Devil's Gate (NUMA Files 9)

“This is an outrage,” the ambassador shouted.

“Take him!” Djemma ordered.

The ambassador was hustled outside, and the door slammed behind him.

Djemma sat alone, fuming. He was angry with the ambassador’s arrogance and disdain. He hadn’t expected it so soon. But he was even angrier with himself for jumping at the bait and voicing his threat so forcefully. He hadn’t planned to speak so soon. Now there would be no negotiations. Unless…

He had no choice. He had made a claim that the Americans would assume to be a bluff. He had to demonstrate his power, otherwise they and the world at large would only scoff and laugh with disdain as he ranted and raved: another mad dictator in a banana republic.

He would unleash his weapon in all its glorious power and leave them no choice but to treat him with respect.

48

Washington, D.C., July 6, 1330 hours

DIRK PITT HAD A FRONT-ROW SEAT in the Situation Room at the Pentagon. Cameron Brinks of the NSA was putting on a show. The President wasn’t there, but his Chief of Staff, military brass from all four branches, and several members of the cabinet were present. As was the Vice President of the United States, Dirk Pitt’s former boss, Admiral James D. Sandecker.

With the bizarre actions in Sierra Leone over the past few days, followed by the threats coming from its President, Brinks had totally embraced the possibility that Sierra Leone was involved in the scientific kidnappings and the creation of some type of energy weapon.

How else could they have the gall to threaten the world and America in particular? After several days of searching with his satellites, Brinks claimed to have identified the location of such a weapon, calling it a clear and present danger.

At the front of the room, on a screen that was just a fraction smaller than some Jumbotrons he’d seen, Pitt studied a satellite feed. It showed an area off the coast of Sierra Leone, a shallow bay ten miles across, home to an oil production zone known as the Quadrangle because of its dimensions and the four evenly spaced platforms. On a wide angle they showed up as four pinpoints of gray. At closer ranges, those points were easily identifiable as huge offshore oil rigs.

Other data was being overlaid on the screen, numbers and codes that Pitt wasn’t familiar with. In some respects he wondered why he was even there. NUMA was peripherally involved in the search, but for the most part any action at this level would be well out of their hands.

With the participants given a few minutes to review the files in front of them, Dirk studied what he’d been given a second time. One thing that caught his attention was the fact that the entire field and the four rigs were owned by the government of Sierra Leone and always had been, unlike all the structures taken just days before in the sweeping nationalization.

Another red flag that stood out was the fact that oilmen the CIA had spoken with insisted there was no oil beneath the shelf where the Sierra Leone government was drilling. It was a boondoggle, they insisted. A waste of the money the IMF was pouring into the country.

Add to that the continued presence of construction barges and constant deliveries of equipment well after the construction of the platforms was completed, and something odd seemed to be going on.

Pitt closed the file in front of him and looked up to see Brinks and Vice President Sandecker walking his way. They stopped and chatted with the Navy’s chief of staff before wandering over to where Pitt sat.

Pitt stood and shook hands with both men.

“I told you your man was off on a wild-goose chase, looking for this mercenary,” Brinks said.

Pitt smiled and his green eyes showed nothing but pure joy, despite a desire to punch Brinks right in the mouth.

“I honestly hope you’re right,” Pitt said. “After all he’s been through, Austin could use a vacation.”

“Well,” Brinks said confidently, “we’re about to give him one.”

As Brinks moved off, Sandecker took a seat next to Pitt.

“Thanks for the invite,” Pitt said, sarcastically. “It’s like a pool party with sharks and alligators.”

“You think I wanted you here?” Sandecker joked. “Brinks dialed you up.”

“Why?”

“Probably wants to gloat.”

“Nothing like a sore winner,” Pitt said.

Sandecker agreed. “I hear you shot him down pretty hard the other day.”

“He was asking for it,” Pitt said.