"Exactamention," Cardenas agreed.

"She might not tell her daughter anything about this, about our visit. The girl might have an opinion of her own."

"Probably would." The Inspector started across the courtyard. "But the girl is not of age, not even in the CAF. The last thing we want to do is give the mother another reason to dislike us. Better to leave her alone and let her sort things out for herself."

"Think she'll come to the right decision?"

Cardenas paused to watch a troop of mixed macaques and smaller tamarins performing acrobatics on an enormously elaborate gymnastic sculpture that had been constructed adjacent to the jungle. When combined with their innate athleticism, the precision of their routines was dizzying to contemplate.

"I hope so. For her daughter's sake if not for her own." Resuming his stride, he angled toward the Administration building. "If they have facilities here for sanctioned researchers, they can probably put us up for a couple of days."

The managers of the Ciudad Simiano could-for a fee, of course. The visitors' quarters were a pleasant surprise: neat and clean, they were equipped with lightweight tropical linen, mosquito nets, and insect repellers. There was even a vit player-but no comm units and no box access. If they wanted to talk to the outside world, they had to use a monitored unit in the Administration building. A way of ensuring guests' privacy? Cardenas wondered-or of screening all contact between the Ciudad and human civilization? A way of protecting visitors-or of isolating residents? No matter. Neither he nor his partner had any secrets to reveal.

The food served to guests was another surprise. Anticipating a wholly vegetarian diet, both men were delighted to see everything from fish to venison on the menu, though there was no domesticated meat. The inhabitants of the Ciudad did not raise other animals for food, though they were perfectly content to kill and consume those they could catch in the wild. Chimpanzees in particular were traditionally fond of animal protein. Over the course of the federales' brief stay, Hyaki developed a taste for tropical locusts fried in sesame oil. Besides the inherent crunchiness, the battered bugs contained twice as much protein as beef. Demurring on the unusual dish, Cardenas found himself reveling in the local fruits, many of which he had never encountered before.

On the second day, a bored Hyaki stumbled across a tennis court set in the rainforest. There he made the acquaintance of a young orangutan named Pahek. Although physically smaller, the orang's reach exceeded the sergeant's own, and they engaged in several energetic matches.

Envying his partners ability to unwind, an increasingly pessimistic Cardenas extended their stay into a third day, still without any word from Surtsey Mockerkin. It was beginning to look like the only testimony they were going to be able to obtain from her concerning the death of Wayne Brummel and his likely extirpaters would have to be inferred. They could not force her to testify, either via recording or by returning to Namerica. For that matter, they still had no incontrovertible proof that could tie her felonious husband directly to the vapeing. As for any disreputable exploitation of her daughter by the girl's father, no one had suggested that a prosecutable crime had been committed. Where a court of law was concerned, without testimony given or recorded in the presence of counsel, any information provided by Katla's mother would remain nothing more than hearsay.

All in all, it had not been a very successful trip. They had obtained information regarding The Mock's intention to develop a means for engaging in something called quantum theft, which might prove to be anything from a genuine threat to nothing more than a harebrained hypothesis. Surtsey Mockerkin had confirmed that her husband was searching for her, and that he had reason to be furious, perhaps lethally furious, with the man she had run off with. And that was all. There was no hard evidence of murder for hire, crunch theft, or child abuse. It was suggestive that others were willing to kill to learn what Katla Mockerkin presumably knew, but it did not implicate anyone directly in the murder of Wayne Brummel.

Which was, after all, the case he and his partner were supposed to be pursuing.

The good food and congenial, if isolated, surroundings, did little to lift the Inspector out of the funk of frustration into which he had fallen. If they could secure hard testimony from Surtsey Mockerkin to the effect that her husband had ordered Brummel's killing, or even that he was in all likelihood the one who had ordered it, then they could at least pick up The Mock on suspicion, and subject him to questioning. But if she refused to do even that much, they could do nothing but catch the next shuttle home. And as afraid as she was of her husband, Cardenas was not sanguine about convincing her even to admit that she knew where he was living.

They could not afford to linger a fourth day. Not without results. All they could do was pay Surtsey Mockerkin one last visit, repeat both their plea for assistance and the offer of asylum, and hope that time and contemplation had worked on her mind sufficiently to persuade her to change her position. Neither man was hopeful.

Having resigned himself to disappointment, Cardenas had already booked them out on the following day's shuttle from San Jose to Nogales via Mexico City. Still, he reflected as he led Hyaki up the steps of the guest house, there had been times in the past when logic and reason had failed him but sheer stubbornness had paid off.

Despite the outward simplicity of the structure, their prior visit had confirmed that it employed its share of concealed servotronics, including one that must have notified her of their arrival. Surtsey Mockerkin met them in the main hallway. Her manner was guarded but confident.

"Come in. I'm in the middle of putting up some things in the kitchen."

They followed her to a part of the house they had not previously seen. The kitchen occupied the opposite side of the building from the sitting area where they had conversed three days earlier. Outfitted to handle the needs of two or three people, it held dehumidifier-equipped, insect-proof cabinets; a small oven and stove; sink, chiller, sonic scrubber, and a floor-to-ceiling pantry. As the two federales looked on, their hostess removed dishes and tumblers from the scrubber and stacked them in an open cabinet.

"I understand that you gentlemen are getting ready to leave."

"So we are," Cardenas admitted. "How did you find out?"

She set a pair of brightly colored self-chilling plastic tumblers on a half-full shelf. "I have been here long enough to make some friends, you know." Eyes that had seen too much met his. "If you've come to say good-bye, it was nice meeting you. If you've come to make a last stab at talking me into leaving, forget it."

Trying to defuse the tension between them, he ventured conversationally, "It's a shame we won't get to meet your daughter. As you said before, she must be very fond of her forest walks."

Mockerkin's smile was humorless. "She prefers machines and nature to people. Can't say that I blame her."

"How about you, Surtsey? You don't miss people, urban excitement, having things to do and places to go?"

Looking away from him, she returned resolutely to her stacking. "What I want doesn't matter. All I want anymore is what's best for Katla."

She was lying, Cardenas knew. Maybe better than she knew herself. She wore boredom like an ill-fitting brassiere. Another month, maybe two, isolated in this place, and a vivacious, highly sociable woman like herself would really begin to feel the effects. Could they wait another two months for her to begin to break down?

Such decisions were simplified by the fact that they had no choice. "If you should change your mind," he told her, "you can contact me directly." He nodded in the direction of the compound. "The address is on the Administration's molly. Use a secure connect."