Sahara (Dirk Pitt 11)

"The millions, maybe hundreds of millions in liquid assets you've accumulated over the years from your shady manipulations and ruthless business transactions. It's a matter of record you don't trust financial institutions or follow usual investment practices, nor do you have your money socked away in Grand Cayman or the Channel Islands. You could have retired a long time ago and enjoyed a good life and invested in paintings or classic cars or villas in Italy. Or better yet, you might have become a philanthropist and shared your inventiveness with needy charities. But greed begets greed. You can't spend your profits. No matter how much you hoard, it's never enough. You're too sick to live like normal people. What you don't keep in Massarde Enterprises for acquisitions, you hide somewhere on a South Pacific island. Tahiti, Moorea or Bora? My guess is one of the lesser-inhabited islands in the chain. How close to the truth am I, Massarde?"

He had no reply to make on how close to the truth Pitt was.

"That's the deal," Pitt continued. "In return for giving up all control of this project and revealing where you've hidden your ill-gotten gains, I'll let you board your helicopter along with your stooge, Verenne here, and fly free wherever you wish."

"You are an idiot," Verenne snapped hoarsely. "You don't have the authority or power to blackmail Mr. Massarde."

Unnoticed by the others, Giordino stood behind the bar and spoke softly into a small radio transmitter. The timing was near perfect. There were only a few moments of silence before the Eagle helicopter suddenly appeared outside the office window, hanging menacingly in the air with its deadly armament seemingly poised to blow Massarde's office into dust.

Pitt nodded at the hovering aircraft. "Authority no, power yes."

Massarde smiled. He was not a man who could be cornered without a fight. He seemed to have no fear at all. He leaned across the desk and said evenly, "Take the project if you will. Without a despot's backing like Kazim, the stupid government will allow it to deteriorate and become abandoned scrap like every other piece of Western technology that's come to this godforsaken desert. I have other projects, other ventures to replace this one."

"We're halfway home," said Giordino coldly.

"As to my wealth, don't waste your breath. What's mine is mine. But you're right about it being on an island in the Pacific. You and a million other people could search a thousand years and never find it."

Pitt turned to Brunone. "Captain, we still have a few hours of afternoon heat left. Please gag Mr. Massarde and remove his clothes. Then spread-eagle and stake him to the ground, and leave him."

That jolted Massarde badly. He could not comprehend being treated as brutally as he had treated others. "You cannot do this to Yves Massarde," he said savagely. "By God, you're not--"

His words were broken off as Pitt backhanded him across the face. "Tit for tat, pal. Except you're lucky fm not wearing a ring."

Massarde said nothing. For a few moments he stood there motionless, his face masked in hate and turning white from the beginning sensations of fear. He looked at Pitt and saw there was no reprieve, because there was an emotionless coldness about the American, an utter lack of compassion that negated the slightest possibility of escaping the ordeal. Slowly he removed his clothes until he stood white-skinned and naked.

"Captain Brunone," said Pitt. "Do your duty."

"With pleasure, sir," replied Brunone with obvious relish.

After Massarde was gagged and securely staked on the baked ground outside the administration building under the merciless Sahara sun, Pitt nodded to Giordino. "Convey my thanks to the men in the chopper and send them back to Colonel Hargrove."

Upon receiving the message, the pilot of the chopper waved and dipped his craft toward the battlefield. Now they were alone with their own creative devices, relying on an enormous amount of bluff.

Giordino looked down at Massarde and then at Pitt with a curious glint in his eyes. "Why the gag?" he asked.

Pitt smiled. "If it was you roasting in the sun out there, how much would you offer Brunone and his men to escape?"

"A couple of million bucks or more." answered Giordino, admiring Pitt's finesse.

"Probably more."

"Do you honestly believe he's going to talk?"

Pitt shook his head. "No, Massarde will suffer tire tortures of the damned and go to hell before revealing where he's hidden his wealth."

"But if he won't tell you, who will?"

"His closest friend and confidant," said Pitt, gesturing at Verenne.

"Damn you, I don't know!" Verenne's voice was a despairing shout.

"Oh I think you do, maybe not the exact location, but I think you could put us within spitting distance."

The shift of his eyes, the fearful expression was evidence enough that Verenne knew the secret. "I wouldn't tell you anything if I could."

"Al, while I take advantage of Massarde's fancy quarters and clean up, why don't you escort our friend to an empty office and persuade him to sketch out a map to Massarde's private money vault."

"Sounds good to me," Giordino said casually. "I haven't drilled any teeth for nearly a week."