"Sounds like a fun place," muttered Giordino. "I can't wait to smell the gunsmoke."
Sandecker ignored him. "The People's Republic of Benin is under a very tight dictatorship. President Ahmed Tougouri rules by terror. Across the river in Niger, the head of state is propped up by Libya's Muammar Qaddafi, who is after the country's uranium mines. The place is a festering crisis. Rebel guerrillas everywhere. I suggest you steer in the middle of the river when you pass between them."
"And Mali," Pitt probed.
"President Tahir is a decent man, but he's chained to General Zateb Kazim who runs a three-member Supreme Military Council that is bleeding the country dry. Kazim is a very nasty customer and quite unusual in that he's a virtual dictator who operates behind the front of an honest government"
Pitt and Giordino exchanged cynical smiles and wearily shook their heads…
"Do you two have a problem?" inquired Sandecker.
"A leisurely cruise up the Niger River,"' Pitt mildly repeated the Admiral's words. "All we have to do is merrily sail 1000 kilometers of river that's crawling with bloodthirsty rebels hiding in ambush along the shore, dodge armed patrol boats, and refuel along the way without being arrested and executed as foreign spies. And this while casually collecting chemical samples of the water. No problem, Admiral, no problem at all, except it's damn well suicidal."
"Yes," Sandecker said imperturbably, "it might look that way, but with a little luck you should come out of this without the least inconvenience."
"Watching my head blown off seems more than an inconvenience."
"Have you thought about using satellite sensors?" asked Gunn.
"Can't be done with enough accuracy," answered Chapman.
"How about a low-flying jet aircraft?" tried Giordino.
Chapman shook his head. "Same conclusion. Dragging sensors in the water at supersonic speeds won't work. I know. I was in on an experiment that tried it."
"There are first-rate labs on board the Sounder, "said Pitt. "Why not run her up the delta and at least pinpoint the type and class and level of contamination?"
"We tried," replied Chapman, "but a Nigerian gunboat warned us off before we could get within 100 kilometers of the river's mouth. Too far to make a precise analysis."
"The project can only be done by a well-equipped small boat," said Sandecker. "One that can get through occasional rapids and shallow waters. There's no other way."
"Has our State Department tried appealing to these governments to let a research team study the river on the grounds of saving billions of lives?" asked Gunn.
"The straightforward approach was tried. The Nigerians and the Malians turned the appeal down flat. Respected scientists came to West Africa to explain the situation. The African leaders didn't believe the pitch, even laughed at it. You can't really blame them. Their mentality is not exactly monumental. They can't conceive on a grand scale."
"Don't they have a high death toll among their people who drank from the contaminated river?" asked Gunn.
"Nothing widespread," Sandecker shook his head. "The Niger River has more than chemicals flowing in it. The cities and villages along its banks also dump human waste and sewage into its waters. The natives along its banks know better than to drink from it."
Pitt saw the handwriting on the wall and didn't like it one bit. "So you think a covert operation stands the only chance at tracking down the contamination?"
"I do," Sandecker said doggedly.
"I hope you have a plan to overcome any and all obstacles."
"Of course I have a plan."
"Are we permitted to know just how we're supposed to find the contamination source and somehow stay alive?" asked Gunn quietly.
"No great secret," Sandecker said in exasperation. "Your arrival will be advertised as a working holiday by three wealthy French industrialists looking to invest in West Africa."
Gunn looked stricken, Giordino dumfounded. Pitt's face was clouded in growing anger.
"That's it," demanded Pitt. "That's your plan."
"Yes, and a damned good one," snapped Sandecker.
"It's crazy. I'm not going."
"Me neither," snorted Giordino. "I look about as French as Al Capone."
"Nor I," added Gunn.
"Certainly not in a slow, unarmed research boat," stated Pitt firmly.
Sandecker pretended not to notice the mutiny. "That reminds me. I forgot the best part. The boat. When you see the boat, I guarantee you'll change your minds."
If Pitt had dreamed of pursuing high performance, style; comfort, and enough firepower to take on the American sixth fleet, he found it in the boat Sandecker promised him. One look at her sleek, refined lines, the brute size of her engines, and incredible hidden armament, and Pitt was sold.
A masterpiece of aerodynamic balance in fiberglass and stainless steel, she was named Calliope after the muse of epic poetry. Designed by NUMA engineers and built under tight secrecy in a boat yard up a bayou in Louisiana, her 18-meter-length hull with its low center of gravity and almost flat bottom drew only 1.5 meters of water, making her ideal for the shallow channels of the Niger River's upper course. She was powered by three V-12, turbo diesel engines that thrust her across the water at a top speed of 70 knots. Nothing was compromised in her construction. She was a one-of-a-kind build for a specific job.
Pitt stood at the helm and soaked up the unrivaled strength and ultrasmooth ride of the super sport yacht as she, loafed along at 30 knots over the dull blue-gray water of the Niger Delta. His eyes ceaselessly scanned the waters ahead as the shoreline sped by, shifting occasionally to check the depths on a chart and the digital numbers on the depthsounder. He'd passed one patrol boat, but the crew merely waved in natant admiration at the sight of the yacht planing over the surface of the river. A military helicopter had circled curiously overhead, and a military jet, a French-built Mirage, Pitt judged, had dropped low to have a look at the boat and flown on, apparently satisfied. So far, so good. There had been no attempts to halt or detain them.
Down in the spacious interior, Rudi Gunn sat in the middle of a small but highly customized laboratory that was planned by a multidisciplinary team of scientists that included highly sophisticated, compact versions of instrumentation developed through NASA for space exploration. The lab was not only set up to analyze water samples but to telemeter the accumulated data via satellite to a team of NUMA scientists working with computer data bases to identify complex compounds.
Gunn, a scientist from toes to his thinning hairline, was oblivious to any danger outside the bulkheads of the elegant boat. He poured himself into his task with total commitment, trusting Pitt and Giordino to shield him from distraction or interruption.
The engines and weapon systems were Giordino's department. To muffle the roar of the engines he wore a headset that was plugged to a tape player and listened to Harry Connick, Jr., play the piano and sing old jazz favorites. He was sitting on a padded bench seat in the engine room, his hands busy unpacking several cases of portable rocket launchers and their missiles. The Rapier was a new all-purpose weapon designed to engage subsonic aircraft, seagoing vessels, tanks, and concrete bunkers. It could be fired from the shoulder or mounted in quad to a central firing system. Giordino was fitting the completed assemblies in housings that allowed the missile clusters to fire through the armored ports of the domed turret above the engine room that looked to the casual eye like a skylight. The seemingly innocent superstructure protruded a good meter above the aft deck and could swivel on a 220-degree arc. After assembling the launcher and guidance units, and then inserting the missiles in their tubes, Giordino began concentrating on cleaning and loading a small arsenal of automatic rifles and handguns. Next, he unloaded a crate of incendiary/concussion grenades and carefully loaded four of them in a bulky clip that hung from a stubby automatic grenade launcher.