“I think I deserve an explanation,” Evans said. Kenner had crouched down and was handcuffing the two men lying on the floor. The first man was still unconscious.

“It’s a modulated taser,” Kenner said. “Shoots a five-hundred-megahertz dart that delivers a four-millisecond jolt that inactivates cerebellar functioning. Down you go. Unconsciousness is immediate. But it only lasts a few minutes.”

“No,” Evans said. “I meant—”

“Why am I here?” Kenner said, looking up with a faint smile.

“Yes,” Evans said.

“He’s a good friend of George’s,” Sarah said.

“He is?” Evans said. “Since when?”

“Since we all met, a while back,” Kenner said. “And I believe you remember my associate, Sanjong Thapa, as well.”

A compact, muscular young man with dark skin and a crew cut came into the room. As before, Evans was struck by his vaguely military bearing, and British accent. “Lights are all back on, Professor,” Sanjong Thapa said. “Should I call the police?”

“Not just yet,” Kenner said. “Give me a hand here, Sanjong.” Together, Kenner and his friend went through the pockets of the handcuffed men. “As I thought,” Kenner said, straightening at last. “No identification on them.”

“Who are they?”

“That’ll be a question for the police,” he said. The men were beginning to cough, and wake up. “Sanjong, let’s get them to the front door.” They hauled the intruders to their feet, and half-led, half-dragged them out of the room.

Evans was alone with Sarah. “How did Kenner get in the house?”

“He was in the basement. He’s been searching the house most of the afternoon.”

“And why didn’t you tell me?”

“I asked her not to,” Kenner said, walking back into the room. “I wasn’t sure about you. This is a complicated business.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now then, shall we have a look at that envelope?”

“Yes.” Sarah sat down on the couch, and tore it open. A single sheet of paper, neatly folded, was inside. She stared at it in disbelief. Her face fell.

“What is it?” Evans said.

Without a word, she handed it to him.

It was a bill from the Edwards Fine Art Display Company of Torrance, California, for construction of a wooden pedestal to support a statue of a Buddha. Dated three years ago.

Feeling dejected, Evans sat down on the couch next to Sarah.

“What?” Kenner said. “Giving up already?”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“You can begin by telling me exactly what George Morton said to you.”

“I don’t remember exactly.”

“Tell me what you do remember.”

“He said it was a philosophical saying. And it was something like, ‘Everything that matters is near where the Buddha sits.’”

“No. That’s impossible,” Kenner said, in a definite tone.

“Why?”

“He wouldn’t have said that.”

“Why?”

Kenner sighed. “I should think it’s self-evident. If he was giving instructions—which we presume he was—he wouldn’t be so inexact. So he must have said something else.”

“That’s all I remember,” Evans said, defensively. Evans found Kenner’s quick manner to be brusque, almost insulting. He was beginning not to like this man.

“That’s all you remember?” Kenner said. “Let’s try again. Where did George make this statement to you? It must have been after you left the lobby.”

At first Evans was puzzled. Then he remembered: “Were you there?”

“Yes, I was. I was in the parking lot, off to one side.”

“Why?” Evans said.

“We’ll discuss that later,” Kenner said. “You were telling me, you and George went outside…”

“Yes,” Evans said. “We went outside. It was cold, and George stopped singing when he felt the cold. We were standing on the steps of the hotel, waiting for the car.”

“Uh-huh…”

“And when it came, he got into the Ferrari, and I was worried he shouldn’t be driving, and I asked him about that, and George said, ‘This reminds me of a philosophical saying.’ And I said, ‘What is it?’ And he said. ‘Everything that matters is not far from where the Buddha sits.’”

“Not far?” Kenner said.

“That’s what he said.”

“All right,” Kenner said. “And at this moment, you were…”

“Leaning over the car.”

“The Ferrari.”

“Yes.”

“Leaning over. And when George told you this philosophical saying, what did you answer back?”

“I just asked him not to drive.”

“Did you repeat the phrase?”

“No,” Evans said.

“Why not?”

“Because I was worried about him. He shouldn’t be driving. Anyway, I remember thinking it was sort of awkwardly phrased. ‘Not remote from where the Buddha sits.’”

“Not remote?” Kenner said.

“Yes,” Evans said.

“He said to you, ‘not remote?’”

“Yes.”

“Much better,” Kenner said. He was moving restlessly around the room, his eyes flicking from object to object. Touching things, dropping them, moving on.

“Why is it much better?” Evans said irritably.

Kenner gestured around the room. “Look around you, Peter. What do you see?”

“I see a media room.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I don’t understand—”

“Sit down on the couch, Peter.”

Evans sat down, still furious. He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at Kenner.

The doorbell rang. They were interrupted by the arrival of the police. Kenner said, “Let me handle this. It’s easier if they don’t see you,” and he again walked out of the room. From the hallway, they heard several low voices discussing the two captured intruders. It sounded all very chummy.

Evans said, “Does Kenner have something to do with law enforcement?”

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“He just seems to know people.”

Evans stared at her. “He knows people,” he repeated.

“Different sorts of people. Yes. He sent George off to see a lot of them. Kenner has a tremendously wide range of contacts. Particularly in the environmental area.”

“Is that what the Center for Risk Analysis does? Environmental risks?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Why is he on sabbatical?”

“You should ask him these things.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t like him, do you?” she said.

“I like him fine. I just think he’s a conceited asshole.”

“He’s very sure of himself,” she said.

“Assholes usually are.”

Evans got up, and walked to where he could see into the hallway. Kenner was talking to the policemen, signing some documents, and turning over the intruders. The police were joking with him. Standing to one side was the dark man, Sanjong.

“And what about the little guy with him?”

“Sanjong Thapa,” she said. “Kenner met him in Nepal when he was climbing a mountain there. Sanjong was a Nepali military officer assigned to help a team of scientists studying soil erosion in the Himalaya. Kenner invited him back to the States to work with him.”

“I remember now. Kenner’s a mountain climber, too. And he was almost on the Olympic ski team.” Evans couldn’t conceal his annoyance.

Sarah said, “He’s a remarkable man, Peter. Even if you don’t like him.”

Evans returned to the couch, sat down again, folded his arms. “Well, you’re right about that,” he said. “I don’t.”

“I have the feeling you’re not alone there,” she said. “The list of people who dislike John Kenner is a long one.”

Evans snorted, and said nothing.

They were still sitting on the couch when Kenner came bounding back into the room. He was again rubbing his hands. “All right,” he said. “All the two boys have to say is that they want to talk to a lawyer, and they seem to know one. Imagine that. But we’ll know more in a few hours.” He turned to Peter. “So: mystery solved? Concerning the Buddha?”

Evans glared at him. “No.”

“Really? It’s quite straightforward.”

“Why don’t you just tell us,” Evans said.

“Reach your right hand out to the end table,” Kenner said.

Evans put his hand out. There were five remote controls on the table.

“Yes?” he said. “And?”

“What are they for?”

“It’s a media room,” Evans said. “I think we’ve established that.”

“Yes,” Kenner said. “But what are they for?”

“Obviously,” Evans said, “to control the television, the satellite, the DVD, the VHS, all that.”

“Which one does which?” Kenner said.

Evans stared at the table. And suddenly he got it. “Oh my God,” he said. “You’re absolutely right.”

He was flipping them over, one after another.

“This one’s the flat panel…DVD…satellite…high def…” He stopped. There was one more. “Looks like there are two DVD controllers.” The second one was stubby and black and had all the usual buttons, but it was slightly lighter than the other.

Evans pulled open the battery compartment. Only one battery was there. In place of the other was a tightly rolled piece of paper.

“Bingo,” he said.

He took the paper out.

All that matters is not remote from where the Buddha sits. That’s what George had said. Which meant that this paper was all that matters.

Carefully, Evans unrolled the tiny sheet and pressed it flat on the coffee table with the heel of his hand, smoothing out the wrinkles.

And then he stared.

The paper contained nothing but columns of numbers and words:

Evans said, “Is this what everybody’s after?”

Sarah was looking at the paper over his shoulder. “I don’t get it. What does it mean?”

Evans passed the paper to Kenner. He hardly glanced at it before he said, “No wonder they were so desperate to get this back.”

“You know what it is?”

“There’s no doubt about what it is,” Kenner said, handing the paper to Sanjong. “It’s a list of geographic locations.”

“Locations? Where?”

“We’ll have to calculate that,” Sanjong said. “They’re recorded in UTM, which may mean the listing was intended for pilots.” Kenner saw the blank looks on the others’ faces. “The world is a globe,” he said, “and maps are flat. Therefore all maps are projections of a sphere onto a flat surface. One projection is the Universal Transverse Mercator grid, which divides the globe into six-degree grids. It was originally a military projection, but some pilot charts use it.”

Evans said, “So these numbers are latitude and longitude in a different form?”

“Correct. A military form.” Kenner ran his finger down the page. “It appears to be several alternate sets of four locations. But in every instance the first and last locations are the same. For whatever reason…” He frowned, and stared off into space.

“Is that bad?” Sarah said.

“I’m not sure,” Kenner said. “But it might be, yes.” He looked at Sanjong.

Sanjong nodded gravely. “What is today?” he said.

“Tuesday.”

“Then…time is very short.”

Kenner said, “Sarah, we’re going to need George’s plane. How many pilots does he have?”

“Two, usually.”

“We’ll need at least four. How soon can you get them?”

“I don’t know. Where do you want to go?” she said.

“Chile.”

“Chile! And leave when?”

“As soon as possible. Not later than midnight.”

“It’ll take me some time to arrange—”

“Then get started now,” Kenner said. “Time is short, Sarah. Very short.”

Evans watched Sarah go out of the room. He turned back to Kenner. “Okay,” he said. “I give up. What’s in Chile?”

“A suitable airfield, I presume. With adequate jet fuel.” Kenner snapped his fingers. “Good point, Peter. Sarah,” he called into the next room, “what kind of a plane is it?”

“G-five!” she called back.

Kenner turned to Sanjong Thapa, who had taken out a small handheld computer and was tapping away at it. “Are you connected to Akamai?”

“Yes.”

“Was I right?”

“I’ve only checked the first location so far,” Sanjong said. “But yes. We need to go to Chile.”

“Then Terror is Terror?” Kenner said.

“I think so, yes.”

Evans looked from one man to the other. “Terror is Terror?” he said, puzzled.

“That’s right,” Kenner said.

Sanjong said, “You know, Peter’s got a point.”

Evans said, “Are you guys ever going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Yes,” Kenner said. “But first, you have your passport?”

“I always carry it.”

“Good man.” Kenner turned back to Sanjong. “What point?”

“It’s UTM, Professor. It’s a six-degree grid.”

“Of course!” Kenner said, snapping his fingers again. “What’s the matter with me?”

“I give up,” Evans said. “What’s the matter with you?”

But Kenner didn’t answer; he now seemed almost hyperactive, his fingers twitching nervously as he picked up the remote control from the table beside Peter and peered at it closely, turning it in the light. Finally, he spoke.

“A six-degree grid,” Kenner said, “means that these locations are only accurate to a thousand meters. Roughly half a mile. That’s simply not good enough.”

“Why? How accurate should it be?”

“Three meters,” Sanjong said. “About ten feet.”

“Assuming they are using PPS,” Kenner said, still squinting at the remote control. “In which case…Ah. I thought so. It’s the oldest trick in the book.”

He pulled the entire back of the remote off, exposing the circuit board. He lifted that away to reveal a second folded sheet of paper. It was thin, hardly more than tissue paper. It contained rows of numbers and symbols.

-2147483640,8,0*x°%ÁgKÀ__^O#_QÀ__cÁ«^aaaaaÚ?_ ___ÿÿÿ__å

-2147483640,8,0%h° â#KÀ_O¸__@BÀ__cÁ«^aaaaaÚ?ÿÿÿÿ___ÿÿÿ__

-2147483640,8,0ã’»^$PNÀ_N__éxFÀ__cÁ¬^aaaaaÚ¿___ÿÿÿ__Â

-2147483640,8,0óW»1/4_OÀ ò°q_lMÀ__cÁ«^aaaaaÚ?ÿÿÿÿ___ÿÿÿ__¥

-2147483640,8,0%₀æ/Ñ_LÀøø_8_ÔPÀ__cÁ«^aaaaaÚ¿?____ÿÿÿ__

-2147483640,8,0*x°%ÁgKÀ__^O#_QÀ__cÁ«^aaaaaÚ?_ ___ÿÿÿ__å

-2147483640,8,0%h° â#KÀ_O¸__@BÀ__cÁ«^aaaaaÚ?ÿÿÿÿ___ÿÿÿ__

-2147483640,8,0óW»1/4_OÀ ò°q_lMÀ__cÁ«^aaaaaÚ?ÿÿÿÿ___ÿÿÿ__¥

-2147483640,8,0ë{»l_´OÀã°°"d,LÀ__cÁ¬^aaaaaÚ¿___ÿÿ

-2147483640,8,0%₀æ/Ñ_LÀøø_8_ÔPÀ__cÁ«^aaaaaÚ¿?____ÿÿÿ__

-2147483640,8,0*x°%ÁgKÀ__^O#_QÀ__cÁ«^aaaaaÚ?_ ___ÿÿÿ__å

-2147483640,8,0%h° â#KÀ_O¸__@BÀ__cÁ«^aaaaaÚ?ÿÿÿÿ___ÿÿÿ__

-2147483640,8,0óW»1/4_OÀ ò°q_lMÀ__cÁ«^aaaaaÚ?ÿÿÿÿ___ÿÿÿ__¥

-2147483640,8,0ë{»l_´OÀã°°"d,LÀ__cÁ¬^aaaaaÚ¿___ÿÿÿ

-2147483640,8,0%₀æ/Ñ_LÀøø_8_ÔPÀ__cÁ«^aaaaaÚ?____ÿÿÿ__

“All right,” Kenner said. “This is more like it.”

“And these are?” Evans said.

“True coordinates. Presumably for the same locations.”

“Terror is Terror?” Evans said. He was starting to feel foolish.

Kenner said, “Yes. We’re talking about Mount Terror, Peter. An inactive volcano. You have heard of it?”

“No.”

“Well, we’re going there.”

“Where is it?”

“I thought you’d have guessed that by now,” Kenner said. “It’s in Antarctica, Peter.”