“What about guides and workmen?” Nimec said.

“They ride in the trucks or the standards. This vehicle’s okay, rest assured. If you don’t trust me, you can count on its intruder shock or bug detection systems. Take your pick.”

“Intruder shock?” Scull said.

“Anybody lays a hand on it who shouldn’t gets hit with fifty thousand volts, the same as with a stun gun. The zapper’s set every night.”

Scull nodded.

“Good enough, I just found myself a phone booth,” he said. Then he stepped past Nimec to the driver’s door and pulled it open. “You guys chill out a minute, I gotta make an important call.”

“Hello, Fred Sherman—”

“Sherm, it’s Vince,” Scull said into his secure cellular. It was much cooler inside the Rover than out on the blacktop, its mirrored windows blocking the sun’s powerful rays. “Since when do you personally answer your phone?”

“Since my receptionist left for the day along with everybody else who works sane hours,” said Sherman at the other end of the line. He was one of the top data hounds in Scull’s risk-assessment office at UpLink SanJo. “How’s it going?”

“Don’t fucking ask.”

“Nice to hear you sounding happy.”

“I try to be consistent,” Scull said. “Look, I need some info.”

“Sure. Tell me what it is, I’ll get on it first thing tomorrow.”

“I mean I need it right now.”

“Vince, it’s almost seven o’clock at night—”

“Not here in Africa, it isn’t.” Scull glanced at the dashboard clock. “Here in Africa, where I happen to be, it’s still before ten in the morning. The day’s young and the sun’s shining and it feels like a goddamn furnace.”

“Vince, come on. Another ten minutes, five minutes, I would have been out the door—”

“Good I caught you when I did, then,” Scull growled. “Is it a fluke or miracle of God, I wonder?”

“Ah crap, Vince, don’t do this to me—”

“You know the submarine cable maintenance outfit we contracted for our Gabon operation? Nautel?”

“Of course, I did most of the research on it—”

“Which is why I don’t have to explain how it’s the same fleet owner that was doing the job for Planétaire . . . and why I called you and not somebody else,” Scull said. “I want to see records from both companies about the African fiber outage back in May . . .”

“Oh. Well, that ought to be easy enough. I already have scads of them in my files . . .”

“And everything they’ve got on the accident that killed those two Nautel divers. Everything, Sherm. Internal review documents, too.”

“Different story there.” Sherman’s tone had lifted and sunk. “Nautel’s almost sure to cooperate, especially since we still haven’t inked our contracts. But it’s hard to get through to anybody who’s upper rung at Planétaire right now. With the company going bust, and those irregular accounting practices, quote unquote, being covered in the media, their top execs are all bolting down into hidey-holes. And taking their paper shredders with them.”