“No, no, no!” Nicholas Drake stood in the NERF media room, surrounded by a half-dozen stunned-looking graphic designers. On the walls and tables were posters, banners, flyers, coffee mugs, and stacks of press releases, and media kits. All were emblazoned with a banner that went from green to red, with the superimposed words: “Abrupt Climate Change: The Dangers Ahead.”

“I hate it,” Drake said. “I just fucking hate it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s boring. It sounds like a damn PBS special. We need some punch here, some pizzazz.”

“Well, sir,” one of the designers said, “if you remember, you originally wanted to avoid anything that looked like overstatement.”

“I did? No, I didn’t. Henley wanted to avoid overstatement. Henley thought it should be made to look exactly like a normal academic conference. But if we do that, the media will tune us out. I mean, shit, do you know how many climate change conferences there are every year? All around the world?”

“No sir, how many?”

“Well, um, forty-seven. Anyway, that’s not the point.” Drake rapped the banner with his knuckles. “I mean look at this, ‘Dangers.’ It’s so vague; it could refer to anything.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted—that it could refer to anything.”

“No, I want ‘Crisis’ or ‘Catastrophe.’ ‘The Crisis Ahead.’ ‘The Catastrophe Ahead.’ That’s better. ‘Catastrophe’ is much better.”

“You used ‘Catastrophe’ for the last conference, the one on species extinction.”

“I don’t care. We use it because it works. This conference must point to a catastrophe.”

“Uh, sir,” one said, “with all due respect, is it really accurate that abrupt climate change will lead to catastrophe? Because the background materials we were given—”

“Yes, God damn it,” Drake snapped, “it’ll lead to a catastrophe. Believe me, it will! Now make the damn changes!”

The graphic artists surveyed the assembled materials on the table. “Mr. Drake, the conference starts in four days.”

“You think I don’t know it?” Drake said. “You think I fucking don’t know it?”

“I’m not sure how much we can accomplish—”

“Catastrophe! Lose ‘Danger,’ add ‘Catastrophe’! That’s all I’m asking for. How difficult can it be?”

“Mr. Drake, we can redo the visual materials and the banners for the media kits, but the coffee mugs are a problem.”

“Why are they a problem?”

“They’re made for us in China, and—”

“Made in China? Land of pollution? Whose idea was that?”

“We always have the coffee mugs made in China for—”

“Well, we definitely can’t use them. This is NERF, for Christ’s sake. How many cups do we have?”

“Three hundred. They’re given to the media in attendance, along with the press kit.”

“Well get some damn eco-acceptable mugs,” Drake said. “Doesn’t Canada make mugs? Nobody ever complains about anything Canada does. Get some Canadian mugs and print ‘Catastrophe’ on them. That’s all.”

The artists were looking at one another. One said, “There’s that supply house in Vancouver…”

“But their mugs are cream-colored…”

“I don’t care if they’re chartreuse,” Drake said, his voice rising. “Just do it! Now what about the press releases?”

Another designer held up a sheet. “They’re four-color banners printed in biodegradable inks on recycled bond paper.”

Drake picked up a sheet. “This is recycled? It looks damn good.”

“Actually, it’s fresh paper.” The designer looked nervous. “But no one will know.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Drake said. “It’s essential that recycled materials look good.”

“And they do, sir. Don’t worry.”

“Then let’s move on.” He turned to the PR people. “What’s the time-line of the campaign?”

“It’s a standard starburst launch to bring public awareness to abrupt climate change,” the first rep said, standing up. “We have our initial press break on Sunday-morning talk shows and in the Sunday newspaper supplements. They’ll be talking about the start of the conference Wednesday and interviewing major photogenic principals. Stanford, Levine, the other people who show well on TV. We’ve given enough lead time to get into all the major weekly newsbooks around the world, Time, Newsweek, Der Spiegel, Paris Match, Oggi, The Economist. All together, fifty news magazines to inform lead opinion makers. We’ve asked for cover stories, accepting banner folds with a graphic. Anything less and they didn’t get us. We expect covers on at least twenty.”

“Okay,” Drake said, nodding.

“We start the conference on Wednesday. Well-known, charismatic environmentalists and major politicians from industrialized nations are scheduled to appear. We have delegates from around the world, so B-roll reaction shots of the audience will be satisfactorily color-mixed. Industrialized countries now include India and Korea and Japan, of course. The Chinese delegation will participate but there will be no speakers.

“Our two hundred invited television journalists will stay at the Hilton, and we will have interview facilities there as well as in the conference halls, so our speakers can spread the message to video audiences around the world. We will also have a number of print media people to carry the word to elite opinion makers, the ones that read but do not watch TV.”

“Good,” Drake said. He appeared pleased.

“Each day’s theme will be identified by a distinctive graphic icon, emphasizing flood, fire, rising sea levels, drought, icebergs, typhoons, and hurricanes, and so on. Each day we have a fresh contingent of politicians from around the world coming to attend and give interviews explaining the high level of their dedication and concern about this newly emerging problem.”

“Good, good.” Drake nodded.

“The politicians will stay for only a day—some only a few hours—and they will not have time to attend the conferences beyond a brief photo-op showing them in the audience, but they are briefed and will be effective. Then we have local schoolchildren, grades four to seven, coming each day to learn about the dangers—sorry, the catastrophe—in their futures, and we have educational kits for grade-school teachers, so they can teach their kids about the crisis of abrupt climate change.”

“When do those kits go out?”

“They were going out today, but now we’ll hold them for rebannering.”

“Okay,” Drake said. “And for high schools?”

“We have some trouble there,” the PR guy said. “We showed the kits to a sample of high school science teachers and, uh…”

“And what?” Drake said.

“The feedback we got was they might not go over so well.”

Drake’s expression turned dark. “And why not?”

“Well, the high school curriculum is very college oriented, and there isn’t a lot of room for electives…”

“This is hardly an elective…”

“And, uh, they felt it was all speculative and unsubstantiated. They kept saying things like, ‘Where’s the hard science here?’ Just reporting, sir.”

“God damn it,” Drake said, “it is not speculative. It is happening!”

“Uh, perhaps we didn’t get the right materials that show what you are saying…”

“Ah fuck. Never mind now,” Drake said. “Just trust me, it’s happening. Count on it.” He turned, and said in a surprised voice, “Evans, how long have you been here?”

Peter Evans had been standing in the doorway for at least two minutes and had overheard a good deal of the conversation. “Just got here, Mr. Drake.”

“All right.” Drake turned to the others. “I think we’ve gone through this. Evans, you come with me.”

Drake shut the door to his office. “I need your counsel, Peter,” he said quietly. He walked around to his desk, picked up some papers, and slid them toward Evans. “What the fuck is this?”

Evans looked. “That is George’s withdrawal of support.”

“Did you draw it up?”

“I did.”

“Whose idea was paragraph 3a?”

“Paragraph 3a?”

“Yes. Did you add that little bit of wisdom?”

“I don’t really remember—”

“Then let me refresh your memory,” Drake said. He picked up the document and started to read. “ ‘In the event of any claim that I am not of sound mind, there may be an attempt to obtain injunctive relief from the terms of this document. Therefore this document authorizes the payment of fifty thousand dollars per week to NERF while awaiting the judgment of a full trial. Said monies shall be deemed sufficient to pay ongoing costs incurred by NERF and shall by said payment deny injunctive relief.’ Did you write this, Evans?”

“I did.”

“Whose idea was it?”

“George’s.”

“George is not a lawyer. He had help.”

“Not from me,” Evans said. “He more or less dictated that clause. I wouldn’t have thought of it.”

Drake snorted in disgust. “Fifty thousand a week,” he said. “At that rate, it will take us four years to receive the ten-million-dollar grant.”

“That’s what George wanted the document to say,” Evans said.

“But whose idea was it?” Drake said. “If it wasn’t you, who was it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Find out.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Evans said. “I mean, George is dead now, and I don’t know who he might have consulted—”

Drake glared at Evans. “Are you with us here, Peter, or not?” He started pacing back and forth. “Because this Vanutu litigation is undoubtedly the most significant lawsuit we have ever filed.” He lapsed into his speech-making mode. “The stakes are enormous, Peter. Global warming is the greatest crisis facing mankind. You know that. I know that. Most of the civilized world knows that. We must act to save the planet, before it is too late.”

“Yes,” Evans said. “I know that.”

“Do you?” Drake said. “We have a lawsuit, a very important lawsuit, that needs our help. And fifty thousand dollars a week will strangle it.”

Evans was sure that was not true. “Fifty thousand is a lot of money,” he said, “I don’t see why it should strangle—”

“Because it will!” Drake snapped. “Because I am telling you it will!” He seemed surprised by his own outburst. He gripped the desk, got control of himself. “Look,” he said. “We can never forget about our opponents here. The forces of industry are strong, phenomenally strong. And industry wants to be left alone to pollute. It wants to pollute here, and in Mexico, and in China, and wherever else it does its business. The stakes are huge.”

“I understand,” Evans said.

“Many powerful forces are taking an interest in this case, Peter.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Forces that will stop at nothing to be sure that we lose it.”

Evans frowned. What was Drake telling him?

“Their influence is everywhere, Peter. They may have influence with members of your law firm. Or other people you know. People whom you believe you can trust—but you can’t. Because they are on the other side, and they don’t even know it.”

Evans said nothing. He was just looking at Drake.

“Be prudent, Peter. Watch your back. Don’t discuss what you are doing with anyone—with anyone—except me. Try not to use your cell phone. Avoid e-mail. And keep an eye out in case you are followed.”

“Okay…. But actually I’ve already been followed,” Evans said. “There’s a blue Prius—”

“Those were our guys. I don’t know what they are doing. I called them off days ago.”

“Your guys?”

“Yes. It’s a new security firm we’ve been trying out. They’re obviously not very competent.”

“I’m confused,” Evans said. “NERF has a security firm?”

“Absolutely. For years, now. Because of the danger we face. Please understand me: We are all in danger, Peter. Don’t you understand what this lawsuit means if we win? Trillions of dollars that industry must pay in the coming years, to halt their emissions that are causing global warming. Trillions. With those stakes, a few lives don’t matter. So: Be very damn careful.”

Evans said that he would. Drake shook his hand.

“I want to know who told George about the paragraph,” Drake said. “And I want that money freed up for us to use it as we see fit. This is all riding on you now,” he said. “Good luck, Peter.”

On his way out of the building, Evans ran into a young man who was sprinting up the stairs. They collided so hard that Evans was almost knocked down. The young man apologized hastily, and continued on his way. He looked like one of the kids working on the conference. Evans wondered what the crisis could be, now.

When he got back outside, he looked down the street. The blue Prius was gone.

He got into the car and drove back to Morton’s, to see Sarah.