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"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.
No one heard it come down, no one from shore saw it sink. It was gone with the Calliope, settling into the soft silt of the river that would someday completely cover her airframe and become her burial shroud.
