The Medusa stone Read Online Free

His face was dominated by a large chiseled nose that on someone else would have been distinctive but on him simply looked big. His chin was soft and his cheeks were rounded, giving him an open, comforting quality. But as Mercer shook his hand, he noticed that Hyde's eyes were hard behind gold-rimmed glasses.
    "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Undersecretary."
    "I thought we dispensed with that yesterday. Please, it's Bill. My middle name is William, thank God. I can't imagine going through life being called Prescott." Hyde flashed another smile. His teeth were perfect. Capped.
    Until they ordered, the conversation was dominated by Hyde, who turned out to be a gracious host, talking about the latest scandals within the halls of power with an insider's knowledge and a gossip's love of speculation. Mercer ordered another gimlet while they waited for their food. Hyde drank sparkling water.
    "I wanted to make this a leisurely get-together," Hyde said as their drinks were brought. "A sort of familiarization session because I have a feeling we will be working with each other for a while. However, I have a pressing appointment a little later on, so I am afraid our time is short."
    Hyde seemed to talk as if his words were thought out in advance, written down and practiced.
    "I understand. I'm afraid my afternoon is rather full too." Paul Gordon, the former jockey who owned Tiny's, ran a horseracing book in Arlington. With the Kentucky Derby only two weeks away, he and Mercer had some serious strategizing to do.
    "All the better, then." Hyde leaned back in his chair. "Tell me what you know about Africa."
    Mercer chuckled. "To begin with, I was born there, in the Congo. My father was a mine manager and my mother was a Belgian national. I've been back probably twenty-five times, and while I don't speak any native languages other than a bit of Swahili, my French is good enough to getconomic outlook, we're going to be here for a while."
    "I wasn't aware that you were born there, but Sam Becker told me that you're somewhat of an expert."
    "Not really. I'm a miner, and Africa happens to be where most of the action is." Mercer didn't tell Hyde that he loved the continent. Despite all the cruelty, pain, and suffering he'd witnessed there and had experienced himself, he truly loved the land and its people. His parents had been killed by Africans in one of the many rampages, but he never once blamed the people for what happened. He smiled remembering the Tutsi woman who had hidden him in her village for nearly six months after her parents' murder. When he recalled how she'd died during the ethnic cleansings in Rwanda in the mid-nineties, his smile faded.
    "What do you know about Eritrea?" Hyde asked.
    The question surprised him. Eritrea was a backwater even by African standards, and Mercer couldn't guess Hyde's interest.
    "Located just north of the Horn of Africa on the Red Sea coast, bordered by Sudan, Ethiopia, and Djibouti. They've been independent from Ethiopia since 1993. Their struggle was a Cold War battleground between the U.S. and the Soviets in terms of arms and aid. Currently, Eritrea has nothing in terms of raw materials, industries, or hope. I've heard the people live on little more than the pride of being independent for the first time in modern history."
    "Very true, very true." Hyde nodded at Mercer's assessment. "There's a chance you can change all of that if you're interested."
    A waiter took their lunch orders before Hyde continued. "While most Eritreans are agrarian, cattle mostly, there is one major urban center, Asmara, the capital. It was the only city left standing after the war. The country's in shambles. Per capita income hovers around one hundred and forty dollars a year. Still, the land can support the three million people living there, so starvation has yet to become a problem. But there are a quarter of a million Eritreans living in the Sudan, refugees deliberately not allowed to return because the influx of that many