Текст книги "26 - Storm Cycle "

Автор книги: Iris Johansen

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" 'Maybe' just doesn't cut it. This whole thing is just an academic exercise if we don't get that."

"I understand."

"I'm not sure you do. This is a race, Professor. You're not the only ace in my deck, just the one I prefer using. It allows me a certain amount of independence from my employer that I may use to my advantage." His lips tightened. "But if you're not capable of taking me across the finish line, I'll find someone who can."

* * *

"Do you know, I've never spent a night with a woman without sex," Tavak said. "It's been kind of eye-opening." He pulled her closer. "You're an extraordinary woman, Rachel."

He was the one who was extraordinary, she thought. Complex and vital and ever-changing. These hours spent together in the darkness had not been like anything she had ever before experienced. They had talked for hours, first about Ben and Allie, then they had gradually drifted into memories and an exchanging of ideas and philosophies. She had thought she knew Tavak, but she had only scratched the surface until tonight. "I don't know if that's a compliment or not. But I'll take it as one."

"It's not a compliment, it's truth." His lips brushed her temple. "You're truth. Clean and bright and without a trace of subterfuge. Do you know how rare that is?" His arms tightened. "I'm having trouble with our 'exception' relationship. I don't think I can go on with it. I didn't think I'd ever become possessive about anyone. I didn't believe I had the right. But things are changing with me."

"You've just gone through an experience that may have put you a little off-balance."

"Stop analyzing. I've already done that, and that's not the reason. I've been heading in this direction since I started thinking about you in Kontar's tomb. I believe I'm going to have to start working to make you come along with me. If I'm lucky, you're halfway there already."

More than halfway, she thought. She had never felt as close to anyone as she had to Tavak during these hours. "We're both in an overemotional state of—"

"Shh." His fingers touched her lips, silencing her. "Give in to it, Rachel. Hear the music. I have a feeling it can lead us to incredible places."

Hear the music.

He had said that she was without subterfuge and in this moment she could not hide the truth even to protect herself at her most vulnerable.

"I hear the music," she said unevenly. "I do hear it, Tavak."

"Good." He kissed her. "That's all that's important right now. Go to sleep. There's no hurry. We can start with the slow steps and go on from there."

* * *

Rachel grabbed her buzzing mobile phone from the bedside table and hit the talk button before she was even fully awake. "Yes?"

"Rachel, it's happening. Jonesy's doing it!"

Val's voice, Rachel realized. She snapped wide-awake. Tavak sat up in the bed next to her.

"Do you hear me? It's happening!"

"Calm down, Val. What's happening?"

"Something clicked. Jonesy started cracking major portions of the code, and the rest have been falling like dominos."

"Hold on, I'm putting you on speaker. Tavak is here with me. Go ahead."

"It's looking like each one of the carvings has a different purpose. The first one presents Peseshet's treatment as an offering to the gods to allow her passage into the afterlife. The second one is an ingredient list. Plants, mostly."

"What plants?" Tavak asked.

"Simon is researching them now."

"I'm here!" Simon picked up on a telephone extension. "You'll need a botanist to go over this, but I'm afraid at least one of these plant ingredients may be extinct."

Rachel turned to Tavak. "No."

He placed a comforting hand on her arm. "It doesn't mean anything. The active ingredient is probably present in other plants."

"What if it isn't? What if after all this—?"

"Stop it. We'll make it work. Through gene splicing, cellular manipulation, whatever it takes."

Rachel nodded and tried to pull herself together. He was right. Her whole life was about solving problems, and she could solve this one. One crisis at a time. "Val, what was in the third message, the one at Hearst Castle?"

"That one seems to be about cultivating and preparing the ingredients. But it also tells you how to unlock the treatment's secret from the fourth set of wall carvings, the one from the Hermitage Museum. Any luck in finding it?"

"We've had a bit of a setback. We're having to regroup. What do we do when we find it?"

"We're working on that now," Val said. "I mean me, Simon, and Jonesy. But it looks like it involves an Egyptian sunset."

"Okay, now you're just messing with me."

"I wish I was. That part isn't entirely clear yet, but we have Jonesy mapping the relation of the sun to the mastaba wall in its position in Saqqara. We'll have more for you later."

Rachel shot a glance at Tavak. She knew that expression, intent, thoughtful. She spoke back into the phone. "Fantastic work, guys. Keep me posted." She cut the connection and turned to Tavak. "What's wrong?"

He climbed out of bed and pulled on his pants and shirt. "Nothing. Jonesy's doing a good job, but we have to offer support. We have to get that mastaba wall back."

"Any ideas?"

"No, but I'd better get one quick." He leaned forward and brushed a kiss on the tip of her nose. "Thank you."

"Thank you," she said in return. "It was a special night." So special that she wanted to reach out and hold on to it, hold on to him. "But next time, I think we'll add the skyrockets."

He went still. "Whenever you're ready."

She was ready now. But it wasn't the time. She nodded. "I'll let you know."

"Do that," he said softly.

* * *

"Tavak." Demanski called him fifteen minutes after he reached his room. "I need to talk to you. I'll be down to your room in three minutes." He hung up before Tavak could reply.

Two minutes later Tavak opened the door to Demanski and Allie. "I've got an idea." Demanski strode into the room. "And I think it might work."

"Track down Wiley's plane and maybe strong-arm or bribe the pi lot to tell you where he flew him?"

"I suppose that's an option." Demanski's eyes were sparkling. "But I've got a better one."

"Do you?"

Allie nodded. "You should listen to him. I think it's a good idea. Demanski and I spent last night looking through the documentation that the Hermitage Museum gave him with the artifacts. That mastaba wall was X-rayed in the late nineties, and we have copies of the films. There are no hidden panels, false fronts, or anything like that. Whatever message it holds, it's somewhere on the surface."

Tavak nodded. "Like the carvings at Hearst Castle."

"Right," Demanski said. "So why go chasing after that mastaba wall… when we can make our own?"

Tavak went still. "And how do you propose we do that?"

"Have you ever heard of Pixel Dance Incorporated?"

"The special-effects company. They're the geeky guys who win the visual-effects Oscars every year."

"They're geniuses. I was one of their original backers, but all their revenue goes right back out to R&D and hardware upgrades. It's a terrible business. I let them buy me out for a song, so they owe me huge."

"What good is that to us?"

"They think they can help. A few of their best and brightest are giving us half a day tomorrow. We need to be at their facility in northern California at 7 A.M. tomorrow."

Tavak's excitement was growing the more he thought about it. He'd heard what miracles those techs could pull off. By God, it could work. "It's worth a shot," he murmured. "Good job, Demanski."

"Damn straight," Demanski said complacently. "And damn brilliant."

"I won't even argue with you on that point." Tavak let out a long breath. "Every minute that Dawson has those carvings that we don't, he's that much closer to getting his hands on Peseshet's cure." He glanced at Allie. "Are you on board with this?"

Allie was looking at Demanski. "Yes. Let's do it."

Demanski smiled. "Give me twelve hours, Tavak. If it doesn't work, my jet will be warmed up and waiting to take us anywhere you want to go. We'll strong-arm pi lots and sundry other villains to your heart's content."

"You've got it." Tavak nodded. "Let's go tell Rachel."

EIGHTEEN

HOUSTON POLICE DEPARTMENT

CENTRAL PRECINCT

NSA Agent Wayne Norton glanced uneasily around the squad room. He looked distinctly out of place, Finley thought, as he and Gonzalez approached him.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" Finley asked.

"I think you know. That was a rather indiscreet message you left."

"Well, you didn't respond to any of our discreet messages," Gonzalez said.

"I'm here now." Norton sat on the edge of the table. "What do you want from me?"

"Why don't we discuss the message I left?" Finley said. "We know that Rachel Kirby's shooter worked for you."

"That's not true."

"Maybe not you personally, but for the NSA. At least occasionally. He was freelance, but he did contract work for you guys."

"As a hired assassin? I'm afraid you have a rather glamorous view of my agency that's not based on fact."

"His name was Gaius Pelham. He was known as the Invisible Man because his fingerprints, DNA, and facial and dental records weren't in any public database. The agencies who used him knew who he was, though. Including yours, which is why you swooped in and took his body away when we started circulating his vitals."

Norton crossed his arms. "Ridiculous. Where do you get this stuff?"

"You're denying it, then."

"You know that I can neither confirm nor deny statements relating to the activities of the National Security Agency."

"You came down here awfully fast for something you can neither confirm nor deny," Gonzalez said.

"I need to know who is spreading this crap around."

"Then it is true," Finley said softly.

"Has it occurred to you that I might be interested in someone spreading disinformation? When a police detective leaves a message like that on my office phone, I have to take it seriously."

"Look at it from our perspective. Someone takes a shot at Rachel Kirby, who happens to be involved in a project of your agency's. Then we find the shooter dead, and we have a homicide investigation on our hands. Now we have very reliable information that tells us that Kirby's would-be assassin has worked for your agency. What conclusion would a reasonable man draw from that information?"

"I can assure you that the NSA has no grudge against Rachel Kirby."

"Finally," Gonzalez said. "Something you'll go on record for."

"You obviously haven't told any of this to her. She would have gone nuclear on me by now."

"We'd like to talk to her, but she still hasn't come back into town." Gonzalez shot a glance at his partner. "We believe she could be in a great deal of danger."

Norton nodded. "Did you know she was on the Big Obukhovsky Bridge in St. Petersburg the other night?"

"During the attack?'

"Yes. My sources tell me she was right in the middle of it. It follows that if you think she could be in danger, you're probably right. So tell me where you're getting your information."

"Sorry, no can do," Finley said.

"If you're really worried about Rachel Kirby, you'll tell me."

"That's funny," Gonzalez said. "Our concern for Rachel Kirby is a major reason for not confiding in you. Why don't we just cut the bullshit and try to figure out what's going on? Or is that too straightforward for you people?"

Norton gazed at them for a long moment. "You're honest cops, and I admire your initiative. I'm impressed."

"But?" Gonzalez said.

"But I've said all I'm going to say. Except that you should seriously think about giving me your source. You may soon get a call from your chief of police." He turned away. "Or you may get a knock at your door in the middle of the night and be taken somewhere depressing for a long, long time."

MARIN COUNTY, CALIFORNIA

7 A.M.

Tavak stared doubtfully at the chrome sculptures lining the outdoor entranceway of Pixel Dance Incorporated. The sculptures were of dinosaurs, spaceships, and the scores of computer-generated characters through which the special-effects facility had made its name. Tavak turned to Demanski. "Are you sure about this?"

"As sure as I am about anything." Demanski smiled. "You only have faith in yourself. I put my trust in the wonders of technology. This is the wave of the future."

"Welcome." A young man in jeans and a Hawaiian T-shirt emerged from the building. "We're honored to have you here."

Demanski smiled. "Thanks, Tillinger. It's good to be back in the place where—"

"Uh, actually, I was talking to Ms. Kirby." The young man smiled at Rachel. "You have a lot of fans in this building. Half the people here donate their unused home computer cycles to your project."

Rachel smiled. It was something she was often told when meeting people in the tech community, but she was still grateful to hear it. "Thank you."

Allie shook her head in amusement. "Freakin' computer geeks."

"My name is Mark Tillinger." The young man motioned for the group to follow him. "I'll be helping you with your project this morning."

"You're keeping early hours," Demanski said.

Mark smiled. "Actually, it's late hours. I haven't been to bed yet. We're running about two weeks behind on the new Spielberg film, so everybody is working crazy schedules."

Mark led them back to a workshop, where he pointed to a monitor with an image of the Hermitage mastaba wall. "I've already gotten started, using photos and X-ray images you e-mailed to me, plus a few dozen more I found online."

Rachel examined the monitor image. "This is a digital model?"

Mark nodded. "Yes. Normally, we like to do a laser scan of the original, but since that isn't an option in this case, we can use photographs. The computer can examine photographs taken from all perspectives and create an extremely accurate 3-D model. See?" Mark rotated the image on the screen.

"I've seen demonstrations of that," Rachel said. "There's a university group that's creating a 3-D computer model of the entire city of Rome just by reading vacation pictures from the online photo-sharing Web sites."

"Exactly. We're doing the same thing here. But now we're taking it a step further." Mark gestured toward the center of the workshop, where a machine with long steel rods and four massive nozzles was inlaid in a ten-foot-by-ten-foot square in the floor.

Tavak smiled. "A printer?"

"You got it. For years, industrial-design houses have used smaller 3-D printers to create architectural models, prototypes, or even reproductions of dinosaur bones. This is the biggest one in the world. If we design a digital star fighter in the computer, we can make a full-size real-life version that an actor can sit in and interact with."

"What are the model copies made out of?" Allie asked.

Mark pointed to a tank with lines to the four nozzles. "ABS plastic, but we can introduce other materials to add strength. And we can spray on a variety of textures. I take it you're looking for sandstone for this one."

"Limestone, actually."

Mark entered a series of commands on his keyboard and the nozzles flew over the center portion of the print mat. White plastic spread evenly over the mat's surface, gaining thickness with each successive pass.

"This will take a couple of hours," Mark said. "Have you had breakfast?"

Rachel pulled out her phone. "You all go ahead. I need to check on Jonesy's progress."

"We can wait. Are you sure?" Demanski asked.

"Yes. Go on."

Tavak stood over the printing device. "I'll stay here, too. We'll see you in a bit."

Rachel called the lab as soon as they left.

Val answered. "Where have you been? I've been trying to call you."

"This place probably has megaelectronic interference. Good news, I hope?"

"We're pretty sure Jonesy has figured out how to unlock the secret from that inscription. You're still going to need that mastaba wall, though."

Rachel looked at the flying nozzle spreading even more liquid plastic over the mat's surface. "In two hours, I should have it… or a reasonable facsimile thereof. I'll call you as soon as I get it." She glanced at Tavak as she hung up. "Jonesy's been making progress on these codes. Val should be able to transmit an updated decoding package by the time this finishes. I'll shoot them to her right away."

"Maybe not immediately," Tavak said quietly. "There's something I want to discuss with you."

"What?"

"I've been wondering how Dawson has been able to keep up with us. Even with all his resources, we have Jonesy. We should be leaving him in our dust."

"Sometimes brute-force computational power isn't enough."

"Maybe."

She stiffened. "You're saying Jonesy may be compromised?" She shook her head. "Who?"

"I don't know. But the NSA has experts whose sole profession is gathering information. I'm just inclined to be careful."

"And the NSA has a connection to Dawson?"

"I could be wrong. But before we give Jonesy a crack at this, I'd like for us to spend a few minutes writing some software routines. You can integrate it into Jonesy from here, can't you? Remotely?"

Rachel stared at him. "Yes, but I'm not going to do it until I know exactly what you have in mind."

"I didn't expect anything else. It would be hard for you to have blind trust in anyone where it concerns your Jonesy."

She stared at him for a moment. "I do trust you, Tavak. I don't believe I've ever trusted anyone more than I trust you."

He smiled. "That's a megagift. So I'm not going to ask you for blind trust. I'll tell you why I need the software."

* * *

"Holy smoke."

It was slightly over two hours later that Allie stood before the mastaba-wall reproduction which, except for a slightly darker color, was identical to the original they had seen in Russia.

Tavak walked around it. "Truly amazing. The depth of the characters, the size of all of these reliefs, looks exactly the same. If they gave out Academy Awards for this sort of thing… "

"They do." Mark smiled. "They're called Technical Achievement Oscars. We've won quite a few."

Rachel glanced at Val's e-mail message on her phone. "Here's what Jonesy has come up with. Roughly translated, we're supposed to look at the 'shadow of a memory' as the sun's last rays disappear at dusk, then again as they reappear at dawn on the longest day of the year."

"Come again?" Demanski asked.

"Fortunately, Jonesy has already plotted it out, using the location and angle of this wall and the position of the sun in the sky during that time." She looked up. "Your cycles at work, Mark. Do you have a lighting kit handy?"

He nodded. "Sure. What do you need?"

"A high-wattage light with an eight-inch circular mask. It needs to be seven feet four inches high and aimed at the face of this wall at an almost perpendicular angle. Eighty-seven degrees."

Mark smiled. "I'll get my tape measure and protractor."

Within twenty minutes, Mark had positioned the light. Rachel tilted her head to look at the faint shadows cast by the raised carvings.

"This was sunset in Saqqara, everybody. Mark, can you turn out the other lights in here?"

Mark cut the studio lights, and the shadows became more prominent.

Tavak stepped closer to the mastaba wall. "I think that we've hit pay dirt."

"Hieroglyphics." Allie ran to the wall and traced the shadows with her fingers. "Look!"

"I see," Rachel said. "Can someone get a picture?"

Mark picked up a digital camera and snapped several shots.

Rachel looked at Val's e-mail on her phone again. "Okay, let's make a sunrise."

Mark realigned the light based on Jonesy's calculations, and a different set of hieroglyphic shadows were cast on the other side of the mastaba wall. He snapped more pictures, then printed out both sets on a color laser printer.

Rachel held up the photos side by side. "This is incredible. There are even marks for the transcribers to indicate where the halves fit together. Together they form a complete, uninterrupted message."

Demanski turned to Tavak. "You can read this. What does it say?"

"I can't be sure," Tavak said. "We'll need to let Jonesy take a crack at it. We should get going."

Rachel studied Tavak's expression. Something was wrong.

"Thank you, Mark." Tavak shook Tillinger's hand and turned on his heel and strode out of the complex.

Rachel caught up with him as he reached the van. "Why couldn't you read it? What aren't you telling us?"

"That's not the last piece," Tavak said.

"Then what the hell is it?" Demanski asked.

"Directions."

"Directions where?"

"To Peseshet herself."

"What?" Allie asked.

"It says that she will give us the final piece in her tomb."

"Her tomb?" Rachel said. "She was murdered by the Pharaoh. She wouldn't have been given a tomb."

Tavak nodded. "It appears that Natifah, her disciple—or one of her grateful patients—had other ideas. In any case, we now have directions to the secret tomb of Lady Peseshet, overseer of women doctors." Tavak glanced back at Demanski. "Make sure your jet is fueled up and ready to go. We're finishing this where it began. We're going to Egypt."

HOUSTON, TEXAS

8:10 P.M.

Norton pressed the button to save the e-mail before pushing back his chair. The mere process of writing it had twisted his stomach. Okay, it was done. Now he could move forward.

He moved out of the office building elevator when he reached the bottom parking level and headed for his car. He'd call Simmons right away, and discuss—

"Hello, Norton."

Norton stiffened warily as he saw Robert Pierce sitting in the car next to his own. "What are you doing down here, sir?"

"Waiting for you. I agree that I shouldn't have to attend to this kind of thing myself," Pierce said. "But I'm the one who put my trust in you. I've always believed that I have to take responsibility for my actions."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I've been waiting for you. You're keeping late hours."

"Yeah. A lot going on."

Pierce nodded. "There's trouble. We've been burning the midnight oil, too. As I told you, Rachel Kirby's computer network has been compromised. More specifically, our information has been leaked."

"Our guys cleared Tavak, didn't they?"

Pierce smiled. "I know you don't believe it's Tavak. We think it's an inside job. One of our people. I think someone panicked and was afraid Rachel Kirby would trace it back to them. She probably wouldn't have even noticed, but John Tavak's drain on her system's resources raised a red flag." He paused. "So someone ordered her killed."

Norton's brows rose. "Someone in our agency."

"That's what it looks like. Maybe someone was tapping into the processing power of Kirby's computer for their own purposes. Cracking rival government's defense networks, banking systems, the list goes on and on. That ability could be quite valuable on the open market."

"You've got it all figured out," Norton said.

Pierce nodded. "And all that's left is to find the bad guy." He got out of the car. "But I believe we've managed to do that now."

Norton could see where this was going. His hand moved inside his jacket toward his shoulder holster. "Why, you son of a bitch. I won't let you—"

"I'm afraid you have no choice." Pierce raised a semiautomatic handgun and fired twice into Norton's chest.

* * *

Val rolled her chair across the computer lab and checked the settings on her monitor. "I don't like it."

"Don't like what?" Simon asked.

"Jonesy's taking too long with the last set of instructions."

He leaned over her shoulder. "Looks okay to me."

"Rachel will touch down in Cairo in less than two hours. I think there's more to these directions to Peseshet's burial chamber than 'step inside and turn right.' We need to be ready by the time they get there."

"What do you propose?"

Val thought for a moment. "We should take Jonesy off our other projects and channel its processing cycles here."

"All of them?"

"Yes. Until we're able to break these directions down."

"Rachel wouldn't like that. We've made obligations to the donors and the various projects in our network."

"We've been delivering everything we've promised and more."

"I agree. But think of how it looks. What if it got out that we were taking their processing cycles for Rachel's personal use?"

"Just for a few hours."

He crouched beside her. "I see where you're coming from. I do. But that's a decision only Rachel can make."

"She would approve."

"I'm not so sure. Our donors are the lifeblood of this system. If we violate their trust, we could kill the entire project. And you and I both know that's the last thing Rachel would want."

She looked at him for a moment, then clucked her tongue. "Since when did you get so responsible… ? Okay. Rachel's decision."

"Good. For the record, I'm wildly attracted to this rebellious streak of yours. Keep it up, and you might even have a chance with me."

"You are so dreaming."

Simon laughed and walked away.

Val looked back at her monitor and the message cast from the shadows of the Hermitage mastaba wall. Rachel was counting on them to crack this before she journeyed into the Sahara Desert with only a vague sense of what to do. But Simon had a point. Even during Tavak's drain on their network's resources, Rachel had refused to deprive the other projects of their allotted processing cycles. The NSA took the biggest hit, followed by her own foundation.

But still…

Val leaned back in her chair and saw Simon working on the other side of the lab. Usually she was the stickler for rules, and Simon was the group's risk taker.

Not this time, she decided.

She launched the allocation protocol to direct Jonesy's processing cycles toward the mastaba wall code.

* * *

"We're making good time." Demanski stepped into the lounge of his plane, where Rachel, Tavak, and Allie were seated around a small table, examining the photographic prints that made up the newest message. "Figure out anything more there?"

"No," Tavak said. "It's like all the other pieces along the way. Parts are relatively easy to understand, but other sections are written entirely in code. This area gives us the general location of Peseshet's burial chamber, but it's short on specifics. I think the rest will tell us more about what we need to know."

Rachel nodded. "I'll check in with Val and Simon when we land and see what progress Jonesy has made."

"The question of the hour is… " Tavak tapped the photos. "Does Dawson also have this message?"

Allie shrugged. "Look at the hoops we had to jump through. And it's not just a matter of being smart. You have to have a specific kind of smarts."

"Well, as excruciating as Dr. James Wiley is as a lecturer, there's a good chance he has those smarts. He knows more about ancient Nile Delta languages and customs than just about anyone. Plus, he's had more time with the mastaba wall than we've had. It's possible they've beaten us to the punch."

"We have something they don't," Demanski said. He nodded at Rachel. "You and your supercomputer network."

"That's true," Tavak said. "They may still be playing catch-up." He looked at Rachel. "I certainly hope so."

So did Rachel. She had been on edge since Tavak had mentioned the possibility of Jonesy being compromised by the NSA and leaking to Dawson.

Tavak glanced back down at the message. "But it might be a good idea for us to have some muscle while we're in Egypt."

CAIRO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

CAIRO, EGYPT

"Welcome," Nuri said from the open door of a large, black-paneled van with tinted windows. "It is a pleasure to welcome you back so soon."

The van was waiting in the huge pickup/dropoff area in front of the airport after they had gone through Customs and picked up their visas at the booth. The scene appeared to be one of total chaos, with passengers and skycaps darting among literally hundreds of cabs, buses, and private vehicles.

Nuri jumped out of the van and helped Rachel, Allie, Tavak, and Demanski load their bags into the back. Within minutes, they were on their way out of the airport.

Nuri turned around and spoke to Tavak. "Again, I am sorry for your friend's death," he said quietly. "I feel I should have done more to protect him."

"You did your best. It wasn't your job to protect him, Nuri. That wasn't what he wanted."

Nuri smiled. "That is true. Ben was a proud man."

"Yes, he was."

"I would have liked to have been able to furnish you with a larger team, but it was short notice. I think you will find we'll be capable of meeting your needs." He motioned toward the driver. "This is Abu. He was part of the team that came to your aid before, Mr. Tavak."

"I remember," Tavak said dryly. "He also did some guard duty when I was your prisoner."

Abu chuckled. "And now you are my employer. Life is strange. Nice to see you again."

Nuri pointed to the van's back row of seats, where the two remaining men sat. "And behind you are Oba and Meti. We've known each other since we were children."

Demanski drummed his fingers on the roof of the van. "Where did you get this beast?"

Nuri shrugged. "Automobile rental agency. The windows are bulletproof, and the steel is over an inch thick in places. Some diplomats and business executives—Americans mostly—insist on a vehicle like this when they visit here. It makes them feel safer even though the crime rate in many U.S. cities is much worse." Nuri turned to look at the setting sun. "We should be there in little over an hour. How long will we be at the site?"

"I'm not sure," Tavak said. "It depends on what we find when we get there."