82293.

TERROR.

Mt. Terror, Antarctica 382320.

4898432.

12FXE.

82232.

54393.

SEVER.

Sever City, Arizona 244548.

9080799.

02FXE.

67533.

43433.

CONCH.

Conch Cay, Bahamas 482320.

5898432.

22FXE.

72232.

04393.

SCORPION.

Resolution, Solomon Is.

ALT.

662262.

3982293.

24FXE.

62262.

82293.

TERROR.

Mt. Terror, Antarctica 382320.

4898432.

12FXE.

82232.

54393.

BUZZARD.

Buzzard Gulch, Utah 444548.

7080799.

02FXE.

67533.

43433.

OLD MAN.

Old Man Is., Turks & Caicos 482320.

5898432.

22FXE.

72232.

04393.

SCORPION.

Resolution, Solomon Is.

ALT.

662262.

3982293.

24FXE.

62262.

82293.

TERROR.

Mt. Terror, Antarctica 382320.

4898432.

12FXE.

82232.

54393.

BLACK MESA.

Black Mesa, New Mexico 344548.

9080799.

02FXE.

67533.

43433.

SNARL.

Snarl Cay, BWI 482320.

5898432.

22FXE.

72232.

04393.

SCORPION.

Resolution, Solomon Is.

"As you see, Sanjong has identified the precise GPS locations," Kenner said. "You've undoubtedly noticed a pattern in the list. The first incident we know about. The second incident will take place somewhere in the American desert-either Utah, Arizona, or New Mexico. The third incident will be somewhere in the Caribbean, east of Cuba. And the fourth incident will be in the Solomon Islands."

"Yes? So?"

"Our concern right now is for the second incident," Kenner said. "And the problem is that from Utah to Arizona to New Mexico there are fifty thousand square miles of desert. Unless we can get additional information, we'll never find these guys."

"But you have exact GPS locations..."

"Which they will undoubtedly change, now that they know of the trouble in Antarctica."

"You think they have already changed plans?"

"Of course. Their network knew something was wrong as soon as we arrived at Weddell yesterday. I think that's why the first guy left. I think he's actually the leader of the three. The other two were just foot soldiers."

"So you want me to go see Drake," Evans said.

"Right. And find out whatever you can."

"I hate this," Evans said.

"I understand," Kenner said. "But we need you to do it."

Evans looked at Sarah, who was rubbing her eyes, still sleepy. He was annoyed to see that she had arisen from her bed perfectly composed, her face uncreased, beautiful as ever. "How are you?" he said to her.

"I need to brush my teeth," she said. "How long until we land?"

"Ten minutes."

She got up, and walked to the back of the plane.

Evans looked out the window. The sunlight was glaring, harsh. He hadn't had enough sleep. The line of stitches in his scalp pinched. His body ached from being wedged in the damned crevasse for so long. Just to rest his elbow on the armrest of the seat was painful.

He sighed.

"Peter," Kenner said, "those guys tried to kill you. I wouldn't be too careful about the niceties when you fight back."

"Maybe so, but I'm a lawyer."

"And you could be a dead lawyer," Kenner said. "I don't advise it."

It was with a sense of unreality that Peter Evans merged his hybrid car onto the San Diego freeway, twelve lanes of roaring traffic on an expanse of concrete as wide as half a football field. Sixty-five percent of the surface area of Los Angeles was devoted to cars. People had to wedge themselves in what little was left. It was an inhuman design and it was environmentally absurd. Everything was so far apart, you couldn't walk anywhere, the pollution was incredible.

And people like Kenner did nothing but criticize the good work of environmental organizations, without whose efforts the environment of a place like Los Angeles would be much, much worse.

Face it, he thought. The world needed help. It desperately needed an environmental perspective. And nothing in Kenner's smooth manipulation of facts would change that truth.