"Joe and I never expected such a warm welcome in a cold place like Siberia," Austin said.

Petrov thanked his agents and dismissed them. He pulled up a chair and told the others to do the same. He unscrewed the cap from the bottle of vodka, poured the glasses full and passed them around.

Raising his glass high, he said, "Here's to old enemies."

They clinked glasses and downed their drinks. The vodka tasted like liquid fire, but it had more wake-up power than pure caffeine. When Petrov went to pour another round, Austin put his hand over the glass. "This will have to wait. We have got some serious matters to deal with."

"I'm pleased you said we. I felt excluded after our call." He poured himself another shot. "Please explain why you found it necessary to hop onto a plane and fly halfway across the world to this lovely garden spot."

"It's a long story," Austin said with a weariness that wasn't all due to the hours on a plane. "It begins and it ends with a brilliant Hungarian scientist named Kovacs."

He laid the story out chronologically, going back to Kovacs's escape from Prussia, bringing it to the recent past, with the giant waves and whirlpool and his talk with Barrett.

Petrov listened in silence, and, when Austin was done, he pushed away his untouched glass of vodka.

"This is a fantastic story. Do you truly believe that these people have the capacity to create this polar reversal?"

"You know everything we know. What do you think?"

Petrov pondered the question for a moment. "Did you ever hear of the Russian 'woodpecker' project? It was an effort to control weather for military purposes, using electromagnetic radiation. Your country followed the same line of research for similar purposes."

"How successful were these projects?"

"Over a period of time, there was a series of unusual weather events in both countries. They ranged from high winds and torrential rains to drought. Even earthquakes. I'm told the research ended with the Cold War."

"Interesting. That would fit in with what we know."

A slight smile cracked the ends of Zavala's lips. "Are we sure it ended?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have you looked out the window lately?"

Petrov glanced around the windowless room before he realized that Zavala was speaking metaphorically. He chuckled, and said, "I have a tendency to take statements literally. It's a Russian thing. I'm well aware that there the world has experienced a number of weather extremes."

Austin nodded. "Joe makes a good point. I don't have the statistics in front of me, but the empirical evidence seems to be pretty strong. Tsunamis. Floods. Hurricanes. Tornadoes. Quakes. They all seem to be on the rise. Maybe this is a hangover from the early experiments."

"But from what you say, these electromagnetic efforts are causing disturbances in the ocean. What has changed?"

"I don't think it's that difficult to understand. Whoever is behind this has seen a reason to focus on a specific end with a specific goal in mind."

"But you don't know what that goal is?"

"You're the former KGB guy. I'm just a simple marine engineer."

Petrov's hand went to the scar. "You're far from simple, my friend, but you're right about my conspiratorial twist of mind. While we talked, I remembered something one of your government officials, Zbigniew Brzezinski, said many years ago. He predicted that an elite class would arise, using modern technology to influence public behavior and keep society under close surveillance and control. They would use social crises and the mass media to achieve their ends through secret warfare, including weather modification. These people you talked about, Margrave and Gant. Do they fit this role?"

"I don't know. It seems unlikely. Margrave is a rich neo-anarchist, and Gant runs a foundation that does battle with the multinationals."

"Maybe you are a simple engineer. If you were part of an elite class that had conceived a plot against the world, would you advertise it?"

"I see your point. No, I would lead people to believe that I opposed the elite."

Petrov clapped his hands. "You don't know how pleased I am to learn that the latest plot against the world is being hatched by Americans rather than a mad Russian nationalist with czarist pretensions."

"I'm glad to know that this is making you warm and bubbly, but we should get down to business."

"I'm completely at your service. You obviously have a plan or you wouldn't be here."

"Since we're not sure of who, and don't know why, we're stuck with what. Polar reversal. We have to stop it."

"I agree. Tell me more about this so-called antidote you mentioned."

"Joe's the technical guy on our team. He can explain it better than can.

"I'll do my best," Zavala said. "From what I understand, the idea is to cause a polar shift using electromagnetic transmissions beamed into the earth's mantle, creating sympathetic vibrations in the inner core. You can compare these transmissions to sound waves. If you're in a hotel and you want to mask loud voices from the next room, you could turn on a fan and the vibrations would neutralize the racket. If you wanted to mask a higher tone, like a hair dryer, you would need a different set of frequencies. It's called white noise, or white sound. You might hear it as a hiss or something like rustling leaves. This antidote is comparable. But it wouldn't work unless you had the exact frequencies."

"And you think this woman, Karla Janos, knows about these frequencies?"

"She may not know it, but the evidence seems to point that way," Austin said. "Aside from the global implications, there is an innocent young woman here who could lose her life."

Petrov's somber expression remained the same, but his eyes crinkled in amusement. "That is one of the many reasons I like you, Austin. You are the embodiment of gallantry. A knight in shining armor."

"Thanks for the compliment, but we don't have much time, Petrov."

"I agree. Do you have any questions?"

"Yeah," Zavala said. "Does Veronika have a phone number?"

"You can ask her yourself," Petrov said.

He downed the shot of vodka, screwed the cap back on the bottle and tucked it under his arm, then led the way from the room and through the exit. A car and driver were waiting for them.

"We had some special luggage," Austin said. He pointed to two oversize bags. "Please give them special attention."

"Everything has been transferred."

They got in the car, which drove them to the water side of the airport and onto a wide, sagging dock. A boat about sixty feet long was tied up at the end of the dock. Several men were waiting at the gangway.

Austin got out of the car and asked about the words painted in Cyrillic on the white hull.

"Arctic Tours. It's a real tourist company that takes wealthy Americans into godforsaken places for obscene sums of money. I have chartered the boat for a few days. If anyone asks, we are taking some Boy Scouts on a nature tour."

As Petrov escorted the two men up the gangway, Austin was glad to see that their luggage had appeared magically on the deck. They were traveling light, with one duffel bag apiece, and the two bags that Austin asked be given special attention.

Petrov led them into the main cabin. Austin had only to take a quick glance around to see that this was no tourist boat. Most of the built-in furniture had been removed, leaving a stationary table in the center and padded benches along the perimeter. Dimitri and Veronika sat on the bench with four men in camouflage uniforms. They were busy cleaning an impressive array of automatic weapons.