"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.