A tall gentleman wearing a black, neoprene body suit greets them on the tarmac. He approaches Barbara, extending his hand. “Madam Ambassador, Karl Brandt, Australian Geological Survey Organization, how’d you do? Excuse the outfit, but the lead suits we’ll be wearing can become quite confining. I gather these gentlemen are from the IEER?”

Taber and Martinez introduce themselves.

“Very good. Look, I don’t mean to rush you, but Nullarbor’s still a good two hours away, at least what’s left of it, and I don’t want to lose the light.”

“Where are the other members of the Security Council’s delegation?”

“Already waiting in the chopper.”

Gulf of Mexico

Mick kneels by the steel door of the eight-by-ten-foot cell, fighting to stay awake as he probes the keyhole with the metal wire. “God dammit!” He slumps back against the wall, staring at the end of the broken paper clip, now jammed in the lock.

This is no good—I can’t stay focused. I’ve got to sleep, gotta get some rest. He closes his eyes, then opens them. “No! Stay awake—work the lock. Borgia will be here soon and—”

“Mick?”

The voice startles him.

“Mick Gabriel, are you in there?”

“Teperman?”

A key jiggles the lock and the door swings open.

Marvin enters, leaving the door ajar. “There you are. I’ve had one tough time finding you, eh, this boat is huge.” He hands Mick the leather-bound journal. “Interesting reading. Then again, your father’s always been quite imaginative.”

Mick eyes the door.

“Did you know that I met your father? It was in Cambridge, back in the late sixties. I was a third-year undergraduate. Julius was guest speaker in a lecture series entitled, ‘Mysteries of Ancient Man.’ I thought he was quite brilliant; in fact, it was his speech that pushed me toward a career in exobiology.”

Marvin notices Mick eyeing the door. He turns and sees the paper clip protruding from the lock. “You won’t get very far that way.”

“Dr. Teperman, I’ve got to get out of here.”

“I know. Here, take this.” Marvin reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a wad of bills. “There’s a little more than six hundred dollars there, some of it Canadian. It’s not a lot, but it should get you where you need to go.”

“You’re freeing me?”

“Not me, I’m just the messenger. Your father was a big influence, but I wasn’t that fond of him.”

“I don’t understand?”

“Your escape has been arranged by someone who despises Secretary Borgia about as much as you do.”

Chaney? “Then, you’re not releasing me because you believe my story?”