Painter continued to maintain the ruse that the three of them were from the office of the Inspector General, working for the Defense Criminal Investigative Service. They even had the badges to prove it.

"I'm going with you," Senator Gorman said, nursing a cup of coffee.

Painter had noted that he'd spiked it with some brandy from the stocked bar. Not that Painter blamed the guy. Gorman had taken a series of hard blows in the past few hours. He had been a close associate, bordering on friends, with Karlsen.

Gorman's voice hardened. "If Ivar truly had a hand in the death of my son..."

"We still don't know how much ties directly back to him," Painter offered thinly.

The senator wasn't buying it.

"He fucking shook my hand." Gorman slammed a fist on the table, rattling the coffee cups and saucers. He glared across the table. Plainly the senator would not be swayed from coming. Painter could only imagine the pain of his loss, followed by such a betrayal, but at the moment Painter didn't need someone flying off half-cocked.

Still, the man had one solid argument and stated it again. "You'll need me to get close to Ivar."

Painter folded his hands in his lap, recognizing the truth. Karlsen had left an hour before them, racing ahead of a storm blowing in from the pole. He would likely already be at the seed vault by the time they landed. And security there was tight, especially with the arriving dignitaries from the summit.

Senator Gorman continued. "To get inside, you'll need both me and my ID pass. Even your badges won't get you past security. With my invitation, I can get at least one of you into the vault."

It had already been decided that Painter would be that one. Monk and Creed would maintain a defensive perimeter outside and offer backup.

Painter had also reviewed the security at the seed vault. The place was sealed behind steel-reinforced doors, monitored by a sophisticated video-surveillance system, not to mention patrolled by the couple of thousand polar bears that roamed the island. Additionally, for this event, a contingent of the Norwegian army would be on hand to bolster security.

So crashing this party without the senator would be as hard as cracking into Fort Knox.

Recognizing all this, Painter finally relented. He straightened in his chair and eyed everyone. "Then before we land, let's figure out what we know-and, just as important, what we don't. Once we hit the ground, we'll need to jump."

Monk nodded. "Where do we start?"

"With our primary target, Ivar Karlsen." Painter focused on Gorman. "You've worked with him for years. What can you tell us about him?"

The senator leaned back, clearly trying to rein in his anger, but his expression remained black. "If you'd asked me that yesterday, I would've said he was a rugged, stand-up sort of guy, someone who knows how to make a buck, but also knows the responsibility behind such wealth. Sort of Rockefeller crossed with FDR."

"And how did you first meet?"

"Through the Club of Rome. I joined simply to make political and business connections. What better way to firm up my career than to hobnob with an international group of industrialists, politicians, and celebrities." He shrugged, shameless about his ambition. "But then I met Ivar. His passion was electric, his rhetoric compelling. He firmly and wholeheartedly believes in preserving the world, safeguarding mankind's future. Sure, some of his suggestions for managing population growth may be extreme. Mandatory birth control, sterilization, paying families not to have children. But someone has to make those hard choices. It's what drew me to him to begin with. His no-nonsense manner and sensibility. But I wasn't the only one in his inner circle."

Painter's interest sharpened. "What do you mean?"

"Within the Club of Rome, Ivar gathered like-minded people, those who also believed tough choices were needed. We were sort of a club within the club. Each of us worked on special projects for him. Mine, like I said, was to use my political clout to expand biofuel development. But there were other projects overseen by various members of the circle."

"Like with bees?" Monk asked, referring to the test hives he had seen in the subterranean lab. He rubbed at a stinging welt on his cheek.

The senator shrugged. "I wouldn't know. We each ran our separate projects."

"Then let's talk about the project that started this whole mess," Painter said. "Where all the bloodshed seemed to originate. It all flows back to the genetic research done at Viatus, specifically the testing of its drought-resistant corn. We know Viatus funded the research into extremophiles and that they discovered some fungal organism in the mummies preserved in the English peat." Painter nodded to Monk. "And we know that research continues today and that those bodies found at the mushroom lab were likely from the test farm in Africa."

Painter had already set in motion an order to search those underground labs. But Viatus was one of the largest corporations in Norway, with massive global and financial ties. By the time some judge okayed a search, Painter suspected that the corporation would have purged those labs, leaving behind only sterilized, empty rooms.

"So I think it's safe to conclude," Painter finished, "that the mysterious genes noted in the corn seeds by Professor Malloy at Princeton were from that fungal source. And that apparently those genes are unstable. Possibly making the corn dangerous to consume."

Gorman shook his head. "But why massacre the village? The corn wasn't even meant for human consumption."

Painter had one explanation. "It was a refugee camp. Food was scarce. Hungry people get desperate. I wager some locals sneaked into the fields at night and stole an ear or two of corn for their families. And maybe those who were running the farm turned a blind eye to such trespasses. It would offer the corporation the perfect chance to conduct real-world human studies without needing to acknowledge it."

"Only no one anticipated the gene altering itself," Monk said with a grimace. "After learning that, they had to wipe the slate clean, but not before collecting a few test subjects along the way. Who would miss a refugee or two, especially in a firebombed camp?"

Painter noted that the senator had grown pale, that his gaze had slipped into a thousand-yard stare. Grief shadowed his eyes. But it was more than that.

"Viatus is already shipping their new drought-resistant corn seed," Gorman said. "They have been for the past week. Fields are already being planted for the season across much of the southern hemisphere and equatorial latitudes. Millions of acres."

Painter sensed something worse coming. Gorman had gone pale. It suddenly struck Painter. To mass-produce the seed for global distribution, Viatus had to have already grown it somewhere and harvested it.

But where?

"The production fields for this new corn seed," Painter asked. "Where are they?"

Gorman would not meet his eye. "I helped broker the deal for Viatus. GM seed production is a billion-dollar-a-year industry. It's like pouring money into cash-strapped areas." His voice went dull with shock. "I spread the money out. Throughout the U.S. corn belt-Iowa, Illinois, Nebraska, Indiana, Michigan...thousands and thousands of acres, in a patchwork across the Midwest."

"And this is the same corn that they were testing in Africa?" Monk asked.

"Not exactly, but it was in the same genetic line."