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rain had fallen to cool the molten-hot world and fill its lowlands.
    I glanced at my watch. It was nearly two o’clock.
    I was about to dial John Rudman’s office number when Brandy entered the restaurant, accompanied by four strangers—three men and an exotic Asian woman dressed in a tight-fitting black silk dress and carrying a briefcase.
    Women remain a foreign species to me. For two months my wife had barely shown me an ounce of interest. Yet in the presence of this Chinese beauty I could sense the acidic jealousy churning in her belly as she escorted the woman and her three male companions to my table.
    “Zachary, this woman is here tae speak with you. Are ye sober?”
    I stood, my temper flaring. “Of course I’m sober. Hi, I’m Zachary Wallace.”
    “Dr. Wallace, this is a great honor. My name is Dr. Ming Liao. I am a geologist working in East Antarctica. These are two of my colleagues: Dr. Rehan Ahmed from Karachi, Pakistan, and George McFarland, a marine engineer working at Stone Aerospace. Mr. McFarland was recruited for this mission by NASA.”
    “NASA? Now you’ve got me curious.” I motioned for my guests to sit. I was about to ask the third gentleman his name when I noticed Dr. Ahmed shivering. “Would you like something warm to drink? Coffee? Tea?”
    “Tea would be most appreciated.”
    “For me also,” added Dr. Liao, with a smile.
    “Coke,” said Mr. McFarland.
    I turned to the stranger to whom I had not yet been introduced. He was a rugged man in his forties, with a taut physique, dark brown hair, and a scruffy, short beard. He wore a sullen expression, like he had seen death.
    A kindred soul?
    He looked up at Brandy through bloodshot gray-blue eyes. “Coke, only put a shot of rum in mine.”
    I turned to my wife, foolishly hoping she’d volunteer to bring my guests their beverages on her way out. Instead, she plopped down in the remaining chair. “Whit? Do I look like the barmaid, then?”
    Red-faced, I strode around behind the bar and filled two cups with bottled water. I placed them in the microwave and fished out a few tea bags, then grabbed a can of cola from a stack of sodas and filled two glasses with ice, adding a splash of rum to the second. Loading everything onto a tray, I returned to the table.
    “Zachary, did ye ken yer new scientist friends here are all single? And here ye are, aboot the same age but married wit a bairn.”
    I handed out the beverages, refusing to be baited by her remark. “Guess that makes me a lucky man. Brandy, would you mind giving me a few minutes alone with Dr. Liao and her colleagues so we can talk?”
    “These gentle folk are here tae recruit ye for something. Bein’ as I’m still yer wife and the mother of yer child, I think I’ll give a listen. Is that a problem, Ms. Liao?”
    Dr. Liao smiled. “No problem, Mrs. Wallace, provided you abide by a non-disclosure agreement like the one your husband will be asked to sign.”
    Brandy smiled back. “Sure, I’ll sign. Whit ’ve I got tae lose? Willy’s crib?”
    Her response did not please Liao. “Dr. Wallace, we’ve come a long way at great expense to speak with you. While I can assure you the subject matter will both interest and astound you, it is not something we want exposed to the general public.”
    Seeking unfiltered answers, I turned to the fourth stranger, the man who had not bothered to introduce himself. “You were recruited for this mission?”
    “Something like that.”
    “What’s your role?”
    “Submersible pilot.”
    “What’s mine?”
    “Money. Your association with the expedition will bring the sponsors that pay the bills.”
    I stared hard at the man’s face. “I’ve seen your photo before. You said you’re a submersible pilot?”
    “Not by trade. Benjamin Hintzmann. Ben to my friends. I’m a fighter pilot—at least I was until the United States Air Force discharged me after an incident nearly triggered a war.”
    “Hintzmann, you’re the F-18 pilot who had