only a few minutes from NUMA headquarters. Austin drove along the George Washington Parkway to a sign that said THEODORE ROOSEVELT ISLAND. He parked his car, walked over the footbridge that spanned a narrow waterway called Little River and followed a path to the Roosevelt Memorial, a wide plaza edged by low benches. Ryan was standing with his back to the bronze statue of the president, apparently keeping an eye out for Austin.

Ryan waved him over. “Thanks for coming, Kurt.” Ryan turned and gazed up at the statue. TR stood with legs wide apart, fist raised high in the air. “01' Teddy up there got me into this crazy business. He put millions of acres under federal protection, saved endangered birds from the plume hunters and made the Grand Canyon a national park. He wasn't afraid to push the law to its lim- its when he thought he was acting in the public good. Whenever I have doubts about what I'm doing, I think of this guy staring down the fat cats.”

Austin couldn't help feeling that Ryan was posing for a photo op. “It's hard to believe you have doubts about anything, Marcus.”

“Oh I do, believe me. Especially when I think of the task I've carved out for myself: Protecting the world's oceans and the critters that live in them.”

“If I recall my mythology, the sea-god position has been filled for the last few thousand years.”

Ryan smirked like a guilty child. “Yeah, I guess I do sound god- like at times. But mythology also tells us that gods commonly appoint themselves to their positions.”

“I'll remember that if I ever lose my job at NUMA. Therri said you wanted to talk to me about something important.”

“Yes,” Ryan said, looking past Austin's shoulder. “There she is now, as a matter of fact.”

Therri was walking across the plaza with a young man Austin guessed to be in his early twenties. He had reddish-brown skin, a broad face and high cheekbones.

“Good to see you again, Kurt,” Therri said, extending her hand. Her manner was businesslike in front of the other men, but her eyes told Austin she hadn't forgotten the goodnight kiss in Copenhagen; or at least that's what he hoped they said. “This is Ben Nighthawk. Ben is a research assistant in our office.”

Ryan suggested that they move off to the side of the memorial. When he was sure they could talk out of the earshot of any wander- ing tourists, he wasted no time. “Ben has uncovered some important information on Oceanus,” he said.

With a nod from Ryan, the young Indian began to tell his story.