Sahara (Dirk Pitt 11)

They were mad to stay behind in that scorched land, he thought. Their commitment to finding the contamination was madness. Kazim would unleash his entire security force to hunt them down. If the desert didn't devour them, the Malians would.

He hesitated before entering the aircraft, turned, and gazed out over the ugly vastness of sand and rock. From his elevated position he could clearly see the Niger River, little more than a kilometer to the west.

Where were they now? What was their situation?

He tore himself from the sight and entered the cabin, the air-conditioned air striking his sweating body like a breaking wave. His eyes were smarting as the aircraft lifted off the runway past the flaming jet fighters.

Colonel Levant sat in the seat next to Gunn and studied the sorrowful expression. He searched Gunn's eyes for understanding, but found none. "You don't seem happy to be getting out of this mess."

Gunn stared out the window. "Just thinking of the men I left behind."

"Pitt and Giordino, they were good friends?"

"For many years."

"Why didn't they come with you?" asked Levant.

"They had a job to finish."

Levant shook his head, uncomprehending. "They are either very brave men or very stupid."

"Not stupid," said Gunn. "Not stupid at all." "They will surely end up in hell." "You don't know them." Only then did Gunn force a grin. "If anyone can enter hell and walk out again carrying a glass of tequila over ice," he said with renewed confidence, "it's Dirk Pitt."

Six elite soldiers of General Kazim's personal bodyguard force snapped to attention as Massarde stepped from his launch to the dock. A Major stepped forward and saluted. "Monsieur Massarde?"

"What is it?"

"General Kazim has asked that I escort you to him immediately."

"Did he know my presence is required at Fort Foureau and I do not wish to have my schedule interrupted?"

Politely the Major bowed. "I believe his request for a meeting with you is quite urgent."

Massarde gave a Gallic shrug of annoyance and motioned for the Major to lead. "After you."

The Major nodded and gave a curt order to a sergeant. Then he walked over the worn and bleached dock planking toward a large warehouse that bordered the dock. Massarde duly followed in the Major's footsteps, surrounded by the security guard.

"Please, this way," the Major said, gesturing around the corner of the warehouse while stepping into a small side alley.

There, under heavy security by armed guards, stood a Mercedes-Benz truck and trailer that was General Kazim's private mobile command and living quarters. Massarde was ushered up steps and through a door that immediately closed behind him.

"General Kazim is in his office," said the Major, opening another door and standing aside. The interior of the office felt like an Arctic ice floe after the heat outside. Kazim must have kept the air conditioning running at full blast, Massarde surmised. Curtains were drawn over bulletproof windows and he stood motionless for a moment waiting for his eyes to adjust after the bright sunlight.

"Come in, Yves, sit down," Kazim called from a desk as he replaced the receiver from one of four telephones.

Massarde smiled and remained standing. "Why so many guards? Do you expect an assassination?"

Kazim smiled back. "In light of the events of the past few hours, extra security seems a valid precaution."

"Have you found my helicopter?" Massarde asked directly.

"Not yet."

"How can you lose a helicopter in the desert? It only had enough fuel for half an hour's flight."

"It appears the two Americans you allowed to escape-"