Sahara (Dirk Pitt 11)

"You think the plague in the desert is due to toxins?"

"We don't have the answers yet. There isn't enough data to draw conclusions. On the surface the cause appears to be contamination sickness, but the source is a mystery. No known chemical manufacturing or hazardous waste sites lie within hundreds of kilometers of the areas reporting the symptoms."

"How widespread is the problem?"

"Over eight thousand cases have erupted across the African nations of Mali and Niger in the past ten days."

Pitt's eyebrows lifted. "An incredible number for so short a time. How do you know bacteria or a virus isn't the cause?"

"Like I said, the source is a mystery."

"Odd that it hasn't been covered by the news media."

"The World Health Organization has insisted on a news blackout until a cause has been determined. I suppose to prevent sensationalism and panic."

Pitt had been glancing around the beach from time to time. He spotted a movement beyond the low dunes bordering the road. "What are your plans?"

"My scientific team leaves for the Sahara tomorrow to begin field investigations."

"You know, I hope, that Mali is on the verge of what could be a bloody civil war."

She shrugged unconcernedly. "The government has agreed to keep a heavy guard around our researchers at all times." She paused and looked at him for a long moment. "Why are you asking me all these questions? You act like a secret agent."

Pitt laughed. "Only a nosy marine engineer with dislike for anyone who goes around murdering beautiful women."

"Maybe it was a case of mistaken identity?" she said hopefully.

Pitt's eyes traveled over her body and stopped at her eyes. "Somehow, I don't think that's possible--" Pitt tensed suddenly and stood, staring at the dunes. His muscles tightened. He reached down and grabbed Eva by the wrist and pulled her upright. "Time to go," he said, dragging her at a run across the beach.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, stumbling after him.

Pitt didn't answer. The movement behind the dunes had become a wisp of smoke that was thickening as it rose in the desert sky. He knew immediately that another killer, or perhaps more, had set fire to Eva's rental car in an effort to trap them until reinforcements could arrive.

He could see the flames now. If he had picked up his speargun. . . ? No. He didn't fool himself. It was no weapon against a firearm. His only slim hope was that the assassin's comrade was also unarmed and hadn't seen Pitt's Jeep.

He was right on the first count, wrong on the second. As they crested the last dune, he saw a dark-skinned man holding a burning newspaper in one hand that was rolled up in a torch. The intruder was absorbed in kicking out the windshield in preparation of incinerating the interior of the Jeep. This one was not dressed like the others. He wore an intricate white headdress that was swathed in such a way that only his eyes showed. His body was draped in a flowing caftan-like robe that swirled around his sandaled ankles. He failed to notice Pitt bearing down on him with Eva in tow.

Pitt halted and breathed the words into Eva's ear. "If I screw up, run like hell for the road and stop a passing car." Aloud he shouted, "Freeze!"

Startled, the man twisted around, his eyes wide but menacing. In the same breath as his shout, Pitt lowered his head and charged. The man thrust the burning paper in front of him, but Pitt's head had already driven into his chest, breaking the sternum with the accompanying sharp snap of cracking ribs. At the same time, Pitt's right fist swung up into the man's crotch.

The menace in the man's eyes bulged into a look of shock. Then a strangling, tortured gasp escaped his gaping mouth as the wind burst from his lungs. He was thrust backward, and his feet left the sand as Pitt's wild attack lifted him in the air.

The lighted torch flew over Pitt's back and landed in the sand. The man's expression went from shock to pain and terror. His fa

ce congested and flushed crimson as he was thrown backward and collapsed. Pitt quickly knelt over him and searched his pockets. There was nothing, no weapons, no identification. Not even a few loose coins or a comb.

"Who sent you, pal?" Pitt demanded, grabbing the man by the neck and shaking him like a Doberman with a rat.

The reaction was not what Pitt expected. Through the torment and agony; the man gave Pitt a sinister stare-a stare, Pitt thought, curiously like a man who had gotten the last laugh. Then the dark-skinned man grinned, showing a set of white teeth with one missing. His jaw dropped open slightly, and then appeared to clamp down. Too late Pitt realized that his adversary had bitten into a lethal rubbercoated cyanide pill. It had been concealed in the man's mouth as a false tooth.

Foam seeped from the man's lips. The poisonous pill was very powerful and death came quickly. Pitt and Eva watched helplessly as the strength melted from the man's body. The eyes remained open, blank and glazed in death.

"Is he--?" Eva broke off and then tried again. "Is he dead?"

"I think it's safe to say he's expired," Pitt said without a shred of remorse.

Eva held Pitt's arm for support. Her hands felt cold under the African heat and she was shivering from shock. Her eyes were stricken. She had never watched anyone die before. She began to feel sick but somehow managed to control her stomach.