Sahara (Dirk Pitt 11)

As the meeting broke up and the scientists headed for their tents, Batutta lingered by the heater. He switched off the concealed tape recorder, and then raised a flashlight and blinked it twice at the cockpit window. A minute later the chief pilot climbed down the boarding ladder and approached Batutta.

"You s

ignaled?" he said softly.

"The foreign pigs are leaving tomorrow," replied Batutta.

"I must radio Tebezza and alert them of our arrival."

"And remind them to give Dr. Hopper and his people a proper greeting."

The chief pilot winced knowingly. "A disgusting place, Tebezza. Once the passengers are in custody, I don't plan to spend any more time on the ground than necessary."

"Your orders are to fly back to the airport at Bamako," said Batutta.

"Gladly." The chief pilot made a brief bow of his head. "Good night, Captain."

Eva had taken a short walk to enjoy the clear air and the carpet of stars across the sky. She returned in time to see the pilot walk toward the aircraft, leaving Batutta alone by the heater.

Too compliant and far too eager to please, she mused. There's going to be trouble. She shook her head as if to cast off the thought. There you go again with your suspicious female nature. What can he do to stop them? Once in the air there would be no turning back. They would be free of the horror and on their way to a more friendly and open society. She took satisfaction in knowing she would never return. And yet something deep inside, her intuition perhaps, cautioned her not to feel too secure.

"How long have they been on our tail?" Giordino asked, rubbing three hours of sleep from his eyes and focusing on the image emanating within the radar screen.

"I spotted them about 75 kilometers back, just after we passed into Malian territory," answered Pitt. He stood to one side of the wheel, casually steering with his right hand.

"You get a look at their armament?"

"No, the boat was concealed 100 meters up a branch of the river. I caught a hard reflection on the surface radar that looked suspicious. Soon as we passed out of sight around a bend, they pulled into the channel and began chasing our wake."

"Might be only a routine patrol."

"Routine patrols don't hide under camouflaged netting."

Giordino studied the distance scale on the radar. "They're making no attempt to narrow the gap."

"Just biding their time."

"Poor old gunboat," Giordino said sorrowfully. "It doesn't know it's about to go to that great scrap yard in the sky."

"Sad to say, there are complications," said Pitt slowly. "The gunboat isn't the only bloodhound on the scent."

"They have friends?"

"The Malian military has thrown out the steel welcome mat." Pitt twisted his body and looked up at the flawless blue, afternoon sky that was barren of clouds. "A flight of Malian fighter jets is circling the sky to the east of us."

Giordino caught sight of them at once. The blazing sun glinted off their cockpit canopies. "French Mirage fighters, the newer modified model, I reckon. Six-no, seven of them-less than 6 kilometers away."

Pitt twisted again and pointed across the river to the west. "And that dust cloud beyond that range of hills running along the shoreline. That belongs to a convoy of armored cars." '

"How many?" Giordino asked as he mentally inventoried his remaining missiles.

"I counted four when they raced across a stretch of open ground."

"No tanks?"

"Our speed is 30 knots. Tanks couldn't keep up with us."