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"Bourem is a poor town. Most of the townspeople walk or ride motorbikes. Few families can afford to own autos that are not in constant need of repair. The only vehicle of sound mechanical condition currently in Bourem is General Zateb Kazim's private auto."
Digna might as well have prodded a pair of harnessed bulls with a pitchfork. Pitt and Giordino's minds worked on the same wavelength. They both stiffened but immediately relaxed. Their eyes locked and their lips twisted into subtle grins.
"What is his car doing here?" Giordino asked innocently. "We saw him only yesterday at Gao."
"The General flies most everywhere by helicopter or military jet," answered Digna. "But he likes his own personal chauffeur and auto to transport him through the towns and cities. His chauffeur was transporting the auto on the new highway from Bamako to Gao when it broke down a few kilometers outside of Bourem. It was towed here for repairs."
"And was it repaired?" Pitt inquired, taking a sip of beer to appear indifferent.
"The town mechanic finished late this evening. A rock had punctured the radiator."
"Has the chauffeur left for Gao?" Giordino wondered idly.
Digna shook his head. "The road from here to Gao is still under construction. Driving on it at night can be hazardous. He didn't want to risk damaging General Kazim's car again. He plans to leave with the morning light."
Pitt looked at him. "How do you know all this?"
Digna beamed. "My father owns the auto repair garage, and I oversee its operation. The chauffeur and I had dinner together."
"Where is the chauffeur now?"
"A guest at my father's house."
Pitt changed the drift of the conversation to local industry. "Any chemical companies around here?" he asked.
Digna laughed. "Bourem is too poor to manufacture anything but handicrafts and woven goods."
"How about a hazardous waste site?"
"Fort Foureau, but that's hundreds of kilometers to the north."
There was a short lull in the conversation, then Digna asked suddenly, "How much money do you carry?"
"I don't know," Pitt answered honestly. "I never counted it.
Pitt saw Giordino look strangely at him and then flick his eyes at four men seated at a table in the corner. He glanced at them and caught them abruptly turning away. This had to be a setup, he concluded. He stared at the proprietor who was leaning over the bar reading a newspaper and rejected him as one of the muggers. A quick look at the other customers was enough to satisfy him that they were only interested in conversing between themselves. The odds were five against two. Not half bad at all, Pitt thought.
Pitt finished his beer and came to his feet. "Time to go."
"Give my regards to the Chief," said Giordino, pumping Digna's hand.
The young Malian's smile never left his face, but his eyes became hard. "You cannot leave."
"Don't worry about us," Giordino waved. "We'll sleep by the road."
"Give me your money," Digna said softly.
"The son of a chief begging for money," Pitt said dryly. "You must be a great source of embarrassment for your old man."
"Do not offend me," Digna said coldly. "Give me all your money or your blood will soak the floor."
Giordino acted as if he was ignoring the confrontation and edged toward one corner of the bar. The four men had risen from the table and seemed to be waiting for a signal from Digna. The signal never came. The Malians seemed infused by the utter lack of fear shown by their potential victims.
Pitt leaned across the table until his fate was level with Digna's. "Do you know what my friend and I do to sewer slime like y
ou?"
"You cannot insult Mohammed Digna and live," he snarled contemptuously.
