"Yes."
"Hansen was off by three hundred percent."
"Climate is not a tax return."
"In the real world of human knowledge," Kenner said, "to be wrong by three hundred percent is taken as an indication you don't have a good grasp on what you are estimating. If you got on an airplane and the pilot said it was a three-hour flight, but you arrived in one hour, would you think that pilot was knowledgeable or not?"
Evans sighed. "Climate is more complicated than that."
"Yes, Peter. Climateis more complicated. It is so complicated that no one has been able to predict future climate with accuracy. Even though billons of dollars are being spent, and hundreds of people are trying all around the world. Why do you resist that uncomfortable truth?"
"Weather prediction is much better," Evans said. "And that's because of computers."
"Yes, weather prediction has improved. But nobody tries to predict weather more than ten days in advance. Whereas computer modelers are predicting what the temperature will be one hundred years in advance. Sometimes a thousand years, three thousand years."
"And they are doing better."
"Arguably they aren't. Look," Kenner said. "The biggest events in global climate are the El Ninos. They happen roughly every four years. But climate models can't predict them--not their timing, their duration, or their intensity. And if you can't predict El Ninos, the predictive value of your model in other areas is suspect."
"I heard they can predict El Ninos."
"That was claimed in 1998. But it is not true."*Kenner shook his head. "Climate science simply isn't there yet, Peter. One day it will be. But not now."
TO LOS ANGELES
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 8
2:22 P. M.
Another hour passed. Sanjong was working continuously on the laptop. Kenner sat motionless, staring out the window. Sanjong was accustomed to this. He knew that Kenner could stay silent and immobile for several hours. He only turned away from the window when Sanjong swore.
"What's the matter?" Kenner said.
"I lost our satellite connection to the Internet. It's been in and out for a while."
"Were you able to trace the images?"
"Yes, that was no problem. I have the location fixed. Did Evans really think these were images from Antarctica?"
"Yes. He thought they showed black outcrops against snow. I didn't disagree with him."
"The actual location," Sanjong said, "is a place called Resolution Bay. It's in northeast Gareda."
"How far from Los Angeles?"
"Roughly six thousand nautical miles."
"So the propagation time is twelve or thirteen hours."
"Yes."
"We'll worry about it later," Kenner said. "We have other problems first."
Peter Evans slept fitfully. His bed consisted of a padded airplane seat laid flat, with a seam in the middle, right where his hip rested. He tossed and turned, waking briefly, hearing snatches of conversation between Kenner and Sanjong at the back of the plane. He couldn't hear the whole conversation over the drone of the engines. But he heard enough.
Because of what I need him to do.
He'll refuse, John.
...he likes it or not...Evans is at the center of everything.
Peter Evans was suddenly awake. He strained to hear now. He raised his head off the pillow so he could hear better.
Didn't disagree with him.
Actual location...Resolution Bay...Gareda.
How far...?...thousand miles......the propagation time...thirteen hours...
He thought:Propagation time? What the hell were they talking about? On impulse he jumped up, strode back there, and confronted them.
Kenner didn't blink. "Sleep well?"
"No," Evans said, "I did not sleep well. I think you owe me some explanations."
"About what?"
"The satellite pictures, for one."
"I couldn't very well tell you right there in the room, in front of the others," Kenner said. "And I hated to interrupt your enthusiasm."
Evans went and poured himself a cup of coffee. "Okay. What do the pictures really show?"
Sanjong flipped his laptop around to show Evans the screen. "Don't feel bad. You would never have had any reason to suspect. The images were negatives. They're often used that way, to increase contrast."
"Negatives..."
"The black rocks are actually white. They're clouds."
Evans sighed.
"And what is the land mass?"
"It's an island called Gareda, in the southern part of the Solomon chain."
"Which is..."
"Off the coast of New Guinea. North of Australia."
"So this is an island in the South Pacific," Evans said. "This guy in Antarctica had a picture of a Pacific island."
"Correct."
"And the scorpion reference is..."
"We don't know," Sanjong said. "The actual location is called Resolution Bay on the charts. But it may be known locally as Scorpion Bay."
"And what are they planning down there?"
Kenner said, "We don't know that, either."
"I heard you talking about propagation times. Propagation times for what?"
"Actually, you misheard me," Kenner said smoothly. "I was talking about interrogation times."