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Giordino's verbal abuse was abruptly cut off as Kazim pistol-whipped him across the face, opening a bloody gash on his chin. Giordino staggered two steps backward, then stopped and lurched forward like a maddened bull. Kazim lifted the automatic and aimed it between Giordino's eyes.
Here it comes, Pitt thought coldly, thrown off track by Giordino's bursting temper. Pitt rapidly stepped in front of Kazim and grabbed Giordino's arms, pinning them behind his partner's back. "Steady, for God's sake!"
Unnoticed, Massarde pressed a button on a small console by the couch. Before anyone spoke or made another move, a small army of crewmen surged into the room, their combined mass and weight driving Pitt and Giordino to the floor. Pitt barely had a fleeting glimpse of the avalanche before he tensed for the crush. He went down without fighting back, knowing it was useless, determined to save his strength. Not Giordino, he thrashed like a crazy man, filling the room with curses.
"Take that one back to the bilge," shouted Massarde, coming to his feet and pointing at Giordino.
Pitt felt the pressure fall away as the guards concentrated on wrestling Giordino into submission. One of the guards swung a short snapper cosh, a weight on the end of a flexible cable, and cracked Giordino on the neck just below and behind the ear. A grunt of pain and all fight went out of Giordino. He went limp as the guards grabbed him under the arms and dragged him from the room.
Kazim pointed the automatic at Pitt, who was still lying on the floor. "Now then, since you prefer cordial conversation to agony, why don't you begin by giving me your correct name."
Pitt twisted to his side and sat up. "Pitt, Dirk Pitt."
"Should I believe you?"
"It's as good a name as any."
Kazim turned to Massarde. "Did you have them searched?"
Massarde nodded. "They carried no credentials or papers of any kind."
Kazim stared at Pitt, his face a mask of repugnance. "Perhaps you can enlighten me on why you've entered Mali without a passport?"
"No problem, General," Pitt let the words rush out. "My partner and I are archaeologists. We were given a contract by a French foundation to search the Niger River for ancient shipwrecks. Our passports were lost when our boat was fired on by one of your patrol vessels and destroyed."
"Honest archaeologists would be begging like simpering children after being chained in a steam compartment for two hours. You men are too hardened, unafraid, and arrogant to be anything but trained enemy agents--"
"What foundation?" Massarde broke in.
"The Society of French Historical Exploration," Pitt answered.
"I've never heard of it."
Pitt made a helpless gesture with his hands. "What can I say?"
Since when do archaeologists explore for artifacts in a super yacht equipped with rocket launchers and automatic weapons?" asked Kazim sarcastically.
"It never hurts to be prepared for pirates or terrorists," Pitt smiled stupidly.
At that moment there was a knock on the door. One of Massarde's crewmen entered and handed him a message. "A reply, sir?"
Massarde scanned the contents and nodded. "Express my compliments and say he is to continue his investigation."
After the crewman left, Kazim asked, "Good news?"
"Most enlightening," Massarde purred. "From my agent with the United Nations. It seems these men are from the National Underwater and Marine Agency in Washington. Their mission was to hunt down a source of chemical contamination that originates in the Niger and causes a rapid growth in red tides after it enters the sea."
"A facade," sneered Kazim, "nothing more. They were sniffing around for something far more significant than pollution. My guess is oil."
"The very thoughts of my agent in New York. He suggested it might be a cover, and yet his source of information didn't think so."
Kazim looked at Massarde suspiciously. "Not a leak from Fort Foureau, I hope?"
"No, not at all," Massarde answered without hesitation. "My project is too distant to impact the Niger. No, it can only be another one of your many clandestine ventures you haven't seen fit to reveal."
Kazim's face went rigid and lifeless. "If anyone is responsible for spilling contamination in Mali, old friend, it must be you."
"Not possible," Massarde said flatly. He stared at Pitt. "You find this conversation interesting, Mr. Pitt?"
