“I agree with you, Nathan,” Quartermain said, “but I think Innokentiy and Malachai have made some valid points, too.” She shrugged. “Given the practical limits on what we can actually do at the moment, I’m afraid I’m going to have to side with them. But”—she glared suddenly at the others—“whatever our justification for going after Beowulf, we need to do it just as hard and just as quickly as humanly possible. Because Nathan’s got a point, too, people. The situation in the Verge is going to go straight to hell on us, no matter what we do, but the last thing we need is to have the Shell going up in flames right along with it. We need to get a handle on this, and we need to do it fast!”

* * *

“You’re kidding me,” Irene Teague said, staring at Daud al-Fanudahi. The two of them sat on benches across a small outdoor table from one another, eating their lunch as the warm summer sun spilled down across them. Lake Michigan’s waters stretched limitlessly towards the horizon below the restaurant perched on a two hundredth-floor balcony of the Admiralty building, and gaily colored sails and powerboats dotted that dark blue expanse as far as the eye could see.

Not that either of them was in much of a mood to appreciate the view at the moment.

“I wish I were.” al-Fanudahi sounded entirely too calm for Teague’s mood, and she glared at him.

“Calmly, Irene,” he said, gazing serenely past her towards the lake water so far below. “I don’t think anyone’s listening to us out here, but I’d just as soon not give anyone a reason to think they should be listening to us, if you know what I mean.”

Teague looked at him for a moment longer, then nodded and reached for her own fork.

“Granted,” she said. “But I stand by my original reaction. Please tell me you were just making a really bad joke.”

“Wish I were,” he repeated with a sigh. “Unfortunately, the official request for intelligence updates will be coming through this afternoon sometime. As far as I can see, they’re very serious about it.”

“After what happened to Filareta?” She scooped up a forkful of delicious tuna salad and chewed without tasting it at all. “I knew Rajampet wasn’t what anyone would’ve called brilliant, but I thought Kingsford had a working brain!”

“As far as I can tell, he does,” al-Fanudahi replied. “I don’t know that this is his idea, either. But given the kinds of intelligence data they’re going to be requesting, there’s no question what they’re looking at.”

“A military operation against Beowulf?” She shook her head. “That’s got to be the worst idea I’ve heard since Operation Raging Justice itself!”

“I don’t know.” Al-Fanudahi shrugged. “It depends on the mission parameters and the available resources, I guess.”