The Storm by Clive Cussler, Graham Brown Page A

even cries of anguish followed.
    Jinn turned to the other men. Fury lined his face.
    “They have forced me to do this,” he shouted. “Let it be a lesson for all of you. Do not fall short in your tasks. The next to fail me will die slowly and more painfully, I assure you.”
    The men shrank back from him, reminded of his wrath and power.
    He stared at them and then began to walk off. Sabah fell in beside him, keeping up with his stride.
    “I’m not sure that was—”
    “Don’t question me, Sabah!”
    “I only advise you,” Sabah insisted calmly. “And my advice would be, mercy to your own and wrath to your enemies.”
    Jinn fumed as he walked. “Those who fail me are my enemies. As are those who betray me and break their promises like Aziz. The funds he’s withheld have us teetering on the brink. They have us pleading with the Chinese and the Saudis for more. I want that changed. I want Aziz groveling before us and begging for our help.”
    “And just how do you propose to do that?”
    “The dam at Aswan gives him power,” Jinn said. “Without it, Egypt could not feed itself, and Aziz would need us more than all the rest. Find me a way to bring it down.”
    Sabah paused. If Jinn was right, he was calculating the possibilities. His eyebrows rose. “There may be a way.”
    “See to it,” Jinn said. “I want that dam in ruins.”
    As Jinn spoke, the sound of thunder rumbled across the desert toward them. Lightning flashed across the sky in the distance. To Jinn, it seemed like a sign from above.
    Sabah noticed it too, but his eyes showed only concern.
    “Many will die,” he said. “Perhaps hundreds of thousands. Most of Egypt’s population lives near the banks of the Nile.”
    “Payment for Aziz’s betrayal,” Jinn said. “Their blood is on his hands.”
    Sabah nodded. “As you wish.”

CHAPTER 11
     
    “IS THERE ANY FOOD SERVICE ON THIS FLIGHT?” JOE ZAVALA asked.
    Kurt chuckled as Joe complained. The two of them sat with Leilani in the passenger compartment of a Bell JetRanger. Five thousand feet below, the shimmering surface of the Indian Ocean passed. They could make out the pattern of waves, but there was no sense of movement. It was like staring at a glittering picture.
    “Seriously,” Joe added, “I’m starving.”
    The pilot, a Brit named Nigel, glanced back at Joe. “What do you think this is, mate, bloody British Airways?”
    Joe turned his attention to Kurt. “I’d like to lodge a complaint with the leader of this expedition.”
    “You shouldn’t have missed breakfast,” Kurt replied.
    “No one woke me up.”
    “Believe me, we tried,” Kurt said. “Maybe you should have let me set your alarm to steam whistle mode. Or brought along a real one.”
    Joe sat back. “This is terrible. I’ve gone from sleep-deprived to forced starvation. What’s next? Chinese water torture?”
    Kurt knew Joe’s complaining was more a way to pass the time, though from years spent traveling with him he also knew Joe could eat like a champ and never gain a pound. With such a metabolism it was entirely possible that he might whither and fade away after a single day without food.
    He turned his attention forward. “Well, feast your eyes on this,” he said. “Aqua-Terra two o’clock low.”
    From five miles out the island was easy to see, like a giant oversize oil platform. As they flew closer, it became obvious that there was some real genius to Marchetti’s design.
    Five hundred feet wide and nearly two thousand feet long, Aqua-Terra was truly a sight to behold. To begin with, the island itself wasn’t round—like so many floating cities envisioned by futuristic architects—it was teardrop-shaped, narrowing to a point in one direction while sporting a wide, curving border on the back end.
    “Amazing,” Leilani whispered.
    “Bloody huge,” the pilot said.
    “I just hope they have a food court down there,” Joe replied.
    Kurt laughed and glanced toward Leilani. “Are you