Johanson stared at him. 'You're crazy, Vanderbilt.'

'You think so? There haven't been any accidents or collisions in the Strait of Hormuz – or in the Suez Canal, for that matter.'

'But why the plagues and tsunamis? Why annihilate people who would otherwise pay good money for Arab oil and gas? It doesn't make sense.'

'Oh, I agree,' said Vanderbilt, 'it's crazy. I never said it made sense, only that it adds up. The Med's been spared, you know. There's a clear route all the way from the Persian Gulf right through to Gibraltar. But take a look at where the worms are – all over the oilfields belonging to South America and the West.'

'They're on the American slope off the north-east coast too, don't forget. A tsunami on the European scale would be disastrous for your oil-trading terrorists – their clientele would be washed right out of the market.'

'Dr Johanson.' Vanderbilt smiled. 'You're a scientist, and in science you're always looking for logic. The CIA gave up on that years ago. The laws of nature may make sense. People don't. We all know nuclear war could mean the end of our race, but the threat's still there, hanging over us like the Sword of Damocles. The thing is, Dr Johanson, those Bond-film baddies who hold the world to ransom really do exist. It's Bond who doesn't. When Saddam set fire to the Kuwaiti oil wells in 1991, even some of his own advisers predicted it would trigger a nuclear winter that could last for years to come. They were wrong. That's beside the point, though: their warnings didn't stop him. In any case, why don't you ask your friends in Kiel what would really happen if all the underwater methane escaped into the air? It's all speculation, you see. Sure, the sea level would rise, Europe would be finished, and Belgium, the Netherlands and northern Germany would be one helluva watersports resort, but what about the barren areas of the Middle East? Maybe the deserts would come into bloom. You'd need more than a few tsunamis to wipe out the Western world entirely. There'll still be enough people to buy the Arabs' oil. And maybe the campaign of terror isn't intended to bring about the apocalypse: maybe it's designed to weaken the West and lead to a redistribution of world power, without anyone having to fight for it. And as for the planet – I'm sure it will sort itself out in the end… The monsters might be rising from the ocean, but you can bet your bottom dollar that their master's on dry land.'

Li switched off the projector. 'I'd like to thank the diplomats and the international intelligence community for enabling us to hold this summit,' she said. 'I know some of you will have to return home later today, but the majority of you will be our guests here for the next few weeks. I'm sure I don't need to remind you that the same conditions of confidentiality apply to us all. Our work and our findings must be kept under wraps. It's in the interest of all our governments.'

She paused.

'As for the scientists, please rest assured that we'll be doing everything in our power to help you. From now on we would ask you to use only the laptops provided. There are Internet connections all over the hotel – in the bar, in your rooms, in the health club – so you'll be able to log on no matter where you are. Transatlantic communication is up and running again. The hotel roof is covered with satellite dishes and everything's back in business. Telephone calls, faxes, email and Internet et cetera will all go via the NATO III satellites. They're normally reserved for communication between the NATO governments, but now they're at your disposal too. We've built in a closed network, a secretus in secretion, which only members of the working party will be able to access. You can use it to communicate with each other and to view confidential data. To get in, you'll need a personal password, which you'll be given once you've signed your non-disclosure forms.'

She looked at them sternly. 'Please take it as read that the password should not be shared with unauthorised individuals. Once you've logged in, you'll have access to recon and Earth observation satellites, to data from NOAA and from SOS US, to archived and current telemetric material, and to the CIA and NSA's databases on international terrorism, bio-weaponry and gene technology. We've given you summaries of our current capabilities in terms of deep-sea technology, and you'll also find geological and geochemical information. There are catalogues of different organisms, deep-sea charts courtesy of the navy and, of course, all the details of today's presentation, including the stats and figures. New developments will be forwarded to you immediately and automatically. We'll keep you informed, and we expect you to do the same.'

Li smiled encouragingly at her audience. 'Good luck to you all. In two days' time we'll meet again, same time, same place. If anyone needs to compare notes before then, Major Peak and I are available for consultation at any time.'

Vanderbilt raised his eyebrows. 'I hope you'll be a good girl and tell everything to Uncle Jack,' he said softly, so that only she could hear.

'Just remember,' she said, as she packed up her things, 'I'm your superior.'

'I'm sorry, honey, you can't have heard right. We're partners now, equals.'

'Oh, I wouldn't say that. Not intellectually…'

She left the room.

JOHANSON

Most of the crowd headed for the bar, but Johanson didn't feel like joining them. Maybe it would have been a good opportunity to get to know a few people, but he had other things on his mind.

He'd barely made it inside his suite when there was a knock on the door. Weaver walked in without waiting for an answer.

'You should give an old man the chance to put on his corset before you burst in like that,' said Johanson. 'I wouldn't want to shatter your illusions.'

He picked up his laptop and wandered around the cosily furnished sitting room, looking for the modem. Weaver opened the minibar and helped herself to a Coke. 'Above the desk,' she said.

'Oh, so it is,' Johanson plugged in the laptop and booted it up.

Weaver watched over his shoulder. 'What do you think of the terrorism theory?' she asked.

'Makes no sense.'

'That's what I thought too.'

'I can't say I'm surprised by the CIA's schizophrenia.' Johanson clicked on a series of icons. 'They're trained to think like that. And Vanderbilt was right about one thing: scientists do tend to forget that people don't operate with the reliability of natural laws.'

Weaver leaned over and auburn curls cascaded over her face. She pushed them back. 'You've got to tell them, Sigur.'

'Tell them what?'

'About your theory.'

Johanson double-clicked on an icon and entered his password: Chateau Disaster 000 550899-XK/O. 'Ta-ra ta-ra,' he hummed. 'Welcome to Wonderland.'

Nice password, he thought. A castle populated by scientists, intelligence operatives and soldiers, all trying to save the world from monsters, floods and catastrophic climate change. Chateau Disaster was exactly right.

More icons appeared on the screen. Johanson studied the titles of the folders and whistled softly. 'My God, we really have got access to the satellites.'

'Seriously? Can we guide them?'

'Hardly. You can download the data, though. Look, GOES-W and GOES-E… the entire NOAA fleet's on here. And see this one? It's QpikSCAT – not bad either. And all the Lacrosse satellites too – that means they've really bitten the bullet, if they've let us have these. And over here we've got SAR-Lupe, it-'

'I get the picture. You can come back down to earth. Surely they haven't really given us unrestricted access to state information and intelligence resources?'

'Of course not. We've got access to whatever they'd like us to see.'