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expressive gesture that even Josh's jet-lagged mind could decipher. He wasn't saying he didn't know where they were -- he was saying they didn't exist.
    The steep slope in front of them was being systematically hacked into sections by what Josh calculated to be about a hundred workers using hand tools of varying effectiveness -- nothing more sophisticated than a rusted shovel and nothing less sophisticated than a pointy rock.
    The plan was for the entire butte to be terraced, creating fertile agricultural land that would not only support a village built on the narrow swath of flat land surrounding it but also produce excess food that could be sold on the open market. Trent had given him only a short briefing on the project, responding to nearly every question Josh asked with "Why don't you go down there and get the lay of the land, then we'll talk."
    Trent's attitude had seemed reasonable at the time, but now Josh wondered if his new boss hadn't been intentionally vague in an effort not to scare him off.
    Not that Josh knew the first thing about this type of agriculture, but even to his eye, something had gone seriously wrong here. The individual terraces sloped every which way, there was no uniformity to the dept h o f them, and there was nothing supporting the vertical slab of earth the digging had created -- a dangerous situation highlighted by what looked like a large mudslide on the eastern edge of the project.
    "The rain is coming," Gideon said. "We'll go to the compound now."
    It was tempting, but Josh knew he wouldn't be able to sleep with this many unanswered questions spinning around in his head.
    "Let me just look around for a minute."
    "The rain," Gideon warned as Josh moved away from the Land Cruiser. "There's nothing to be done here tonight."
    "I can take a look. It'll give me time to think."
    "Think tomorrow. We're going."
    There was a finality to his tone that sounded like an order and made Josh pick up his pace. Who was working for who here? And what exactly were they trying to accomplish? To stay dry or to help these people feed themselves?
    He aimed himself at the project's most interesting feature -- a small but prominent field at the base of a hill that had been terraced with incongruous precision and was planted with corn that had grown to a height of about five feet.
    The first raindrop hit him on the back of the neck with impressive force and an audible splat. He wiped at the warm water as he waded into the rows of corn. "What's up with this?"
    "I don't know what you're asking," Gideon said, obviously angry, but not so much that he was willing to wait in the car. "It's almost ready for harvest."
    "What I'm asking is why one little section is done and perfect, while the rest . . ." He wasn't quite sure how to describe the rest of the project, so he just waved his hand in its general direction.
    This time Gideon's shrug was more disinterested. "I'm not in charge of this project. You are."
    "That's what I keep hearing."
    "We have to go now."
    The rain was coming harder, the drops shaking the leaves and exploding in the dust around their feet. Above them, the people had stopped working but didn't seem in a hurry to leave. Instead they formed groups, talking animatedly and looking in Josh's direction.
    "Okay, fine. Let's go," Josh said, deciding it was a little early to make an enemy of the man who was supposed to be his lifeline here. When they turned to go back to the Land Cruiser, though, he was distracted by a flash of yellow through the corn, and he set off toward it instead.
    "Where are you going?" Gideon shouted. "This way!"
    "Head back to the car," Josh yelled back, trying to be heard over the rain that had now completely soaked through his clothes. "I'll be there in a sec."
    For some reason, Gideon didn't take the suggestion and appeared from the corn just as Josh started to circle the small earth-mover he'd found next to a dilapidated shed.
    Trent had mentioned the tractor but had neglected to say