Gregg Loomis - Gates Of Hades

"Oh, that makes a difference."

He used the hand not holding the paper to point. "Look at this."

Washington -The president announced a new environmental initiative yesterday. A previously undisclosed conference is scheduled for next week.

The president and members of his cabinet will meet with leaders of various ecological and conservationists groups, such as the Sierra Club and the American Green Party, largely organizations that have been critical of the president's handling of such issues as global warming, oil exploration in Alaska, and relaxing of clean air and water standards.

A White House spokesperson said any organized group with an interest in the environment will be welcomed on a space-available basis.

As an act the same spokesperson described as "showing good faith," the president intends to pardon those accused of crimes in the name of conservation, such as those who are presently charged with trespassing on national forest lands by chaining themselves to trees to be cut, or blocking access to oil fields. Asked if this pardon would include violent crimes, the White House appears to be undecided.

Senator Sott (D-Mass.) described the announcement as "A shockingly transparent and cynical effort by the environment's sworn enemy to drum up votes from those he has ignored too long."

The exact site of the conference in Washington has yet to be announced.

Frowning like a primary school teacher accommodating one of her less bright pupils, Maria scanned the article. "So?"

"The man's nuts," he said. "He'll never make peace with those people any more than you could placate a rattlesnake."

She finally laid her paper down, regarding him with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "Your president is 'nuts'? And to think how many Americans got angry when we Europeans first made the observation. Do you think he is any different from any other politician? A politician would be willing to forgive and forget the biggest mass murder in your history if he thinks it will get him reelected."

"Like Jimmy Carter trying to negotiate with Iran to free American hostages? It lost him the next election."

She smiled. "Perhaps now it is your role to give political advice?"

She stood, went to the buffet and selected a pear, and returned to her chair. She took a noisy, moist bite before sitting down. "And so?"

He put the paper down, subject exhausted. "If Adrian and I go…"

She held the pear out to him for him to sample. "If you, Adrian, and I go."

The fruit seemed to turn to a mellow syrup in his mouth. Like most Italian fruit, it was fresh, flavorful, and just ripe enough-So good that Jason suspected there was an official Italian fruit manufacturing agency that produced synthetic goods. He'd never sampled anything that good from Mother Nature.

He swallowed before saying, "Your choice. Eno was right: if Cumae or Baia is a supply of the gas, somebody will be watching."

"Is that a fact?"

Neither Jason nor Maria had seen Adrian emerge from his hiding place behind another paper in the far corner of the room.

"Truly alert you are, laddie," he gloated to Jason. "Coulda killed you a dozen times. Ye're na' payin' attention t'er surroundin's." He pointed to the half-eaten pear. "Or too busy wid the forbidden fruit in this garden."

The SAS man was right: Jason had given scant notice to the other diners, any one of whom could have been Eglov himself hiding behind a copy of la Republica. He had felt so good, so happy as a result of last night's lovemaking, he had momentarily forgotten a darker world where inattention was frequently a capital offense.

As Adrian planted an avuncular kiss on Maria's cheek, Jason dared envision, just for a second, a life where it wasn't necessary to get neck cramps looking over your shoulder. A life… well, a life pretty much like what he and Laurin had planned before she was taken from him.

The reflections shattered like crystal dropped on bricks when Jason realized Adrian was asking questions.

"Was Professor Calligini helpful? Be we off, then? Where to? Baia? Will we be needin' special kit?"

It was the latter question that had brought Jason back to reality. "According to the last explorer, the gas wasn't a problem. Still, I asked Maria to request air tanks so we won't be taking the risk. They should be waiting when we get there."

"And where would 'there' be?" Adrian wanted to know.

"Naples. We can be there in a few hours."

As they left the room, Jason looked back to where the Herald Tribune lay in the chair he had occupied. There was something about that meeting in Washington that he knew without being aware of his knowledge, something… Past experience told him the thought was not yet ripe enough to fall into his full conscious. It would become clear in its own good time.

He only hoped that would be soon enough for… what?

114 Taylor Street

Queens, New York

The same day

Rassavitch had no trouble blending into the enclave of Russian emigrants. Every evening and twice on Sunday he attended the concrete-block building that had begun life as a grocery store and now served as an Orthodox church. It still had a faint odor of spoiled fruit. He was a religious man, a man convinced he had survived the communists to serve God by restoring the Master's will on earth.

He did God's will, and he had been called here by like- thinkers to make certain others did, too. At the moment, God was displeased with the use being made of the Earth, the despoliation of His greatest gift to man. It was far past time someone, some group, wreaked vengeance on those who defiled the Earth.

Rassavitch had finally found just such an organization. That was God's will, too.

If there was one thing distinctly Russian, it was a peasant's love for the land, a commodity for centuries owned exclusively by the State, by the Czars, then the Party. Now, at least in theory, any Russian could own a few hectares. The catch-and in Russia there was always a catch-was that only the wealthy could afford to buy, the very people who raped the earth with poisonous fertilizers, who polluted the rivers with chemicals and defiled even the air all had to breathe.

The injustice of it made Rassavitch grind his teeth.

But the Russians here didn't seem to care. Oh, a few of the old babushka tended thumbnail-sized patches of sickly vegetables, but most of the populace had no interest in the land that had been the sustenance of the Russian people since before the czars. Instead, the young people would rather work at jobs in the city and spend their leisure time wearing American blue jeans, the dye from which Rassavitch was sure polluted some stream, and listening to the noise they called music.

At first, he worried his fellow Russians who had shed the old ways might notice him, perhaps report him to the authorities. Then it dawned upon him that nobody cared. In America, everyone was far too busy making a dollar and watching television to be interested in what someone else did.

Including defiling the earth, the water, the air.

Soon, very soon, Americans would realize the earth could and would strike back.

Via Delia Dataria

Rome

That afternoon

Unlike most Romans, Inspectore Santi Guiellmo did not leave work between one and four o'clock, the hours when offices, museums, shops, and even churches were closed for employees to enjoy a long lunch and, perhaps, a restorative nap. A crisp salad brought to his desk to eat while he scanned the day's headlines was all the break he required from routine. The lengthy recess in the city gave him time to think. It silenced the disruptive telephone and halted the parade of subordinates seeking answers to questions they were too lazy to find for themselves.