by Clancy, Tom
“It is,” Kannaday replied.
“I wonder what a prehistoric vintage would demand in the Mahogany Auction Room,” Darling said. “An unthinkable sum, I would imagine. Can’t you just picture it? Scientists bidding against connoisseurs to buy a mudcrusted and fossilized puddle.”
Darling chuckled at the thought. Kannaday smiled uncomfortably. The man has no imagination, Darling thought. Then again, he was at something of a disadvantage here. Because Darling was silhouetted by the patio lights, Kannaday could not see him clearly. He could not tell from Darling’s expression whether he was joking or being serious. That was how Darling wanted it. He wanted his guest off balance and open. Vulnerable.
Darling crossed his arms and regarded the captain. “I understand that replacement gear is being sent over to the yacht.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you back at sea as soon as possible.”
“Of course,” Kannaday said.
“Before you go, though, I’d like an explanation,” Darling said.
“First, I promise that nothing like this will happen again,” Kannaday said. “We should have foreseen it. Your security chief agrees.”
“Hawke agrees?”
“Absolutely,” Kannaday said.
“And how will you guard against future attacks?” Darling demanded. His mood soured quickly. “A sampan full of sea rats drew close enough to put a hole in the side of your vessel! How did that happen?”
“Sir, the men in the sampan did not cause the explosion,” Kannaday said. “We did.”
“How?”
“By accident. We hit the pirates hard, fast, and decisively,” Kannaday told him. “The attack triggered explosives that were on board the other vessel.”
“Why did you let them get so close?” Darling asked. “You have a good radar system on board.”
“The sampan did not create a blip that was distinguishable from porpoises or flotsam,” Kannaday said. “We failed to identify it until the security camera picked it up. By then it was nearly upon us. At that point we decided not to strike until we were certain that we were facing an enemy,” Kannaday replied.
“Why?” Darling asked.
The question seemed to surprise Captain Kannaday. “Sir, are you suggesting we should have attacked what may have been an innocent vessel?”
“Preemptive strikes reduce risk,” Darling told him.
“I would have thought that a stealthy passage was more important,” Kannaday replied.
“The best way to assure a low profile is to eliminate potential witnesses,” Darling pointed out. “Now, you say Mr. Hawke agrees that adequate security precautions were in place?”
“He does,” Kannaday said.
“Or am I hearing a case of ‘You watch my back, I’ll watch yours’ ?” Darling said.
“Excuse me?” Kannaday asked.
“I don’t know Mr. Hawke very well,” Darling said. “I doubt anyone does. A good security chief does not share his thoughts. But I cannot believe Hawke would agree that a disastrous operation was, in fact, a competent one. It is an indefensible position.”
“Sir, forgive me for repeating myself, but what happened was unforeseeable,” Kannaday insisted.
“And I say that what happened was preventable!” Darling yelled.
Kannaday said nothing.
“As for Mr. Hawke, you would not misrepresent what he said. That would be easy to check. So we have a contradiction.”
“Mr. Darling, you’ve lost me,” the captain said helplessly.
“Hawke has apparently agreed to back your explanation, that this was a freak occurrence,” Darling said. “Why?”
“Because it was.”
“Do you like Mr. Hawke?” Darling asked.
“No, sir. I don’t.”
“You do not like him, you did not hire him,” Darling said. “This was your chance to blame him and get rid of him. Why hasn’t that happened?”
Darling watched Kannaday’s face. The blanket glow of the spotlight left nothing in shadow. The captain did not break eye contact or move his mouth. It was unnatural.
Kannaday was concealing something.
It took a long moment for the captain to speak. It must have felt far longer than that.
“You’re right,” Kannaday said at last. “I called him out for this. I demanded that he surrender his post.”
“And what was his response?”
Carefully, the captain rolled down the neck of his sweater. There was a white surgical bandage taped to his throat. In the center of the bandage was an ugly red spot. Jervis Darling was not surprised to see it. Kannaday had to have been wearing the high collar for some reason. Had he been injured in battle, he would not have sought to hide the wound.
“Hawke put a blade to my throat.”
Darling snickered. “You let him surprise you just as the pirates did.”
Kannaday did not reply.
“Hawke let you survive so you could absolve his team of blame,” Darling went on. “On the one hand, I should not care about that. I am only concerned about results. The problem, Captain, is that I like people to meet or surpass my expectations. You have failed in that regard.”
“Once!” Kannaday said. There was frustration, not anger, in the captain’s gravelly voice. “We’ve had a single slip in more than a dozen very difficult, perfectly executed missions.”
“You had two slips, Captain Kannaday,” Darling pointed out. “First the pirates, then Hawke.”
“All right,” Kannaday agreed. “I made two mistakes. I accept that responsibility.”
“Wherein lies the problem,” Darling said. “Errors can be repaired. Restoring trust is another issue.”
“Mr. Darling, I feel like a catboat in a bloody hurricane,” Kannaday said. “I need to finish this job. Then I have to look ahead to the other jobs. I can live with the way things are between me and John Hawke. My ego can handle that. But how do I fix it with you?”
“You are the captain,” Darling said. “Figure it out.”
“Sir, I’m trying very hard to do that,” Kannaday said. “In the future we will attack or avoid any ship that comes close. We’ll push the Hosannah to make up as much lost time as possible. I will work out my problems with John Hawke if you like.”
“Captain Kannaday, I don’t ‘like’!” Darling sneered. “You suffered a mutiny on board your vessel!”
“It was a disagreement, Mr. Darling.”
“It ended when Mr. Hawke dictated shipboard terms from the hilt of a blade,” Darling pointed out. “That, sir, is a mutiny.”
Kannaday was about to respond. Instead, his mouth clapped shut and he looked away.
“And you did nothing about it,” Darling went on. “Was his knife at your throat all day?”
“No, sir.”
“How did he pay for his crime?” Darling demanded. “What did he say when the wind changed and you put a knife at his throat? You did want to do that, didn’t you?”
“I did, sir.”
“I wish you had,” Darling said. “You cannot work for me and for Mr. Hawke. The way back, Captain, is to fix that.”
The silence in the kitchen was such that Darling could hear the water fizzing in the bottle.
Kannaday held Darling’s gaze a moment longer. “I understand, sir. Was there anything else?”
“No,” Darling said.
Kannaday nodded. Then he turned to leave. As the captain made his way around the counter, Andrew appeared to escort him from the estate. Andrew had been just out of earshot the entire time. Kannaday respected the secretary’s devotion, his discretion, and above all his loyalty. If only everyone in Darling’s service were like that.
Darling walked to the counter. He picked up his water and took a quick swig. He did not really care whether Kannaday won back his respect or not. All that mattered was having someone take charge of this mission. To see the rest of it through without event. To make sure he was not bothered on any future aspects of the operatio
n.
Darling finished the water and wondered who that lieutenant would be. John Hawke was a confident man, and strength was a great motivator. Peter Kannaday was a frightened man. Fear could move a man as well, often in strange and unexpected ways.
Which is the greater asset? Darling asked himself.
The big, successful prehistoric predators had enormous power and guile. Sometimes, though, a startled vegetarian like a stegosaurus would swing its spiked tail and fell a mighty tyrannosaur. There were countless cracked skulls in the fossil record.
The tactics never changed. Only the combatants and their weapons.
Darling put the empty water bottle on the counter. He left the kitchen to briefly attend to his other businesses. The safe ones. The ones that had long ago lost their ability to challenge and gratify him. The ones that covered the world and reported on it.
A world that he would have a hand in reshaping.
TWENTY-ONE
The Celebes Sea Friday, 9:44 P.M.
Monica Loh’s patrol boat hovered about the second nuclear waste site. This was where the Japanese government was allowed to deposit material. Tokyo was also free to assign space to other nations, provided they adhered to the International Nuclear Regulatory Commission codes.
The officer did not like coming to the Japanese site. She did not like going to any place controlled by the Japanese. It was a purely psychological reaction but a strong one. People of smaller nations in this region were inevitably caught in the backwash of history created by China and Japan. The Chinese were ambitious, organized, and insensitive. With over a billion people to feed and manage, Loh did not blame them for their totalitarian efficiency. She did not have the same sympathy for the Japanese. They were greedy rather than ambitious. They were domineering, not just organized. And they were cruel rather than insensitive. When the Chinese turned outward it was for land and resources to control. The Japanese looked for people to subjugate.
Singapore had its own forms of overkill. Laws were strict and punishment stricter. Dissent was permitted as long as sedition and abusive language were avoided. Work was hard, wages were low, and the government did not do enough to ease the burden of laborers. The shipbuilders and oil refiners were the backbone of the economy. The government could not afford to alienate them. Since the bulk of the population was of Chinese heritage, they understood the rules. But Singaporeans had, at heart, a gentle nature. Their discomfort about the Japanese came partly from history lessons and partly from a clash of natures. They experienced it on the seas, in the harbors, in the banks, and on the stock exchanges. Whenever FNO Loh was around Japanese sailors, military or otherwise, she felt as though she was on high alert. Even tourists made her uneasy. They seemed to be collecting memories instead of enjoying them.
Loh watched from the deck as the sailors lowered their gear into the water. They were just a few meters ahead of her, port side. They worked in silence as they had been trained to do. Talk was a distraction in military operations. Still, every one of the officer’s senses was stimulated. She smelled the oil and salt of the sea. She heard the slapping of the waves against the hull of the patrol ship. Spotlights fastened to the rail played across the water. The net containing the equipment seemed to lose pieces as it descended into the darkness between the bright, patchy crests of sea. A strong, temperate wind pushed at her from the northwest. Though the woman’s world was the sea, she had always felt a kinship with the wind. It moved across the ocean, just like she did. It was silent. And it had changing moods that were only noticed by those who got in the way. The stars were partly hidden by high, wispy clouds. They reminded Loh of a waitress she had once seen in Bangkok. The woman had worn a white gown with sequins that sparkled in the light. Now that Loh thought of it, she knew as little about that waitress as she did about the heavens. The world was full of mysteries.
Loh was relaxed as the men and women worked. She did not care whether they found the site to be corrupted or intact. Even no information was information. She would deal with whatever they discovered. Though not a practicing Buddhist, Loh believed in the four noble truths it taught: that existence is suffering; that the cause of suffering is desire; that suffering eventually ends in a state of peace known as nirvana; and that the road to nirvana, the so-called eightfold noble path, consists of the qualities of right resolve, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration. All of those skills did not come easily. And they required one thing above all.
Patience.
Loh had learned that quality by watching her father work on his cases. In the end, the perpetrator would be caught. It only remained to be seen how, when, and where.
After a few minutes, the young male specialist in charge of naval underwater systems jogged over to FNO Loh. He saluted.
“Ambient radiation levels are below normal at the site of the last deposit,” he said. “Unless the coordinates are incorrect.”
“There is no reason to believe they are,” she said. “Go down and see what you can find.”
“Ma’am,” he said, saluting and turning.
It took just five minutes for the underwater unit to get into the sea. They carried a fluoroscopic scanner. If there were anything hot inside the stencil-dated concrete block, it would show up as a red pattern on the viewfinder.
Ten minutes later the three-person team reached the site. The block that had been deposited registered as cold. It contained no radioactive materials. FNO Loh unhooked the point-to-point radio from her belt. She contacted Warrant Officer Jelbart on the other vessel.
“Then the materials were off-loaded somewhere between the source and the drop-off point,” Jelbart said.
“That is apparently the case,” Loh agreed.
“And it’s possible they were given to the vessel that was attacked by the sampan,” Jelbart said.
“That is also likely,” she said.
“We’ll get the name and registry of the ship that made this drop,” Jelbart told her. “Then we’ll have a talk with the captain.”
“That is worth doing,” Loh said. “But I am betting you will not find the ship or the crew.”
“What do you mean?” Jelbart asked. “The ship has to be registered.”
“That is true,” she said. “But that vessel probably has multiple registries. I am guessing they were notified when the sampan attacked their fellow ship. While they were still at sea, the vessel would have been rechristened and the hull repainted. I doubt very much that we will find it.”
“Then we’ve learned nothing,” Jelbart said. “Except for the fact that there is a great deal of nuclear waste somewhere in our corner of the world.”
“That is not nothing,” Loh said. “We will find it.”
“I like your attitude. Any suggestions?” Jelbart asked.
“Just one,” she said. “Have patience.”
TWENTY-TWO
Cairns, Australia Friday, 9:45 P.M.
Peter Kannaday returned to the yacht a shaken man.
During the meeting with Jervis Darling, the captain had experienced something extremely disturbing. For the first time in his forty-seven years, Kannaday’s natural, healthy suspicion had blossomed like a nightshade into poisonous paranoia. And it had happened for a shockingly simple reason. Being buffeted by two forces, Jervis Darling and John Hawke, was troublesome enough. What bothered Kannaday more was the thought that those forces might not be working independently. Hawke had been hired by Darling. They could be working together through Marcus Darling. Perhaps the elder Darling wanted Kannaday to turn on Hawke so that Hawke could eliminate him. Then he could seize the yacht. Kannaday’s crew would not turn against a security chief who had defended himself. From Jervis Darling’s point of view, this was easier and more secure than purchasing a yacht and leaving a paper trail. Or there could be other reasons. Perhaps Darling was doing this out of nothing more than utter contempt for an easygoing man. Or maybe breaking people was how Darling got his jollies.<
br />
These suspicions turned the captain’s natural force, his momentum, inside out. It had turned healthy caution into deadly fear. Kannaday had to find a way to get rid of that.
Kannaday also had to get rid of John Hawke. Even if Hawke and Darling were not working together, the captain had not been given any wiggle room on that account.
Kannaday hoped that getting the mission back under way would help restore some of his balance.
The Hosannah left Darling Cove at 9:05 P.M. Repairs to the laboratory had been completed by 10 o’clock. The new equipment had been secured and tested. The yacht was ready to make their delayed rendezvous with a fishing vessel from Malaysia. But no sooner had they set out than Kannaday’s radio beeped. It was Marcus Darling reporting some very odd radio traffic in the Celebes Sea. Captain Kannaday went below to see him.
John Hawke was already in the radio shack. It was the first time Kannaday had seen him since returning from the Darling estate. The security chief had been working in his cabin when Kannaday returned.
Their eyes barely met. Hawke said nothing to Kannaday, and the captain did not acknowledge the security chief. Kannaday stood behind the radio operator. Hawke was to the left, where the porthole used to be. Marcus had an Alta Vista translation file open on his laptop. The program automatically translated incoming messages into English typescript.
“I picked up a communication from a Japanese trawler,” Marcus said. “He was asking if it was safe to pass.”
“Asking who?” Kannaday asked.
“A Singaporean patrol vessel, judging by the names and ranks,” Marcus replied.
“Why would he ask that?” Kannaday asked.
“The trawler is at one hundred and thirty degrees longitude, five degrees latitude,” the younger Darling told him. “Obviously, the patrol ship is there as well. And the worst news is, it may not be alone.”
Kannaday felt a chill. “Go on.”
“The ship from Singapore is apparently talking to another ship,” Marcus continued. “I can’t hear what the other ship is saying because the message is blacked out.”
“Then how do you know the Singaporeans are talking to another ship?” Kannaday asked.
