She tipped a glass of water with a straw to his mouth and he took several grateful sips. “How’s your chest?”

He thought about his answer for a moment. “Numb.”

“You were shot,” Juan told him.

“I don’t remember.”

“Susan Donleavy shot you during the rescue.”

“She wasn’t beat up,” Merrick said as a fragment of the memory came back. “I thought they had tortured her, but it was all faked with makeup.”

“Daniel Singer showed up one day when you were being held prisoner. Do you remember that?”

“I think so.”

“He did and you two spoke.”

“Where’s Susan now?” the scientist asked.

“She killed herself, Doctor.” Merrick stared at him. “She did that to prevent us from learning what Singer intends to do.”

“Oil rigs.” Merrick’s voice was fading to a whisper as his body fought the drugs in an attempt to return to unconsciousness.

“That’s right. He planned on attacking oil rigs off the coast of Angola and causing a huge slick. What else was he planning? Did he tell you?”

“You have to stop him. The oil is especially toxic.” His last words were slurred.

“We have,” Juan said. “His assault failed. The slick will be contained.”

“Ship,” he said dreamily.

“There was a ship at the terminal but it wasn’t attacked.”

“No. Singer has a ship.”

“What is he using it for?”

“It was Susan’s discovery. She took it to him. I thought it was only a test, but she had already perfected it.” His eyes closed.

“Perfected what, Geoff? What did Susan perfect? Dr. Merrick?”

“An organic gel that turns water into pudding.”

“Why?” Juan asked desperately, fearing Merrick was slipping away. “What is it used for?”

Merrick said nothing for nearly twenty seconds. “Heat,” he finally whispered. “It gives off a lot of heat.”

And there was the connection Cabrillo had been looking for. Hurricanes need heat and Singer was going to give one a boost. If he released the contents of a vessel laden with Susan Donleavy’s gel into the ocean, probably at the epicenter of a forming storm, the heat would give the weather system a kick start exactly when and where he wanted. That was how he knew when to attack the Petromax terminal. The prevailing winds would carry the oil vapors northward into the hurricane he had helped generate.

Juan knew the seas off Africa’s west coast were the logical place Singer would dump the gel, but the area was vast and there wasn’t enough time to conduct a search. He had to narrow the parameters. “What kind of ship is Singer using?” A tanker was the most likely candidate, but Juan wouldn’t lead the semiconscious man with his suspicions.

Merrick remained mute, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted. Julia was watching his monitor, and Juan knew the look on her face. She didn’t like what she was seeing.