"Exactly," she said. "They want us to know what they're doing." She bit her lip. "They want us to panic, and rush off to retrieve this thing, whatever it is. Then they'll follow us, and take it."

Evans thought it over. "Do you have any idea what it could be?"

"No," she said. "Do you?"

Evans was thinking of the list George had mentioned to him, on the airplane. The list he never got around to explaining, before he died. But certainly the implication was that Morton had paid a lot of money for some sort of list. But something made Evans hesitate to mention it now.

"No," he said.

"Did George give you anything?"

"No," he said.

"Me neither." She bit her lip again. "I think we should leave."

"Leave?"

"Get out of town for a while."

"It's natural to feel that way after a robbery," he said. "But I think the proper thing to do right now is to call the police."

"George wouldn't like it."

"George is no longer with us, Sarah."

"George hated the Beverly Hills police."

"Sarah..."

"He never called them. He always used private security."

"That may be, but..."

"They won't do anything but file a report."

"Perhaps, but..."

"Did you call the police, about your place?"

"Not yet. But I will."

"Okay, well you call them. See how it goes. It's a waste of time."

His phone beeped. There was a text message. He looked at the screen. It said: n. drake come to office immed. urgent.

"Listen," he said. "I have to go see Nick for a bit."

"I'll be fine."

"I'll come back," he said, "as soon as I can."

"I'll be fine," she repeated.

He stood, and she stood, too. On a sudden impulse he gave her a hug. She was so tall they were almost shoulder to shoulder. "It's going to be okay," he said. "Don't worry. It'll be okay."

She returned the hug, but when he released her, she said, "Don't ever do that again, Peter. I'm not hysterical. I'll see you when you get back."

He left hastily, feeling foolish. At the door, she said, "By the way, Peter: Do you have a gun?"

"No," he said. "Do you?"

"Just a 9-millimeter Beretta, but it's better than nothing."

"Oh, okay." As he went out the front door, he thought, so much for manly reassurances for the modern woman.

He got in the car, and drove to Drake's office.

It was not until he had parked his car and was walking in the front door to the office that he noticed the blue Prius parked at the end of the block, with two men sitting inside it.

Watching him.

BEVERLY HILLS.

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 5.

4:45 P.M.

"No, no, no! no!" Nicholas Drake stood in the NERF media room, surrounded by a half-dozen stunned-looking graphic designers. On the walls and tables were posters, banners, flyers, coffee mugs, and stacks of press releases, and media kits. All were emblazoned with a banner that went from green to red, with the superimposed words: "Abrupt Climate Change: The Dangers Ahead."

"I hate it," Drake said. "I just fucking hate hate it." it."

"Why?"

"Because it's boring. boring. It sounds like a damn PBS special. We need some punch here, some pizzazz." It sounds like a damn PBS special. We need some punch here, some pizzazz."

"Well, sir," one of the designers said, "if you remember, you originally wanted to avoid anything that looked like overstatement."

"I did? No, I didn't. Henley wanted to avoid overstatement. Henley thought it should be made to look exactly like a normal academic conference. But if we do that, the media will tune us out. I mean, shit, do you know how many climate change conferences there are every year? All around the world?"

"No sir, how many?"

"Well, um, forty-seven. Anyway, that's not the point." Drake rapped the banner with his knuckles. "I mean look at this, 'Dangers.' It's so vague; it could refer to anything."

"I thought that's what you wanted-that it could refer to anything."

"No, I want 'Crisis' or 'Catastrophe.' 'The Crisis Ahead.' 'The Catastrophe Ahead.' That's better. 'Catastrophe' is much better."

"You used 'Catastrophe' for the last conference, the one on species extinction."

"I don't care. We use it because it works. This conference must point to a catastrophe."

"Uh, sir," one said, "with all due respect, is it really accurate that abrupt climate change will lead to catastrophe? Because the background materials we were given-"

"Yes, God damn it," Drake snapped, "it'll lead to a catastrophe. Believe me, it will! Now make the damn changes!"

The graphic artists surveyed the assembled materials on the table. "Mr. Drake, the conference starts in four days."

"You think I don't know it?" Drake said. "You think I fucking don't know it?"

"I'm not sure how much we can accomplish-"

"Catastrophe! Lose 'Danger,' add 'Catastrophe'! That's all I'm asking for. How difficult can it be?"

"Mr. Drake, we can redo the visual materials and the banners for the media kits, but the coffee mugs are a problem."

"Why are they a problem?"

"They're made for us in China, and-"

"Made in China? Land of pollution? Whose idea was that?" Land of pollution? Whose idea was that?"

"We always have the coffee mugs made in China for-"

"Well, we definitely can't use them. This is NERF, for Christ's sake. How many cups do we have?"

"Three hundred. They're given to the media in attendance, along with the press kit."

"Well get some damn eco-acceptable mugs," Drake said. "Doesn't Canada make mugs? Nobody ever complains about anything Canada does. Get some Canadian mugs and print 'Catastrophe' on them. That's all."

The artists were looking at one another. One said, "There's that supply house in Vancouver..."

"But their mugs are cream-colored..."

"I don't care if they're chartreuse," Drake said, his voice rising. "Just do it! Now what about the press releases?"

Another designer held up a sheet. "They're four-color banners printed in biodegradable inks on recycled bond paper."

Drake picked up a sheet. "This is recycled? It looks damn good."

"Actually, it's fresh paper." The designer looked nervous. "But no one will know."

"You didn't tell me that," Drake said. "It's essential that recycled materials look good."

"And they do, sir. Don't worry."

"Then let's move on." He turned to the PR people. "What's the time-line of the campaign?"

"It's a standard starburst launch to bring public awareness to abrupt climate change," the first rep said, standing up. "We have our initial press break on Sunday-morning talk shows and in the Sunday newspaper supplements. They'll be talking about the start of the conference Wednesday and interviewing major photogenic principals. Stanford, Levine, the other people who show well on TV. We've given enough lead time to get into all the major weekly newsbooks around the world, Time, Newsweek, Der Spiegel, Paris Match, Oggi, The Economist. Time, Newsweek, Der Spiegel, Paris Match, Oggi, The Economist. All together, fifty news magazines to inform lead opinion makers. We've asked for cover stories, accepting banner folds with a graphic. Anything less and they didn't get us. We expect covers on at least twenty." All together, fifty news magazines to inform lead opinion makers. We've asked for cover stories, accepting banner folds with a graphic. Anything less and they didn't get us. We expect covers on at least twenty."

"Okay," Drake said, nodding.

"We start the conference on Wednesday. Well-known, charismatic environmentalists and major politicians from industrialized nations are scheduled to appear. We have delegates from around the world, so B-roll reaction shots of the audience will be satisfactorily color-mixed. Industrialized countries now include India and Korea and Japan, of course. The Chinese delegation will participate but there will be no speakers.

"Our two hundred invited television journalists will stay at the Hilton, and we will have interview facilities there as well as in the conference halls, so our speakers can spread the message to video audiences around the world. We will also have a number of print media people to carry the word to elite opinion makers, the ones that read but do not watch TV."

"Good," Drake said. He appeared pleased.

"Each day's theme will be identified by a distinctive graphic icon, emphasizing flood, fire, rising sea levels, drought, icebergs, typhoons, and hurricanes, and so on. Each day we have a fresh contingent of politicians from around the world coming to attend and give interviews explaining the high level of their dedication and concern about this newly emerging problem."

"Good, good." Drake nodded.

"The politicians will stay for only a day-some only a few hours-and they will not have time to attend the conferences beyond a brief photo-op showing them in the audience, but they are briefed and will be effective. Then we have local schoolchildren, grades four to seven, coming each day to learn about the dangers-sorry, the catastrophe-in their futures, and we have educational kits for grade-school teachers, so they can teach their kids about the crisis of abrupt climate change."

"When do those kits go out?"

"They were going out today, but now we'll hold them for rebannering."

"Okay," Drake said. "And for high schools?"

"We have some trouble there," the PR guy said. "We showed the kits to a sample of high school science teachers and, uh..."

"And what?" Drake said.

"The feedback we got was they might not go over so well."

Drake's expression turned dark. "And why not?"

"Well, the high school curriculum is very college oriented, and there isn't a lot of room for electives..."

"This is hardly an elective elective..."

"And, uh, they felt it was all speculative and unsubstantiated. They kept saying things like, 'Where's the hard science here?' Just reporting, sir."

"God damn it," Drake said, "it is not not speculative. It is speculative. It is happening! happening!"

"Uh, perhaps we didn't get the right materials that show what you are saying..."

"Ah fuck. Never mind now," Drake said. "Just trust me, it's happening. Count on it." He turned, and said in a surprised voice, "Evans, how long have you been here?"

Peter Evans had been standing in the doorway for at least two minutes and had overheard a good deal of the conversation. "Just got here, Mr. Drake."

"All right." Drake turned to the others. "I think we've gone through this. Evans, you come with me."

Drake shut the door to his office. "I need your counsel, Peter," he said quietly. He walked around to his desk, picked up some papers, and slid them toward Evans. "What the fuck is this?"

Evans looked. "That is George's withdrawal of support."