And he’d found exactly what he’d expected in his little matrix run. The owners of the Babanango piant were a tiny firm called Amalgamated Photosynthetics, registered as a subsidiary with HKB, Britain’s financial conglomerate. That meant HKB acted as a forwarding address for the real owners. For this service, the megacorp took either a fixed fee, or a percentage, depending on what their shark-skinned accountants decided was the best deal. HKB had a special division devoted purely to such leasing deals, but it was not part of the British-based corporation—not so far as international law was concerned. It existed somewhere among thirty underdeveloped countries which took the crumbs HKB threw out to them and didn’t ask questions. Trying to get into the divisional system to find out who had a piece of British Industrial and at least most of Amalgamated Photosynthetics would be plumb crazy. HKB had more IC than nature had needed to sink the Titanic. Michael knew he couldn’t do it. He also knew that if he didn’t, they were never going to find their quarry. Unless of course Serrin’s reporter friend had a precise fix, but that would be too much like counting on sheer good luck.