Sahara (18 page)

Eva looked at him steadily, her Dresden blue eyes large in the reflection of the flame from the camp stove. “If they can hide victims, they can alter reports.”

“Aha,” Hopper nodded. “Eva has something. I don’t trust Kazim and his crew of snakes, haven’t from the beginning. Suppose they did alter the reports to throw us off the playing field? Suppose the contamination isn’t where we’ve been led to believe it is?”

“A possibility worth pursuing,” Grimes admitted. “We’ve been concentrating in the dampest and most inhabited regions of the country because it follows suit they would carry the highest incidence of disease and contamination.”

“Where do we go from here?” asked Eva.

“Back to Timbuktu,” said Hopper firmly. “Did you notice the look on people we interviewed before setting out to the south? They were nervous and worried. You could see it in their faces. It’s just possible they were threatened to keep silent.”

“Especially the Tuaregs from the desert,” recalled Grimes.

“You mean especially their women and children,” Eva added. “They refused to be examined.”

Hopper shook his head. “I’m to blame. I made the decision to turn our backs on the desert. It was a mistake. I know that now.”

“You’re a scientist, not a psychic investigator,” Grimes consoled him.

“Yes,” Hopper agreed readily. “I’m a scientist, but I hate being made the fool.”

“The tip-off we all missed,” said Eva, “was the patronizing attitude of Captain Batutta.”

Grimes looked at her. “That’s right. Oh-ho. You’ve struck oil again, my girl. Now that you’ve brought it up, Batutta has been downright servile with cooperation.”

“True,” Hopper nodded. “He’s leaned over backward in allowing us to go our merry way, knowing we were hundreds of kilometers off the scent.”

Grimes finished off his soda water. “Be interesting to see the look on his face when you tell him we’re going out in the desert and start from scratch.”

“He’ll be on the radio to Colonel Mansa before I get the words out of my mouth.”

“We could lie,” said Eva.

“Lie, for what reason?” asked Hopper.

“To throw him off, to throw them all off our trail.”

“I’m listening.”

“Tell Batutta the project is finished. Tell him we’ve found no sign of contamination and are returning to Timbuktu, folding up our tents and flying home.”

“You’ve missed me. Where is this leading?”

“For all appearances the team has quit, given up,” Eva explained. “Batutta waves a relieved farewell as we take off. Only we don’t fly to Cairo. We land in the desert and set up shop again on our own without a watchdog.”

The two men took a few seconds to absorb Eva’s scheme. Hopper leaned forward, intently mulling it over. Grimes looked as if someone asked him to catch the next rocket to the moon.

“It’s no good,” Grimes said at last, almost apologetically. “You can’t just land a jet aircraft in the middle of the desert. You need a runway at least 1000 meters long.”

“There are any number of areas in the Sahara where the ground is perfectly flat for hundreds of kilometers,” Eva argued.

“Too risky,” Grimes said stubbornly. “If Kazim got wind of it, we’d Pay dearly.”

Eva looked sharply at Grimes, then more slowly at Hopper. She detected the beginnings of a smile on Hopper’s face. “It
is
possible,” she said firmly.

“Anything is possible, but often not practical.”

Hopper smashed his fist down on the arm of his camp chair so hard he nearly broke it. “By God, I think it’s worth a go.

Grimes stared at him. “You can’t be bloody serious?”

“Oh but I am. Our pilot and flight crew will have the final say, of course. But with the proper incentive, like a hefty bonus, I think they can be persuaded to risk it.”

“You’re forgetting something,” said Grimes.

“Such as?”

“What do we use for transportation after we land?”

Eva tilted her head toward the small Mercedes four-wheel-drive car with an enclosed truckbed that had been provided by Colonel Mansa in Timbuktu. “The little Mercedes should just fit through the cargo door.”

“That’s 2 meters off the ground,” said Grimes. “How are you going to lift it on board?”

“We’ll use ramps and drive it on,” Hopper said jovially.

“You’ll have to do it under Batutta’s nose.”

“Not an insurmountable problem.”

“The vehicle belongs to the Malian military. How will you account for it gone missing?”

“A mere technicality,” Hopper shrugged. “Colonel Mansa will be told a thieving nomad stole it.”

“This is crazy,” Grimes announced.

Hopper suddenly stood. “Then it’s settled. We’ll launch our little charade first thing in the morning. Eva, I’ll leave it to you to inform our fellow scientists of the plan. I’ll hang out with Batutta and throw off suspicion by bemoaning our failure.”

“Speaking of our keeper,” said Eva, glancing about the camp, “where is he hiding?”

“In that fancy recreation vehicle with the communications equipment,” replied Grimes. “He practically lives in there.”

“Strange that he conveniently, for us at any rate, wanders off whenever we’re gathered in discussion.”

“Damned courteous of him, I say.” Grimes stood and stretched his arms over his head. He furtively stared at the communications vehicle, and not sighting Batutta, sat down again. “No sign of him. He’s probably sitting inside watching European music shows on the telly.”

“Or on the radio giving Colonel Mansa the latest gossip on our scientific circus,” said Eva.

“He can’t have much to report,” laughed Hopper. “He never hangs around long enough to see what mischief we’re into.”

Captain Batutta was not reporting to his superior, not at the moment. He was sitting inside his truck listening through stereo headphones wired to an extremely sensitive electronic listening device. The amplifier was mounted on the roof of the truck and aimed toward the camp stove in the middle of the parked caravan. He leaned forward and adjusted the bionic booster, increasing the receiving surface.

Every word spoken by Eva and her two associates, every murmur and whisper, came through without the slightest distortion and was recorded. Batutta listened until the conversation ended and the trio split up, Eva to brief the rest of the team on the new plot, Hopper and Grimes to study maps of the desert.

Batutta picked up a phone uplink to a joint African nation communications satellite and dialed a number. A voice half a breath from a yawn answered.

“Security Headquarters, Gao District.”

“Captain Batutta for Colonel Mansa.”

“One moment, sir,” the voice said hastily.

It took almost five minutes before Mansa’s voice came over the receiver. “Yes, Captain.”

“The UN scientists are planning a diversion.”

“What kind of a diversion?”

“They are about to report they have turned up no trace of contamination or its victims—”

“General Kazim’s brilliant plan to keep them out of the contaminated areas has been successful,” Mansa interrupted him.

“Until now,” said Batutta. “But they have begun to see through the General’s ploy. Dr. Hopper intends to announce the closing down of the project, then lead his people back to Timbuktu where they will depart in their chartered aircraft for Cairo.”

“The General will be most pleased.”

“Not when he learns Hopper has no intention of leaving Mali.”

“What are you saying?” demanded Mansa.

“Their plan is to bribe the pilots to set the plane down in the desert and launch a new investigation into our nomadic villages for the contamination.”

Mansa’s mouth suddenly felt as if it was filled with sand. “This could prove to be disastrous. The General will be most angry when he hears of it.”

“Not our fault,” Batutta said quickly.

“You know his wrath. It falls on the innocent as well as the guilty.”

“We have done our duty,” Batutta replied resolutely.

“Keep me informed of Hopper’s movements,” Mansa ordered. “I’ll make your report in person to the General.”

“He’s in Timbuktu?”

“No, Gao. As luck would have it, he’s on Yves Massarde’s yacht, moored in the river just off the city. I’ll take a military transport and be there in half an hour.”

“Good luck to you, Colonel.”

“Stay on Hopper every second. Inform me of any change in Hopper’s plans.”

“As you order.”

Mansa hung up and stared at the phone, sorting out the complications of Batutta’s intelligence revelation. If undetected, Hopper might have fooled them all and discovered victims of the contamination out in the Sahara where no one thought to search. That would have spelled calamity. Captain Batutta had saved him from a very messy situation, possibly even his execution under trumped-up charges of treason, Kazim’s routine exercise for eliminating officers who displeased him. It was a near thing. By catching Kazim in the right mood, he might even wheedle a promotion to the general staff.

Mansa called to his aide in the office outside to fetch his dress uniform and ready an aircraft. He began to sense a creeping euphoria. Near catastrophe would turn into an opportunity to annihilate the foreign intruders.

A speedboat was waiting at the dock under a mosque when Mansa stepped from the military command car that carried him from the airport. A uniformed crewman whipped off the bow and stern lines and jumped down into the cockpit. He pressed the ignition switch and the big V-8 Citroen marine engine roared to life.

Massarde’s yacht swung in the middle of the river on its bow anchor, lights reflecting in the rippling current. The yacht was actually a self-propelled houseboat three stories high. Its flat bottom enabled it to easily cruise up and down the river during the seasons of high water.

Mansa had never been on board, but he’d heard stories of the glass-domed spiral staircase that ascended from the spacious master suite to the heliport. The ten sumptuous staterooms furnished in French antiques, the high-ceilinged dining room with murals from the time of Louis XIV taken from the walls of a Loire River chateau, the steam rooms, sauna, Jacuzzis, and cocktail bar in a revolving observation lounge, and the electronic communication systems linking Massarde to his worldwide empire, they all worked together to make the mansion on the water unlike anything ever built.

As the Colonel climbed from the boat onto the gangway and up the teak steps, he had hopes of seeing something of the luxurious craft, but his expectations turned sour when Kazim met him on the deck beside the gangway. He was holding a glass half filled with champagne. He made no effort to offer Mansa one.

“I hope your interruption of my business conference with Monsieur Massarde is as urgent as you implied in your message,” Kazim said coldly.

Mansa saluted smartly and began a hurried but precise briefing, embellishing the facts and polishing the details of Batutta’s report on the United Nations World Health team, but never mentioning the captain by name.

Kazim listened with curious interest. His dark eyes deepened and stared unseeing into the glistening lights of the houseboat dancing on the water. A worried crease appeared in his face, but this was soon replaced with a tight smile across his lips.

When Mansa finished speaking, Kazim asked, “When is Hopper and his caravan expected back in Timbuktu?”

“If they leave tomorrow morning, they should arrive by late afternoon.”‘

“More than enough time to circumvent the good doctor’s plans.” He looked icily into Mansa’s eyes. “I trust you will appear disappointed and most solicitous when Hopper announces the failure of his investigation to you.”

“I will be at my diplomatic best,” Mansa assured him.

“Is his aircraft and its crew still on the ground in Timbuktu?”

Mansa nodded. “The pilots are staying at the Hotel Azalai.”

“You say Hopper intends to pay them a bonus to land in the desert north of here?”

“Yes, that is what he told the others.”

“We must gain control of the aircraft.”

“You wish me to bribe the pilots above what Hopper offers them?”

“A waste of good money,” Kazim sneered. “Kill them.”

Mansa half expected the order and did not react. “Yes, sir.”

“And replace them with pilots from our own military who resemble their size and facial features.”

“A masterful plan, my General.”

“Also, inform Dr. Hopper that I insist Captain Batutta accompany them to Cairo to act as my personal representative to the World Health Organization. He will oversee the operation.”

“What orders do you wish me to give our replacement officers?”

“Order them,” said Kazim with evil blackness in his eyes, “to land Dr. Hopper and his party at Asselar.”

“Asselar.” The name rolled off Mansa’s tongue as if it was coated in acid. “Hopper and his party will surely be murdered by the mutant savages of Asselar as were the members of the tourist safari.”

“That,” said Kazim coldly, “is for Allah to decide.”

“And if for some unforeseen reason they should survive?” Mansa posed the question delicately.

An evil expression that sent a shiver through Mansa spread across Kazim’s face. The General smiled cunningly, his dark eyes reflecting cold amusement. “Then there is always Tebezza.”

Part II

DEAD GROUND