State Of Fear

She dropped that in the glass of water, too. "Where's your car?" she said.



"Out in front."



"We can check it later."



He said, "What's this about?"



"The security guys found bugs on me," she said. "And all over the house. The best guess is that was the reason for the robberyto plant bugs. And guess what? You have bugs, too."



He looked around. "Is the house okay?"



"The house has been electronically swept and cleared. The guys found about a dozen bugs. Supposedly it's clean now."



They sat together on the couch. "Whoever is doing all this, they think we know something," she said. "And I'm beginning to believe they're right."



Evans told her about Morton's comments about the list.



"He bought a list?" she said.



Evans nodded. "That's what he said."



"Did he say what kind of a list?"



"No. He was going to tell me more, but he never got around to it."



"He didn't say anything more to you, when you were alone with him?"



"Not that I remember."



"Going up on the plane?"



"No amp;"



"At the table, at dinner?"



"I don't think so, no."



"When you walked him to his car?"



"No, he was singing all that time. It was sort of embarrassing, to tell you the truth. And then he got in his car amp;Wait a minute." Evans sat up. "He did say one funny thing."



"What was that?"



"It was some Buddhist philosophical saying. He told me to remember it."



"What was it?"



"I don't remember," Evans said. "At least not exactly. It was something like Everything that matters is near where the Buddha sits.'"



"George wasn't interested in Buddhism," Sarah said. "Why would he say that to you?"



"Everything that matters is near where the Buddha sits," Evans said, repeating it again.



He was staring forward, into the media room adjacent to the living room.



"Sarah amp;"



Directly facing them, under dramatic overhead lighting, was a large wooden sculpture of a seated Buddha. Burmese, fourteenth century.



Evans got up and walked into the media room. Sarah followed him. The sculpture was four feet high, and mounted on a high pedestal. Evans walked around behind the statue.



"You think?" Sarah said.



"Maybe."



He ran his fingers around the base of the statue. There was a narrow space there, beneath the crossed legs, but he could feel nothing. He crouched, looked: nothing. There were some wide cracks in the wood of the statue, but nothing was there.



"Maybe move the base?" Evans said.



"It's on rollers," Sarah said.



They slid it to one side, exposing nothing but white carpet.



Evans sighed.



"Any other Buddhas around here?" he said, looking around the room.



Sarah was down on her hands and knees. "Peter," she said.



"What?"



"Look."



He crouched down. There was a roughly one-inch gap between the base of the pedestal and the floor. Barely visible in that gap was the corner of an envelope, attached to the inside of the pedestal.



"I'll be damned."



"It's an envelope."



She slid her fingers in.



"Can you reach it?"



"I amp;think so amp;got it!"



She pulled it out. It was a business-size envelope, sealed and unmarked.



"This could be it," she said, excited. "Peter, I think we may have found it!"



The lights went out, and the house was plunged into darkness.



They scrambled to their feet.



"What happened?" Evans said.



"It's okay," she said. "The emergency generator will cut in at any second."



"Actually, it won't," a voice in the darkness said.



Two powerful flashlights shone directly in their faces. Evans squinted in the harsh light; Sarah raised her hand to cover her eyes.



"May I have the envelope, please," the voice said.



Sarah said, "No."



There was a mechanical click, like the cocking of a gun.



"We'll take the envelope," the voice said. "One way or another."



"No you won't," Sarah said.



Standing beside her, Evans whispered, "Sar-ah amp;"



"Shut up, Peter. They can't have it."



"We'll shoot if we have to," the voice said.



"Sarah, give them the fucking envelope," Evans said.



"Let them take it," Sarah said defiantly.



"Sar-ah amp;"



"Bitch!" the voice screamed, and a gunshot sounded. Evans was embroiled in chaos and blackness. There was another scream. One of the flashlights bounced on the floor and rolled, pointing in a corner. In the shadows Evans saw a large dark figure attack Sarah, who screamed and kicked. Without thinking, Evans threw himself against the attacker, grabbing an arm in a leather jacket. He could smell the man's beery breath, hear him grunting. Then someone else pulled him off, slamming him to the ground, and he was kicked in the ribs.



He rolled away, banging against the furniture, and then a new, deep voice held up a flashlight and said "Move away now." Immediately the attacker stopped fighting with them, and turned to this new voice. Evans looked back to see Sarah, who was on the floor. Another man got up and turned toward the flashlight.



There was a crackling sound and the man screamed and fell backward. The flashlight swung to the man who had been kicking Peter.



"You. Down."



The man immediately lay on the carpet.



"Face down."



The man rolled over.



"That's better," the new voice said. "Are you two all right?"



"I'm fine," Sarah said, panting, staring into the light. "Who the hell are you?"



"Sarah," the voice said. "I'm disappointed you don't recognize me."



Just then, the lights came back up in the room.



Sarah said, "John!"



And to Evans's astonishment, she stepped across the body of the fallen attacker to give a grateful hug to John Kenner, professor of Geoenvironmental Engineering at MIT.



Chapter 28



HOLMBY HILLS



TUESDAY, OCTOBER 5



8:03 P.M.



"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 instructionswhich we presume he washe 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 amp;"



"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 amp;"



"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 amp;"



"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."