Evans's cell phone rang. It was Sarah.

"Where are you?" she said.

"Almost to the airport. I have Ted with me."

"Uh-huh," she said, in the vague tone that meant she couldn't talk. "Well, we just got to the airport, and there seems to be a problem."

"What kind of a problem?"

"Legal," she said.

"What does that mean?" Evans said. But even as he spoke, he was turning off the road toward the gate leading to the runway, and he could see for himself.

Herb Lowenstein was standing there with eight security guards. And it looked like they were sealing the doors to Morton's jet.

Evans went through the gate and got out of the car. "What's going on, Herb?"

"The aircraft is being sealed," Herb said, "as required by law."

"What law?"

"George Morton's estate is now in probate, in case you've forgotten, and the contents of said estate, including all bank accounts and real property, must be sealed pending federal evaluation and assessing of death taxes. This aircraft will remain sealed until the conclusion of that evaluation. Six to nine months from now."

At that moment, Kenner pulled up in a town car. He introduced himself, shook hands with Lowenstein. "So it's a matter of probate," he said.

"That's right," Lowenstein said.

Kenner said, "I'm surprised to hear you say that."

"Why? George Morton is deceased."

"Is he? I hadn't heard."

"They found his body yesterday. Evans and Bradley went up and made the identification."

"And the medical examiner concurred?"

Lowenstein hesitated fractionally. "I presume so."

"You presume? Surely you've received documentation from the medical examiner to that effect. The autopsy was performed last night."

"I presume-I believe that we have the documentation."

"May I see it?"

"I believe it is at the office."

Kenner said, "May I see it?"

"That would merely cause unnecessary delay of my work here." Lowenstein turned to Evans. "Did you or did you not make a positive identification of Morton's body?"

"I did," Evans said.

"And you, Ted?"

"Yeah," Bradley said. "I did. It was him, all right. It was George. Poor guy."

Kenner said to Lowenstein, "I'd still like to see the medical examiner's notification."

Lowenstein snorted. "You have no basis for such a request, and I formally deny it. I am the senior attorney in charge of the estate. I am his designated executor, and I have already told you that my office has the documentation in hand."

"I heard you," Kenner said. "But I seem to remember that to falsely declare probate is fraud. That could be quite serious for an officer of the court such as you."

"Look," Lowenstein said, "I don't know what your game is-"

"I merely want to see the document," Kenner said calmly. "There's a fax machine in the flight office, right there." He pointed to the building, near the airplane. "You can have the document sent over in a few seconds and resolve this matter without difficulty. Or, barring that, you can call the medical examiner's office in San Francisco and confirm that they have, in fact, made a positive identification."

"But we are in the presence of two eyewitnesses who-"

"These are the days of DNA testing," Kenner said, looking at his watch. "I recommend that you make the calls." He turned to the security officers. "You can open the aircraft."

The security officers looked nonplussed. "Mr. Lowenstein?"

"Just a minute, just a goddamned minute," Lowenstein said, and stalked off toward the office, putting his cell phone to his ear as he went.

"Open the plane," Kenner said. He flipped open his wallet and showed the guards his badge.

"Yes, sir," they said.

Another car pulled up, and Sarah got out with Ann Garner. Ann said, "What's the fuss?"

"Just a little misunderstanding," Kenner said. He introduced himself to her.

"I know who you are," she said, with barely concealed hostility.

"I thought you might," Kenner said, smiling.

"And I have to say," she continued, "it's guys like you-smart and unscrupulous and immoral-who have made our environment the polluted mess that it now is. So let's just get that on the table right away. I don't like you, Mr. Kenner. I don't like you personally, and I don't like what you do in the world, and I don't like anything you stand for."

"Interesting," Kenner said. "Perhaps some day you and I could have a detailed and specific conversation about exactly what is wrong with our environment, and exactly who is responsible for making it a polluted mess."

"Whenever you want," she said, angrily.

"Good. You have legal training?"

"No."

"Scientific training?"

"No."

"What is your background?"

"I worked as a documentary film producer. Before I quit to raise my family."

"Ah."

"But I am very dedicated to the environment, and I have been all my life," she said. "I read everything. I read the 'Science' section of the New York Times New York Times every Tuesday every Tuesday cover to cover, cover to cover, of course of course The New Yorker, The New Yorker, and the and the New York Review. New York Review. I am extremely well informed." I am extremely well informed."

"Well then," Kenner said, "I look forward to our conversation."

The pilots were driving up to the gate; they waited while it opened. "I think we can leave in a few minutes," Kenner said. He turned to Evans. "Why don't you confirm that that is all right with Mr. Lowenstein."

"Okay," Evans said, and headed toward the flight office.

"Just so you know," Ann said, "we're going with you. I am, and so is Ted."

"That will be delightful," Kenner said.

Inside the flight office, Evans found Lowenstein hunched over a phone in the back room reserved for pilots. "But I'm telling you, the guy isn't going for it, he wants documentation," Lowenstein said. And then after a pause, "Look, Nick, I'm not going to lose my license over this one. The guy's got a law degree from Harvard."

Evans knocked on the door. "Everything okay for us to leave?"

"Just a minute," Lowenstein said into the phone. He put his hand over the receiver. "You're going to leave now?"

"That's right. Unless you have the document..."

"It seems there is some confusion about the exact status of Morton's estate."

"Then we're going, Herb."

"Okay, okay."

He turned back to the phone. "They're leaving, Nick," he said. "You want to stop them, do it yourself."

In the cabin, everyone was sitting down. Kenner went around passing out sheets of paper. "What's this?" Bradley said, with a glance to Ann.

"It's a release," Kenner said.

Ann was reading aloud, "'...not liable in the event of death, serious bodily injury, disability, dismemberment'-dismemberment?"

"That's right," Kenner said. "You need to understand that where we are going is extremely dangerous. I strongly advise both of you not to come. But if you insist on ignoring my advice, you need to sign that."

"Where are we going?" Bradley said.

"I can't tell you that until the plane is in the air."

"Why is it dangerous?"

"Do you have a problem signing the form?" Kenner said.

"No. Hell." Bradley scrawled his signature.

"Ann?"

Ann hesitated, bit her lip, and signed.

The pilot closed the doors. The engines whined as they taxied up the runway. The flight attendant asked what they would like to drink.

"Puligny-Montrachet," Evans said.

Ann said, "Where are we going?"

"To an island off the coast of New Guinea."

"Why?"

"There is a problem," Kenner said, "that has to be dealt with."

"You want to be any more specific?"

"Not right now."

The plane rose above the cloud layer in Los Angeles, and turned west, over the Pacific.

EN ROUTE.

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 13.

4:10 P.M.

Sarah felt relieved when Jennifer Haynes went to the front of the cabin to take a nap, falling instantly asleep. But she found it awkward to have Ann and Ted onboard. Conversation in the cabin was stilted; Kenner was not saying much. Ted was drinking heavily. He said to Ann, "Just so you know, Mr. Kenner doesn't believe in anything that normal people believe in. Not even global warming. Or Kyoto."

"Of course he doesn't believe in Kyoto," Ann said. "He's an industry hit man. Representing coal and oil interests."