Malcolm had been the one to post bail when Levine was arrested in his Ferrari. He riffled through the faxes: conference dates, requests for reprints…nothing interesting. "Okay. Thanks, Beverly."
"Oh. And the photographers came. They finished about an hour ago.
"What photographers?" he said.
"From Chaos Quarterly. To photograph your office."
"What are you talking about?" Malcolm said.
"They came to photograph your office," she said. "For a series about workplaces of famous mathematicians. They had a letter from you, saying it was - "
"I never sent any letter," Malcolm said. "And I've never heard of Chaos Quarterly."
He went into his office and looked around. Beverly hurried in after him, her face worried.
"Is it okay? Is everything here?"
"Yes," he said, scanning quickly. "It seems to be fine." He was opening the drawers to his desk, one after another. Nothing appeared to be missing.
"That's a relief," Beverly said, "because - "
He turned, and looked at the far side of the room.
The map.
Malcolm had a large map of the world, with pins stuck in it for all the sightings of what Levine kept calling "aberrant forms." By the most liberal count - Levine's count - there had now been twelve in all, from Rangiroa in the west, to Baia California and Ecuador in the cast. Few of them were verified. But now there was a tissue sample that confirmed one specimen, and that made all the rest more likely.
"Did they photograph this map?"
"Yes, they photographed everything. Does it matter? "
Malcolm looked at the map, trying to see it with fresh eyes. To see what an outsider would make of it. He and Levine had spent hours in front of this map, considering the possibility of a "lost world," trying to decide where it might be. They had narrowed it down to five islands in a chain, off the coast of Costa Rica. Levine was convinced that it was one of those islands, and Malcolm was beginning to think he was right. But those islands weren't highlighted on the map…
Beverly said, "They were a very nice group. Very polite. Foreign - Swiss, I think."
Malcolm nodded, and sighed. The hell with it, be thought. It was bound to get out sooner or later.
"It's all right, Beverly."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, it's fine. Have a good evening."
"Good night, Dr. Malcolm."
Alone in his office, he dialed Levine. The phone rang, and then the answering machine beeped. Levine was still not home.
"Richard, are you there? If you are, pick up, it's important." He waited, nothing happened.
"Richard, it's Ian. Listen, we have a problem. The map is no longer secure. And I've had that sample analyzed, Richard, and I think it tells us the location of Site B, if my - "
There was a click as the phone lifted. He heard the sound of breathing.
"Richard?" he said.
"No," said the voice, "this is Thorne. And I think you better get over here right away."
The Five Deaths
" I knew it," Malcolm said, coming into Levine's apartment, and glancing quickly around. "I knew he would do something like this. You know how impetuous he is. I said to him, don't go until we have all the information. But I should have known. Of course, he went."
"Yes, he did."
"Ego," Malcolm said, shaking his head. "Richard has to be first. Has to figure it out first, has to get there first. I'm very concerned, he could ruin everything. This impulsive behavior: you realize it's a storm in the brain, neurons on the edge of chaos. Obsession is just a variety of addiction. But what scientist ever had self-control? They instruct them in school: it's bad form to be balanced. They forget Neils Bohr was not only a great physicist but an Olympic athlete. These days they all try to be nerds. It's the professional style."
Thorne looked at Malcolm thoughtfully. He thought he detected a competitive edge. He said, "Do you know which island he went to?"
"No. I do not." Malcolm was stalking around the apartment, taking things in. "The last time we talked, we had narrowed it down to five islands, all in the
"Oh. And the photographers came. They finished about an hour ago.
"What photographers?" he said.
"From Chaos Quarterly. To photograph your office."
"What are you talking about?" Malcolm said.
"They came to photograph your office," she said. "For a series about workplaces of famous mathematicians. They had a letter from you, saying it was - "
"I never sent any letter," Malcolm said. "And I've never heard of Chaos Quarterly."
He went into his office and looked around. Beverly hurried in after him, her face worried.
"Is it okay? Is everything here?"
"Yes," he said, scanning quickly. "It seems to be fine." He was opening the drawers to his desk, one after another. Nothing appeared to be missing.
"That's a relief," Beverly said, "because - "
He turned, and looked at the far side of the room.
The map.
Malcolm had a large map of the world, with pins stuck in it for all the sightings of what Levine kept calling "aberrant forms." By the most liberal count - Levine's count - there had now been twelve in all, from Rangiroa in the west, to Baia California and Ecuador in the cast. Few of them were verified. But now there was a tissue sample that confirmed one specimen, and that made all the rest more likely.
"Did they photograph this map?"
"Yes, they photographed everything. Does it matter? "
Malcolm looked at the map, trying to see it with fresh eyes. To see what an outsider would make of it. He and Levine had spent hours in front of this map, considering the possibility of a "lost world," trying to decide where it might be. They had narrowed it down to five islands in a chain, off the coast of Costa Rica. Levine was convinced that it was one of those islands, and Malcolm was beginning to think he was right. But those islands weren't highlighted on the map…
Beverly said, "They were a very nice group. Very polite. Foreign - Swiss, I think."
Malcolm nodded, and sighed. The hell with it, be thought. It was bound to get out sooner or later.
"It's all right, Beverly."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, it's fine. Have a good evening."
"Good night, Dr. Malcolm."
Alone in his office, he dialed Levine. The phone rang, and then the answering machine beeped. Levine was still not home.
"Richard, are you there? If you are, pick up, it's important." He waited, nothing happened.
"Richard, it's Ian. Listen, we have a problem. The map is no longer secure. And I've had that sample analyzed, Richard, and I think it tells us the location of Site B, if my - "
There was a click as the phone lifted. He heard the sound of breathing.
"Richard?" he said.
"No," said the voice, "this is Thorne. And I think you better get over here right away."
The Five Deaths
" I knew it," Malcolm said, coming into Levine's apartment, and glancing quickly around. "I knew he would do something like this. You know how impetuous he is. I said to him, don't go until we have all the information. But I should have known. Of course, he went."
"Yes, he did."
"Ego," Malcolm said, shaking his head. "Richard has to be first. Has to figure it out first, has to get there first. I'm very concerned, he could ruin everything. This impulsive behavior: you realize it's a storm in the brain, neurons on the edge of chaos. Obsession is just a variety of addiction. But what scientist ever had self-control? They instruct them in school: it's bad form to be balanced. They forget Neils Bohr was not only a great physicist but an Olympic athlete. These days they all try to be nerds. It's the professional style."
Thorne looked at Malcolm thoughtfully. He thought he detected a competitive edge. He said, "Do you know which island he went to?"
"No. I do not." Malcolm was stalking around the apartment, taking things in. "The last time we talked, we had narrowed it down to five islands, all in the
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