“If I told you Kovacs had come up with a way to neutralize the effect of his theorems, would you reconsider your decision to leave the project?”

“Having a fail-safe option would make a big difference. But it's a moot point. The knowledge died with Kovacs at the end of World War Two.”

A sly look came into Margrave's eyes. “Pretend, for the sake of discussion, that he didn't die.”

“Not a chance. His lab got overrun by the Russians. He was killed or captured.”

“If he was captured, why didn't the Russians expand on his work and make superweapons?”

“They tried to,” Barrett said. “They caused the Anchorage earthquake and screwed up the weather.” He paused, and light dawned in his eyes. “If the Russians had Kovacs, they would have done better. So he must have died in 1944.”

“That's the common assumption.”

“Wipe that smug grin off your face. You know something, don't you?”

“The story was true, as far as it went,” Margrave said. “Kovacs publishes the paper about electromagnetic warfare. The Germans kidnap him to develop a weapon that will save the Third Reich. The Russians capture the lab and take the scientists back to Russia. But one of those German scientists left Russia after the Cold War ended. I located him. Cost me a fortune in bribes and payoffs.”

“Are you telling me he had the data we need?”

“I wish it were that easy. The project was strictly compartmentalized. The Germans held the Kovacs family hostage. He held back crucial data hoping to keep his family alive.”

“Makes sense,” Barrett said. “If the Germans were aware there was an antidote to his work, they would no longer need him.”

“That's my guess too. He didn't know that the Nazis disposed of his family almost immediately, and forged letters from his wife urging him to cooperate for the sake of the children. Hours before the Russians arrived at the lab, a man showed up and took Kovacs off with him. Tall, blond guy driving a Mercedes, according to our scientist.”

Barrett rolled his eyes. “That description would fit half the population of Germany.”

“We got lucky. A few years after he left Russia, our German informant came across a picture of the blond man in a ski publication. Sometime in the sixties, the guy who snatched Kovacs won an amateur ski race. He had a beard and was older, but our source was certain this was the guy.”

“Have you tracked him down?”

“I sent some of our security guys to invite him for a talk. Same company that supplies the island guards.”

“Who is this company, Murder Incorporated?”

Margrave smiled. “Gant suggested them. I'll admit that the security company we're using is hard-assed. We wanted pros who wouldn't be shy about pushing the boundaries of the law.”

“Hope you're getting your money's worth from these law pushers.”