Hak Po smiled. "Good boy. Smart."

Ambo didn't join the smilefest. "Why do you think we tortured his family, Horace? For kicks?"

"With you?" I said. "Hard to say."

"We show data to scientists," Hak Po said. "They say, Victor that good. If Victor say, dynamite right spot, they believe he make volcano blow up."

"OK," I said. "But he'd have to do that for every volcano in the region."

"Big fault line under Salar." Hak Po traced a line of spittle on the wooden floor with his boot. "Dynamite right spot set off chain reaction."

"A chain reaction," Ambo echoed, taking the reins, "that will cause the volcanoes that surround the Salar to erupt, spewing lava across the salt flats."

"Yeah, OK. But would that-"

"-do significant damage? The surface lava, no." Ambo rode over my interruption. "Although it would be a nuisance for future mines. Victor's true genius was discovering the fault line had weak spots. Trigger points, if you will. We ran his raw data through supercomputers. Simulations show his theory to be correct. The magma will well up under the fault line. There's a ninety-eight percent chance it will break the surface. Even if it doesn't, it will vaporize the salt water under the salt flats, cooking the water from the soil, and leaving the lithium trapped in the sands. It would become impossible to mine."

The cave. s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation. "Two percent of what?" I asked. "You a dairy farmer?"

"If you believe the s.h.i.t you're shoveling," I said, "why didn't you take out Victor years ago? You knew what he was trying to do."

Ambo lifted his right shoulder, let it fall. "We wanted to know his secret. How his weapon works. He wouldn't talk. So we let him go and spied on him instead."

I looked from one to the other. "But this is crazy. You think he can actually do this?"

For the first time, Hak Po looked at me. "Would Chinese government send me here, work with CIA, with Amba.s.sador, if not believe threat real?"

Ambo's eyes rose from under his bushy eyebrows. "This transcends petty national interest. This is not about what's good for China, or what's good for the US, or even Bolivia. It's about what's good for everyone. The whole world. The human race."

"The human race?" I said. "What about all those innocent people you murdered? What about what's good for them?"

The door to the sauna opened. A soldier stepped into the room. He carried a red-and-white plastic tackle box marked Med Kit.

"Not now," Ambo barked, or tried to. Blood streamed down his chest and pooled at his toes.

"Maybe he fix you," Hak Po said.

"This is too important," Ambo said, panting for breath. "Not now."

"Sir, you need to stop the-"

"I said, not now!"

The medic's face puckered, turned red. He about-faced and left the sauna.

I rested my elbows on my knees. "You were explaining how murdering dozens of innocent civilians was good for mankind."

Ambo lit a cigarette, puffed deep. Smoke trickled between his lips. "Dozens of innocent-" He coughed. "What are you talking about?"

I rolled my eyes. "Not like you don't do it for a living."

"Yes, but which ones?"

"Isla del Sol, the ashram-"

"That wasn't us."

"Of course not," I said. "The Dissent Suppression Unit never murders dissidents. They just go dancing among the flowers, quoting poetry and smoking pot. What a crazy idea."

"Victor did that murder," Hak Po said quietly.

"At the ashram," Ambo added.

"Really," I said. "Not your undercover agent, Bill or Ted or whatever the f.u.c.k his name was?"

"Michael planted a recording device that caught the ma.s.sacre on camera. It's been transmitting the whole time. Ever since he got there months ago. Want to watch?"

Without waiting for an answer, Ambo plunked the laptop onto the seat next to me. Pitt ceased his pacing on the lip of the volcano. Replaced by a view of the beach, Lake t.i.ticaca. From above the mouth of the cave.

"Fast-forward," Ambo said, and pressed a key.

Monks scurry about carrying boxes, pushing wheelbarrows. Isla del Sol in the distance. The sun rises. Kate gets into a boat. Boxes of weapons are loaded in after her, followed by a host of monks. The boat pushes off from sh.o.r.e.

"Is Kate involved in this?" I asked.

Ambo held out an open palm. "Wait."

On screen, I straggle into the picture, gesture at the island, hop into a boat, zoom off.

"Here we are," Ambo said.

The image slowed to real time. Victor gestures, shouts, the words unheard. Everyone a.s.sembles, bags at their feet.

"There's no sound," I said.

"No microphone."

A cauldron of food bubbles nearby. The volunteers heft building tools over their shoulders. They are swaying side to side and singing what looks like "k.u.mbaya." They've put on monk robes over their street clothes. Fishermen and villagers hold empty food bowls in their hands. An old man hoists a little boy onto his shoulders. Everyone smiles, laughs. The fat monk waves an empty ladle. Counts heads with his finger. An empty s.p.a.ce in line, a missing monk. Who's missing? Where is he? It's Michael. He joins the others in their ranks. Food is served.

An Uzi appears in Victor's hands. He points it at the a.s.sembled throng. The monks and volunteers step forward in unison, heads thrown back, hands in the air. Ecstasy glistens on their faces. I recognize Mister When Is The Leave-Taking.

Fire bulges from the tip of the gun. The villagers try to flee. Volunteers and monks grab them, hold them in place. People drop as though punched. A pause. Victor changes the clip. Michael jumps up, knife in hand. Victor blasts him at point-blank range. Blood splatters Victor's face. Michael drops. Victor empties the clip into Michael's twitching body. He changes the clip, fires again, spraying more bullets into the corpses.

Ambo reached around the display, pressed a b.u.t.ton. The image fast-forwarded again.

Victor pulls the bodies into a pile. Runs to the water, comes back without the Uzi. He's dripping wet. He draws a handgun. Aurora and I wander onto the beach, point at the pile of bodies.

"Enough," I said.

Ambo stopped the playback. He folded his hands on his lap and looked at me.

I chewed a fingernail. "And Isla del Sol?"

Hak Po shrugged. "Pitt need disappear. Fake death. Find look-alike. Swedish national. Spike drink, swap clothes, hotel go boom. Then Pitt go way."

My voice was quiet. "What was the name of the Swedish national?"

"Does it matter?" Ambo asked.

"What was his name?"

His lips crinkled in annoyance. "Sven," he said, waved a hand. "Sven something."

Hak Po consulted a notebook. "Sven La.r.r.s.en. Why you ask?"

I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. Aurora and the others had followed us into the building, and were doing G.o.d knows what the other side of the sauna door. "Aurora's boyfriend. The girl who came along for the ride."

A thought occurred to me. "Why didn't you go into the ashram and arrest them ages ago?"

Hak Po tapped a slender finger on my knee. "Peruvian authorities no cooperate. Want proof. Say, volunteering good. Say, no crime done."

"Since when does that stop you people from doing anything?" I said. "Conspiracy to commit first-degree Gaia-cide. Make something up."

Ambo's face was ashen. Blood clotted in his wiry chest hair. "It was my fault."

"I do same if I you." Hak Po patted Ambo's knee. "I father too."

"Do what?" I asked. "What did you do?"

"What if Pitt got hurt during a raid?" he asked. "I could never forgive myself."

"Much better the world go boom," I agreed.

Ambo stretched his long arms wide, as though begging my forgiveness. "How could I be sure?" he asked. "Was he a part of Victor's group? Part of the conspiracy? Or was he just another lost soul doing yoga and building houses?"

"What difference does that make?" I asked.

"Without Pitt, they could do nothing. I knew this. Without his contacts and his knowledge of the mine, they could not have pulled it off."

"Pull what off?" I said. "What does the mine have to do with blowing up volcanoes?"

"It has to do with destroying the lithium. Just like he did in Tibet. Tons and tons of the stuff, a year's production."

"Plus distraction," Hak Po said.

"Exactly," Ambo said. "While we're all fighting a war, he's up on the mountain blowing the world to kingdom come."

"But why now?" I asked. "Why didn't Victor blow up the volcano months ago, years ago?"

His right side shrugged again. "He was waiting. Taking samples, surveying the Salar. Calculating how to do it. Using the ashram as cover. Then he got lucky. He met Pitt."

"And how was that your fault?"

"Maybe it wasn't exactly luck that they met," Ambo said.

"Not exactly-you mean you sent Pitt to him? To the ashram?"

"It was a job. Don't you see? To find out how far along Victor's plans were. Michael had failed to gain Victor's confidence. So we sent in Pitt. He managed to steal a copy of Victor's laptop hard drive. All the data, his calculations up until then. A team of scientists back in the States a.n.a.lyzed the data. Guess what their report said."

"You already told me, dude. That his theory was correct."

"Yes. But that Victor himself hadn't figured out how to do it yet."

"So what are you saying?" I asked. "That somehow Victor got a hold of a copy of that report?"

"Not somehow. Pitt gave it to him. Stole it from us. Are you getting the picture?"

I swallowed. "Holy c.r.a.p. So then what happened?"

He rested his head against the wooden wall of the sauna. "I made my second mistake. After he disappeared, I tried to talk to him."

"To Pitt?"

"I organized a meeting. He pretended to still be working for us. He's my son, don't you see?" He pleaded with me now, palms upward. "I had to give him one more chance."

"So what happened?"

Ambo gazed at me down the length of his nose, eyes half-closed. "He promised to meet me at the Hotel Finski for a beer."

My nostrils flared. "You mean he tried to kill you?"

"I got there just in time to watch the hotel explode."

"Dude..." I said. "You screwed that pooch five ways from Friday."

Ambo gasped for breath in the steamy air. Sweat trickled down his face, dripped from his nose. He closed his eyes, nodded his head in agreement.

I crossed my arms. "So then you followed me."

His shoulders twitched weakly. "We needed you to lead us to Pitt."

"You mean you thought I was part of Victor's plot?"

"Of course. I'm still not entirely convinced you're not."

"And that's why you tried to kill me."

"Kill Victor," Hak Po corrected.