"Will it change to make an inlet?"

"Of course."

"Really? Show me."

"What kind of inlet do you want? A harbor, a river, a bay amp;"

"Oh," she said, shrugging, "make a bay."

He smiled. "Fine. How big?"

With the whir of electric motors, the shoreline began to sink into a curve, the slope indenting into a bowl.

"Fantastic," she said. "Come on, Jonathan, show me the wave."

"Not yet. How big is the bay?"

"Oh amp;" She gestured in the air. "One mile. A bay of one mile. Now will you show me?" She leaned toward him. "I do not like to wait. You should know this."

He smelled her perfume. He typed quickly. "Here it comes," he said. "A big wave, coming into a one-mile bay, with a twenty-seven-degree slope."

There was a much louder whoosh as the next wave was generated at the far end of the tank, and then it rippled smoothly toward them, a raised line of water about six inches high.

"Oh!" Marisa pouted. "You promised me it would be big."

"Just wait," he said.

"It will grow?" she said, giggling. She put her hand on his shoulder again. Then the American glanced back, and gave her a dirty look. She jerked her chin in the air, defiant. But when he looked back at the tank, she took her hand away.

Marshall felt despondent again. She was just using him, he was a pawn in this game between them.

"You said it will grow?" she said.

"Yes," Marshall said, "the wave will grow as it comes to the shore. In deep water a tsunami is small, but in shallow water it builds. And the inlet will concentrate its power, so it goes higher."

The wave rose higher, and then smashed against the curved shore at the near end. It foamed white, and sloshed up the sides of the shore. It came up about five feet, he guessed.