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"Is this some sort of joke?"
"Not at all. I've decided the sooner you're out of my hair, the better."
"Surely you can't be serious," said Brunone. "The man is a dangerous menace. He'll strike back at his first opportunity."
"Yes, the Scorpion. Is that what you're called, Massarde?"
The Frenchman did not answer, but sat in sullen silence.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" asked Giordino.
"There will be no argument," Pitt said harshly. "I want this scum out of here, and I want him out now. Captain Brunone, escort Massarde to his helicopter and see that it lifts off with him on it."
Massarde rose shakily to his feet; the sunburned skin was tightening and it was with only an agonized effort that he could stand straight. Despite the pain he smiled. His mind was churning again. "I will require several hours to pack my things and personal records."
"You have exactly two minutes to get off the project."
Massarde swore, bitterly and vilely. "Not like this, not without my clothes. My God, man, show some decency."
"What do you know about decency?" Pitt said dispassionately. "Captain Brunone, get this son of a bitch out of here before I kill him myself."
Brunone didn't have to order his two men. He simply nodded and they hustled the wildly cursing Yves Massarde into the elevator. No word passed between the three men in the office as they stood at the window and watched the humiliated mogul roughly shoved aboard his luxury helicopter. The door was closed and the rotors began to thump the hot air. In less than four minutes it had disappeared over the desert to the north.
"He's heading northeast," observed Giordino.
"My guess is Libya," said Brunone. "And then on to hidden exile before recovering his loot."
"His final destination is of no consequence," Pitt said, yawning.
"You should have killed him," Brunone said, his voice sharp with disappointment.
"No need to bother. He won't live out the week."
"How can you say that?" asked an astonished Brunone. "You let him go free. Why? The man has the resilience and lives of a cat. He's not about to di
e from sunburn."
"No, but he will die." Pitt nodded at Giordino. "Did you make the switch okay?"
Giordino grinned back. "As smoothly as decanting wine."
Brunone looked confused. "What are you talking about?"
"Tying Massarde down out in the sun," explained Pitt, "I wanted to make him thirsty."
"Thirsty? I don't understand."
"Al here, emptied the bottles of mineral water and refilled them with water contaminated by chemicals leaking from the underground storage vault."
"It's called poetic justice." Giordino held up the empty bottles. "He drank almost 3 liters of the stuff."
"As his internal organs disintegrate, his brain will be eaten away and he will go mad." Pitt's tone was ice cold, his face chiseled in stone.
"There is no hope for him?" a dazed Brunone asked.
Pitt shook his head. "Yves Massarde will die strapped to a bed, screaming to escape his torment. I only wish his victims could be there to see it."
THE TEXAS
