'How're things?' said Judith Li.

She'd arranged for a treadmill from the health club to be installed in her suite. As far as Peak could tell, she spent more time running than sleeping. She was always on the treadmill – watching TV, dealing with her mail, dictating memos, reports and speeches through the voice recognition software on her laptop, listening to briefings on all manner of topics or using the time to think. She was on the treadmill now. A bandeau held her sleek black hair in place. She wore a lightweight track top with a zipper front and tight-fitting track pants. Her breathing was regular, despite the pace she maintained. Peak continually had to remind himself that General Commander Li was forty-eight years old. The trim woman on the treadmill could easily have been mistaken for someone ten years her junior.

'Fine,' said Peak. 'We're coping.'

He glanced around. The suite was the size of a luxury apartment and had been fitted out accordingly. Traditional Canadian furnishings – an open fireplace, lots of wood, rustic charm – combined with French elegance. A grand piano stood next to the window. Like the treadmill, it wasn't normally in the sitting room: Li had requisitioned it from the lobby downstairs. A magnificent archway led to the enormous bedroom on the left. Peak had never seen the bathroom, although he'd heard that it included a whirlpool and sauna.

To him, the treadmill was the only useful piece of furniture, a bulky black presence in the carefully designed interior. In his opinion, sophistication and army business didn't mix. Peak had come from humble beginnings. He'd joined the army not because he had an eye for nice decor but because the streets in his neighbourhood had led mostly to jail. He'd earned his college degree and his officer badge through sheer grit and hard work. His career was an inspiration to others, but it didn't change his roots. He still felt more comfortable under canvas or in a cheap motel.

'We've got the data from the NOAA satellites,' he said, staring past Li through the large panoramic window that overlooked the valley. The sun was shining on the forest of cedars and pines. There was no denying that it was pretty, but Peak wasn't bothered by the view. His mind was on the hours ahead.

'And?'

'We were right.'

'So there's a parallel?'

'Yes. Definite similarities between the noises picked up by the URA and the unidentified spectrograms from 1997.'

'Good,' said Li, apparently satisfied. 'That's good.'

'Is it? Sure, it's a lead, but there's no explanation.'

'Come off it, Sal, don't tell me you were expecting the ocean to give you an answer.' Li pressed the clear button on the treadmill and jumped off 'That's what this whole circus is in aid of, remember? To find out what's going on. Do we have a full house yet?'

'Everyone's here. The last just arrived.'

'Who?'

'The Norwegian guy who discovered the worms. A biologist. He's called, uh…'

'Sigur Johanson.' Li disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a hand-towel draped round her shoulders. 'It's time you learned their names, Sal. We've got three hundred people in this hotel, seventy-five of them scientists. Goddamn it, Sal, that's not so much to ask.'

'Are you telling me you've learned three hundred names?'

I'll learn three thousand, if I have to. You'd better start shaping up.'

'You're kidding me,' said Peak.

I'll prove it.'

'All right. Johanson's got a British journalist with him. We're hoping she can tell us what went on in the Arctic. What's her name?'

'Karen Weaver,' said Li, towelling her hair. 'Lives in London. Science journalist with an interest in oceanography. Computer buff. Was on the vessel in the Greenland Sea that later sank with all its crew.' She flashed her snow-white teeth in a grin. 'If only we had pictures of everything like we have of that boat.'

'You bet.' Peak allowed himself a smile. 'Anyone mentions those pics and Vanderbilt goes red in the face.'

'I'm not surprised. The CIA can't handle seeing stuff without knowing what it means. Has he arrived yet?'

'He's due.'

'Due?'

'He's in the helicopter.'

'Wow. The weight-bearing capacity of our aircraft never ceases to amaze me. You know, Sal, I'd be sweating if I had to fly that pig. Well, don't forget to tell me if any sensational discoveries hit Chateau Whistler before it's time to dazzle our guests.'

Peak hesitated. 'How do we know they won't tell?'

'We've been through this a million times.'

'Sure – and that's still a million too few. These guys don't understand a thing about confidentiality. They've all got family and friends. Before we know it, journalists'll show up and start asking questions.'

'Not our problem.'

'Well, it might be.'

'So recruit them into the army.' Li gestured dismissively. 'Put them under martial law. Shoot them if they talk.'

Peak froze.

'I'm joking, Sal.' Li waved at him. 'Hello! I said it was a joke.'

I'm not in the mood for jokes,' Peak said. 'Vanderbilt's dying to put the whole darned lot of them under martial law, but it's just not realistic. Over half of them are foreigners, Europeans mainly. We can't do anything if they decide to break their word.'

'Then we'll make out that we can.'

'You're going to coerce them? It won't work. No one co-operates under coercion.'

'Who mentioned coercion? For heaven's sake, Sal, I wish you'd stop inventing problems out of nowhere. They want to help us. And they will keep quiet. And if they somehow get the impression that they might end up in jail if they don't keep shtoom, well, so much the better. The power of suggestion can go a long way.'

Peak looked at her skeptically. 'Anything else?'

'No, I think we're all set.'

'Fine. See you later, then.' Peak took his leave.

LI WATCHED HIM go and smiled. How little he knew about people. He was an excellent soldier and a brilliant strategist, but he had difficulty in distinguishing humans from machines. Peak seemed to think that there was a hidden button on the human body that guaranteed all orders would be correctly carried out. It was a common misconception among graduates from West Point. America's elite military academy was known for its merciless regime, which was geared towards unconditional, blind obedience. Peak wasn't entirely wrong to be anxious, but his understanding of group psychology was way off the mark.

Li's thoughts turned to Jack Vanderbilt. He was in charge of the CIA's efforts. Li didn't like him. He stank, sweated and had bad breath, but he certainly knew his job. Over the past few weeks, his department had excelled itself, especially after the tsunami had devastated northern Europe. He and his team had pieced together an astonishingly clear overview of the chaos of events. In real terms that didn't mean they had answers, but no one could want for a better catalogue of questions.

Li wondered whether she should give the White House a call. Not that there was anything to report, but the President liked talking to her – he admired her intellect. That was the way things stood between them, and Li knew it, but she kept it to herself It was better that way. She was one of only a handful of female American generals, and she was well below the average age for military high command. That was enough to arouse the suspicions of senior military and political figures. Her friendly rapport with the most powerful man in the world did nothing to improve the situation, so Li pursued her goals with utmost caution. She avoided the limelight, and never let slip in public just how much the President depended on her: that he didn't like scenarios being described as complicated because complexity had no place in his thinking, that it often fell to her to help him see the complex world in simple terms, that he asked her for guidance whenever the advice of his defence secretary or national security adviser seemed unintelligible, and that she had no trouble explaining their viewpoints – and the Department of State's opinion as well.