"Our chariot awaits," said Pitt.
"Beats swimming," Giordino agreed. "If Frenchy had known he was entertaining a pair of old air force pilots, he'd have never left it unattended."
"His oversight, our fortune," Pitt said mildly. He climbed to the top of the stairs and scanned the deck and peered through nearby ports for signs of life. What few heads he spotted in the cabins were uninterested in events outside and were turned away. He moved quietly across the deck, opened the door to the copter, and climbed in. Giordino pulled out the wheel chocks and removed the tie-down ropes before following Pitt, closing the door and settling in the right seat.
"What have we got here?" Giordino murmured as he studied the instrument panel.
"A late model, French-built, twin turbine Ecureuil, by the look of her," Pitt answered. "I can't tell what model, but we have no time to translate all the bells and whistles. We'll have to forgo a checklist, stoke her up, and go."
A precious two minutes were lost in start-up, but no alarm had been sounded as Pitt released the brake and the rotor blades began slowly turning, accelerating until they reached lift-off rotation. The centrifugal force fluttered the helicopter on its wheels. Like most pilots, Pitt didn't have to translate the French labels on the gauges, instrument, and switches spread across the panel. He knew what they indicated. The controls were universal and caused him no problem.
A crewman appeared and stared curiously through the spacious windshield. Giordino waved at him and smiled broadly as the crewman stood there, indecision etched on his face.
"This guy can't figure out who we are," said Giordino.
"He got a gun?"
"No, but his buddies who are charging up the stairs look none too friendly."
"Time to be gone."
"All gauges read green," Giordino said reassuringly.
Pitt didn't hesitate any longer. He held a deep breath and lifted the helicopter into a brief hover over the deck before dipping the nose and applying the throttles, forcing the machine into forward flight. The houseboat dropped behind, a blaze of light against the black of the water. Once clear, Pitt leveled at barely 10 meters and swung the craft on a course downriver.
"Where we headed?" asked Giordino.
"To the spot where Rudi found the contamination spilling into the river."
"Aren't we heading in the wrong direction? We found the toxin entry a good 100 kilometers in the other direction."
"Merely a feint to throw off the hounds. As soon as we're a safe distance away from Gao, I'll swing south and, we'll backtrack across the desert and pick up the river again 30 kilometers upstream."
"Why not drop in at the airport, pick up Rudi, and get the hell out of the country?"
"Any number of reasons," explained Pitt, nodding at the fuel gauges. "One, we don't have enough fuel to fly more than 200 kilometers. Two, once Massarde and his buddy Kazim spread the alarm, Malian jet fighters will hunt us down with their radar and either force us to land or blow us out of the sky. I give that little scenario about fifteen minutes. And three, Kazim thinks there were only two of us. The more distance we can put between Rudi and us gives him that much better chance to escape with the samples."
"Does all this just strike you out of the blue?" Giordino complained. "Or do you come from a long line of soothsayers?"
"Consider me your friendly, neighborhood plot diviner," Pitt said condescendingly.
"You should audition for a carnival fortune-teller," Giordino said dryly.
"I got us out of the steam bath and off the boat, didn't I?"
"And now we're going to fly across the middle of the Sahara Desert until we run out of fuel. Then walk across the world's largest desert looking for a toxic we-know-not-what till we expire or get captured by the Malian military as fodder for their torture dungeons."
"You certainly have a talent for painting bleak pictures," Pitt said sardonically.
"Then set me straight."
"Fair enough," Pitt nodded. "Soon as we reach the location where the contamination seeps into the river, we ditch the helicopter."
Giordino looked at him. "In the river?"
"Now you're getting the hang of it."
"Not another swim in this stinking river-not again." He shook his head in conviction. "You're nuttier than Woody Woodpecker."
"Every word a virtue, every move sublime," Pitt said airily, then, suddenly serious, added "Every aircraft the Malians can put in the air will be searching for this bird. With it buried under the river, they won't have a starting place to track us down. As it is, the last place Kazim would expect us to run is north into the desert wastes to look for toxic contamination."
"Sneaky," said Giordino. "That's the word for you."
Pitt reached down and pulled a chart out of a holder attached to his seat. "Take the controls while I lay out a course."
"I have her," Giordino acknowledged as he took hold of the collective control lever beside his seat and the cyclicpitch control column.
"Take us up to 100 meters, maintain course over the river for five minutes, and then bring us about on a heading of two-six-oh degrees."
Giordino followed Pitt's instructions and leveled off at 100 meters before looking down. He could just discern the surface of the river. "Good thing the stars reflect on the water or I couldn't see where the hell I was going."
"Just watch for dark shadows on the horizon after you make your turn. We don't want to spread ourselves over a protruding rock formation."
Only twenty minutes passed during their wide swing around Gao before they approached their destination. Massarde's fast helicopter flitted through the night sky like a phantom, invisible without navigation lights, with Giordino deftly handling the controls while Pitt navigated. The desert floor below was faceless and flat, with few shadows thrown by rocks or small elevations. It almost came as a relief when the black waters of the Niger River came into view again.
"What are those lights off to starboard?" asked Giordino.
Pitt did not look up, but kept his eyes on the chart.
"Which side of the river?"
"North"
"Should be Bourem, a small town we passed in the boat shortly before we moved out of the polluted water. Stay well clear of her."
"Where do you want to ditch?"
"Upriver, just out of earshot of any residents with acute hearing."
"Any particular reason for this spot?" asked Giordino suspiciously.
"It's Saturday night. Why not go into town and check out the action?"
Giordino parted his lips to make some appropriate comeback, gave up, and refocused his concentration on flying the helicopter. He tensed as he scanned the engine and flight gauges on the instrument panel. Approaching the center of the river, he eased back on the throttles as he delicately pushed the collective and tapped right rudder, turning the craft with its nose upriver while in a hover.
"Got your rubber ducky life vest?" asked Giordino.
"Never go anywhere without it," Pitt nodded. "Lower away."
Two meters above the water, Giordino shut down the engines as Pitt closed all the fuel switches and electrical bars. Yves Massarde's beautiful aircraft fluttered like a wounded butterfly, and then fell into the water with a quiet splash. It bobbed long enough for Pitt and Giordino to step out the doors and leap as far away as they could get, before diving into the river with arms and legs furiously stroking to escape the reach of the dying but still slowly spinning rotor blades. When the water reached the open doors and flooded the interior, the craft slipped beneath the smooth black water with a great sigh as the air was expelled from the passenger cabin.