He wondered if the polarity of opinion had been so sharpened in the past few years that societal norms of restraint and respect no longer applied. East, West. Muslim, Christian. Socialist, capitalist. Rich, poor. It seemed every issue could drive a wedge deep enough to cause one side or the other to consider violence.
Of course, it was into this very divide that he sailed the Oregon. With the world no longer cowering under the threat of nuclear annihilation from a war between the old Soviet Union and the United States, regional flare-ups had proliferated to the point that conventional means could no longer contain them.
Cabrillo had known this was coming and had formed the Corporation to combat these new threats. It was disheartening to think it, but he knew they would have more work than they could ever handle.
With no ransom demands from Geoffrey Merrick’s kidnappers it appeared more and more likely that his abduction was politically motivated; and given the nature of Merrick’s work, the politics most likely involved were the extreme environmental fringe.
Then he wondered if his kidnapping was somehow connected to whatever Sloane Macintyre had stumbled into. The odds were dead against it despite the coincidental fact that both were connected to Namibia. The Skeleton Coast was far from the world consciousness when it came to the environment. Brazilian rain forests or polluted waterways, those were what people were familiar with, not a remote strip of desert in a country that many couldn’t find on a map.
Then he thought of another scenario. Diamond mining was one of Namibia’s biggest industries. And considering how tightly controlled the market was, according to Sloane, the likely possibility was that they had stumbled into an illegal mining operation. People were more than willing to risk their lives for the idea of immeasurable wealth. And people committed murders for a lot less. But did that explain Pieter DeWitt’s apparent suicide?
It would if he considered the consequences of being caught worse than a quick death.
“What would happen to a man like DeWitt if he was caught in some sort of illegal diamond mining activity?” Cabrillo asked Sloane.
“It varies from country to country. In Sierra Leone he’d be shot on sight. Here in Namibia it’s a twenty-thousand-dollar fine and five years in prison.” He looked at her askance for knowing the answer so readily. “I’m a security specialist, remember? I have to know the laws pertaining to the diamond trade in a dozen countries. Just like you have to know the Customs laws of the ports you visit.”
“Well, I’m still impressed,” Juan said, then went on, “Five years doesn’t sound too bad, certainly not enough of a sentence for someone to commit suicide rather than doing the time.”
“You don’t know African prisons.”
“I can’t imagine they rate many stars in the Michelin Guide.”
“It’s not just the conditions. Tuberculosis and HIV infection rates in African jails are among the highest in the world. Some human rights groups believe any jail time is tantamount to a death sentence. Why are you asking about all this?”
“I’m trying to get a handle on why DeWitt killed himself rather than risk capture.”
“You’re thinking maybe he’s not a fanatic or something?”
“I don’t know what I’m thinking,” Juan admitted. “There’s something else going on that I can’t tell you about, and I thought for a second they could be linked. I’m just making sure they’re not. Understanding motivations is the key to seeing these aren’t two pieces of the same puzzle but two different puzzles altogether. It’s just that there’s a coincidence involved—”
“And you hate coincidences,” Sloane finished for him.
“Exactly.”
“If you want to tell me what else is happening maybe I can help.”
“Sorry, Sloane, that wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“Loose lips sink ships and all that.”
Sloane was just being flippant and didn’t know how her words would soon prove to be prophetic.
14
THE de Havilland Twin Otter approached the rough landing strip so slowly it appeared to be hovering. Although her design dated back to the 1960s, the high-winged, two-engined aircraft continued to be a favorite among bush pilots the world over. She could land on just about any surface and in about a thousand feet. Her takeoff runs were even shorter.
The hard pan abutting the Devil’s Oasis had been marked with orange flags and the pilot set the plane down dead center in a whirl of dust. The blast of her turboprops kicked up more dirt so when she slowed she was enveloped momentarily in a dark cloud. Power was taken off the propellers and in moments they’d juddered to a stop. An open-topped four-wheel drive reached the aircraft just as the rear door creaked open.
Daniel Singer unlimbered his lanky six-foot-seven-inch frame from the aircraft and knuckled his spine to work out the kinks of being confined for the seven-hundred-mile flight from Zimbabwe’s capital, Harare. He’d flown there from the States because enough money in the right hands ensured there was no record of his arrival in Africa. For all anyone knew he was still at his home in Maine.
The truck’s driver was a woman named Nina Visser. She had been with Singer from the beginning of his quest and had been instrumental in recruiting other members to their cause, like-minded men and women who recognized that the nations of the world needed to be jolted out of their complacency when it came to environmental issues.
“About time you showed up to share in our misery,” she said by way of greeting, but there was a smile on her face and a spark of affection in her nearly black eyes. Born in Holland, like many of her countrymen, she spoke English with little accent.
Singer stooped to kiss her cheek and quipped, “Nina, my dear, don’t you know we evil geniuses need a remote lair?”
“Did you have to pick one that’s a hundred kilometers from the nearest flush toilet and overrun by sand fleas?”
“What can I say, all the hollowed-out volcanoes were taken. I rented this place through a dummy company from the Namibian government on the pretext we’re going to film a movie here.” He turned to accept a bag from the pilot who’d appeared at the door. “Get the plane refueled. We’re only going to be here for a short while.”
Nina was surprised. “You’re not going to stay?”
“Sorry, no. I have to get to Cabinda earlier than I’d planned.”
“Problems?”
“A slight glitch with the equipment has delayed the mercenaries,” he said. “And I want to make sure the boats we are going to use for the assault are ready. Besides, Mother Nature is being more than cooperative. Another tropical storm is brewing on the heels of the one that dissipated a couple of days ago. I don’t think we’ll need to wait more than a week or so.”
Nina stopped suddenly, her face showing joy. “So soon? I can’t believe it.”
“Five years of work are about to pay off. When we’re done there won’t be a person on the planet who can sanely deny the dangers of global warming.” Singer settled himself into the truck’s passenger seat for the short drive to the old prison.
The penitentiary was a three-story stone monstrosity as large as a warehouse with a crenellated rampart on the roof for guards to watch out over the desert. There was just a single window on each wall of the outside façade, which made the structure appear even more solid and foreboding. The shadow it cast was a midnight stain on the white sand.
A set of towering wooden doors with iron hinges mortared into the stone and broad enough to admit a much larger truck gave access to the central courtyard. The bottom floor of the prison was given over to administrative spaces and dormitories for the guards who’d once lived here while the second and third stories were for the cell blocks that ringed the courtyard.
The sun beat onto the exercise yard, reflecting and rebounding so the air was as heavy as molten lead.
“So how are our guests doing?” Singer asked when Nina braked in front of the entrance to the main administration area.
“The men from Zimbab
we arrived yesterday with their prisoner,” Nina said and turned to her mentor. “I still don’t understand why they’re here.”
“A tactical necessity, I’m afraid. Part of the bargain to allow me to enter Africa without having to get visas and all that other junk was that we let them use a portion of the prison for a short while. Their prisoner heads the main opposition party and he goes on trial for treason soon. The government is rightly justified in thinking that his followers would break him out and smuggle him to some other country. They just need someplace to keep him until the trial starts and then he’ll be returned to Harare.”
“Won’t his people just stage their breakout when he goes back?”
“The trial will last less than an hour and sentence will be carried out immediately.”
“I don’t like this, Danny. Zimbabwe’s government is one of the most corrupt in Africa. I think anyone who opposes them is probably in the right.”
“I agree with you, but this is the bargain I got stuck with.” His tone made it clear he didn’t want to be questioned further. “How about my illustrious former business partner? How’s he doing?”
Nina smirked. “I think he’s finally beginning to understand the ramifications of his success.”
“Good. I can’t wait to see the look on that smug bastard’s face when we pull this off and he finally understands he’s at fault.”
They entered the prison and Singer greeted his people by name. While he would never have Merrick’s charisma, among the activists he’d gathered together he was already a hero. He handed out three bottles of red wine he’d brought with him and they drank them down over the course of the next half hour. One woman in particular received special attention, and when he called for a toast in her honor, the others cheered.
He then took the office once occupied by the warden and asked that Merrick be brought down from his cell. He spent several minutes trying to find the right pose for when Merrick entered. He tried sitting behind the desk but didn’t want the height disadvantage so instead he stood by the office’s window with his head bowed as if he alone shouldered the weight of the world.
A moment later, two of Singer’s men led Merrick into the office with his hands bound behind his back. The two hadn’t physically seen each other since the split, but Merrick had been on enough television interviews for Singer to recognize the physical toll the past days of captivity had taken on his former partner. He was especially gratified at how his once bright eyes had sunken into his skull and gazed at him with a haunted look. But incredibly, he saw them begin to brighten, and once again he felt the mesmerizing intensity that Merrick had always possessed and Singer had secretly coveted. Singer had to fight the urge to sit.
“Danny,” Merrick started in a sincere tone, “I can’t begin to understand why you’ve done what you’ve done other than to get back at me. I just want to say you’ve won. Whatever you want is yours so long as you stop right now. You want the company back, I will sign it away right now. You want all my money, just give me an account number to transfer it into. I will issue any statement you prepare and take any responsibility you believe I deserve.”
God, he was good, Daniel Singer thought. No wonder he could always beat me. For a moment he was tempted to take him up on his offer but he wouldn’t let himself be swayed. He thrust aside the momentary doubt. “This isn’t a negotiation table, Geoff. Having you as a witness is only a bonus I’m giving myself. You are the sideshow, my old friend, not the main attraction.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“Of course it does!” Singer roared. “Why do you think I’m giving the world a taste now?” He took a deep breath and continued a bit more calmly, but with an equal amount of passion. “If we continue on the path we’ve set my demonstration will be nothing compared to natural events. We have to change, only the fools that run the world refuse to see it. Damnit, Geoff, you’re a scientist, surely you understand. Within the next century global warming is going to destroy everything mankind has accomplished.
“An increase of just a degree of surface temperatures will have untold ripple effects on the environment—and it’s already happening. The planet isn’t hot enough yet to melt all the glaciers, but in Greenland the ice is flowing into the sea quicker than ever because meltwater is acting as a lubricant when it scrapes over the ground. In some places they are advancing twice as fast as normal. This is taking place today. Right now.”
“I’m not going to deny what you’re saying—”
“You can’t,” Singer snapped. “No rational person can, but still nothing is being done about it. People have to see the effects for themselves, in their homes, not on some glacier in Greenland. They have to be galvanized into action or we’re doomed.”
“All the deaths, Dan—”
“Pale in comparison to what’s coming. They have to be sacrificed in order to save untold billions of others. You have to cut off a gangrenous limb in order to save the patient.”
“But we’re talking about innocent lives, not infected tissue!”
“Okay, so it was a bad analogy, but my point still stands. And besides, the death toll won’t be as high as you think. Forecasting has come a long way. There’ll be plenty of warning.”
“Yeah? Ask the people living in New Orleans when Katrina hit,” Merrick spat.
“Exactly. Local, state, and federal authorities had ample time to evacuate and yet more than a thousand perished needlessly. This is what I’m saying. We’ve had two decades of scientific fact as to the effects we’re having on the environment and only token action has been taken. Can’t you see I have to go forward? I have to do this to save humanity.”
Geoffrey Merrick knew his former partner and best friend was insane. Sure, Dan had always been a little odd, they both had been, otherwise they wouldn’t have thrived at MIT. But what had once been quirky behavior had turned into full-blown mania. He also knew he’d never find an argument to get Singer to give up. You couldn’t rationalize with a fanatic.
He still wanted to try one more tack. “If you care so much for humanity, then why did you have to kill poor Susan Donleavy?”
Singer’s expression was unreadable as he broke eye contact. “The people helping me lacked certain, ah, skills, so I had to hire outsiders.”
“Mercenaries?”
“Yes. They went beyond, ah, what was strictly called for. Susan’s not dead, but I’m afraid her condition is grave.”
Merrick gave no outward sign of what he intended. He merely shook off the men who held his arms loosely and launched himself across the room. He vaulted onto the desk and managed to smash a knee into Singer’s jaw before the guards reacted. One yanked at the cuff of his jumpsuit hard enough to topple the industrialist. With his hands bound behind his back he couldn’t cushion the blow and landed on his face. There was no momentarily flicker, no slow fade to black. He was unconscious as soon as his head hit the floor.
“I’m sorry, Dan,” one of the guards said, crossing behind the desk to help Singer to his feet. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
He smeared the blood with a finger, inspecting it as though he couldn’t believe it had come from his body. “Is he alive?”
The second guard checked Merrick’s pulse at his wrist and throat. “Heart’s beating fine. He’ll probably have a concussion when he wakes.”
“Good.” Singer stooped over Merrick’s prone form. “Geoff, I hope that cheap shot was worth it, because it was the last act of free will you will ever experience. Lock him back up.”
Twenty minutes later the Twin Otter took to the skies once again, heading northward to the Angolan province of Cabinda.
15
AS soon as the harbor pilot had climbed down the rope ladder to his waiting tender, Max Hanley and Linda Ross took the secret elevator from the wheelhouse down to the operations center. It was like stepping from a junkyard into NASA’s mission control. They’d played the roles of captain and helmsman for the benefit of the South Af
rican pilot, but Max was officially off duty. The watch belonged to Linda.
“You going back to your cabin?” she asked, settling herself in the command seat and slipping on her headset.
“No,” Max said sourly. “Doc Huxley’s still worried about my blood pressure so she and I are heading for the gym. She plans on introducing me to power yoga, whatever the hell that is.”
Linda chuckled. “Oh, I would love to see that.”
“If she tries to bend me into a pretzel I’m going to tell Juan to start searching for a new chief medical officer.”
“It’ll be good for you. Cleanse your aura, and all that.”
“My aura is fine,” he said with good-natured gruffness and headed off to his cabin.
The watch was quiet as they cleared the shipping lanes and started to ramp up the speed. An unexpected storm was brewing to their north but would likely blow itself westward by the time they reached Swakopmund late the next day. Linda used the idle hours to go over the mission briefing Eddie and Linc had written about their upcoming assault on the Devil’s Oasis.
“Linda,” Hali Kasim called from his communication’s station. “I just got something off the wire service. You’re not going to believe it. I’m sending it to your display.”
She scanned the news item and immediately sent out a ship wide page for Max to come to the op center. He arrived a minute later from the engine room where he’d been performing an unnecessary inspection. The yoga had taken a toll on him: his gait was noticeably hampered by muscles not used to so much stretching.
“You wanted to see me?”
Linda swiveled her flat-panel display so Max could read the news for himself. The tension in the room had risen as though an electric current had passed between the two.