"The signal light," DeVane said in response to his own question. "That you saw it come back on within seconds of the derailment indicates its circuits were left intact, and able to work normally once the disruption to the electromagnetic field ceased. Not only will the reason for the light's malfunction never be ascertained, there is no hard evidence a malfunction occurred. The cause of the train wreck will be impossible to determine or trace, and therefore we cannot be incriminated. This to me is the salient detail with regard to our larger objectives."

Kuhl's eyes were like small windows into a vast frozen reach.

"If I hadn't thought it important, it would not have been included in my report," he said.

"And I welcome your thoroughness." DeVane studied the neat rows of playing cards in front of him. There was a four of spades in one, a six of clubs in another. He flipped another three off the deck. "Of course, while there is no need for you to explain your selection of a target, I did admittedly find it intriguing."

"Oh?"

DeVane nodded.

"Why a passenger train as opposed to something like a freight train? I wondered. Why send human beings over that hillside rather than cattle or lumber, the accompanying loss of life being nonessential to the test?" He turned over three more cards. "And then the answer came to me. In a snap, as they say."

Kuhl said nothing.

DeVane looked directly at him. "Are you acquainted with the paintings of Brueghel or Hieronymus Bosch?" he asked.

Kuhl shook his head. "I've no interest in art."

"Perhaps not, but you might want to make an exception and seek theirs out anyway. 'The Last Judgment,' 'The Triumph of Death,' 'The Beggars' ... they are works filled with marvelous deviltry, to mangle the words of a poet who admired Brueghel in particular." DeVane smiled. "Very little is known about either man, and most of their oils are undated. We know both lived in the Middle Ages, about a century apart. Who commissioned their paintings, what specifications they were given, whether they ever painted to please themselves rather than their patrons ... these things are mostly open to conjecture. But their styles and monstrous images cannot be confused with anyone else's, and must have bordered upon the heretical in their day. One sees a Bosch canvas, one does not need a signature to identify the cruel, exacting hand of its creator. The work itself is signature enough."

Kuhl met his gaze.

"I don't get your point."

DeVane smiled.

"I think you do, despite my occasional tendency to be elliptical," he said. "Please accept that I implied no disrespect. To the contrary, I see you as a master of your trade, an invisible artist whose handiwork is unmistakable to the studied connoisseur. And I enjoy giving you creative leeway."

DeVane turned over more cards. Kuhl watched him, showing neither interest nor disinterest.