by Clancy, Tom
“Which is what?” Hood asked. He suddenly felt very sorry for any woman Stoll had ever met.
“A Hoover is a data vacuum,” Stoll replied. “Bob wants to use his wheelchair computer as a drop zone for an external source.”
“You mean we plug into Bob, and Bob plugs into something else,” Hood said. “He serves as a conduit that allows us to read the ‘something else.’ ”
“I couldn’t have said it better,” Stoll said.
“What is Bob planning to plug into?” Hood asked.
“Well, he called right before his chair was loaded into a helicopter, so he didn’t go into a whole lot of detail,” Stoll said. “Apparently, Bob’s going to try to get into Jervis Darling’s estate. He wants to jack into his phone system.”
“Why? I thought we already hacked the Darling phone records.”
“We did,” Stoll said. “If he’s using his own uplink for secure calls, they wouldn’t show up on his public records. But if Bob plugs in directly, he’s accessing the origin point of the calls. That will give him access to all the numbers in the telephone’s memory.”
“What if those numbers aren’t programmed in?” Hood asked.
“Most phones retain the information somewhere,” Stoll assured him. “The redial function usually stores ten to twenty numbers. It costs less to build a chip that eliminates numbers by attrition. They get scrolled from the system rather than erased. Most people don’t know that.”
“What about incoming calls?” Hood asked. “We need to ID them.”
“If Darling’s phone has caller ID or whatever the Australian equivalent is, those numbers will also be stored,” Stoll said. “If he doesn’t, we’ll have to settle for the outgoing calls.”
“Did Bob say how he intended to get access to Darling’s private line?” Hood asked.
“For the record, it’s not the line he needs to get access to,” Stoll said. “It’s the phone itself. Bob can’t just splice into the fiber optics. That would put him outside the scrambler. Any data he got would be useless.”
“I see. Okay. How does Bob plan to jack into the phone?”
“He didn’t say,” Stoll replied. “I’m sure Darling has an office phone with multiple lines. That would mean there’s a data port. All Bob has to do is plug his computer into that. That will give us access.”
“That’s all Bob has to do,” Hood said. “I’ll give him a call.”
“He said he was turning his phone off,” Stoll told him. “He doesn’t want it beeping while he’s in with Darling. If it helps, Lowell told him the only legal risk would be invasion of privacy. Lowell is also pretty sure Darling would not press that issue. He said the reasons for the investigation would come out, and the publicity would be bad for Darling, even if he were innocent.”
“The legal options are not what worries me,” Hood said. “If Darling’s into nuclear trafficking, he’s probably also in bed with some ugly characters. They may not bother with lawyers.”
“I don’t blame them,” Stoll said.
Hood scowled.
“I guess we could call Lowell to try to stop him,” Stoll suggested.
“No,” Hood said. “We need facts to support our theory, and this is probably the best way to get them. I take it Lowell is not going along.”
“Right,” Stoll said. “It was Bob, a fire warden, a lady officer from Singapore, and a koala.”
“A koala? An animal?” Hood asked.
“Yeah. Search me what that’s all about.” Stoll smiled as he finished writing his program. “It’s like the cast of the Wizard of Oz. And they’re in Oz. Pretty ironic, don’t you think?”
That it was. Right down to the big, blustering wizard spewing fire. Only this Oz was no dream.
Stoll activated the program. He ran a test on an Op-Center phone line just to make sure it was working. It functioned perfectly. They had all the numbers Lowell Coffey had phoned the day before he left. Hood looked away and ordered the list purged from Stoll’s computer.
“I’ll bet you didn’t peek in the girls’ locker room in high school, either,” Stoll said.
“As a matter of fact, I didn’t,” Hood admitted. “I don’t mind being a spy. I never liked being a voyeur.”
“Interesting. We’ll have to discuss the distinction,” Stoll said.
“I can give it to you in two words,” Hood said as he clapped a hand on Stoll’s rounded shoulder. “National security.”
“The voyeuristic instinct is a doorway to intelligence, and intelligence is the spy’s basic unit of data,” Stoll said. “Unless you look, how do you know Lowell’s not working for the Chinese or some terrorist group?”
“He believes too strongly in the rule of law. Tell me, do you routinely check on all of us?” Hood asked.
“Nope. I’m not a voyeur. I was only asking you.”
Hood felt like kicking himself. He should have known better than to take one of Matt Stoll’s infamous buggy rides. They took you slowly around the park without getting you anywhere. Hood did not have the time or focus for this kind of discussion.
Stoll told Hood he would not know anything else until data started coming in. Hood asked his computer wizard to let him know the moment that happened, then left to go to his office. It was disconcerting to see the corridors so empty. It was like a manifestation of his own hollow life. Maybe that was something Bob Herbert had learned after losing his wife. You mourn, but you don’t sit still. You fill that empty hall with anything you can. Even if it isn’t necessarily good for you.
Of course, there’s a difference between recreational and reckless, Hood thought. He was certain that Bob had considered the risks. He was also sure of something else. Herbert was probably enjoying the hell out of them. Hood only hoped that the intelligence chief was aware of the greatest danger.
Complacency.
A quiet, seaside estate was not war-ravaged Beirut or a skinhead stronghold in Germany. Those were the kinds of environments where Herbert was accustomed to waging war. They were unstable regions where instinct kept the mind and body on high alert.
Hood had to trust that his colleague knew what he was getting into. He also hoped that Herbert would come up with something else. Something that quickly sketched plans did not always allow.
An exit strategy.
FORTY-FIVE
The Great Barrier Reef Saturday, 10:03 P.M.
He hurt.
Everywhere.
Peter Kannaday suffered pain with every breath. It was dull and warm and it was everywhere. He felt it spiritually as well as physically. The captain lay on his bed in a bruised heap, belly down, face to the wall. He had slept on and off since Hawke’s thugs had brought him here. Kannaday’s eyes and mouth were open, but it was dark. He did not see, nor speak, nor swallow. His stomach was rumbling from hunger. His tongue was swollen and dry. The only liquid he had tasted lately was his own blood.
Sometime during the night Kannaday had roused himself briefly to see if the door was locked. It was not. He checked to see if his gun was still there. It was not. He was free to walk the deck, broken and humiliated but unarmed. He would probably be able to radio Jervis Darling because he was free and he was still the captain. But what would he say? That he had been minimized, reduced to a figurehead? That he had not been able to enforce his authority or hold what was his? That he had no idea what to expect or what to do?
Kannaday closed his mouth. Even his neck muscles hurt. He must have strained them when he struggled with the men who were holding him. He had to get past the pain and think. It was clear that Hawke would not kill him. He wanted Kannaday as a buffer between himself and the law. But Kannaday had no idea what Darling might do. Darling did not like dealing with weak men. Kannaday would be kept around no longer than necessary. Then he would be dismissed or, more likely, eliminated. Darling was a man of absolutes.
From the slow rocking of the swells, Kannaday could tell that they were close to shore. No doubt Hawke had reported back to the cove and was now foll
owing their cruising course along the Great Barrier Reef. Kannaday had time to act, but not a lot.
Kannaday forced himself to move. He got his arms under him and pushed up. Slowly. His upper arms trembled as he worked himself into a sitting position. He eased his back against the wall at the side of the bed. The solid support felt good. His head throbbed as blood fought to reach it. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Miraculously, it did not feel as if any ribs were broken. He flexed his fingers. They were swollen. Maybe he had punched someone. He could not remember. The last thing he remembered clearly was running down the stairs. That moment was so immediate he felt as though he could go back there. Do things differently.
But it would still come out the same, Kannaday realized. Unlike Hawke, he had been predictable. On top of that, there was an unusual dynamic. Hawke was not after something that Kannaday had. He wanted to preserve the hierarchy exactly as it was. But with privileges. And he had succeeded. The fact that the rest of the crew had not come down to check on him was telling. If the cook had come by, Kannaday did not hear him. But he doubted it. Either the crew had been told to stay away or did so from fear.
Kannaday’s body was beginning to accept the pain as a fact of life. It felt as though he had strained every muscle in his arms, torso, and neck. It was that kind of taut, deepmuscle ache. Kannaday knew that the more he moved, the more it would hurt. But he had no choice. He had to get out of here. Somehow, he had to take charge.
The captain waited another few minutes before trying to move again. He shifted to the edge of the bed and put his feet on the floor. He rose slowly. Most of the damage had been done north of Kannaday’s waist. His legs felt all right. He felt a little light-headed as he took a few shuffling steps toward the door. The sensation passed after a few moments. It was not pleasant, but Kannaday had his footing. What he did not have was something just as important.
A plan.
Kannaday reached the door. He turned and leaned his back against it. Standing in the dark, he pondered his next steps, both literally and figuratively. As he did, something occurred to him. The events that had brought Kannaday here could be useful. After all, he made the same mistake twice. He had acted just as Hawke had expected him to.
Hawke would probably expect him to do it again. Especially after the beating he had taken.
Kannaday went back to the bed. He sat down. He tried not to think the way he usually did, as if he were going down a checklist of things to do before leaving port.
He let himself contemplate all the scenarios that would surprise Hawke. And Darling, for that matter. Everything from setting fire to the Hosannah to taking the dinghy and vanishing into the night sea.
How far are you willing to go? he asked himself.
More important than that, Kannaday needed to find out exactly what he wanted.
Kannaday was doing the job he had agreed to do. The crew had suffered a setback because of the sampan attack. Not a dramatic one, but Darling’s reputation for absolute efficiency had been tarnished. Darling would be able to absorb the blow. The gentry knew how to talk to the gentry. He would explain it all to Mahathir bin Dahman. Darling would blame it on the serfs. But Darling would also want to make the head villain pay. Darling had known precisely how Hawke would respond to a threat or challenge. He had sent Kannaday back to be humiliated.
Kannaday realized that he was not interested in recapturing Darling’s respect. He wanted to hurt Hawke, and he wanted to hurt Darling. The question was how to do that without hurting himself.
Or was it?
There is flaw in your thinking, he admonished himself. The question itself made him vulnerable. It cost him the advantage of surprise.
The question itself held the answer.
FORTY-SIX
Cairns, Australia Saturday, 10:04 P.M.
They did things differently in Australia.
Bob Herbert had expected to be at the Darling estate by eight P.M. at the latest.
All they had to do was set the trap around back, go to the front, and knock on the door. But Leyland and Jelbart were not so impulsive. They insisted on taking several passes over the 500-acre estate in the helicopter. They used fire brigade night-vision goggles to study the terrain. They wanted to know where the security posts were and where there were places that could serve as emergency exits. The property was heavily fenced to keep out wild hare and deer. However, they found two spots where the bait could credibly be set inside. The security personnel would know those spots and probably go right to them. Jelbart wanted to time how long it would take for the teams to drive their golf carts to and from that area. Ordinarily, Herbert would have admired their thoroughness. But potential nuclear terrorists were on the run. He wanted to capture them. Herbert said so after they made their second slow pass over the estate. A pass they would explain to Jervis Darling or his security chief when they came to visit.
“We won’t be able to capture anyone if our ruse is exposed,” Jelbart pointed out. “We’ll be the ones being investigated.”
FNO Loh was sitting between Coffey and Herbert in the backseat. “I cannot believe that your government would discipline you. We are pursuing a reasonable lead in a case of some urgency,” she said.
“The government would not bother us if we were pursuing the lead in a reasonable fashion,” Jelbart replied. “We are not. We are invading a citizen’s privacy. The law is very specific about things like that.”
“Specific and constipated,” Herbert said. “Remind me to quote the law to whatever guys are looking to slip nuclear material into populated cities and poison our water supplies.”
“We’re not certain that’s the case,” Coffey said.
“Certain enough to make me want to kick Darling’s ass for quick answers,” Herbert replied.
“And then what? If we become what we behold, then all of civilization goes to hell,” Jelbart pointed out.
“If we don’t, hell will come to civilization,” Herbert shot back. “Don’t take this personally, Jelbart, but I’m getting really sick of our leaders reacting instead of taking preventative action. Am I the only one who realizes that this isn’t the twentieth century anymore?”
“What do you mean?” Coffey asked.
“Somehow, over the last forty or so years, the Western world evolved this screwed-up coddling mentality toward killers and terrorists. That is going to destroy us,” Herbert said.
“This isn’t about coddling killers; it’s about individual voices and dignity,” Coffey said. “And for the record, it came from us. From America. It came after the Vietnam War protests and civil rights movement proved effective. It came when police were required to read criminals their rights. Now everyone on earth wants a share of humanity. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”
“That may have worked in the sixties and seventies, but it’s a luxury we can no longer afford,” Herbert said. “We don’t stop eating tuna because a few dolphins get snared.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Coffey asked.
“Yes, what are you suggesting, Mr. Herbert?” Jelbart asked.
“That we hunt down bad guys aggressively,” Herbert said. He was yelling so that they could hear him over the rotor. But it felt good to yell because he was angry. “Once in a while you may grab an innocent. You apologize and make amends. But that’s how you protect the majority of the people.”
“So you think that we should just do away with human rights?” Jelbart pressed.
“No!” Herbert shouted. “The actions can be selective. I suggest we grant exceptional authority in emergency circumstances, like these. We have fanatical racists and radical sociopaths with access to nuclear fuel. We’ve got mass murderers in our high schools. When I was a kid, juvenile delinquents packed zip guns and switchblades. Once in a while they flashed their weapons, and once in a really rare while they used them. Usually on other hoodlums. Usually shitting their pants when they did. Now we have kids packing AK-47s and attitude. They’re cool killers,
Warrant Officer. You’re trying to play soccer or football or whatever the hell you call it against a team that disregards referees, fouls, out-of-bounds lines, clocks, and rules. I’m telling you that if we don’t identify and neutralize them, the game is over. With us the losers.”
The cockpit was silent for a long moment. After making a final pass over the estate, Leyland spoke.
“I see a tree we can use,” he said. He made another pass and showed it to the others.
“Maybe we should just hang ourselves from it,” Herbert said. “Save Darling or whoever is behind this plot further inconvenience.”
“You know, Mr. Herbert, I sympathize with you,” Captain Leyland said as the helicopter turned back to the landing pad. “I look at every camper or tourist as a potential arsonist. But that does not make them one. Even if they’re smoking or carrying matches, I can’t go hosing them down. That’s the price we pay for freedom. If we surrender that, we still won’t have security. Not really. We will only have less freedom.”
“Only if you’re extreme about it,” Herbert told him. “Look, we already have the fire. We have a guy who picnicked at the spot that’s burning. He has matches. We should have the ability to sit him down and ask him questions before he can wash away the smell of the smoke.”
“Obviously we agree with that to some extent, or we wouldn’t be doing this,” Jelbart said.
“We’re doing it by sneaking in the back door,” Herbert said. “I prefer a more direct approach.”
“Like beating it out of him?” Coffey asked.
“No, like point-blank asking the guy what the hell’s going on,” Herbert said. “And if his answers don’t match the facts we do know, we take him in. Ask him again. And again.”
“The legal and political fallout would be disastrous,” Coffey said.
“Only if we’re wrong,” Herbert said.
“That’s just it,” Coffey said. “You could still be right and lose. Those confessions wouldn’t be allowed in court. It would cost the state tens of millions of dollars to defend against a wrongful arrest lawsuit, to name just one, and you still wouldn’t have your man.”
