The Storm by Clive Cussler, Graham Brown Page B

thought—”
    “We need only eliminate Jinn’s ability to direct it. Or better yet, eliminate him and direct it ourselves. Without Jinn to countermand the existing orders, the horde would do what he has already promised. The rains will come to us permanently.”
    Mustafa’s mustache turned slowly upward as a sinister smile came over his face. He seemed to grasp what Xhou was getting at. “What are your terms,” he said. “And be advised I cannot promise success. Only the attempt.”
    Xhou nodded. There was no way anyone could guarantee what was being asked.
    “Twenty million dollars upon confirmation of Jinn’s death, eighty million more if you can deliver the command codes.”
    Mustafa almost began drooling, but then a chill seemed to take him, strong enough to cool the fires of his greed.
    “Jinn is not a man to be trifled with,” he said. “The desert is littered with the bones of those who’ve crossed him.”
    Xhou sat back. He had Mustafa and he knew it. A little prod to his pride would seal it. “There is no reward without risk, Mustafa. If you are willing to be more than Jinn’s puppet, you must understand this.”
    Mustafa took a breath, steeled himself against the fate. “We will act,” he said firmly, “upon receipt of ten million in advance.”
    Xhou nodded and waved one of his men over. A suitcase was dropped to the floor. Mustafa reached for it. As he touched the handle, Xhou spoke again.
    “Remember, Mustafa, there are places in my country littered with bones as well. Betray me, and no one will care if a few Pakistani carcasses are added to the pile.”

CHAPTER 8
     
    AFTER A BRIEF SESSION WITH THE MALDIVE POLICE, KURT took Leilani to the island’s main hospital, a modern building dedicated to Indira Gandhi. As they waited for X-rays to come back, he sent a text to Joe, letting his partners know where he was and how the chase had ended. Then he turned his attention back to Leilani.
    “I don’t mean to be blunt, but what in the world are you doing here?”
    Her arm was in a sling. A scrape above her eye had been stitched and dabbed with iodine. “I came to find out what happened to my brother.”
    Understandable, Kurt thought, except he knew for certain that Dirk Pitt hadn’t contacted any family members yet. “How did you know something was wrong?”
    “My brother studied currents,” she said, looking at him sadly. “I studied the things that swim around in them. We spoke or e-mailed every single day. In his last few e-mails he mentioned that he and the others were beginning to find some very strange temperature and oxygen readings. He wanted to know what effects these changes could have on local sea life. He said they were finding drastically reduced krill and plankton counts and far less fish. He said it was like the sea had begun turning cold and barren.”
    Kurt knew this to be true from Halverson’s last report.
    “When he stopped e-mailing, I got worried,” she added. “When he didn’t answer the satellite calls, I contacted NUMA. And when no one there would tell me what was going on, I flew here and sought out the harbormaster. He told me about the salvage. Told me people from NUMA were coming to check it out. I thought maybe you were here as a search party, but then I saw the boat and …”
    She grew quiet, looking down at the floor. Kurt expected tears, and a few of them seemed to be coming, but she kept herself under control.
    “What happened to my brother?” she asked finally.
    Kurt remained silent.
    “Our parents are gone, Mr. Austin. He’s all I have … all I had.”
    Kurt understood. “I don’t know,” he said. “That’s what we’re trying to find out. Any idea who those men were?”
    “No,” she said. “You?”
    “No,” Kurt admitted, though any doubts he had about the catamaran’s troubles being accidental were fast disappearing. “When did Kimo last contact you?”
    She looked back at the floor. “Three days ago, in the