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Erin." He pointed to Beamon. "Mark here doesn't trust you, but then he's suspicious of his own mother. So I'll ask you point-blank: Whose side are you on? Are you willing to help us with this problem?"
    "Doesn't really matter anymore," Erin said, smiling painfully. "The Saudis deported me. I'm out of the game."
    Reynolds ended another long silence by shaking his head in resignation. "My back is against the wall here. I've spoken with our people at the CDC, the army's bioweapons people, and just about everyone else I could think of. It's hard to believe, but the only thing everyone agrees on is that you're the expert."
    "I'm sure you'll find someone," Erin said. "Now if you guys wouldn't mind, I'd like to get home. If someone could just call me a cab to the airport, I'll even buy my own ticket."
    Neither Reynolds nor Beamon responded. "No problem. I'll call my own cab. May I use your phone?"
    "What would you say," Reynolds started slowly, "if I told you in strictest confidence -- that two more wells are showing a similar infestation?"
    Erin shrugged. "It wouldn't surprise me. Ghawar is really permeable. Or maybe it was introduced to those wells by contaminated equipment or something else they're putting in the ground."
    Reynolds nodded. "Well, then, how about this: Would you be surprised if I told you that the affected wells are in the Alaska National Wildlife Refuge?"
    Erin had started to rise from his chair, but now stopped. "What?"
    "Was I not clear?"
    "You're telling me that the exact same bacteria have shown up thousands of miles from Saudi Arabia?"
    "That's my understanding."
    "I think your people have made a mistake."
    "My thought exactly. If you were to go up there, you could probably straighten the whole thing out in a few days."
    "You want me to go to Alaska? What is it you guys don't understand about me being retired? Besides, I never thought you had any business drilling in ANWR anyway. Remember a few years back when someone sprayed 'save the caribou' on your Audi?"
    Reynolds' brow furrowed a bit. "It was a brand-new car."
    "Well, I pitched in for the paint. So at the risk of sounding rude, I want to be completely clear that I don't really give a shit about your problems."
    "You should, Dr. Neal. Because I'm making them your problems."

    Chapter 6.
    "There," Mark Beamon said, pointing weakly through the Cessna's windscreen. "Thank God. You can see lights."
    Erin pushed the yoke forward, causing the plane's nose to dip violently. Beamon grabbed the instrument panel, but once again managed not to throw up. He was a hell of a lot tougher than he looked. The combination of the snow beating against the glass, the profound darkness extending out in every direction, and Erin's artfully simulated turbulence would have broken most people.
    Erin swung the plane wide and circled, looking down at the well-lit drilling rig centered in a meticulously scraped snow-field. As they continued to lose altitude, he could make out a tangle of trailers, snow cats, and weathered machinery, but no people.
    "Where is everybody?"
    Beamon started to take a deep breath in preparation for answering but then seemed to conclude that it made him feel even worse. "All the normal personnel were reassigned when the bacteria was discovered. There are people who think the price of gas could go up as much as twenty percent overnight if this got out -- and that's something politicians don't like telling the people who vote for them."
    That explained why Beamon had been so pleased when he'd discovered that Erin was a pilot -- one less chance of a leak. Of course, it was a decision that Erin was taking great pleasure in making him regret.
    He eased back on the throttle and the plane started to dive -- too fast and angled improperly into the wind, of course. It was a shame the flight wasn't longer. Another hour or so and he was sure he could have Beamon burning through air-sickness bags like a newborn went through diapers.
    On the other hand, he had to admit