Sahara (Dirk Pitt 11)

"A few bruises from being thrown around by your lousy driving. Rudi received a nasty knot on his head when he was knocked flat during a hard turn, but it hasn't stopped him from fighting the fire in the bow."

"He's a tough little guy."

Giordino raised a flashlight and shined it on Pitt's face. "Did you know you have a piece of glass sticking out of your ugly mug?"

Pitt raised one hand from the wheel and tenderly touched a small piece of glass from a gauge that was embedded in his cheek. "You can see it better than I can. Pull it out."

Giordino slipped the butt end of the flashlight between his teeth, pointed the beam at Pitt's wound, and gently took hold of the glass shard between his forefinger and thumb. Then with a quick jerk, he yanked it free. "Bigger than I thought," he commented offhandedly. He threw the glass overboard and retrieved a first aid kit from a cockpit cabinet. Three stitches and a bandage later, while Pitt kept his eyes on the instruments and the river, Giordino stood back and admired his handiwork. "There you go. Another brilliant operation in the continuing saga of Dr. Albert Giordino, desert surgeon."

"What's your next great moment in medicine

?" Pitt asked as he spied a dim yellow glow from a lantern and slewed the Calliope into a wide arc, just missing a pinnace sailing in the dark.

"Why, presenting the bill, of course."

"I'll mail you a check."

Gunn appeared from below, holding a cube of ice against a blossoming bump on the back of his head. "It's going to break the Admiral's heart when he hears what we did to his boat."

"Down deep, I don't think he ever expected to see her again," Giordino prophesied.

"Fire out?" Pitt asked Gunn.

"Still smoldering, but I'll give it another shot from an extinguisher after I breathe the smoke out of my lungs."

"Any leaks below?"

Gunn shook his head. "Most of the hits we took were topside. None below the waterline. The bilge is dry."

"Are the aircraft still in the neighborhood? The radar only shows one."

Giordino tilted his head at the sky. "The big one is still giving us the eye," he confirmed. "Too dark to make out the fighters, and they're out of earshot, but my old bones tell me they're hanging around."

"How far to Gao?" asked Gunn.

"About 75 or 80 kilometers," Pitt estimated. "Even at this speed we won't see the city's lights for another hour or more."

"Providing those characters up there leave us alone," Giordino said, his voice raised two octaves to overcome the wind and exhaust.

Gunn pointed to the portable radio that rested on a counter shelf. "Might help if we strung them along."

Pitt smiled in the darkness. "Yes, I think it's time we take calls."

"Why not?" Giordino went along. "I'm curious to hear what they have to say."

"Talking to them might buy us the time we need to reach Gao," advised Gunn. "We've a fair way to go."

Pitt turned the helm over to Giordino, tuned up the volume on the portable radio's speaker so they could all hear above the roar, and spoke into the mouthpiece. "Good evening," he answered pleasantly. "How may I help you?"

There was a short pause. Then a voice replied in French.

"I hate this," muttered Giordino.

Pitt stared up at the plane as he spoke. "Non parley vous francais."

Gunn wrinkled his brows. "Do you know what you said?"

Pitt looked at him innocently. "I informed him I can't speak French."