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Not long after, they heard from Gerald Palstein. The face staring at them through the monitor window from Texas looked dejected, and Jericho couldn’t help being reminded of Shaw’s words, about the unpleasant decisions EMCO’s chief strategist was responsible for on a daily basis.

Then he looked closer.

No, it was something else. Palstein looked like someone who had just been given devastating news.

‘I can supply you with the film now,’ he said wearily.

‘You were able to speak to your contact?’ Shaw’s voice sneaked up, cautious and tentative.

‘No.’ Palstein rubbed his eyes. ‘Something happened.’

For a moment his forehead appeared in disproportion to the rest of his body as he leaned forward and pressed something underneath the transmission camera. Then the image changed, and they saw a news report from CNN.

‘An incomprehensible tragedy took place today in Vancouver in Canada,’ said Christine Roberts, the smartly dressed frontwoman of
Breaking News
. ‘In an act of unprecedented violence, practically the entire leadership of the internet portal Greenwatch has been wiped out. The ecologically orientated station, known for its engaged and critical reportage, has contributed again and again to the resolution of environmental scandals in recent years, as well as bringing multiple suits against companies and politicians. They were known to be balanced and fair. Our correspondent in Vancouver can now speak to us. Rick Lester, are there any indications yet as to who could be behind the bloodbath which may mean the end of Greenwatch?’

The picture changed. Early evening light. A man in front of a Canadian villa-style property, crime-scene tape fluttering all around him, along with police vehicles and uniformed officers.

‘No, Christine, and that’s exactly what makes the whole thing so eerie: so far there
are no clues at all as to who is responsible for these murders, or rather executions, and above all, why.’ Rick Lester spoke in an emphasised staccato, pausing after every half-sentence. ‘Greenwatch were working, as we now know, on an extensive report about the destruction of the boreal forest in Canada and other parts of the world, so that would make the oil industry a prime suspect, but the report was more looking back at what damage has been caused over the years, that can’t be undone, and at first glance there’s nothing there which could serve as an explanation for a massacre like this.’

‘There’s now talk of ten fatalities, Rick. What exactly happened, and what names are amongst the victims?’

‘So, I should add that this is probably a concerted action, because it not only affected the headquarters of Greenwatch, where seven people have been found dead’ – he turned slightly to indicate the scene behind him – ‘but a quarter of an hour before there was also a wild pursuit on Marine Drive, a coastal road that leads out to Point Grey, and witnesses claim to have seen a large four-by-four repeatedly ram into a Thunderbird containing three Greenwatch staff, and then intentionally cause an accident. It seems that two of the people in the car initially survived the crash, but were then immediately shot. One of the victims is, incidentally, the chief reporter of Greenwatch, Loreena Keowa. So the murderers may have driven on to the Greenwatch headquarters, here at Point Grey, gained access and created this bloodbath within a matter of minutes.’

‘A bloodbath which – according to the latest reports – also cost the director, Susan Hudsucker, her life?’

‘Yes, that has been confirmed.’

‘It’s terrible, Rick, really unbelievable, but it’s not just the murders which are giving the investigators clues, but some things which seem to have disappeared—’

‘That’s right, Christine, and this shines a particular light on the incident. Because there is not one single computer to be found in the whole building; all of Green-watch’s data has been stolen, as well as handwritten notes, so pretty much the station’s entire memory.’

‘Rick, doesn’t that imply that someone here was trying to prevent the publication of potentially controversial information?’

Lester nodded. ‘Someone was undoubtedly trying to
delay
its publication, and we’ve just heard that contact has been made with freelance workers to find out more about the current projects, but Greenwatch always took great pains to keep hot information and stories within the inner circle right up to the last moment, so it could mean those final projects will never be reconstructed.’

‘An immense tragedy indeed. So, that’s all from Vancouver for now, thank you, Rick Lester. And now—’

The recording came to an end. Palstein reappeared, alone in front of the polished mahogany table in his conference room in Dallas.

‘Was that your contact person?’ asked Shaw. ‘The woman in the car?’

‘Yes.’ Palstein nodded. ‘Loreena Keowa.’

‘And you think the events are directly connected to the assassination attempt in Calgary?’

‘I don’t know.’ Palstein sighed. ‘A film clip turned up showing a man. He could be the assassin, but does that justify a massacre like this? I mean, I’m in possession of the pictures too, and Loreena said she showed them to a number of people. We were planning to talk on the phone right after her landing in Vancouver, I asked her to call me without fail—’

‘Because you were worried.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Palstein shook his head. ‘It was like she was obsessed with the case. I was very worried.’

‘Mr Palstein,’ said Jericho, ‘how quickly could we get hold of the film? Every second—’

‘No problem. I can show you the extract right away.’

The picture changed once again. This time they saw the entrance hall of a building. Jericho thought he recognised the run-down façade: the empty business complex opposite the Imperial Oil HQ in Calgary, from which the shot at Palstein was alleged to have been fired. People were walking around aimlessly. Two men and a woman came out of the building into the sunlight. The men joined a policeman and engaged him in conversation, while the woman positioned herself to the side. A figure crept up from the left, a fat, bulky man with long black hair.

Jericho leaned forwards. A still image appeared on the monitor, just a head and shoulders. He was clearly an Asian man. A corpulent, unkempt appearance, greasy hair, his beard thin and dishevelled; but what couldn’t be accomplished with a bit of latex, foam and make-up?

Even Yoyo was staring at the Asian man.

‘Almost unrecognisable,’ she whispered.

Shaw looked at her keenly. ‘You know him?’

‘Absolutely.’ Jericho nodded. He couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Unbelievable, but it’s him!’

The disguise was worthy of an Oscar, but the circumstances under which they had met him meant they couldn’t be misled. Jericho had already fallen for it once, but wouldn’t let it happen again, even if the bastard covered himself in fur and went down on all fours.

‘That,’ he said, ‘is without a doubt the Calgary assassin.’

Shaw raised her eyebrows. ‘And do you have a name?’

‘Yes, but it won’t help you much. The guy is as volatile as gas. His name is Xin. Kenny Xin.’

The Land of Mist.

It was only after getting to the Moon that Evelyn had learned the astronauts’ name for the mining zone, and to her the term seemed corny and inapplicable. According to her school education, mist was a meteorological phenomenon, an aerosol, and there was certainly no droplet formation on the Moon. She had asked around as to whether the name resulted from some pretentious need to pay homage to Riccioli and his historical misinterpretations, but didn’t receive any adequate answers. In general, the zone was hardly ever discussed. Julian had scheduled in a presentation of a documentary for the last day of their stay; so there were no plans to visit the mining zone at all.

But now that she had ended up here after all, one glance was enough to make her see why prosaic minds had named the stretch of land between Sinus Iridum and Mare Imbrium the Land of Mist. A flat, iridescent barrier stretched out from horizon to horizon, over a kilometre high and not in the slightest bit suited to lifting Chambers’ mood. It weighed down on the land desolately, hopelessness which had turned into dust. No one in their right mind would feel the desire to cross it.

But Hanna’s wheel tracks led right into it.

He had driven down the path for several hundred metres, then veered off in a north-easterly direction. According to Julian, he was travelling along the imaginary line that linked Cape Heraclides to Cape Laplace. Giving in to the conflicting hope that their opponent might be a survival expert, and possibly the better pathfinder, they followed in his tracks. Amber continued to study her maps, but as good as their services had been so far, here they proved to be useless. Everywhere they looked, visibility was cut short by mist, sometimes after a hundred metres, but mostly after just ten. There was no horizon now, no hills, no mountain ranges, only Hanna’s solitary tracks on his way into the unknown. Something that fed on life itself crept up out of the dust, weighed heavily on Chambers’ ribcage and unleashed in her the childlike longing to cry. The Moon was dead matter, and yet until now she had seen it as strangely alive, like an old and wise human being, a wonderful Methuselah,
whose wrinkles preserved the history of creation. Here, though, history seemed to have been erased. The familiar powdery consistency of the regolith, its gentle slopes and miniature craters, had given way to crumbly uniformity, as if something had glided over and subjected it to an eerie transformation. For a moment, she thought she could make out the edge of a small crater, but it vanished into dust before her eyes, mere hallucination.

‘There’s nothing left here to get your bearings from,’ said Julian to Amber. ‘The beetles have changed the landscape permanently.’

Beetles? Evelyn stopped. She couldn’t recall ever having heard of beetles being on the Moon. But whatever they were up to, in her eyes it amounted to desecration. All around them, it looked as though someone had inflicted grievous bodily harm on the satellite. This crumbly stuff was the ashes of the dead. It was racked up in parallel, shallow ramparts, like powerful furrows, as if something had been ploughing the ground.

‘Julian, it looks awful here,’ she said.

‘I know. Not exactly the dream destination for tourists. People only ever come here if there are problems the maintenance robots can’t cope with.’

‘And what in God’s name are the beetles?’

‘Look over there.’ Julian raised his arm and pointed ahead. ‘That’s one.’

She squinted. At first she just saw the sunlight flickering on the dust particles. Then, amidst enigmatic grey tones, a silhouette came into view at an indefinable distance from them, a thing of primeval appearance. It slowly pushed its hunched, strangely weightless-looking body forwards, making bizarre details visible: a rotating jaw system beneath a low, oblate head, which rummaged industriously through the regolith, insectoid legs spread out wide. Unrelentingly, it kept adding to the dust across the plateau, causing it to whirl around as it continued to eat and move forwards. The microscopic suspended matter enshrouded its bulky body, surrounding its legs like a cocoon. By now, Evelyn was pretty sure she knew what she was looking at, except all her perceptions were stunted by the impression of just how inconceivably powerful the beetle was. The nearer they got to it, the more monstrous it looked, stretching out its humpback, which was covered in enormous, glinting, shell-like mirrors, a mythical monster, as tall as a high-rise building.

Julian bore down on it. ‘Momoka, stay behind me,’ he ordered. ‘We have to stick together. If we want to stay on course, we can’t avoid getting close to these machines. They’re sluggish, but sluggishness is relative when you consider their size.’

The visibility got worse. By the time the velvety regolith was under their wheels again, just before they reached the beetle, its torso was outlined, dark and
threatening, against the clouded sky. For its enormous height, it was astonishingly narrow.

It disappeared behind plumes of whirling dust. As the giant lifted one of its powerful, many-jointed legs and took a step forwards, it seemed to Evelyn as if it was ever so slowly swivelling its stooped skull around to look at them. The rover juddered softly. She put it down to Momoka driving over a bump on the ground, but an inner certainty told her it had happened at the very moment when the beetle rammed its foot into the regolith.

‘A mining machine!’ Rogachev turned round to stare at the vanishing silhouette. ‘Fantastic! How could you have kept that from me for so long?’

‘We call them beetles,’ said Julian. ‘On account of their shape and the way they move. And yes, they are fantastic. But there are far too few of them.’

‘Do they turn the regolith into this – stuff?’ asked Evelyn, thinking of the crumbly wasteland.

Julian hesitated. ‘As I said, they transform the landscape.’

‘I was just wondering, I mean, I wasn’t really sure how the mining takes place. I thought, I mean, I expected to see something along the lines of drilling rigs.’

As soon as the words had left her mouth, she felt ashamed for discussing mining techniques with Julian so casually, as if forgetting that Momoka had been confronted with Locatelli’s deformed corpse just half an hour before. Since their departure from the Cape, the Japanese woman had not uttered a single word, but she was certainly driving the rover with care. She had retreated within herself, in an eerie, ghostly way. The creature behind the reflective visor pane steering the vehicle could easily have been mistaken for a robot.

‘Helium-3 can’t be produced in the same way as oil, gas or coal,’ said Julian. ‘The isotope is atomically bound into the moon dust. Around three nanograms per gram of regolith, evenly distributed.’

‘Nanogram, wait a moment,’ pondered Evelyn. ‘That’s a billionth of a gram, right?’

‘So little?’ Rogachev was stunned.

‘Not
that
little,’ said Julian. ‘Just think, the stuff was stored up over billions of years by solar wind. Far over half a billion tonnes in total, ten times as much as all the coal, oil and gas reserves on Earth! That’s a hell of a lot! It’s just that, in order to get to it, you have to process the moon surface too.’