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Even with the universal sounds of the busy Cairo traffic seeping in through the closed windows to the balcony Eva could not bring herself to accept the nightmare of her brush with death on the beach. Already her subconscious was blurring the memory. But Dr. Hopper's voice pulled her thoughts back to the here and now of the conference room.
"There is no doubt in your mind these men tried to kill you?"
"None," Eva answered.
"You described them as looking like black Africans," said Ismail Yerli.
Eva shook her head. "I didn't say black, only that their skin was dark. Their facial features were more sharp, more defined, like a cross between an Arab and an East Indian. The one who burned my car wore a loose-fitting tunic and a thick, intricately wrapped headdress. All I could see were his ebony eyes and a nose shaped like an eagle."
"The headdress, was it cotton and swathed about the head and chin several times?" asked Yerli.
Eva nodded. "The cloth seemed enormously long."
"What color was it?"
"A deep, almost ink blue."
"Indigo?"
"Yes," replied Eva. "Indigo sounds about right."
Ismail Yerli sat in silent contemplation for a few moments. He was the coordinator and logistics expert for the World Health Organization team. Lean and stringy, immensely efficient, and with an almost pathological love of detail, he was a smart operator with an abundance of political savvy. His home was in the Mediterranean seaport of Antalya, Turkey. He claimed Kurdish blood, having been born and raised in, the Asia Minor hinterland of Cappadocia. A lukewarm Muslim, he had not been inside a mosque in years. Like most Turks he had a massive thicket of coarse black hair complemented by bushy eyebrows that met over the nose and were supplemented by a huge moustache. He displayed a humorous disposition that never quit. His mouth was always stretched in a smile that was a decoy for an extremely serious temperament.
"Tuaregs," he said finally.
He spoke so softly that Hopper had to lean closer. "Who?" he questioned.
Yerli looked across the coffee table at the Canadian leader of the medical team. A quiet man, Hopper said little but listened long. He was, the Turk mused, the complete opposite of himself. Hopper was big, humorous, red-faced, and heavily bearded. All he needed to look like the Viking, Eric the Red, was a battle-axe and a conical helmet sunk on his head with horns curving from it. Resourceful, precise, and laid-back, he was regarded by international contamination scientists as one of the two finest toxicologists in the world.
"Tuaregs," Yerli repeated. Once the mighty nomadic warriors of the desert, who won great battles against French and Moorish armies. And perhaps the greatest of all the romantic bandits. They raid no more. Today, they raise goats and beg in the cities bordering the Sahara to survive. Unlike Arab Muslims, the men wear the veil, a cloth that when unwrapped measures over a meter in length.
"But why would a tribe of desert nomads want to do away with Eva?" asked Hopper to no one in particular. "I fail to see a motive."
Yerli shook his head vaguely. "It would seem that one of them, at least, does not want her, and-we have to heavily weigh this possibility-the rest of the health teams investigating the outbreaks of toxic poisoning in the southwestern desert."
"At this point of the project," said Hopper, "we don't even know if contamination is the culprit. The mystery malady could be viral or bacterial."
Eva nodded. "That's what Pitt suggested. . ."
"Who?" Hopper asked for the second time.
"Dirk Pitt, the man who saved my life. He said someb
ody doesn't want me in Africa. He also thought you and the others might be on a hit list too."
Yerli threw up his hands. "Incredible, the man thinks we're dealing with the Sicilian Mafia."
"Most fortunate he was nearby," said Hopper.
Yerli exhaled a blue cloud from his meerschaum and stared at the smoke thoughtfully. "More like opportune, considering the only other body on miles of shoreline had the courage to face a trio of assassins. Almost a miracle, or . . ." he stretched out the pause, "a preconceived presence."
Eva's eyes widened in skepticism. "If you're thinking it was a setup, Ismail, you can forget it."
"Maybe he staged the act to frighten you back to the States."
"I saw him kill three men with my own eyes. Believe you me, there was nothing staged about it."
"Have you heard from him since he dropped you off at the hotel?" queried Hopper.
