Therri shook her head. “We're not big enough to do that. This is not a street gang we're dealing with. They're too big and powerful. You saw how easily they sabotaged our ship. If someone like Kurt Austin is nervous, then we should pay attention. We can't risk any more lives.”

“Don't underestimate SOS, Therri. Muscle isn't everything. Strength can come from knowledge.”

“Don't talk in riddles, Marcus.”

He smiled. “We may have a winning card. Josh Green called yes- terday. He has stumbled onto something big, and it concerns an Oceanus operation in Canada.”

“What sort of operation?”

“Josh wasn't sure. It came out of Ben Nighthawk.”

“The college intern in our office?” Ryan nodded. "As you know, Nighthawk is a Canadian Indian.

He's been getting these weird letters from his family in the North Woods. A corporation took over a big tract of land near their village. As a favor to Ben, Josh looked into the ownership. The land was purchased by a straw corporation set up by Oceanus."

In her excitement, Therri put aside her fears. “This may be the lead we're looking for.”

“Uh-huh. I thought the same thing. Which is why I told Josh to check it out.”

“You sent him up there alone?”

“He was on his way to Canada to meet Ben when he called. Night- hawk knows the lay of the land. Don't worry. They'll be careful.”

Therri bit her lower lip as she thought back to the savage attack on a quiet Copenhagen street. She respected Ryan for a hundred dif- ferent reasons, but sometimes his zeal to attain a goal got in the way of his judgment.

Fear clouded her eyes. “I hope so,” she murmured.

NUMA 4 - White Death

19

THE GIANT TREE trunks soared like columns in an ancient temple. Their intertwining branches blocked the sun's rays and created an artificial twilight on the forest floor. Far below the tree- tops, the dented old pickup lurched and dipped like a boat in a storm as it climbed over ropy tree roots and unyielding rocks.

Joshua Green sat on the passenger side, jouncing on the hard seat. He kept one hand above his head to cushion the impact of his skull against the interior of the truck's roof. Green was an environmental law expert with the Sentinels of the Sea. He was a sandy-haired, thin-faced man whose large, round glasses and birdlike nose made him look like an emaciated owl. He had gamely toughed out the ride without a complaint until the truck hit a bump that practically bounced him through the overhead.

“I'm feeling like a kernel in a popcorn machine,” he said to the driver. “How much longer do I have to endure this torture?”

“About five minutes; then we'll start walking,” Ben Nighthawk replied. “Don't blame you for getting sick of the bumpy ride. Sorry about the transportation, too. It's the best my cousin could come up with.”