"You suspect that's not coincidence," Heffer said.

"Indeed not," Narf-win-Getag said. "Whoever spread the virus to Brisbane knows what we know. What we're hoping is that they might not know what you know. Despite our control of the breed, we do not doubt that somewhere along the way someone got past our limits on the breed. In fact, at this point, that's what we're hoping for."

"So what do you want us to do?" Heffer asked.

"We will provide you with the genetic information for sheep. We'd like you to find a breeder here on Earth who has one of the breed. A purebreed would be optimal, of course. But so long as there is a certain amount of genetic similarity, that will be acceptable. And we need you to find it within the week. And we'd prefer you do it quietly."

Heffer shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I'm all for the quiet part, it's the rest of that request that I'm worried about. You presume that we have the DNA of every sheep in the world somewhere in a government file," he said. "The government has a lot of information, but I don't think even we have that."

"We don't," Javna said. "But someone does."

Heffer and Narf-win-Getag both shifted their focus to Javna. "Keep going, please," Narf-win-Getag said.

"Insurance companies, Mr. Ambassador," Javna said. "Farmers and ranchers insure their livestock all the time, in case they get hit by a car or struck by lightning or get anthrax or whatever. Most insurers require the farmers put their animals' DNA on file, so the insurer can confirm the animal actually belonged to the farmer."

"So much for trust," Heffer said.

"Insurance isn't about trust, sir," Javna said. "Anyway, not every sheep in the world is going to have its DNA on file, but enough will that it gives us something to work on."

"If we can get the insurers to release their records to us," Heffer said. "And even then, a week isn't a lot of time."

Narf-win-Getag stood, took his briefcase; Heffer stood up in response. "Time is critical, Mr. Secretary. The coronation must go on according to schedule. You wanted something to improve relations and to make us forget how your negotiator derailed trade talks. This is it. I will have an assistant come by later in the day with the DNA information. Mr. Secretary, you have my faith that you can help resolve this crisis. It would be most unfortunate, for both our peoples, if you could not." Narf-win-Getag nodded to Heffer and Javna and departed.

Heffer plopped back into his chair. "Well, no pressure there," he said. "So how many sheep do you think there are on this planet?"

"I'm not up to date on my UNEDA estimates, but I'm guessing a couple of billion," Javna said. "But you only have to look through the ones that are insured. That'll narrow it down to just several hundred million. Piece of cake."

"Glad to see the spirit of optimism is alive and well," Heffer said.

"How do you want to do this, Mr. Secretary?" Javna asked.

"You mean, how do you want to do this, Ben," Heffer said. "I'm due back in Switzerland in another twelve hours. Then I'm off to Japan and Thailand. I'm a little busy to be counting sheep. You, on the other hand, can stay home and no one will miss you."

"Narf-win-Getag said that he wants this to be quiet," Javna said. "That's going to be difficult."

"How difficult?" Heffer asked.

"Very difficult. Not impossible, just difficult. We have to be creative about this." Javna was quiet for a moment. "How much latitude do I have for this, sir?"

"Are you kidding? Short of strangling babies, do what you need to do. Why? What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that the best way to handle this so that it doesn't explode into a crisis is to hand it off to someone who doesn't know it's a crisis. Someone smart enough to work the problem but low-profile enough to slip under everyone's radar. And I do mean everyone's." Javna nodded at the intercepts lying on Heffer's desk.

"You know someone like this?" Heffer said.

"I do," Javna said. "The guy I have in mind could do it. And he owes me a favor. I got him a job."

"Anyone I'd know about?"

"No, sir. He's pretty low-profile. 'No-profile' would be more like it, actually."

Heffer snorted. "I thought I knew all the smart young kids in this department."

"Not everyone's looking to be Secretary of state by the time they're thirty, sir."

"Good. Because I'm sixty-seven and I like my job, and I want to keep it a little bit longer. So get going with this." Heffer reached into his desk, hauled out the tube, and slid it over to Javna. "While you or your friend are counting sheep, see if you can figure out where the hell this came from and who made it. Quietly. Whoever put this together can tell us things. Things I think we need to know."

"Yes, sir." Javna took the object and pocketed it.

Heffer reached over, snatched the intercepts off his desk, and yanked out his trash basket with the shredder on top. "And whatever you do, make it fast. Between the Nidu and Pope, I get the distinct feeling of time ticking. I don't want either of them knowing more than we know. You think your friend can keep us ahead of them?"

"I think so, sir," Javna said.

"Good," Heffer said, and fed the intercepts into the shredder.

It was close to midnight when Dave Phipps got on the blue line train at the Pentagon, with a copy of The Washington Times to keep him company. He switched over to the orange line, riding it to its terminus at the Vienna-Fairfax stop. He got out and found himself alone on the platform except for a middle-aged guy in a ratty Washington Senators cap, sitting on one of the benches.

"Hey, can I borrow your paper?" the guy asked. "I've got a long ride into town."

"I will if tell me why you wear that disgusting cap of yours," Phipps said.

"Call it an affectation," the guy said.

"You know the Senators haven't been good for years," Phipps said.

"The Senators have never been good," the guy said. "That's part of their appeal. They're the second most pathetic team in the history of baseball and would be first, if it weren't for the fact that they go out of business every couple of decades and give the Cubs time to lengthen their lead. Now are you going to give me the goddamn paper, or do I have to push you in front of a train and take it from you?"

Phipps grinned and handed over the paper. "I was Special Forces, Schroeder. You've never been anything but soft, Ivy-league lobbyist. It wouldn't be me underneath the wheels, pal."

"Talk, talk, talk," Jean Schroeder said. "Maybe so, Phipps. Maybe so. And yet, look at which one of us is schlepping his sorry ass to Virginia to give me a newspaper." Schroeder fished through the paper. "So where the hell did you hide the transcript, anyway?"

"The comics page," Phipps said.

"Oh, very nice," Schroeder said, changing sections.

"It's mostly about sheep," Phipps said. "Apparently they're looking for a particular breed."

"Android's Dream," Schroeder said. "I know. They're not likely to find it. It's my understanding that the breed has been wiped out."

"You have something to do with that?" Phipps asked.

"I just know many things," Schroeder said.

"They're looking for it anyway," Phipps said.

"So I read," Schroeder said. "Or more accurately, would read, if someone would shut their yap hole long enough for me to concentrate." Phipps grinned again and fell silent. Schroeder read.

"Interesting," he said when was finished. "Futile, but interesting. Still, it wouldn't be smart to underestimate Heffer and Javna. Heffer got Webster elected, after all, and that really put a ding in our plans. And Javna counts as half of his brain. You guys have no idea who it is Javna's talking about?"

"No," Phipps said. "He said it's someone he gave a job to, but that's about half of the State Department at this point."