"Two, usually."

"We'll need at least four. How soon can you get them?"

"I don't know. Where do you want to go?" she said.

"Chile."

"Chile! And leave when?"

"As soon as possible. Not later than midnight."

"It'll take me some time to arrange-"

"Then get started now," Kenner said. "Time is short, Sarah. Very short."

Evans watched Sarah go out of the room. He turned back to Kenner. "Okay," he said. "I give up. What's in Chile?"

"A suitable airfield, I presume. With adequate jet fuel." Kenner snapped his fingers. "Good point, Peter. Sarah," he called into the next room, "what kind of a plane is it?"

"G-five!" she called back.

Kenner turned to Sanjong Thapa, who had taken out a small handheld computer and was tapping away at it. "Are you connected to Akamai?"

"Yes."

"Was I right?"

"I've only checked the first location so far," Sanjong said. "But yes. We need to go to Chile."

"Then Terror is Terror?" Kenner said.

"I think so, yes."

Evans looked from one man to the other. "Terror is Terror?" he said, puzzled.

"That's right," Kenner said.

Sanjong said, "You know, Peter's got a point."

Evans said, "Are you guys ever going to tell me what's going on?"

"Yes," Kenner said. "But first, you have your passport?"

"I always carry it."

"Good man." Kenner turned back to Sanjong. "What point?"

"It's UTM, Professor. It's a six-degree grid."

"Of course!" Kenner said, snapping his fingers again. "What's the matter with me?"

"I give up," Evans said. "What's the matter with you?"

But Kenner didn't answer; he now seemed almost hyperactive, his fingers twitching nervously as he picked up the remote control from the table beside Peter and peered at it closely, turning it in the light. Finally, he spoke.

"A six-degree grid," Kenner said, "means that these locations are only accurate to a thousand meters. Roughly half a mile. That's simply not good enough."

"Why? How accurate should it be?"

"Three meters," Sanjong said. "About ten feet."

"Assuming they are using PPS," Kenner said, still squinting at the remote control. "In which case...Ah. I thought so. It's the oldest trick in the book."

He pulled the entire back of the remote off, exposing the circuit board. He lifted that away to reveal a second folded sheet of paper. It was thin, hardly more than tissue paper. It contained rows of numbers and symbols.

-2147483640,8,0*x%agKa__^O#_Qa__caaaaaau?_ _____-2147483640,8,0%h a#Ka_O__@Ba__caaaaaau?_____-2147483640,8,0'^$PNa_N__exFa__caaaaaau_____a-2147483640,8,0oW1/4_Oa q_lMa__caaaaaau?_____ -2147483640,8,0% -2147483640,8,0%0ae/n_La_8_oPa__caaaaaau?______ -2147483640,8,0*x%agKa__^O#_Qa__caaaaaau?_ _____-2147483640,8,0%h a#Ka_O__@Ba__caaaaaau?_____-2147483640,8,0oW1/4_Oa q_lMa__caaaaaau?_____-2147483640,8,0e{l_'Oa"d,La__caaaaaau___-2147483640,8,0%0ae/n_La_8_oPa__caaaaaau?______ -2147483640,8,0*x%agKa__^O#_Qa__caaaaaau?_ _____-2147483640,8,0%h a#Ka_O__@Ba__caaaaaau?_____ -2147483640,8,0oW1/4_Oa q_lMa__ca -2147483640,8,0oW1/4_Oa q_lMa__caaaaaau?_____ -2147483640,8,0e{l_'Oa"d,La__ca -2147483640,8,0e{l_'Oa"d,La__caaaaaau___-2147483640,8,0%0ae/n_La_8_oPa__caaaaaau?______

"All right," Kenner said. "This is more like it."

"And these are?" Evans said.

"True coordinates. Presumably for the same locations."

"Terror is Terror?" Evans said. He was starting to feel foolish.

Kenner said, "Yes. We're talking about Mount Terror, Peter. An inactive volcano. You have heard of it?"

"No."

"Well, we're going there."

"Where is it?"

"I thought you'd have guessed that by now," Kenner said. "It's in Antarctica, Peter."

II.

TERROR.

TO PUNTA ARENAS.

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 5.

9:44 P.M.

Van Nuys Airport sank beneath them. The jet turned south, crossing the flat, glowing expanse of the Los Angeles Basin. The flight attendant brought Evans coffee. On the little screen, it said 6,204 miles to destination. Flying time was nearly twelve hours.

The flight attendant asked them if they wanted dinner, and went off to prepare it.

"All right," Evans said. "Three hours ago, I'm coming to help Sarah deal with a robbery. Now I'm flying to Antarctica. Isn't it time somebody told me what this is about?"

Kenner nodded. "Have you heard of the Environmental Liberation Front? ELF?"

"No," Evans said, shaking his head.

"Not me," Sarah said.

"It's an underground extremist group. Supposedly made up of ex-Greenpeace and Earth First! types who thought those organizations had gone soft. ELF engages in violence on behalf of environmental causes. They've burned hotels in Colorado, houses on Long Island, spiked trees in Michigan, torched cars in California."

Evans nodded. "I read about them.... The FBI and other law enforcement agencies can't infiltrate them because the organization consists of separate cells that never communicate with one another."

"Yes," Kenner said. "Supposedly. But cell phone conversations have been recorded. We've known for some time that the group was going global, planning a series of major events around the world, starting a few days from now."

"What kind of events?"

Kenner shook his head. "That, we don't know. But we have reason to think they'll be big-and destructive."

Sarah said, "What does this have to do with George Morton?"

"Funding," Kenner said. "If ELF is preparing actions around the world, they need a lot of money. The question is, where are they getting it?"

"Are you saying George has funded an extremist group?"

"Not intentionally. ELF is a criminal organization, but even so, radical groups like PETA fund them. Frankly, it's a disgrace. But the question became whether better-known environmental groups were funding them, too."

"Better-known groups? Like who?"

"Any of them," Kenner said.

"Wait a minute," Sarah said. "Are you suggesting that the Audubon Society and the Sierra Club fund terrorist groups?"

"No," Kenner said. "But I'm telling you that nobody knows exactly what any of these groups do with their money. Because government oversight of foundations and charities is extraordinarily lax. They don't get audited. The books don't get inspected. Environmental groups in the US generate half a billion dollars a year. What they do with it is unsupervised."

Evans frowned. "And George knew this?"

"When I met him," Kenner said, "he was already worrying about NERF. What it was doing with its money. It dispenses forty-four million dollars a year."

Evans said, "You're not going to tell me that NERF-"

"Not directly," Kenner said. "But NERF spends nearly sixty percent of its money on fund-raising. It can't admit that, of course. It'd look bad. It gets around the numbers by contracting nearly all of its work to outside direct-mail advertisers and telephone solicitation groups. These groups have misleading names, like the International Wildlife Preservation Fund-that's an Omaha-based direct-mail organization, that in turn outsources the work to Costa Rica."

"You're kidding," Evans said.

"No. I am not. And last year the IWPF spent six hundred fifty thousand dollars to gather information on environmental issues, including three hundred thousand dollars to something called the Rainforest Action and Support Coalition, RASC. Which turns out to be a drop box in Elmira, New York. And an equal sum to Seismic Services in Calgary, another drop box."

"You mean..."

"A drop box. A dead end. That was the true basis of the disagreement between Morton and Drake. Morton felt that Drake wasn't minding the store. That's why he wanted an external audit of the organization, and when Drake refused, Morton got really worried. Morton is on the NERF board; he has liability. So he hired a team of private investigators to investigate NERF."

"He did?" Evans said.

Kenner nodded. "Two weeks ago."

Evans turned to Sarah. "Did you know this?"

She looked away, then back. "He told me I couldn't tell anyone."

"George did?"

"I did," Kenner said.

"So you were behind this?"

"No, I merely consulted with George. It was his ball game. But the point is, once you outsource the money, you no longer control how it is spent. Or, you have deniability about how it is spent."

"Jesus," Evans said. "All this time, I just thought George was worried about the Vanutu lawsuit."

"No," Kenner said. "The lawsuit is probably hopeless. It is very unlikely it will ever go to trial."

"But Balder said when he gets good sea-level data-"

"Balder already has the good data. He has had it for months."

"What?"

"The data show no rise in South Pacific sea levels for the last thirty years."

"What?"

Kenner turned to Sarah. "Is he always like this?"