“The mountain region on the upper island of Novaya Zemlya, north of the Russian mainland. All indications from our satellite sensors pinpoint this area as a slim possibility.”

“Damn?” the President muttered softly. “Every time we discover something like this, it has to sit in the Soviet Union or in some other untouchable location.” He scanned the photographs and then turned his eyes to Dormer. “The earth is a big place. Surely there must be other promising areas?”

Dormer shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. President, but geologists have been searching for byzanium ever since Alexander Beesley discovered its existence in 1902. To our knowledge, none has ever been found in quantity.”

“It’s radioactivity is so extreme,” Seagram said, “it has long vanished from the continents in anything more than very minute trace amounts. The few bits and pieces we’ve gathered on this element have been gleaned from small, artificially prepared particles.”

“Can’t you build a supply through artificial means?” the President asked.

“No, sir,” Seagram replied. “The longest-lived particle we managed to produce with a high-energy accelerator decayed in less thaw two minutes.”

The President sat back and stared at Seagram. “How much of it do you need to complete your program?”

Seagram looked to Donner, then at the President. “Of course you realize, Mr. President, we’re still in a speculative stage …”

“How much do you need?” the President repeated.

“I should judge about eight ounces.”

“I see.”

“That’s only the amount required to test the concept fully,” Donner added. “It would take an additional two hundred ounces to set up the equipment on a fully operational scale at strategic locations around the nation’s borders.”

The President slumped in his chair. “Then I guess we scrap this one and go on to something else.”

Seagram was a tall lanky man, with a quiet voice and a courteous manner, and, except for a large, flattened nose, he could almost have passed as an unbearded Abe Lincoln.

Donner was just the opposite of Seagram. He was short and seemed almost as broad as he was tall. He had wheat colored hair, melancholy eyes, and his face always seemed to be sweating. He began talking at a machine-gun pace. “Project Sicilian is too close to reality to bury and forget. I strongly urge that we push on. We’d be playing for the inside straight to end inside straights, but if we succeed … my God, sir, the consequences are enormous.”

“I’m open to suggestions,” the President said quietly.

Seagram took a deep breath and plunged in. “First, we’d need your permission to build the necessary installations. Second, the required funds. And third, the assistance of the National Underwater and Marine Agency.”

The President looked questioningly at Seagram. “I can understand the first two requests, but I don’t grasp the significance of NUMA. Where does it fit in?”

“We’re going to have to sneak expert mineralogists into Novaya Zemlya. Since it’s surrounded by water, a NUMA oceanographic expedition nearby would make the perfect cover for our mission.”