What a stupid mess, Pitt thought. Only a day and a half into the project and they had killed at least thirty men, shot down a helicopter, and sunk two gunboats. All in the name of saving humanity, he mused sarcastically. There was no turning back now. They had to find the contaminant before the security forces of either Niger or Mali stopped them for good. Either way, their lives weren’t worth the paper on a devalued dollar.

He glanced at the small radar dish behind the cockpit. There was a saving grace after all. The dish was undamaged and still turning. It would have been hell running the river at night or through fog without it. The loss of the satellite navigation unit meant they would have to position the contamination entry into the river by spotting nearby landmarks. But they were unhurt and the boat was still seaworthy and pounding over the river at close to 70 knots. Pitt’s only worry now was striking a floating object or a submerged log. At this speed any collision would gouge out the bottom of the hull and send the boat cartwheeling and splintering into a shattered wreck.

Fortunately, the river flowed free of debris, and Pitt’s calculations were only slightly off. They crossed into the Republic of Niger within eighteen minutes under skies and waters empty of security forces. Four hours later they were moored to the refueling dock at the capital city of Niamey. After taking on fuel and enduring the traditional hassle from West African immigration officials, they were allowed to proceed on their way again.

As the buildings of Niamey and the bridge over the river named for John F. Kennedy receded in the Calliope’s wake, Giordino spoke in a brisk, cheerful voice.

“So far, so good. Things can’t get worse than they already are.”

“Not good,” Pitt said at the wheel. “And things can get a whole lot worse.”

Giordino looked at him. “Why the gloom? The people in these parts don’t seem to have a beef with us.”

“It went too easy,” said Pitt slowly. “Things don’t work that way in this part of the world. Certainly not in Africa, not after our little altercation with the Benin gunboats. Did you notice while we were showing our passports and ship’s papers to the immigration officials there wasn’t a policeman or armed military guard in sight?”

“Coincidence?” Giordino shrugged. “Or maybe just lax procedure?”

“Neither,” Pitt shook his head solemnly. “I’ve a hunch somebody is playing games with us.”

“You think the Niger authorities knew about our run-in with the Benin navy?”

“Word travels fast here, and I’m willing to bet it’s traveled ahead of us. The Benin military most certainly alerted the Niger government.”

Giordino was not sold. “Then why didn’t the local bureaucrats arrest us?”

“I haven’t a clue,” said Pitt pensively.

“Sandecker?” offered Giordino. “Maybe he intervened.”

Pitt shook his head. “The Admiral may be a big gun in Washington, but he has no sway here.”