"Who?" Fatboy asked.

"The leader of the soldiers on the island."

A graphic came up at the lower left corner of the screen identifying the speaker as Dr. Anthony Crowe of USABRF.

Just the sight of him was enough to make Tane's heart race.

The woman stood next to Crowe. She would need a stool to reach the microphones, Tane thought, then wondered why he was thinking about such stupid details when the fate of the world was at stake. Her name was Dr. Lucy Southwell, according to the subt.i.tles.

A large map of the upper north island was pinned to a board behind them.

Crowe wore a military uniform, but wore it casually, as if the uniform was not a symbol of pride for him, the way it was for many Americans. His face was as long and craggy as a cliff face and showed no expression; in fact, his face might as well be made of stone for all the emotion that showed on it.

Southwell pointed to the map. "The Horouta Horouta is a delivery boat. Operates out of Russell, here. She makes a regular weekly supply drop at Motukiekie. Just a small boat, with a skipper and one crewman. Four days ago, she was discovered, beached in Kaingahoa Bay, about forty miles east of Motukiekie. The throttle was wide open, and the engine was still running. There was no sign of the crew." is a delivery boat. Operates out of Russell, here. She makes a regular weekly supply drop at Motukiekie. Just a small boat, with a skipper and one crewman. Four days ago, she was discovered, beached in Kaingahoa Bay, about forty miles east of Motukiekie. The throttle was wide open, and the engine was still running. There was no sign of the crew."

"Odd," murmured Fatboy.

Southwell continued, "A coast guard vessel was sent to investigate. Six-man crew. It didn't return."

"Odder still," Tane said Southwell drew a circle on the map. "An airforce Orion was dispatched to search for the missing coast guard cutter. It covered roughly this area here, which was as far as the cutter could have traveled in the time. It overflew Motukiekie but was unable to see anything due to a dense fog. By this time, the local police were involved and wisely decided that it was time to call in the experts.

"I work for the Biological Hazard Containment Unit, a part of our Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries. A team of three colleagues of mine-two men, one woman-was sent in, in full biohazard suits and in constant radio contact with a command unit based in Russell. Naturally, at this stage, our fear was of some..." She clearly didn't want to say it. "...biological agent that had been released on the island. They...um..."

"They disappeared," Crowe intervened. "Their biosuits were found on the island when we went there to investigate."

"What about Whangarei?" a female reporter was asking. "Fifty thousand people. They can't just have disappeared."

"Actually, ma'am, that's exactly what seems to have happened," was Crowe's reply.

Strange how Americans called women "ma'am." It was such a British expression.

Another stupid thought!

"Disappeared to where?" the reporter persisted.

"We have no information on that at this time."

"Do you antic.i.p.ate finding them alive?"

Crowe replied without emotion, "No, ma'am, we do not."

The room grew suddenly, unnaturally silent.

Southwell broke the silence. "Civil defense are evacuating everyone in the projected path of the fog and are preparing an evacuation plan for Auckland, should that become necessary. I must stress that there is no need for panic. Any evacuation will be completed in plenty of time; we are asking residents to remain calm and at home until we make an announcement."

"Yeah, right," Fatboy muttered. "Fifty thousand people missing, but don't panic!"

Southwell wore a rather drab, olive blouse and a staid gray skirt. She dressed older than her years. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, held together with a b.u.t.terfly band.

"Is there any chance that a breeze will push this toxic fog out to sea?" a man asked.

"Toxic fog." Tane sounded the words out loud.

"The movement of the fog does not appear to be governed by the direction of the wind." Crowe answered the question, and the room grew completely silent again for a second or two as people tried to work out how that could be.

"Toxic fog," Tane said again, blankly. Rebecca was staring at him with a horrified expression, but he ignored her and concentrated on the television.

"If the toxic fog continues on its present course and at its present speed, when do you antic.i.p.ate it will hit Auckland?" the same man asked.

Crowe answered, "It's hard to be accurate. The fog does not seem to move at a constant speed. It did not move from Whangarei at all for two and a half days. I would say we have about a week."

The questions were coming from all over the room now.

"Is it true that the fog is growing in size?"

"Yes. Substantially."

"By how much exactly?"

Crowe looked as if he would rather avoid answering that one, Tane thought. He turned the television louder.

"On our satellite photos, the fog was roughly circular and only a few hundred yards across when it entered Whangarei. It now measures several miles across."

Rebecca said, "Several miles! That means it has grown by a factor of twenty or thirty times since it rolled into Whangarei. Or even more!"

Someone asked, "How many survivors are there?"

"Currently three. The youngest is a boy of four."

"And what about the reports of snowmen in the fog?"

"We believe these sightings to be of people wearing biohazard suits, like this one." Crowe motioned to his side, and an a.s.sistant wheeled in an inflated silver suit on a trolley. It looked more than anything like a s.p.a.ce suit, although the faceplate was narrower, not as spherical as a NASA s.p.a.ce suit.

Southwell moved around the front of the suit and placed her hand on it.

She said, "This is a UN-issue biohazard suit. It is silver but reflective. Surrounded by white mist, this would appear white also."

A tall reporter whom Tane recognized from the TV3 news stood up and raised a hand, asking, "So there are men or women, inside the toxic fog, wearing protective suits. Can we a.s.sume that these people are responsible for the fog?"

"That would be a reasonable a.s.sumption," Crowe answered as coolly as before.

"Then it would be another reasonable a.s.sumption that these people are terrorists. Bioterrorists," the TV3 man said.

"Yes. Possibly. Probably. Yes."

"Has there been any kind of demand or ultimatum?" someone else asked.

"No."

There was a strange, stunned silence from the pack of reporters. Crowe stood impa.s.sively, waiting for the next question.

"So it is terrorists," Fatboy said calmly.

"Maybe," Rebecca said noncommittally.

"Why?" Fatboy asked. "Why here in New Zealand? What have we ever done to deserve this? What have we done to offend anyone?"

"What if..." Tane started, then paused, thinking for a second. "What if it's a demonstration? What if their plan is to choose a small isolated country, release their toxic fog, and wipe the country clean? Everybody, gone."

"Why would they do that?" Fatboy asked.

"Think about it. What kind of ransom could you demand then? From Australia, Britain, or the USA. They'd say, 'Remember New Zealand. Land of four million people. Now just feral sheep and possums. You're next if you don't pay up.'"

"How do you plan to stop the fog from reaching Auckland?" a reporter finally asked on the television.

Crowe answered slowly. "The answer to that is in two parts. Firstly, we have taken samples of the fog, and we are a.n.a.lyzing it to see what we are dealing with. We hope to find a way of neutralizing it before it gets to Auckland. Secondly is the matter of dealing with the terrorists, with the"-he almost smiled, Tane thought-"snowmen. We have set up a line of defense just north of Orewa. We have taken the high ground of the Waiwera hills and will be aiming to prevent either the fog or the terrorists from proceeding beyond that point."

"Who will be manning that defensive line?" It was an anonymous voice from somewhere in the crowd of reporters.

"My own men, from the U.S. Army Bioterrorism Response Force, along with your Special Air Service and units of your regular army. All will be outfitted with biohazard suits like this one. Eighty of the New Zealand Army Light Armored Vehicles will be deployed along the line, leaving twenty-five in reserve. As you no doubt know, these vehicles are also protected against chemical and biological agents."

"That's a lot of firepower," somebody said.

Crowe nodded. "In addition, we will have air-strike capability from FA18 Super Hornets flying off the USS Abraham Lincoln, Abraham Lincoln, which will be within striking distance within three days. Whatever, whoever, is causing this, we will stop them at the Waiwera hills." which will be within striking distance within three days. Whatever, whoever, is causing this, we will stop them at the Waiwera hills."

"What about the children?" the TV3 man asked. "The ones you have been looking for, from the island."

"We're still looking," Crowe said noncommittally. "We think they may have some information that will help us."

Someone shouted out, "What kind of information?" but Crowe ignored it.

When the press conference finished, Tane turned the sound down but left the television on, in case there were any more developments.

They all sat in silence for a while, until Tane finally spoke.

He said again, "Remember New Zealand, land of four million people...."

FTBY DNT GO Fatboy went around to Goony's house to pick up a pair of overalls, and while he was gone, Rebecca came and sat next to Tane. She put her hand on his arm. house to pick up a pair of overalls, and while he was gone, Rebecca came and sat next to Tane. She put her hand on his arm.

"What have we got ourselves into?" she asked.

Tane didn't answer. There was no answer to give.

He covered her hand with his own, and she leaned forward, touching her forehead to his.

"We'll always be mates," she said. "Whatever happens."

"I hope so," Tane said.

Rebecca leaned back a little and nodded. "I know so. I just wanted to make sure you knew too."

"I never doubted it," Tane lied, thinking about the argument on the submarine and feeling more and more guilty about it.

"Friends forever," she said, and sat with him silently for a while before moving off into the kitchen to get herself a drink, leaving Tane with such a warm feeling that it was as if she was still sitting next to him.

Friends forever. Friends since forever.

The feeling was still there when Fatboy came back with a pair of clean, white overalls, emblazoned with Telstra-Clear Telstra-Clear across the front and back. across the front and back.

"The genuine article," Fatboy said proudly. "Goony once worked for them."

Tane asked, "Didn't he ask any questions about why you wanted them?"

Fatboy nodded. "He did. The answer was a thousand bucks."

Tane laughed.

"When do we do it?" Rebecca asked. "When do we install the Chronophone?"

"Security is going to be a real problem," Fatboy said. "It's a casino, so they have tight security anyway. These days with terrorist alerts all the time, they are going to look pretty suspiciously at anyone wandering around the Skytower with a suitcase."

"Even in your lovely new overalls?" Tane asked.

"Even in my overalls."

The satellite dish they were going to use belonged to Telstra-Clear.

Tane had carefully stenciled the name of the company on the side of the aluminium briefcase also, so it would look like a toolbox.

"Are you sure you should be doing this alone?" Rebecca asked. "Wouldn't it be safer with two?"

Fatboy shook his head. "We talked about this already. Neither of you looks old enough to be a Telstra-Clear technician."

In some ways, Tane wished he was going. This was the climax of the creation of the Chronophone, the greatest invention since the telephone, or the airplane, or maybe just the greatest invention ever. And he, Tane Williams, had thought of the idea that had started it all. And n.o.body knew. Maybe n.o.body would ever know. It seemed wrong not to be there at the critical moment.

In other ways, though, he was glad he was not going. Fatboy would have to take an elevator over two hundred yards straight up, to the main observation deck, then another elevator up another fifty yards to the Sky Deck. Then it was a climb up the internal ladders to the crow's nest, a tiny platform on the outside outside of the Skytower, three hundred yards high. But even that wasn't the end of it. The Telstra-Clear satellite dish, one of many atop the tower, was another fifteen yards above the crow's nest, accessible only via a ladder up the side of the topmost spike of the tower. of the Skytower, three hundred yards high. But even that wasn't the end of it. The Telstra-Clear satellite dish, one of many atop the tower, was another fifteen yards above the crow's nest, accessible only via a ladder up the side of the topmost spike of the tower.

He would have to do all this lugging a heavy metal suitcase. It would take steady nerves and a fair bit of strength.

"Better get on with it," Fatboy said determinedly. Tane sensed that he was more nervous about the climb than he was letting on.