by Clancy, Tom
“In which case even solid evidence may not be enough to bring him down,” Jelbart said. “Attorneys can battle the validity and admissibility of proof, you know that.”
“Of course.”
“Even if it does implicate Darling, his fall will do more than shake his empire,” Jelbart said. “His investments, his reach, are everywhere.”
Coffey said nothing. Jelbart shook his head.
“All of that aside, I would have to sell an investigation to Commodore Atlan, who is the commander, Maritime Patrol Group. He would probably want to take it to one or more of the ministers for defence. Darling will be a very tough target to sell and also to keep quiet.”
“Do you need the authorization of Commodore Atlan to look into nuclear trafficking?” Coffey asked.
“Right now, all I am authorized to investigate is the destruction of a sampan that washed up on Australian soil,” Jelbart said. “This is an issue of nuclear materials missing from international waters. When I file my report, the CDRMPG will make a determination about Australia’s risk and, thus, her levels of involvement. Ironically, if Mr. Darling is involved, they will be less inclined to believe that Australia is at danger. He has always been a patriot.”
“Maybe Australia isn’t at risk,” Coffey agreed. “What about Japan? Or Taiwan? Or the United States?”
“Do you want the truthful answer or the one you want to hear?”
“The truth,” Coffey said.
“We are surrounded by nations who are distrustful of our Western culture, fearful of our freedoms, and covetous of our prosperity,” Jelbart replied. “We move very, very carefully in this region because of that. Our neighbors look for any excuse to run us down to their people. So we tend to stay out of matters that do not directly concern us. I’m no coward, Mr. Coffey—”
“I never said that you were, nor did I mean to imply it.”
“I wanted to be up front about that,” Jelbart said. “I’d take on Satan himself if he swung his pointy tail at the Gold Coast. But all we know for certain is the following: that a Malaysian boat did not make its scheduled drop of nuclear materials; that a Singaporean sampan was apparently and inadvertently involved as a third party in the off-loaded materials; and that a North Korean officer is watching our investigation of the site. Your own intelligence, based primarily on a brief phone conversation with the officer, suggests that an Australian citizen might—might—be involved. Mr. Coffey, that is far from compelling.”
“It doesn’t have to be compelling. We are not writing a novel,” Coffey said. “We are investigating possible criminal activity. We are obligated to follow reasonable leads.”
“Well, there you’ve hit it,” Jelbart said. “I don’t find the lead reasonable. I’m not going to recommend a course of action based on some dilly theory. Marcus is not a common name, but Marcus Darling is not the only one who owns it. Jervis Darling is not the sole landowner in the Chatham Island Sisters group, nor even the largest investor there.”
“It’s the two of those together that make this a reasonable lead,” Coffey said patiently.
“Tape recordings or fingerprints are reasonable. This is speculation,” Jelbart said dismissively.
“Fine, call it ‘speculative’ or ‘possible’ or even ‘remote.’ Pick whatever word you like,” Coffey said. “But it’s not impossible. Op-Center is going to look into Darling’s activities regardless. Will you be part of that? Or would you prefer that we come back to you if or when we find a more solid connection? At which point you will have to explain to your government why you did not pursue a possible lead about nuclear smuggling.”
“Mr. Coffey, I don’t give a ripe fig about saving face,” Jelbart replied. “What I do care about is mindless activity. I’m too busy for that. If you want my help investigating Jervis Darling, give me one reason why someone like him would deal in nuclear waste.”
“Maybe he wants to blow up one of his own holdings, get himself international sympathy,” Coffey suggested. “Maybe he wants to blow up a rival’s holdings and put him out of business.”
“Talk about concocting novels,” Jelbart said.
“You asked for ideas,” Coffey said with an angry shrug. “I’m an attorney, not a theorist. But I can tell you this. If you’re wrong, there could be a very heavy price to pay. Are you prepared to accept that?”
Jelbart stood in the small room. He listened to the purr of the ventilator fan above. The air smelled metallic. Part of that was due to the perspiration that had begun collecting on his upper lip.
“I assume you are going to brief FNO Loh and tell her about the other chap, the Malaysian,” Jelbart said.
“We decided to wait on that,” Coffey said. “Director Hood felt that it would be an overreaction to involve Singapore at this early stage.”
“Why?”
“Think Salty,” Coffey said. “The animal, not the man. Tug the tail, and the head might bite you.”
“What if I wanted her involved?” Jelbart asked.
“For what reason?”
“Triangulation,” Jelbart said. “We don’t do anything in the military without a three-point tag. Anyway, she will give us another set of eyes. Yours and mine obviously see things differently.”
“Fair enough,” Coffey said. “If you insist on her involvement, then we would have to go along with that.”
“I insist,” he said. “When you agree to that, I’ll contact my superiors.”
Coffey regarded the officer. “I need to know something, Warrant Officer. Which is it that’s moving you? Respect or fear?”
“Neither,” Jelbart said. “I said what I said so you’d know who Darling is. I want Loh involved to protect the RAAF and my career. As for me personally, I would feel this way if you were investigating a slushy in the ship’s galley. I believe in fairness and the right to privacy, Mr. Coffey.”
“As do I,” Coffey said. “But we live in a dangerous world, Warrant Officer. And I also believe in the rights of people to live without fear. In this case, fear of being irradiated.”
“I cannot argue with that, Mr. Coffey. Do you want to inform Op-Center before or after we chat with Loh?”
“After,” Coffey said. “Asking permission isn’t as important as having information.”
Jelbart did not know if that were meant as a dig or if Coffey were simply being frank.
There was a firm rap on the door. Jelbart moved aside to open it. Communications Specialist Edie Albright was standing there with a radio.
“FNO Loh,” she said.
“Thank you,” Jelbart said. “There’s timing for you,” he said to Coffey as he took the radio and raised it to his mouth. He hit Send. “Jelbart here.”
“Warrant Officer, our shore patrols report no success in finding the Malaysian vessel from the 130-5 site,” the woman said. “They regret to say the trail is very cold.”
“I’m not surprised. They had a big head start in a bigger sea,” Jelbart said. “FNO Loh, Mr. Coffey and I would like to have a private conversation with you. Is your line secure?”
“It is. What is this in reference to?” she asked.
“Mr. Coffey has information about someone who may be involved in this operation,” Jelbart said.
“Mr. Jervis Darling?”
“Yes,” Jelbart said. He felt as though he had been punched in the back. “What made you say that?”
“We have been watching him since he killed his wife,” she replied.
THIRTY-TWO
The Celebes Sea Saturday, 1:00 A.M.
The Malaysian fishing ship moved slowly toward the yacht. Kannaday watched from the deck. The fishing vessel had only one light on, a lantern attached to the prow. If they were spotted or pursued, the captain could douse the light and run dark on a different course. He would try to get behind the much larger yacht so that his movements would be blocked from radar. The yacht was at minimal lighting, which meant it was dark save for a light at the bow, one at the stern, and one amidships at the base of
the mainmast.
But Kannaday did not expect any problems. Not from sea or air patrols, anyway. There was nothing on the radar. The only problem might come from Hawke. Kannaday had come up with a plan to deal with the security chief. He had worked out every convolution. There were two chances in three that it would go his way. He liked those odds.
Still, the captain was anxious. Kannaday had never had to deal with insubordination. Ego was never an issue with his crew. They were paid to do a job, and they did it. Moreover, unlike the incident in his cabin, this was going to be a public confrontation. Below deck, only Kannaday’s pride had been at risk. On deck, his ability to command would be in jeopardy.
Kannaday stood at the port-side railing. He watched as the shipping vessel pulled within fifteen meters of the yacht. Neither boat went to anchor. The captains wanted to be mobile. Four Hosannah security men came from belowdecks. Each man was carrying a small barrel. Hawke was behind them. He had been watching the loading of the mini-launch. The Hosannah had two, both suspended from the rear. The vessel would be loaded with the valuable cargo and then lowered. The Hosannah would take nothing in return. Payment on delivery was worked out through other means. Kannaday did not know what they were. Overseas bank transactions most likely.
Kannaday walked over to his crew. “Mr. Hawke, I’d like you to go with them.”
“I always do,” he replied.
“Not with our crew, with the Malaysians,” Kannaday said.
Hawke turned to face Kannaday. The lantern was behind Hawke. Kannaday could not see his expression.
“Why would I want to do that?” Hawke asked.
“To ensure the security of the cargo. To reassure the chief,” Kannaday told him.
“Did he order me to do that?”
“I’m asking you to go,” Kannaday replied. The captain made a point of asking rather than ordering. He hoped that would make it go down easier. He also refused to say whether or not the order came from Darling. Hawke would not dare call to find out. That would appear openly mutinous. Hawke had to know that Darling would not be sympathetic to that.
How and why was not important. What mattered was to get Hawke into the launch. Kannaday would log the order and show Jervis Darling that he was still in command.
Hawke was silent as the men continued working behind him. He was obviously considering the same options Kannaday had contemplated.
“What if I decline to go?” Hawke asked. He moved closer to Kannaday. His eyes were steel resolve.
“Why would you do that?”
“My post is here, on the yacht,” Hawke replied.
“Your post is where the captain sends you,” Kannaday said. “Patrols are out there. You know that. They may be looking for us and anyone we meet. Or would you prefer that I radio the chief? Tell him that you do not consider the cargo to be worth protecting?”
“I’ll send some of my security team,” Hawke replied. “We do not need them here at the moment.”
“They are not as capable as their leader.”
“They are capable enough,” Hawke insisted. He turned to go.
“Would you prefer that I call the chief and tell him that you are afraid to go?” Kannaday asked. The captain was speaking loud enough now that the other crew members could hear.
Hawke did not even look back. “Do that.”
“Mr. Hawke, you will go aboard that fishing vessel or you will go below,” Kannaday ordered.
“I have work to do,” Hawke replied.
“Your work is finished,” Kannaday told him.
“Not until we are back at the cove,” Hawke shot back. He was still looking ahead.
Kannaday felt as if he’d been hit by a swinging spar. Hawke had defied him in front of the crew. The security officer had embarrassed him in front of the Malaysians, who were watching with night-vision glasses from the deck of their vessel. They would carry word to their boss, who would relay it to Darling. Kannaday’s brain, spirit, and flesh were all affected by a disorienting sense of humiliation. Reason left him. His ego winked off, then came back like a nova. His flesh grew hot and prickly. Kannaday felt as though the dignity had been baked from him. He wanted it back. He had considered the possibility that Hawke would refuse the order. But he had not imagined exactly how it would feel.
Nonetheless, there was only one thing for Kannaday to do.
Without hesitation, Kannaday reached for the back of the security officer. He placed a strong hand on each of the man’s shoulders. He did not grab just the fabric of Hawke’s sweater. His fingers dug deep, wrapping tightly around the meat of the man’s shoulders. Kannaday took a long step back, pulling Hawke with him. The captain immediately turned and dipped and slammed Hawke onto the deck. The security chief lay on his back. He whipped the wommera from his sash and pointed the blade up. Kannaday wanted to drop on the man’s chest and pound him senseless. But he forced himself to step back. Kannaday did not want to give Hawke the opportunity to kill him in self-defense.
Hawke rose quickly. “You bloody bastard! No one puts his hands on me! No one!”
The men were less than ten feet apart. Hawke walked forward slowly, holding the blade waist high. The captain stood firmly on the gently rolling deck. His legs were wide and his fists were low at his sides. His eyes were on Hawke, who was now walking into the light.
There was no going back.
“Come at me again, damn you!” Hawke said.
“Back off, Hawke. You disobeyed an order!”
“You’re not fit to give them!” Hawke said.
“Then relieve me of my command, Mr. Hawke.”
The launch was loaded but did not lower into the water. The crew had stopped working. Everyone was watching the altercation between the captain and the security officer.
“I’ll make it easy for you,” Kannaday said. He stepped forward, took the wommera blade, and placed it against his heart. “Use it!”
Hawke glared at the captain. Kannaday did not know what the security officer would do. It was not as if the authorities of any nation or maritime group would care that a smuggler had mutinied.
Hawke pushed the tip through Kannaday’s shirt. He continued to drive it forward. Kannaday knew he could not back down. Not with everyone watching. Not after he had given Hawke this opportunity.
Hawke stopped. He did not remove the wommera blade from Kannaday’s chest. The knife hurt, dull and tight like a muscle cramp. But the captain refused to show pain.
“I do not participate in gestures,” Hawke said. “Our customers can see to the security of their own vessel. I was hired to look after this one.”
“In that case, your job is done,” Kannaday said. “You may go below.”
Hawke hesitated. The captain realized there was only one way to end this impasse.
Kannaday took a step back. The blade slipped from his chest. The captain ignored the laceration and the bleeding beneath his shirt. He turned and addressed the crew at the stern.
“Mr. Neville, take the cargo to the fishing vessel,” Kannaday said to the launch pilot. Neville was one of Kannaday’s men.
“Yes, sir,” the seaman replied.
The men lowered the launch into the water. Kannaday walked to the railing and watched as the small boat settled into the smooth sea. The four men climbed down an aluminum ladder and boarded her. Neville turned on a small spotlight at the front of the boat. A moment later they pulled from the yacht and headed toward the fishing vessel.
Kannaday turned back to finish up with Hawke. His rage was gone but not his anger. It had been turned into strength of purpose. The captain did not know what he would say or do. Fortunately, he did not have to decide right now. John Hawke was gone.
So were his men.
Kannaday began walking toward the mainmast. As he did, he casually pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He shook it out and slipped it under his shirt. He pressed it against the wound. The cut was bleeding moderately. A bandage should take care of it. He would tend to it when he went b
elow. He wished his problem with John Hawke could be as easily resolved.
Kannaday was exhausted, but he dared not rest. When the launch returned, they would head back to Cairns. The trip would take nearly four hours. Hawke would surely attempt some form of retribution during that time. The security chief could not let the public rebuke stand. Not if he wanted to retain credibility with his men. And not if he wanted to maintain his own self-respect. Kannaday knew damn well what that was like. He was glad he had been able to turn this around.
Suddenly, Marcus Darling emerged from belowdecks. The radio operator hurried toward the captain. It was strange to see the younger Darling hurry anywhere. Nothing in life had ever seemed important to him.
“What is it?” Marcus asked breathlessly as he approached.
“What is what?” Kannaday asked.
“Mr. Hawke said you wanted to see me,” Marcus said. “He told me it was urgent.”
Kannaday felt as if he had been stabbed again, this time in the back of the neck. His sense of satisfaction evaporated like sea mist at morning. He looked at the younger man and swore.
Already aware that it was probably too late, Kannaday ran around Marcus Darling and headed toward the stairwell. Hawke wanted the radio room for a reason. And whatever that reason was, it would not be in Kannaday’s best interests.
THIRTY-THREE
The Celebes Sea Saturday, 1:01 A.M.
Monica Loh had never felt comfortable conversing with outsiders. To her, that meant anyone who was not a member of her immediate family. She had always been able to prove herself with actions. She felt confident in any situation where physical or command skills were required. She was proficient at judo, skilled with handguns, and emphatically prepared to carry out orders. That was what an officer of the Singaporean military did.
Conversation was a different matter. FNO Loh could never anticipate every question, and she hated saying, “I don’t know.” That was a sign of weakness. She was particularly uncomfortable talking with men. Rarely was the conversation simply what it seemed to be. She usually felt that they were talking down to her or tolerating her. Sometimes they were looking at her body and not even listening. She could always tell. Thoughts relaxed them. When the mind was engaged, only their eyes were alert. But when men were exposed to physical stimuli, their entire body became tense, predatory.
