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Virginia Island, then gone home to his own place at Caton Ferry, a small coastal town five hundred kilometers north. He apparently arrived just in time to get caught in the quake.
    Cermak became one of the heroes of that unhappy event. There are pictures of him, scorched and bleeding, carrying kids out of burning buildings, administering first aid, pulling people from wrecked cars. In one particularly dramatic shot, he's charging across a rooftop several floors above the street, surrounded by flames.
    Two hours and seven minutes after the first quake hit, a tidal wave rolled ashore and demolished most of Caton Ferry. It also destroyed the Vasilyev Terminal.
    Fortunately, Virginia Island felt only a few temblors.
    Like Robin, Cermak simply vanished that night. He disappeared during the general chaos. He was either carried out to sea by the tsunami or buried in the wreckage. According to the accounts, it's unlikely he ever learned that his passenger had gone missing.
    “What do you think happened to Robin?” Alex asked. His voice surprised me; I hadn't seen him come into the office.
    “I have no idea,” I said. “It sounds as if he jumped, or fell, into the ocean. But if so, why didn't they find the piece of luggage he'd been carrying? Or the notebook?”
    “It's a good question.”
    “Maybe he just ran off. Maybe there was another woman.”
    “It's possible.”
    “He could have been murdered.”
    Alex nodded. “Maybe he wasn't there at all.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “The people who saw the lander on the pad did not actually see him get out.”
    “That doesn't mean anything. But maybe that's what happened. It's unlikely that both men would disappear on the same night. Maybe he went on to Kolandra with Cermak.”
    Alex shrugged. “If so, why stop at his home first?”
    “He might have changed his mind. Maybe he just needed something at the house.”
    “It's possible, Chase. It would explain the bag.”
    “Well,” I said, “it's a long time ago.” Alex was silent. “We aren't going to look into it, are we?”
    “No,” he said.
    “That's good. But you're surprising me. Why not?”
    “Because if we were able to find an answer, the value of the artifacts would go down.”
    “Oh.”
    “Maybe what we'll do is pretend to look into it. If we do that, and can't solve the riddle—”
    “The value goes up.”
    “Very good, Chase. You're a natural for this business.”

TWO
    Science is an investigation into reality, how atoms interact and biological systems develop and stars give heat. Myth is also an investigation into reality, but into a reality of a different type: It informs us of the deepest desires and fears of the subconscious mind. The place where we really live.
    —Kosha Malkeva, The Road to Babylon , 3376 C.E.
    Karen Howard lived in a plush estate in Westmont Park, where Mt. Gordana was just visible in the west when the light was right. The storm had finally subsided, and the skies had cleared, but the entire world was buried in snow. As we settled toward the ground that evening, we were instructed by a deep baritone to identify ourselves and state our business. “Rainbow Enterprises to see Ms. Howard,” I said, giving the system a code word that had been issued to us earlier. A ring of lights came on around the landing pad. The lights weren't necessary because it wasn't quite dark yet, but they did add a sense of luster to the place.
    The house resembled an Itaki temple. Towers rose above both wings, and I found myself expecting to hear chanting as we touched down. The voice, still speaking through the comm link, welcomed us to Howard Manor and invited us inside. We got out of the skimmer and started along a sheltered walkway.
    The windows were sedately illuminated, and a viol played wistfully. More lights came on. The front door opened, and a young woman greeted us, took our jackets, and showed us into a large sitting room. “Ms. Howard,” she said, “will be with you shortly.” The room