dealing with uncouth Americans. New York is a cesspool. The country is divided by racial and ethnic diversity and is disintegrating. Someday, the United States will repeat the economic and regional strife going on in Russia and the Commonwealth States today. I long to return to France, the only truly civilized nation in the world.'

    'I hear one of the NUMA people escaped from Mali,' Yerli said, abruptly changing the subject.

    'That idiot Kazim let him slip through his fingers,' replied Bordeaux.

    'Didn't you pass on my warning to Mr. Massarde?'

    'Of course I warned him. And he in turn alerted General Kazim. Two other men were captured by Mr. Massarde on his houseboat, but Kazim, in all his dazzling brilliance, was too stupid to search for the third agent who escaped and was evacuated by the UN tactical team.'

    'What are Mr. Massarde's thoughts on the situation?'

    'He's not happy, knowing there is a serious risk of an international investigation into his project at Fort Foureau.'

    'Not good, any threat to expose and close down Fort Foureau is a threat to our French nuclear program.'

    'Mr. Massarde is quite aware of the problem,' said Bordeaux acidly.

    'What of the World Health scientists? The morning newspapers said their plane is reported overdue and presumed missing.'

    'One of Kazim's better ideas,' answered Bordeaux. 'He faked the plane crash in an uninhabited part of the desert.'

    'Faked? I forewarned Hala Kamil of what I had conceived as a genuine bomb plot to destroy the aircraft