One in which someone had died.

He couldn't help himself. Feeling a sense of panic, he left the office, went outside to the quay, and with his heart in his throat, hurried toward the bridge.

From the upper level of the red double-decker bus, the tourists were staring down, covering their mouths in horror. Mallory pushed through the crowd clustered near the front of the bus. He got close enough to see a half-dozen paramedics and police crouched around a body lying in the street. Above them stood the burly bus driver, in tears. He was saying that there was nothing he could have done, the man had stepped in front of the bus at the last moment. He must have been drunk, the driver said, because he was wobbling. It was almost as if he fell off the curb.

Mallory could not see the body; the policemen blocked his view. The crowd was nearly silent, just watching. Then one of the policemen stood, holding a red passport in his handsa German passport. Thank God, Mallory thought, feeling a flood of relief that lasted until a moment later, when one of the paramedics stepped away and Mallory saw one leg of the victima faded black tracksuit and a dirty Adidas running shoe, now soaked with blood.

He felt a wave of nausea, and turned away, pushing back through the crowd. The faces stared past him, impassive or annoyed. But nobody even glanced at him. They were all looking at the body.

Except for one man, dressed like an executive in a dark suit and tie. He was looking directly at Mallory. Mallory met his eyes. The man nodded slightly. Mallory made no response. He just pushed through the last of the crowd and fled, hurrying back down the stairs to his office, and realizing that somehow, in some way that he did not understand, his life had changed forever.

Chapter 3

TOKYO

TUESDAY, JUNE 1

10:01 A.M.

IDEC, the International Data Environmental Consortium, was located in a small brick building adjacent to the campus of Keio Mita University. To the casual observer, IDEC was part of the university, and even showed the coat of arms ("Calamus Gladio Fortior"), but in fact it was independent. The center of the building consisted of a small conference room with a podium and two rows of five chairs facing a screen at the front.

At ten in the morning, IDEC director Akira Hitomi stood at the podium and watched as the American came in and took a seat. The American was a large man, not so tall but thick in the shoulders and chest, like an athlete. For such a large man he moved easily, quietly. The Nepali officer entered right behind him, dark-skinned and watchful. He took a seat behind the American and off to one side. At the podium, Hitomi nodded to them and said nothing.

The wood-paneled room darkened slowly, to allow eyes to adjust. On all sides, the wood panels slid silently away, exposing huge flat-panel screens. Some of the screens moved smoothly out from the walls.

At last, the main door closed and locked with a click. Only then did Hitomi speak.

"Good morning, Kenner-san." On the main screen it said "Hitomi Akira" in English and Japanese. "And good morning, Thapa-san." Hitomi flipped open a very small, very thin silver laptop. "Today I will present data from the last twenty-one days, correct up to twenty minutes ago. These will be findings from our joint project, Akamai Tree."

The two visitors nodded. Kenner smiled in anticipation. As well he should, Hitomi thought. Nowhere else in the world could he see such a presentation, for Hitomi's agency was the world leader in the accumulation and manipulation of electronic data. Now images on the screens came up, glowing one after another. They showed what appeared to be a corporate logo: a green tree on a white background, and the lettering AKAMAI TREE DIGITAL NETWORK SOLUTIONS.

This name and image had been chosen for their similarity to actual Internet companies and their logos. For the last two years, Akamai Tree's network of servers actually consisted of carefully designed traps. They incorporated multilevel quad-check honeynets established in both business and academic domains. This enabled them to track backward from servers to user with an 87 percent success rate. They had baited the net starting last year, first with ordinary feed and then with increasingly juicy morsels.

"Our sites mirrored established geology, applied physics, ecology, civil engineering, and biogeography sites," Hitomi said. "To attract deep divers, typical data included information on the use of explosives in seismic recordings, the tests of the stability of structures to vibration and earthquake damage, and in our oceanographic sites, data on hurricanes, rogue waves, tsunamis, and so forth. All this is familiar to you."

Kenner nodded.

Hitomi continued: "We knew we had a disseminated enemy, and a clever one. Users often operate behind netnanny firewalls, or used AOL accounts with teen ratings, to imply they are juvenile pranksters or kiddie scripters. But they are nothing of the sort. They are well organized, patient, and unrelenting. In recent weeks, we have begun to understand more."

The screen changed, showing a list.

"Out of a mix of sites and discussion groups, our sys progs found the deep divers clustered on the following category topics:

Aarhus, Denmark

Argon/Oxygen Drives

Australian Military History

Caisson Seawalls

Cavitation (Solid)

Cellular Encryption

Controlled Demolition

Flood Mitigation

High-Voltage Insulators

Hilo, Hawaii

Mid-Ocean Relay Network (MORN)

Missionary Diaries of the Pacific National Earthquake Information Center (NEIC) National Environmental Resource Fund (NERF) Network Data Encryption Potassium Hydroxide Prescott, Arizona Rain Forest Disease Foundation (RFDF) Seismic Signatures, Geological Shaped Explosives (Timed) Shinkai 2000 Solid Rocket Propellant Mixtures Toxins and Neurotoxins Wire-guided Projectiles "An impressive, if mysterious list," Hitomi said. "However, we have filters to identify smees and high-performance clients. These are individuals attacking firewalls, setting trojans, wild spiders, and so forth. Many of them are looking for credit card lists. But not all." He tapped his little computer, and the images changed.

"We added each of these topics into the honeynet with increasing stickiness, finally including hints of forthcoming research data, which we exposed as e-mail exchanges among scientists in Australia, Germany, Canada, and Russia. We drew a crowd and watched the traffic. We eventually sorted a complex nodal North AmericaToronto, Chicago, Ann Arbor, Montrealwith spines to both American coasts, as well as England, France, and Germany. This is a serious Alpha extremist group. They may already have killed a researcher in Paris. We're awaiting data. But the French authorities can be amp;slow."

Kenner spoke for the first time. "And what's the current delta cellular?"

"Cellular traffic is accelerating. E-mail is heavily encrypted. STF rate is up. It is clear there is a project under wayglobal in scope, immensely complicated, extremely expensive."

"But we don't know what it is."

"Not yet."

"Then you'd better follow the money."

"We are doing it. Everywhere." Hitomi smiled grimly. "It is only a matter of time before one of these fishes takes the hook."

Chapter 4

VANCOUVER

TUESDAY, JUNE 8

4:55 P.M.

Nat Damon signed the paper with a flourish. "I've never been asked to sign a nondisclosure agreement before."

"I'm surprised," the man in the shiny suit said, taking the paper back. "I would have thought it was standard procedure. We don't want our proprietary information to be disclosed." He was a lawyer accompanying his client, a bearded man with glasses, wearing jeans and a work shirt. This bearded man said he was a petroleum geologist, and Damon believed him. He certainly looked like the other petroleum geologists he had dealt with.

Damon's company was called Canada Marine RS Technologies; from a tiny, cramped office outside Vancouver, Damon leased research submarines and remote submersibles to clients around the world. Damon didn't own these subs; he just leased them. The subs were located all over the worldin Yokohama, Dubai, Melbourne, San Diego. They ranged from fully operational fifty-foot submersibles with crews of six, capable of traveling around the globe, to tiny one-man diving machines and even smaller remote robotic vehicles that operated from a tender ship on the surface.

Damon's clients were energy and mining companies who used the subs for undersea prospecting or to check the condition of offshore rigs and platforms. His was a specialized business, and his little office at the back of a boat repair yard did not receive many visitors.

Yet these two men had come through his door just before closing time. The lawyer had done all of the talking; the client merely gave Damon a business card that said Seismic Services, with a Calgary address. That made sense; Calgary was a big city for hydrocarbon companies. Petro-Canada, Shell, and Suncor were all there, and many more. And dozens of small private consulting firms had sprung up there to do prospecting and research.

Damon took a small model down from the shelf behind him. It was a tiny white snub-nosed submarine with a bubble top. He set it on the table in front of the men.

"This is the vehicle I would recommend for your needs," he said. "The RS Scorpion, built in England just four years ago. Two-man crew. Diesel and electric power with closed cycle argon drive. Submerged, it runs on twenty percent oxygen, eighty percent argon. Solid, proven technology: potassium hydroxide scrubber, two-hundred-volt electrical, operational depth of two thousand feet, and 3.8 hours dive time. It's the equivalent of the Japanese Shinkai 2000, if you know that one, or the DownStar 80, of which there are four in the world, but they're all on long leases. The Scorpion is an excellent submarine."

The men nodded, and looked at each other. "And what kind of external manipulators are there?" the bearded man said.

"That's depth dependent," Damon said. "At lesser depths"

"Let's say at two thousand feet. What external manipulators are there?"

"You want to collect samples at two thousand feet?"

"Actually, we're placing monitoring devices on the bottom."

"I see. Like radio devices? Sending data to the surface?"

"Something like that."

"How large are these devices?"

The bearded man held his hands two feet apart. "About so big."

"And they weigh what?"

"Oh, I don't know exactly. Maybe two hundred pounds."

Damon concealed his surprise. Usually petroleum geologists knew precisely what they were going to place. Exact dimensions, exact weight, exact specific gravity, all that. This guy was vague. But perhaps Damon was just being paranoid. He continued. "And these sensors are for geological work?"

"Ultimately. First we need information on ocean currents, flow rates, bottom temperatures. That kind of thing."

Damon thought: For what? Why did they need to know about currents? Of course, they might be sinking a tower, but nobody would do that in two thousand feet of water.

What were these guys intending to do?

"Well," he said, "if you want to place external devices, you have to secure them to the exterior of the hull prior to the dive. There are lateral shelves on each side" he pointed to the model "for that purpose. Once you're at depth, you have a choice of two remote arms to place the devices. How many devices are you talking about?"

"Quite a few."

"More than eight?"

"Oh yes. Probably."

"Well, then you're talking about multiple dives. You can only take eight, maybe ten external devices on any given dive." He talked on for a while, scanning their faces, trying to understand what lay behind the bland looks. They wanted to lease the sub for four months, starting in August of that year. They wanted the sub and the tender ship transported to Port Moresby, New Guinea. They would pick it up there.

"Depending on where you go, there are some required marine licenses"

"We'll worry about that later," the lawyer said.

"Now, the crew"

"We'll worry about that later, too."

"It's part of the contract."

"Then just write it in. However you do it."

"You'll return the tender to Moresby at the end of the lease period?"

"Yes."

Damon sat down in front of the desktop computer and began to fill in the estimate forms. There were, all in all, forty-three categories (not including insurance) that had to be filled out. At last he had the final number. "Five hundred and eighty three thousand dollars," he said.

The men didn't blink. They just nodded.

"Half in advance."

They nodded again.

"Second half in escrow account prior to your taking delivery in Port Moresby." He never required that with his regular customers. But for some reason, these two made him uneasy.

"That will be fine," the lawyer said.

"Plus twenty percent contingency, payable in advance."

That was simply unnecessary. But now he was trying to make these guys go away. It didn't work.

"That will be fine."

"Okay," Damon said. "Now, if you need to talk to your contracting company before you sign"

"No. We're prepared to proceed now."

And then one of them pulled out an envelope and handed it to Damon.

"Tell me if this is satisfactory."

It was a check for $250,000. From Seismic Services, payable to Canada Marine. Damon nodded, and said it was. He put the check and the envelope on his desk, next to the submarine model.

Then one of the men said, "Do you mind if I make a couple of notes?" and picked up the envelope and scribbled on it. And it was only after they were gone that Damon realized they had given him the check and taken back the envelope. So there would be no fingerprints.

Or was he just being paranoid? The following morning, he was inclined to think so. When he went to Scotiabank to deposit the check, he stopped by to see John Kim, the bank manager, and asked him to find out if there were sufficient funds in the Seismic Services account to cover the check.

John Kim said he would check right away.