"Who's funding this grandiose enterprise?" Nick inquired, picking idly at a loose thread in his striped pullover. "The estate of Howard Hughes?"
"They've assured me--Van Dorn and Prothero, that is--that they can raise the money," Chase said, stroking his beard. He shrugged and looked across the desk to where Gene Lucas, pipe clenched between his teeth, was leaning back in an aluminum chair with a padded headrest. "1 told them straight off that this was a multimillion-dollar undertaking and it didn't phase them one bit. I suppose there are wealthy people around who feel their money isn't much use if there isn't a world to spend it in."
Lucas wafted smoke away. "This is quite some job you've landed yourself, Gavin," he said. "One helluva job."
Chase opened his briefcase and took out three photocopied sheets stapled together. He passed them across the desk. "That's why I'm here, Gene. This is a list of the people I intend to approach. Seventy-four names." He had another thought, asked for the sheets back, and added another name. "Seventy-five." To Nick Power he said, "Sorry about that. If I'd known you were here I'd have put you top of the list."
Nick groaned. "Please, Gav, just forget we ever knew each other. That kind of favor I can do without."
Lucas glanced up. "You've put Frank Hanamura down."
"He's one of the top people in his field. That electrolysis idea of his might be the answer--or one of them."
Lucas went back to the list with a noncommittal grunt. He didn't seem impressed. After a few moments he laid it aside. "You want me to comment, Gavin? Your nucleus of scientists sounds all right: atmospheric physicists, oceanographers, climatologists, all good research people, strong on theory. But you're going to need a lot of practical help too. Engineers, lab technicians, computer staff, people with practical skills. The backup team is essential if this project isn't just going to turn into a seminar of abstract theories that never get off the blackboard. It's practical solutions you want, right?"
"The more practical the better," Chase said. "Any names you feel ought to be on the list, go ahead and put them down. I'd be grateful for your advice and help, Gene."
Lucas nodded. "Leave it with me and I'll get back to you. Where are you planning to be over the next couple of weeks?"
"I spoke to Prothero on the phone yesterday and he wants me to look over the Desert Range site at Wah Wah Springs. First I intend to get my son out of New York and then I'll fly out there."
Nick's face lit up. "Listen, he could stay with us. Our house is northwest of town, in the country, and the air is clean by New York standards. Sure, send him here, Gav. Jen and my daughter, Jo, will like that."
Chase thanked him and turned to Lucas. "There's something else you could help me with, a second opinion on the Desert Range site. If it's suitable Prothero believes we can take it over without the Defense Department being any the wiser. Anyone you could spare for a day or two?"
"Yes, we can fix that," Lucas said promptly. "Can't we, Nick?"
Nick Power gave Lucas the steely eye. His head fell back and he stared disconsolately at the ceiling. "I
Chase reached out and gripped Nick's shoulder. "That's the stuff," he chuckled. "Team spirit and unbridled enthusiasm. Aren't you glad I came?"
"Over the moon, Gav. Over the fucking moon."
In the act of rekindling his pipe, Lucas looked at Chase over the curling blue bowl. "You don't seem filled with enthusiasm yourself, Gavin, unbridled or otherwise. Don't you believe there's a chance?"
"I honestly don't know. Do you?"
Lucas blew smoke through a small tight smile. "I'd say it has the ghost of a chance, which is better than none at all."
"I've got the nasty feeling we're at least twenty years too late," Chase said. "We ought to have been doing something like this back in 1990."
"It's a damn pity we didn't," said Gene Lucas, and he wasn't smiling anymore.
Mara had no need of a mask. Even here in the foul canyons of New York City. His pitifully thin body demanded little; its low metabolic rate meant that he was able to survive where others would fall choking and retching and coughing up bloody tissue.
Still, it was necessary and wise to move slowly and carefully. He couldn't afford to expend energy that didn't contribute directly to his purpose. The low oxygen content was just barely sufficient, and his unprotected eyes streamed from the effect of the poisonous miasma that clung in streamers to the tall buildings and wallowed sluggishly in the streets.
For two days Mara had made his preparations. The situation was hopeful; the mission was Go. He had only to wait for three factors to achieve confluence:
Time.
Location.
Access.
