by Clancy, Tom
It was surreal, like watching a pair of prehistoric behemoths do battle. The pilot swung away and righted the helicopter. He rose in a tight arc and prepared to drop down again.
Herbert motioned aggressively for him to stop. As much as the intelligence chief wanted Darling, he did not want to damage the jet. Darling might still try to take off. Herbert wanted the man in prison, not in the morgue.
Someone came running from the tower. Two police cars were just entering the airstrip behind the jet. So was another vehicle, with a familiar driver. Paul Leyland was at the wheel with Spider riding the running board.
The fire brigade had been called by the tower, and a squat red rural Nissan Patrol Light Attack fire truck was racing forward. There was a 600-liter water tank mounted to the back. The Queensland firefighters used it to battle blazes away from hydrants.
And that was when Herbert got an idea.
The intelligence chief motioned to the chopper to try again to stop the jet. Herbert lowered his hands slowly, indicating a measured attack. It was risky, but he needed to delay Darling. As the chopper came down, Herbert wheeled quickly toward the fire truck.
“The hose!” Herbert yelled as he rushed past the wing of the Learjet. “Get the hose!”
Spider could not quite hear him. Herbert was dying. He reckoned that he had less than a minute to pull this off.
“We need the hose!” he shouted. He gestured broadly at the canvas hose, which was coiled on the side. Then he pointed to the wing of the Learjet.
Leyland sped up. He overtook the police car and came to a smoking stop beside Herbert.
“Hit the engine intake with water!” Herbert said.
Leyland obviously sized up the situation. He shot toward the Learjet. Herbert did likewise. He wanted to try to get Officer Loh out.
While the fire truck was in motion, Spider shimmied along the running board to the hose in back. Obviously, his ability to cling to the side of a moving vehicle had helped him earn his name. He unhooked the hose, pressed the button to open the tank, and climbed the ladder to the top of the tank. He stood on a small platform there. As the truck neared, Spider leaned forward at a forty-five-degree angle. When the truck was within two hundred meters of the jet, Spider flipped a switch at the base of the nozzle. He pointed the hose toward the rear-mounted engine. Water shot from the hose so forcefully that Spider ended up standing erect. The powerful spray smashed into the back of the jet engine.
The jet was well ahead of Herbert; he was not going to get to it in time. The water was sucked through the superheated turbine. It turned to steam, simultaneously cooling the internal metal components. The engine cracked audibly and crisply, like nearby thunder. Smoke mingled with the wispier steam, first from the front and back and then from cracks in the side. A moment later, shards of silver and white metal shot from the front and back of the engine. Then the engine casing itself burst like a hot dog on a grill. The jet lurched, hopped slightly on the port side, but continued to move forward. The helicopter had approached more cautiously this time. It kept the jet back with repeated nudges rather than a single hit. It was a more successful means of keeping the aircraft from gaining speed.
Spider left the smoking husk and turned his spray on the starboard engine.
That turbine spat and sizzled as had the first one. Herbert continued to wheel himself toward the jet. From this angle, Herbert could see flames lighting up the interior of the starboard engine. They must be coming from a split casing of some kind. They flared for only a moment before the water smothered them. A moment later, the second engine ruptured with a single loud bang. Spider killed the hose as the casing peeled from the center outward, the top and bottom pointing toward the fuselage. The jet coasted for a moment, then angled toward the tower and stopped. Both engines were still smoking, the white smoke turning black.
Spider redirected the hose to the first engine. While he did, Leyland stopped the truck and jumped out. A small oxygen tank and mask were slung over his shoulder. He reached the stairs a moment before Herbert did. They had dragged along the tarmac and were cracked along the bottom. Leyland bolted inside. The cabin was filling with dirty white smoke. Herbert could not see anything.
The next few seconds seemed to pass in slow motion. The helicopter moved away from the jet and set down on the landing strip. Warrant Officer Jelbart emerged and ran forward. The police car arrived. Two officers in sharp blue uniforms emerged. One of them was using his portable radio to summon an ambulance. The air traffic controller arrived, breathless and waving his undone shirtsleeves and shouting profanities. But all Herbert could hear was the dying hiss of the engines. All he could see was the wide, open door of the jet.
Finally, Leyland emerged from the smoke. He was alone. He backed down the steps, peering at the interior.
Urgently, Herbert wheeled himself forward. “Paul, what’s wrong?” he demanded.
Before Leyland could answer, Monica Loh emerged from the roiling cloud. Jervis Darling was beside her. His arm was thrown around her shoulder, and his head was nodding forward. Leyland remained in front of the barely conscious man as Loh walked him down the stairs.
When they reached the tarmac, Leyland and one of the police officers took Jervis Darling from FNO Loh. They carried him to the police car and lay him on the backseat.
Herbert went over to Loh. He scooted sideways on his seat and offered her a corner to sit on. She declined. Her face was covered with sweat. It seemed to make her dark eyes shine even more brightly. As Jelbart arrived, Loh looked at the shattered engines, then down at Herbert.
“That was a very clever backup plan,” she said breathlessly.
“Backup plan?” Herbert said. “What do you mean?”
“I finally got the door open,” she said with the faintest trace of a smile. “Jervis Darling was not going anywhere.”
Herbert loved this woman. God, how he loved her.
SEVENTY-SIX
Washington, D.C. Saturday, 4:00 P.M.
“I’m not sure which took the larger hit,” Lowell Coffey said to Paul Hood over the telephone. “Jervis Darling’s Learjet or Australian statutes for crime and misconduct.”
“How bad is it?” Hood asked.
“For us? Pretty favorable, actually,” Coffey said. “I took Leyland’s car and only just got to the airport, so I’m still catching up. Basically, the Queensland Crime and Misconduct Commission has taken over this case from the local police. They’re flying in an assistant commissioner to investigate.”
“Because of Darling’s involvement?”
“Partly that, but mostly due to the nature of the charges,” Coffey said. “Jelbart briefed them by phone. They’re classifying the destruction of the jet and the attack on the airfield as a single action, and attributing it jointly to the Queensland fire team, Op-Center, the Republic of Singapore Navy, and the Maritime Intelligence Centre.”
“Good God.”
“Yes, but having everyone named is good for us,” Coffey said. “It gives weight to the idea we’ll be putting forth, that there was probable cause to detain the jet. It’s also good that the QCMC is classifying this as a ‘reactive’ investigation, which is a fancy term for ‘after the fact.’ That suggests there may be a valid reason for what we did. It’s not quite as extreme, but it’s like stopping a guy who enters a bank wearing a ski mask and carrying a gun. The act is not considered a crime. It’s called a contravention.”
“I follow,” Hood said.
“The best news is, the QCMC is also responsible for overseeing the transport of hazardous materials through the area. Based on Warrant Officer Jelbart’s report, they’re instituting what they call a ‘proactive’ investigation into the smuggling activities.”
“Which means what, exactly?” Hood asked.
“Basically, it means they can hold Hawke on Jelbart’s say-so,” Coffey said. “They’ve got him in the hospital. He hit his head at some point on the flight to Cairns. It seems he was the only one not wearing a seat belt when the chopper went int
o some kind of dive.”
This was an open line, so Hood did not say what was on his mind. Not that he had to say it. He was sure the same thought was on Coffey’s mind.
“What about Darling?” Hood asked.
“They booked him for assault, though they’re taking him to the hospital as well to make sure he’s all right. He took in a lot of smoke. He’s extremely disoriented.”
“Have they got solid security for Hawke and Darling?”
“The local police are handling that now, but Jelbart has some of his people flying in,” Coffey said. “They should be here momentarily.”
“At six in the morning?” Hood said. “They don’t drag their feet over there, do they?”
“No, they don’t,” Coffey said. “The efficiency of every division, from the fire brigade to the local police, has been incredible.”
Hood knew why. The Australians were surrounded by nations where the black market was a dominant financial force. Australia itself was mostly open coastline. If they did not maintain a warlike preparedness along every meter of that, it would not take long for corruption to set in.
“That said,” Coffey went on, “we’re all betting that Hawke will get off with minimal jail time.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Hood said.
“He’ll take the brunt of the fall for Darling in exchange for guaranteed early parole,” Coffey went on. “To put Darling on trial would be counterproductive. It would become a circus that would hurt the economy and detract from the main issue, which has to be breaking up the smuggling network and finding the nuclear material. Jervis Darling himself is effectively finished. He’ll be quietly forced to resign the boards of his companies, his not-for-profit companies will be dissected for laundering the nuke payouts, and he may serve some token jail time. After that, he’ll probably go live on one of his islands.”
“With or without his daughter, I wonder,” Hood said.
“The courts won’t have much say over that,” Coffey said. “But Darling will want her to get a great education. That means boarding school in Australia or Europe. They won’t be together much.”
“No mother and an MIA father,” Hood said. “Did she see much of what happened at the airfield?”
“I don’t think so,” Coffey said. “But she had to have heard the engine explosions, the sirens. She knows the plane didn’t take off.”
“I wonder how she’s taking this.”
“I saw her in the small terminal building when I arrived,” Coffey said. “She was sitting with Darling’s copilot and driver. They were talking to her. She looked shell-shocked.”
“I wish there was something we could do for her,” Hood said. There was sadness in his voice, in his soul. He thought of his own daughter, Harleigh, living without him. He could not imagine what kind of man would create a situation that would expose his daughter to this kind of emotional peril.
Then again, this was the same man who reportedly took the girl’s mother from her, Hood thought. Normal values did not apply. The good news was that Jervis Darling would not be taking anyone else’s parents from them. Ever.
“I’m sure Ms. Darling will be looked after in the short term,” Coffey said. “The people who were with her seemed very attentive. Though I have to wonder. Was it fear or affection that made these people loyal to Darling?”
“A little of both, I’m sure,” Hood said. “But it was probably the free pass that had the most impact.”
“What kind of free pass?” Coffey asked.
“I used to get that when I was mayor,” Hood said. “That’s when people are around someone of influence, so they have no problem getting into restaurants or clubs or the most popular attractions at amusement parks. They don’t have to worry about speeding tickets or bureaucracies or bad service. If they get into trouble, strong, decisive help is just a name-drop or phone call away. I’m sure you saw some of that at your dad’s law practice.”
“Yes, only in Beverly Hills it was called kissing cheek, and nobody liked to do it,” Coffey told him.
“You were lucky, though. You had money. You had a choice,” Hood said. “A lot of people don’t. For them, playing the sycophant to a Jervis Darling or a Mayor Hood is like consolidating their debt. The humiliation comes from one place, not dozens.”
“Well, I should probably get back to the others,” Coffey said. “It looks like Herbert and Loh are ready to break huddle. Tell me, though. Did you enjoy having people kiss your ass?”
“I hated it,” Hood said. “I discouraged it. But people kept doing it. That’s one reason I’m here instead of there.”
“We’ll see who sticks by Darling now,” Coffey said. “As the philosopher says, ‘A failure is a stranger in his own house.’ ”
Hood hung up. He stared at the phone.
That was cruel and true, he thought. It was bad enough to fail. But one also had to endure it alone. It was impossible to feel any sympathy for Jervis Darling. But while Hood should be savoring the successful mission, he found himself responding emotionally to the idea of failure. He was uncomfortable by the nearness of it. By the sadness of what Jessica-Ann Darling would have to face. It forced Hood to think about the mistakes he had made with his own family. He wondered if that sense of inefficacy would ever completely disappear.
Maybe it’s not supposed to, Hood decided. Maybe that’s what prevents a man from repeating his errors.
Hood picked up the phone. There was one thing of which he was certain. The antithesis of having his ass kissed was having it kicked. By himself. Neither one of them did him any good.
He had to put the past behind him.
He had to call Daphne Connors.
Now.
SEVENTY-SEVEN
Cairns, Australia Sunday, 7:10 A.M.
John Hawke and Jervis Darling were taken into custody separately. Even after their departure, the helicopter still had a brief delay in Cairns. The pilot wanted to ascertain that there had been no damage to the landing strut.
The report was favorable.
“Metal is still stronger than glass,” the pilot reported proudly to Herbert after examining both the landing surface and pylons.
The team said farewell to Leyland and Spider, both of whom had earned the respect of Bob Herbert.
Leyland waved off the suggestion that he and Spider had acted heroically. “You told us where to go and what to do.”
“Bugger, all we did was pull the trigger,” Spider said.
“Of a bloody hose,” Leyland added. “It’s not like that’s going to put someone’s eye out or anything.”
“You ran down a jet,” Herbert told them. “That took guts. You prevented Darling from taking off and finishing the operation he started. That’s a hero by my yardstick.”
Leyland shrugged. “We really didn’t have much choice, did we?”
“Sure you did,” Jelbart said.
“No, I mean I don’t think Mr. Darling would have believed it if we said we needed to get a koala out of the engine.”
Herbert smiled. He had not known this man very long, but he was going to miss him. Maybe the intelligence chief would stop by and see him when he came back to visit Monica Loh, which he absolutely intended to do.
“Paul, I’ve got just one more question for you,” Herbert said.
“Ask it,” Leyland said.
“Why’d you hire the only female firefighter in the district?”
Coffey rolled his eyes.
Leyland smiled. “The truth is, she was the best firefighter in the district.”
Herbert scowled. Coffey smiled.
“That hair on your chest cost you a prime rib,” Coffey said to the intelligence chief.
Leyland leaned toward Coffey. “And frankly, I like watching her climb the ladder.”
Herbert smiled. “Dutch,” he said to Coffey.
Coffey nodded.
When the pilot said they were good to go, Lowell Coffey took the seat formerly occupied by John Hawke. The flight back was quie
t and introspective. Everyone was tired. More than that, they were oddly dissatisfied. Herbert could see it in their faces. No one could call this a Pyrrhic victory. “The good guys,” as he had described the team to Loh, had not suffered any physical losses. But there was a spiritual loss. Business and government had always been closely related. Business and crime regularly crossed paths in money laundering, intelligence gathering, and other activities. Business had even encouraged wars to increase productivity and profits. But this was the first time to Herbert’s knowledge that a small band of businessmen had planned to use nuclear material to change the balance of power. The thought was as sickening as it was disquieting. They would never know if they had nabbed everyone who was part of the operation. Or every pellet of enriched uranium, or whatever substance they were shipping.
“Bob, I want to ask you something,” Monica Loh said after nearly a half hour.
“Sure.”
“Were you really going to let Hawke go before?”
“You mean on the way to Cairns, when I was asking him to rat out his boss?” Herbert asked.
“Yes,” Loh said.
Herbert’s answer was precise, if not articulate. He snickered.
“Now you tell me something,” Jelbart said from the front seat. “I try to stay on top of local laws and such, but I’ve never heard of the Singaporean Nuclear Emergency Response Act of 2002. Is there such a thing?”
For the first time since Herbert had known FNO Loh, she smiled. It was not quite a snicker, but then she was probably not as jaded as Herbert was.
“I thought not,” Jelbart said. “Well played,” he added.
“Now I’d like to ask all of you a question,” Herbert said. “What do you think Darling was trying to do back there?”
“You mean take off or take his life?” Jelbart asked. Herbert nodded.
“I’ve been wondering that myself,” Jelbart said. “He sent his daughter away. That suggests he did not expect to survive.”
“He was moving her out of danger,” Coffey said. “That doesn’t mean anything. He could have sent for her later. His priority was to get out of the country and wage a legal war. He’ll probably do that anyway. This thing smells of a plea bargain.”
