"Why?"

"I expect Einarsson would be more comfortable if there weren't a lot of people standing around."

"But isn't the point that I'm the one who funds his research?"

"Of course," Drake said, "but I don't want to hammer that fact too hard. I don't want Per to feel compromised."

"I don't see how you can avoid it."

"I'll just point out the stakes," Drake said. "Help him to see the big picture."

"Frankly, I was looking forward to hearing this discussion," Morton said.

"I know," Drake said. "But it's delicate."

As they came closer to the glacier, Morton felt a distinct chill in the wind. The temperature dropped several degrees. They could see now the series of four large, tan tents arranged near the red Land Cruiser. From a distance, the tents had blended into the plain.

From one of the tents a very tall, blond man appeared. Per Einarsson threw up his hands and shouted, "Nicholas!"

"Per!" Drake raced forward.

Morton continued down the hill, feeling distinctly grouchy about being dismissed by Drake. Evans came up to walk alongside him. "I don't want to take any damn tour," Morton said.

"Oh, I don't know," Evans said, looking ahead. "It might be more interesting than we think." Coming out of one of the other tents were three young women in khakis, all blond and beautiful. They waved to the newcomers.

"Maybe you're right," Morton said.

Peter Evans knew that his client George Morton, despite his intense interest in all things environmental, had an even more intense interest in pretty women. And indeed, after a quick introduction to Einarsson, Morton happily allowed himself to be led away by Eva Jonsdottir, who was tall and athletic, with short-cropped white blond hair and a radiant smile. She was Morton's type, Evans thought. She looked rather like Morton's beautiful assistant, Sarah Jones. He heard Morton say, "I had no idea so many women were interested in geology," and Morton and Eva drifted away, heading toward the glacier.

Evans knew he should accompany Morton. But perhaps Morton wanted to take this tour alone. And more important, Evans's firm also represented Nicholas Drake, and Evans had a nagging concern about what Drake was up to. Not that it was illegal or unethical, exactly. But Drake could be imperious, and what he was going to do might cause embarrassment later on. So for a moment Evans stood there, wondering which way to go, which man to follow.

It was Drake who made the decision for him, giving Evans a slight, dismissive wave of his hand as he disappeared into the big tent with Einarsson. Evans took the hint, and ambled off toward Morton and the girl. Eva was chattering on about how 12 percent of Iceland was covered in glaciers, and how some of the glaciers had active volcanoes poking out from the ice.

This particular glacier, she said, pointing upward, was of the type called a surge glacier, because it had a history of rapid advances and retreats. At the moment, she said, the glacier was pushing forward at the rate of one hundred meters a day-the length of a football field, every twenty-four hours. Sometimes, when the wind died, you could actually hear it grinding forward. This glacier had surged more than ten kilometers in the last few years.

Soon they were joined by asdis Sveinsdottir, who could have been Eva's younger sister. She paid flattering attention to Evans, asking him how his trip over had been, how he liked Iceland, how long he was staying in the country. Eventually, she mentioned that she usually worked in the office at Reykjavik, and had only come out for the day. Evans realized then that she was here doing her job. The sponsors were visiting Einarsson, and Einarsson had arranged for the visit to be memorable.

Eva was explaining that although surge-type glaciers were very common-there were several hundred of them in Alaska-the mechanism of the surges was not known. Nor was the mechanism behind the periodic advances and retreats, which differed for each glacier. "There is still so much to study, to learn," she said, smiling at Morton.

That was when they heard shouts coming from the big tent, and considerable swearing. Evans excused himself, and headed back to the tent. Somewhat reluctantly, Morton trailed after him.

Per Einarsson was shaking with anger. He raised his fists. "I tell you, no!" he yelled, and pounded the table.

Standing opposite him, Drake was very red in the face, clenching his teeth. "Per," he said, "I am asking you to consider the realities."

"You are not!" Einarsson said, pounding the table again. "The reality is what you do not not want me to publish!" want me to publish!"

"Now, Per-"

"The reality, reality," he said, "is that in Iceland the first half of the twentieth century was warmer than the second half, as in Greenland.* The The reality reality is that in Iceland, most glaciers lost mass after 1930 because summers warmed by .6 degrees Celsius, but since then the climate has become colder. The is that in Iceland, most glaciers lost mass after 1930 because summers warmed by .6 degrees Celsius, but since then the climate has become colder. The reality reality is that since 1970 these glaciers have been steadily advancing. They have regained half the ground that was lost earlier. Right now, eleven are surging. That is is that since 1970 these glaciers have been steadily advancing. They have regained half the ground that was lost earlier. Right now, eleven are surging. That is the reality, the reality, Nicholas! And I will not lie about it." Nicholas! And I will not lie about it."

"No one has suggested you do," Drake said, lowering his voice and glancing at his newly arrived audience. "I am merely discussing how you word your paper, Per."

Einarsson raised a sheet of paper. "Yes, and you have suggested suggested some wording-" some wording-"

"Merely a suggestion-"

"That twists truth!"

"Per, with due respect, I feel you are exaggerating-"

"Am I?" Einarsson turned to the others and began to read. "This is what he wants me to say: 'The threat of global warming has melted glaciers throughout the world, and in Iceland as well. Many glaciers are shrinking dramatically, although paradoxically others are growing. However, in all cases recent extremes in climate variability seem to be the cause...blah...blah...blah...og svo framvegis.' " He threw the paper down. "That is simply not true."

"It's just the opening paragraph. The rest of your paper will amplify."

"The opening paragraph is not true."

"Of course it is. It refers to 'extremes in climate variability.' No one can object to such vague wording."

"Recent extremes. But in Iceland these effects are not recent." extremes. But in Iceland these effects are not recent."

"Then take out 'recent.'"

"That is not adequate," Einarsson said, "because the implication of this paragraph is that we are observing the effects of global warming from greenhouse gases. Whereas in fact we are observing local climate patterns that are rather specific to Iceland and are unlikely to be related to any global pattern."

"And you can say so in your conclusion."

"But this opening paragraph will be a big joke among Arctic researchers. You think Motoyama or Sigurosson will not see through this paragraph? Or Hicks? Watanabe? isaksson? They will laugh and call me compromised. They will say I did it for grants."

"But there are other considerations," Drake said soothingly. "We must all be aware there are disinformation groups funded by industry-petroleum, automotive-who will seize on the report that some glaciers are growing, and use it to argue against global warming. That is what they always do. They snatch at anything to paint a false picture."

"How the information is used is not my concern. My concern is to report the truth as best I can."

"Very noble," Drake said. "Perhaps not so practical."

"I see. And you have brought the source of funding right here, in the form of Mr. Morton, so I do not miss the point?"

"No, no, Per," Drake said hastily. "Please, don't misunderstand-"

"I understand only too well. What is he doing here?" Einarsson was furious. "Mr. Morton? Do you approve of what I am being asked to do by Mr. Drake?"

It was at that point that Morton's cell phone rang, and with ill-concealed relief, he flipped it open. "Morton. Yes? Yes, John. Where are you? Vancouver? What time is it there?" He put his hand over the mouthpiece. "John Kim, in Vancouver. Scotiabank."

Evans nodded, though he had no idea who that was. Morton's financial operations were complex; he knew bankers all over the world. Morton turned and walked to the far side of the tent.

An awkward silence fell over the others as they waited. Einarsson stared at the floor, sucking in his breath, still furious. The blond women pretended to work, giving great attention to the papers they shuffled through. Drake stuck his hands in his pockets, looked at the roof of the tent.

Meanwhile, Morton was laughing. "Really? I hadn't heard that one," he said, chuckling. He glanced back at the others, and turned away again.

Drake said, "Look, Per, I feel we have gotten off on the wrong foot."

"Not at all," Einarsson said coldly. "We understand each other only too well. If you withdraw your support, you withdraw your support."

"Nobody is talking about withdrawing support..."

"Time will tell," he said.

And then Morton said, "What? They did They did what? what? Deposited to Deposited to what? what? How much money are we-? Jesus Christ, John. This is How much money are we-? Jesus Christ, John. This is unbelievable! unbelievable!" And still talking, he turned and walked out of the tent.

Evans hurried after him.

It was brighter, the sun now higher in the sky, trying to break through low clouds. Morton was scrambling up the slope, still talking on the phone. He was shouting, but his words were lost in the wind as Evans followed him.

They came to the Land Cruiser. Morton ducked down, using it as a shield against the wind. "Christ, John, do I have legal liability there? I mean-no, I didn't know a thing about it. What was the organization? Friends of the Planet Fund?"

Morton looked questioningly at Evans. Evans shook his head. He'd never heard of Friends of the Planet. And he knew most of the environmental organizations.

"Based where?" Morton was saying. "San Jose? California? Oh. Jesus. What the hell is based in Costa Rica?" He cupped his hand over the phone. "Friends of the Planet Fund, San Jose, Costa Rica."

Evans shook his head.

"I never heard of them," Morton said, "and neither has my lawyer. And I don't remember-no, Ed, if it was a quarter of a million dollars, I'd remember. The check was issued where? I see. And my name was where? I see. Okay, thanks. Yeah. I will. Bye." He flipped the phone shut.

He turned to Evans.

"Peter," he said. "Get a pad and make notes."

Morton spoke quickly. Evans scribbled, trying to keep up. It was a complicated story that he took down as best he could.

John Kim, the manager of Scotiabank, Vancouver, had been called by a customer named Nat Damon, a local marine operator. Damon had deposited a check from a company called Seismic Services, in Calgary, and the check had bounced. It was for $300,000. Damon was nervous about whoever had written the check, and asked Kim to look into it.

John Kim could not legally make inquiries in the US, but the issuing bank was in Calgary, and he had a friend who worked there. He learned that Seismic Services was an account with a postal box for an address. The account was modestly active, receiving deposits every few weeks from only one source: The Friends of the Planet Foundation, based in San Jose, Costa Rica.

Kim placed a call down there. Then, about that time, it came up on his screen that the check had cleared. Kim called Damon and asked him if he wanted to drop the inquiry. Damon said no, check it out.

Kim had a brief conversation with Miguel Chavez at the Banco Credito Agricola in San Jose. Chavez said he had gotten an electronic deposit from the Moriah Wind Power Associates via Ansbach (Cayman) Ltd., a private bank on Grand Cayman island. That was all he knew.

Chavez called Kim back ten minutes later to say he had made inquiries at Ansbach and had obtained a record of a wire transfer that was paid into the Moriah account by the International Wilderness Preservation Society three days before that. And the IWPS transfer noted in the comment field, "G. Morton Research Fund."

John Kim called his Vancouver client, Nat Damon, to ask what the check was for. Damon said it was for the lease of a small two-man research submarine.

Kim thought that was pretty interesting, so he telephoned his friend George Morton to kid him a bit, and ask why he was leasing a submarine. And to his surprise, Morton knew absolutely nothing about it.

Evans finished taking down notes on the pad. He said, "This is what some bank manager in Vancouver told you?"

"Yes. A good friend of mine. Why are you looking at me that way?"

"Because it's a lot of information," Evans said. He didn't know the banking rules in Canada, to say nothing of Costa Rica, but he knew it was unlikely that any banks would freely exchange information in the way Morton had described. If the Vancouver manager's story was true, there was more to it that he wasn't telling. Evans made a note to check into it. "And do you know the International Wilderness Preservation Society, which has your check for a quarter of a million dollars?"

Morton shook his head. "Never heard of them."

"So you never gave them two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?"

Morton shook his head. "I'll tell you what I did do, in the last week," he said. "I gave two hundred and fifty grand to Nicholas Drake to cover a monthly operating shortfall. He told me he had some problem about a big contributor from Seattle not coming through for a week. Drake's asked me to help him out before like that, once or twice."

"You think that money ended up in Vancouver?"

Morton nodded.

"You better ask Drake about it," Evans said.

"I have no idea at all," Drake said, looking mystified. "Costa Rica? International Wilderness Preservation? My goodness, I can't imagine."

Evans said, "You know the International Wilderness Preservation Society?"

"Very well," Drake said. "They're excellent. We've worked closely with them on any number of projects around the world-the Everglades, Tiger Tops in Nepal, the Lake Toba preserve in Sumatra. The only thing I can think is that somehow George's check was mistakenly deposited in the wrong account. Or...I just don't know. I have to call the office. But it's late in California. It'll have to wait until morning."

Morton was staring at Drake, not speaking.

"George," Drake said, turning to him. "I'm sure this must make you feel very strange. Even if it's an honest mistake-as I am almost certain it is-it's still a lot of money to be mishandled. I feel terrible. But mistakes happen, especially if you use a lot of unpaid volunteers, as we do. But you and I have been friends for a long time. I want you to know that I will get to the bottom of this. And of course I will see that the money is recovered at once. You have my word, George."

"Thank you," Morton said.

They all climbed into the Land Cruiser.

The vehicle bounced over the barren plain. "Damn, those Icelanders are stubborn," Drake said, staring out the window. "They may be the most stubborn researchers in the world."

"He never saw your point?" Evans said.

"No," Drake said, "I couldn't make him understand. Scientists can't adopt that lofty attitude anymore. They can't say, 'I do the research, and I don't care how it is used.' That's out of date. It's irresponsible. Even in a seemingly obscure field like glacier geology. Because, like it or not, we're in the middle of a war-a global war of information versus disinformation. The war is fought on many battlegrounds. Newspaper op-eds. Television reports. Scientific journals. Websites, conferences, classrooms-and courtrooms, too, if it comes to that." Drake shook his head. "We have truth on our side, but we're outnumbered and out-funded. Today, the environmental movement is David battling Goliath. And Goliath is Aventis and Alcatel, Humana and GE, BP and Bayer, Shell and Glaxo-Wellcome-huge, global, corporate. These people are the implacable enemies of our planet, and Per Einarsson, out there on his glacier, is irresponsible to pretend it isn't happening."

Sitting beside Drake, Peter Evans nodded sympathetically, though in fact he took everything Drake was saying with a large grain of salt. The head of NERF was famously melodramatic. And Drake was pointedly ignoring the fact that several of the corporations he had named made substantial contributions to NERF every year, and three executives from those companies actually sat on Drake's board of advisors. That was true of many environmental organizations these days, although the reasons behind corporate involvement were much debated.

"Well," Morton said, "maybe Per will reconsider later on."

"I doubt it," Drake said gloomily. "He was angry. We've lost this battle, I'm sorry to say. But we do what we always do. Soldier on. Fight the good fight."

It was silent in the car for a while.

"The girls were damn good looking," Morton said. "Weren't they, Peter?"

"Yes," Evans said. "They were."

Evans knew that Morton was trying to lighten the mood in the car. But Drake would have none of it. The head of NERF stared morosely at the barren landscape, and shook his head mournfully at the snow-covered mountains in the distance.