"These cavitation generators are hypersonic," Ling explained, "producing a radially symmetric cavitation field that can be adjusted for focal point, rather like an optical lens, except we are using sound. In other words, we can focus the sound beam, and control how deep the cavitation will occur."
He waved to the operator, who nodded. The cavitation plate came down, until it was just above the ground. The sound changed, becoming deeper and much quieter. The earth vibrated slightly where they were standing.
"Jesus," Peterson said, stepping back.
"Not to worry," Ling said. "This is just low-grade reflection. The main energy vector is orthogonal, directed straight down."
About forty feet below the truck, the walls of the canyon suddenly seemed to blur, to become indistinct. Small clouds of gray smoke obscured the surface for a moment, and then a whole section of cliff gave way, and rumbled down into the lake below, like a gray avalanche. The whole area filled with smoke and dust.
As it began to clear, Ling said, "Now we will show how the beam is focused." The rumbling began again, and this time the cliff blurred much farther down, two hundred feet or more. Once again the gray sand gave way, this time sliding rather quietly into the lake.
"And it can focus laterally as well?" Peterson said.
Ling said it could. A hundred yards north of the truck, the cliff was shaken free, and again tumbled down.
"We can aim it in any direction, and any depth."
"Any depth?"
"Our big unit will focus at a thousand meters. Although no client has any use for such depths."
"No, no," Peterson said. "We don't need anything like that. But we want beam power." He wiped his hands on his trousers. "I've seen enough."
"Really? We have quite a few other techniques to demon--"
"I'm ready to go back." Behind his sunglasses, his eyes were unreadable.
"Very well," Ling said. "If you are sure--"
"I'm sure."
Driving back, Peterson said, "You ship from KL or Hong Kong?"
"From KL."
"With what restrictions?"
Ling said, "How do you mean?"
"Hypersonic cavitation technology in the US is restricted. It can't be exported without a license."
"As I said, we use Taiwanese electronics."
"Is it as reliable as the US technology?"
Ling said, "Virtually identical." If Peterson knew his business, he would know that the US had long ago lost the capacity to manufacture such advanced chipsets. The US cavitation chipsets were manufactured in Taiwan. "Why do you ask? Are you planning to export to the US?"
"No."
"Then there is no difficulty."
"What's your lead time?" Peterson said.
"We need seven months."
"I was thinking of five."
"It can be done. There will be a premium. For how many units?"
"Three," Peterson said.
Ling wondered why anyone would need three cavitation units. No geological survey company in the world owned more than one.
"I can fill that order," Ling said, "upon receipt of your deposit."
"You will have it wired to you tomorrow."
"And we are shipping where? Canada?"
"You will receive shipping instructions," Peterson said, "in five months."
Directly ahead, the curved spans of the ultra-modern airport designed by Kurokawa rose into the sky. Peterson had lapsed into silence. Driving up the ramp, Ling said, "I hope we are in time for your flight."
"What? Oh yes. We're fine."
"You're heading back to Canada?"
"Yes."
Ling pulled up at the international terminal, got out, and shook Peterson's hand. Peterson shouldered his day bag. It was his only luggage. "Well," Peterson said. "I'd better go."
"Safe flight."
"Thank you. You, too. Back to Hong Kong?"
"No," Ling said. "I have to go to the factory, and get them started."
"It's nearby?"
"Yes, in Pudu Raya. Just a few kilometers."
"All right, then." Peterson disappeared inside the terminal, giving a final wave. Ling got back in the car and drove away. But as he was heading down the ramp, he saw that Peterson had left behind his cell phone on the car seat. He pulled over to the curb, glancing back over his shoulder. But Peterson was gone. And the cell phone in his hand was lightweight, made of cheap plastic. It was one of those prepaid-card phones, the disposable ones. It couldn't be Peterson's main phone.
It occurred to Ling that he had a friend who might be able to trace the phone and the card inside it. Find out more about the purchaser. And Ling would like to know more. So he slipped the phone into his pocket and drove north, to the factory.
SHAD THAMES
FRIDAY, MAY 21
11:04 A. M.
Richard Mallory looked up from his desk and said, "Yes?"
The man standing in the doorway was pale-complected, slender, and American-looking, with a blond crew cut. His manner was casual, his dress nondescript: dirty Adidas running shoes and a faded navy tracksuit. He looked as if he might be out for a jog and had stopped by the office for a moment.
And since this was Design/Quest, a hot graphics shop located on Butler's Wharf, a refurbished warehouse district below London's Tower Bridge, most of the employees in the office were casually dressed. Mallory was the exception. Since he was the boss, he wore slacks and a white shirt. And wingtip shoes that hurt his feet. But they were hip.
Mallory said, "Can I help you?"