Hopper wasted no time. He was out the cabin door and on the ground before the whine of the jet engines died away. An officer, wearing the brief indigo headdress of Kazim’s personal guard, walked up to him and saluted. He greeted the UN field researcher in English with a marked French accent.

“Dr. Hopper, I presume.”

“And you must be Mr. Stanley,” Hopper replied with his usual cutting humor.

There was no answering smile. The Malian officer gave Hopper an unfriendly look that was obviously coated with harbored suspicions. “I am Captain Mohammed Batutta. You will please accompany me to the airport terminal.”

Hopper stared at the terminal. It was little more than a metal shed with windows. “Oh very well, if that’s the best you can do,” he said dryly, refusing to kowtow.

They walked straight to the terminal and into a small, ovenhot office that was bare except for a shabby, wooden table and two chairs. Behind the table an officer, who was senior to Batutta and looked like he was going through a very unhappy phase, sat and studied Hopper for a moment with undisguised contempt.

“I am Colonel Nouhoum Mansa. May I see your passport please?”

Hopper had come prepared and handed over the six passports he’d collected from his team. Mansa flipped through the pages without interest, noting only the nationalities. Finally he asked, “Why did you come to Mali?”

Hopper had traveled the world and had little use for ridiculous formality. “I believe you know the purpose of our visit.”

“You will answer the question.”

“We’re members of the United Nations World Health Organization on a mission to study reports of toxic illness among your people.”

“Where is no such illness among my people,” the Colonel said firmly.

“Then you won’t mind if we analyze water supplies and take air samples in a random selection of the towns and cities along the Niger.”

“We do not take kindly to foreigners seeking out deficiencies in our country.”

Hopper was not about to back down in the face of stupid authority. “We’re here to save lives. I thought General Kazim understood that.”

Mansa tensed. The fact that Hopper threw out Kazim’s name instead of President Tahir caught him off guard. “General Kazim … he’s given orders authorizing your visit?”

“Why don’t you ring him up and find out?” It was a bluff, but Hopper had nothing to lose.

Colonel Mansa rose and walked to the door. “Wait here,” he ordered brusquely.

“Please tell the General,” said Hopper, “that his neighboring countries have invited United Nations scientists to help them locate the source of contamination, and if he refuses my team’s entry into Mali, he will be scorned and lose face among the nations of the world.”

Mansa made no reply and left the stifling room.

While he waited, Hopper gave Captain Batutta his best intimidating stare. Batutta locked eyes for a few moments, but then turned away and began pacing the room.

After about five minutes, Mansa returned and sat down at the desk. Without a word, he precisely stamped each passport and then passed them to Hopper. “You have been allowed to enter Mali to conduct your research. But please remember, Doctor, you and your people are guests here. No more. If you make unkind statements or take part in any action detrimental to security, you will be deported.”