individuals left, it is regarded by many scientists as being "functionally extinct" in the wild. But a group called Save China's Tigers has been working on a captive- breeding programme and hopes to reach an agreement with China's State Forestry Administration to reintroduce captive-bred animals into the wild. If all goes well, the first individuals could be reintroduced to coincide with the Beijing Olympic Games in 2008. Rare insect hit by housing scheme Britain's rarest beetle, the streaked bombardier, could soon become extinct in the UK when a new housing development is built over the single site at which it can be found, a brownfield site on the Thames Estuary in East London. "It is very sad that a deliberate choice has been made to plough on with the development, regardless of the consequences to wildlife," said Jamie Roberts of the invertebrate conservation group Buglife. A last ditch attempt is being made to move the beetles to a
straight to my room, offering a lame wave to Cary, who was practicing yoga in the living room to a DVD. I stripped off my clothes as I crossed the distance from my closed bedroom door to the bed, finally crawling between the cool sheets in just my underwear. I hugged a pillow and closed my eyes, so tired and drained I had nothing left. The door opened at my back and a moment later Cary sat beside me. He brushed my hair back from my tear-streaked face. "What's the matter, baby girl?" "I got kicked to the curb today. Courtesy of a fucking note card." He sighed. "You know the drill, Eva. He's going to keep pushing you away, because he's expecting you to fail him like everyone else has." "And I keep proving him right." I recognized myself in the description Cary had just given. I ran when the going got tough, because I was so sure it was all going to end badly. The only control I
It was like clinging to a stone. "I'm a bit heavier than your average backpack," I warned. "Hah!" he snorted. I could almost hear his eyes rolling. I'd never seen him in such high spirits before. He startled me, suddenly grabbing my hand, pressing my palm to his face, and inhaling deeply. "Easier all the time," he muttered. And then he was running. If I'd ever feared death before in his presence, it was nothing compared to how I felt now. He streaked through the dark, thick underbrush of the forest like a bullet, like a ghost. There was no sound, no evidence that his feet touched the earth. His breathing never changed, never indicated any effort. But the trees flew by at deadly speeds, always missing us by inches. I was too terrified to close my eyes, though the cool forest air whipped against my face and burned them. I felt as if I were stupidly sticking my head out the window of an airplane in flight. And, for the first time in
of Norway almost by default. The Germans continued to listen in to Admiralty messages during the critical summer of 1940 as Hitler prepared for Operation SEALION—his invasion of England. The crypt- analytic intelligence had long been entering into operational planning, and the Oberkommando der Kriegsmarine had come to depend on it. Suddenly, on August 20, as all England was bracing itself in its finest hour, and the sky above was streaked with contrails as the few earned their tribute from the many, the Admiralty, which had finally tumbled to the German cryptanalysis, changed its codes and ciphers. O.K.M. went deaf. The abrupt cutting off of quantities of information about British plans and disposi- tions caused, a German said, "a great setback for German naval strategy." No longer could German vessels strike out at the greater British forces with foreknowledge or move deftly out of their way. British
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