Sahara (Dirk Pitt 11)

"Time to throw out a red herring. Bring the truck around on a reverse heading toward the west. Then come to a stop."

Giordino dutifully did what he was ordered, twisted the wheel, and braked to a halt. "Now we walk?"

"Now we walk. But first, bring the guard up front and check the truck for any item that might prove useful, like cloth to wrap our heads to prevent sunstroke."

A strange combination of fear and menace burned in the guard's eyes as they propped him in the front seat, cut strips from his robe and headdress, and then bound him tightly so his hands and feet could not touch the steering wheel or floor pedals.

They foraged through the truck, finding a few oily rags and two wash towels that they fashioned into turbans. The guns were left behind, buried in the sand. Then Pitt tied the steering wheel so it couldn't turn and shifted the truck in to second gear and jumped from the cab. The faithful Renalt lurched forward carrying its trussed-up passenger and bounced back toward Tebezza until it became lost in the blowing sand.

"You're giving him a better chance to live than he'd have given us," Giordino protested.

"Maybe, maybe not," Pitt said mildly.

"How far do you figure we have to hike?"

"About 180 kilometers," Pitt answered as if it was a short jaunt.

"That's almost 112 miles on one liter of water that wouldn't grow cactus," Giordino complained. He stared critically into the turbulent wind-blown sand. "I just know my poor old tired bones are going to bleach in the sand."

"Look on the bright side," said Pitt, tucking in his crude turban. "You can breathe the pure, open air, bask in the silence, commune with nature. No smog, no traffic, no crowds. What can be more invigorating for the soul?"

"A bottle of cold beer, a hamburger, and a bath," Giordino sighed.

Pitt held up four fingers. "Four days, and you'll get your wish."

"How are you at desert survival?" Giordino asked hopefully.

"I went on a weekend camping trip with the Boy Scouts in the Mojave Desert when I was twelve."

Giordino shook his head sadly. "That certainly eases all thoughts of anxiety."

Pitt took another direction reading. Then using his compass pipe for a staff, he bent his head against the wind and sand and began walking toward what he determined was east. Giordino hooked a hand in Pitt's belt so they wouldn't lose each other in a sudden, blinding wall of sand and trudged along behind.

The closed-door meeting at the UN headquarters began at ten o'clock in the morning and lasted well past midnight. Twenty-five of the world's leading ocean and atmospheric scientists along with another thirty biologists, toxicologists, and contamination experts sat in rapt attention as Hala Kamil made a short opening address before turning over the secret conference to Admiral Sandecker who kicked off the proceedings by revealing the scope of the ecological disaster.

Sandecker then introduced Dr. Darcy Chapman who lectured the assembly on the chemistry of the prolific red tides. He was followed by Rudi Gunn with an update on the contamination data. Hiram Yaeger rounded out the briefing by displaying satellite photos of the spreading tide and providing statistics on its projected growth.

The information session lasted until two o'clock in the afternoon. When Yaeger sat down and Sandecker returned to the podium, there was a strange silence in place of the normal protests by scientists who seldom agreed with each other's theories and revelations. Fortunately, twelve of those in attendance were already aware of the extraordinary growth of the tides and had launched studies of their own. They elected a spokesperson who announced findings that supported the results accumulated by the men from NUMA. Those few who had refused to accept a catastrophic: disaster in the making now came around and endorsed Sandecker's dire warning.

The final program on the agenda was to form committee and research teams to commit their resources and cooperation in sharing information toward the goal of halting and reversing the threat of human extinction.

Though she knew it was a futile plea, Hala Kamil returned to the podium and begged the scientists to not speak to members of the news media until the situation had attained a measure of control. The last thing they needed, she implored, was worldwide panic.

Kamil closed the meeting with an announcement of the time for the next conference to assimilate new information and report on progress toward a solution. There was no polite applause. The scientists filed up the aisles in groups, talking in unusually quiet voices and motioning with their hands as they exchanged viewpoints in their respective areas of expertise.

Sandecker sank wearily in a chair on the rostrum. His face was lined and tired but splendidly etched with strength of will and determination. He felt at last that he had turned the corner and was no longer pleading a case before deaf and hostile ears.

"It was a magnificent presentation," said Hala Kamil.

Sandecker half rose from his chair as she sat down beside him. "I hope it did the job."

Hala nodded and smiled. "You've inspired the top minds in the ocean and environmental sciences to discover a solution before it's too late."

"Informed maybe, but hardly inspired."

She shook her head. "You're wrong, Admiral. They all grasped the urgency. The enthusiasm to tackle the threat was written in their faces."