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〃Say I hadn't asked you to do this。 If you were to catch him doing anything that might promise the expedition； you'd have told me without a second thought。 All I'm asking you to do is formalize the process a little。〃
Amira flushed and was silent。
Glinn gathered up his papers； and they swiftly disappeared into the folds of his suit。 〃All this may be moot if the project turns out to be impossible。 There's one little thing I have to look into first。〃
Lloyd Museum；
June 7； 3：15 P。M。
MCFARLANE PACED his office in the museum's brand…new administration building； moving restlessly from wall to wall like a caged animal。 The large space was half filled with unopened boxes； and the top of his desk was littered with blueprints； memos； charts； and printouts。 He had only bothered to tear the plastic wrap off a single chair。 The rest of the furniture remained shrink…wrapped； and the office smelled raw with new carpeting and fresh paint。 Outside the windows； construction continued at a frantic pace。 It was unsettling to see so much money being spent so quickly。 But if anyone could afford it； he supposed Lloyd could。 The diversified panies that made up Lloyd Holdings … aero…space engineering； defense contracting； superputer development； electronic data systems … brought in enough revenue to make the man one of the two or three richest in the world。
Forcing himself to sit down； McFarlane shoved the papers aside to clear a space； opened the bottom desk drawer； and pulled out Masangkay's moldy diary。 Just seeing the Tagalog words on paper had brought back a host of memories； almost all of them bittersweet； faded； like old sepia…toned photographs。
He opened the cover； turned the pages； and gazed again at the strange； crabbed script of the final entry。 Masangkay had been a poor diary keeper。 Exactly how many hours or days passed between this entry and his death was impossible to know。
Nakaupo ako at nagpapausok para umalis ang mga lintik na lamok。 Akala ko masama na ang South Greenland； mas grabe pala dito sa Isla Desolacion。。。
McFarlane glanced down at the translation he had written out for Lloyd：
I am sitting by my fire； in the smoke； trying to keep the damned mosquitoes at bay。 And I thought South Greenland was bad。 Isla Desolacion： good name。 I always wondered what the end of the world looked like。 Now I know。
It looks promising： the reversed strata； the bizarre vulcanism； the satellite anomalies。 It all meshes with the Yaghan legends。 But it doesn't make sense。 It must have e in damn fast； maybe even too fast for an elliptical orbit。 I keep thinking about McFarlane's crazy theory。 Christ； I find myself almost wishing the old bastard were here to see this。 But if he was here； no doubt he'd find some way to screw things up。
Tomorrow； I'll start the quantitative survey of the valley。 If it's there； even deep； I'll find it。 It all depends on tomorrow。
And that was it。 He had died； all alone； in one of the remotest places on earth。
McFarlane leaned back in his chair。 McFarlane 's crazy theory。。。 The truth was； walang kabalbalan didn't precisely translate as 〃crazy〃 … it meant something a lot more unflattering … but Lloyd didn't need to know everything。
But that was beside the point。 The point was； his own theory had been crazy。 Now； with the wisdom of hindsight； he wondered why he had held on to it so tenaciously； for so long； and at such a terrible price。
All known meteorites came from inside the solar system。 His theory of interstellar meteorites … meteorites that originated outside； from other star systems … appeared ridiculous in hindsight。 To think that a rock could wander across the vastness of the space between the stars and just happen to land on Earth。 Mathematicians always said the probabilities were on the order of a quintillion to one。 So why hadn't he left it at that？ His idea that someday someone … preferably himself … would find an interstellar meteorite had been fanciful； ridiculous； even arrogant。 And what was more to the point； it had twisted his judgment and； ultimately； messed up his life almost beyond redemption。
How strange it was to see Masangkay bringing up the theory now in his journal。 The reversed strata were to be expected。 What was it that didn't make sense to him？ What had been so puzzling？
He closed the diary and stood up； returning to the window。 He remembered Masangkay's round face； the thick； scruffy black hair； the sarcastic grin； the eyes dancing with humor； vivacity； and intelligence。 He remembered that last day outside the New York Museum … bright sunlight gilding everything to a painful brilliance … where Masangkay had e rushing down the steps； glasses askew； shouting； 〃Sam！ They've given us the green light！ We're on our way to Greenland！〃 And … more painfully … he remembered that night after they actually found the Tornarssuk meteorite； Masangkay tilting the precious bottle of whiskey up； the firelight flickering in its amber depths as he took a long drink； his back against the dark metal。 God； the hangover the next day。。。 But they had found it … sitting right there； as if someone had carefully placed it on the gravel for all to see。 Over the years； they had found many meteorites together； but nothing like this。 It had e in at an acute angle and had actually bounced off the ice sheet； tumbling for miles。 It was a beautiful siderite； shaped like a sea horse 。。。
And now it sat in some Tokyo businessman's backyard garden。 It had cost him his relationship with Masangkay。 And his reputation。
He stared out the window； returning to the present。 Above the leafy maples and white oaks a structure was rising； inprehensibly out of place in the upper Hudson Valley： an ancient； sun…weathered Egyptian pyramid。 As he watched； a crane swung another block of limestone above the treetops and began lowering it gently onto the half…built structure。 A finger of sand trailed off the block and feathered away into the wind。 In the clearing at the base of the pyramid he could see Lloyd himself； oversized safari hat dappled by the leafy shade。 The man had a weakness for melodramatic headgear。
There was a knock on the door and Glinn entered； a folder beneath one arm。 He glided his way among the boxes to McFarlane's side and gazed at the scene below。
〃Did Lloyd acquire a mummy to accessorize it？〃 he asked。
McFarlane grunted a laugh。 〃As a matter of fact； he did。 Not the original … that was looted long ago … but another one。 Some poor soul who had no idea he'd be spending eternity in the Hudson River Valley。 Lloyd is having some of King Tut's golden treasures replicated for the burial chamber。 Couldn't buy the originals； apparently。〃
〃Even thirty billion has its limits；〃 said Glinn。 He nodded out the window。 〃Shall we？〃
They left the building； descending a graveled path into the woods。 Cicadas droned in the canopy over their heads。 They soon struck the sandy clearing。 Here the pyramid rose directly above them； stark yellow against the cerulean sky。 The half…built structure gave off a smell of ancient dust and limitless desert wastes。
Lloyd caught sight of them and came forward immediately； both hands extended。 〃Eli！〃 he boomed good…naturedly。 〃You'