by Clancy, Tom
“Do you think that’s inevitable?” Jelbart asked.
Coffey nodded. “We won’t be able to prove everything that we suspect, and Darling won’t be able to duck every blow that’s thrown. That will demand a compromise. Besides, everybody will want this over as soon as possible. Darling because he will suffer less damage, the government because there’s always the risk that Darling or Jessica-Ann could be perceived as victims.”
“Not to mention the fact that it will cost a bomb to try,” Jelbart said.
Coffey looked at Herbert. “What do you think?”
“About Darling trying to off himself?” Herbert asked. He shook his head. “When you strip him of the financial armor, he’s a coward. Cowards don’t kill themselves.”
“I disagree,” Loh said. “I would think most individuals who take their lives do so because they are afraid to face adversity.”
“I wonder if the statistics support that,” Herbert said dubiously.
“I don’t know,” Loh admitted.
“When it comes down to it, sucking on a gun barrel is not for the faint-hearted.”
“Life is not for the faint of heart,” Loh replied. “Surrendering that life is, I believe, an act of the gravest cowardice.”
“I think you’re both wrong,” Coffey said. “In law school they teach us that most crimes of passion are conceived and executed in a space of five minutes. Suicide included. I don’t think the brain or backbone play a part in it. Suicide is usually an act of despair.”
“And a rather comfortless topic as well,” Jelbart added.
The cabin fell silent again. Herbert and Loh looked at each other with challenging eyes. Like Herbert, she was obviously a woman who did not like to let things sit. Monica Loh could fight, interrogate, debate, and she looked damn fine. Herbert wondered where the flaws were.
Oh yeah, he thought. She lives in Singapore.
Also, he had no idea what she thought of him. He wondered if he were better off not knowing.
Shortly before landing, Jelbart received a call from Brian Ellsworth. News of what had happened at the Cairns airstrip traveled a lot faster than the Bell 204. International media were waiting for them. So was Ellsworth. He greeted the team at the helicopter. Police kept the reporters away. Ellsworth congratulated them for the job they did, then cautioned the team to ignore the questions being shouted by the press.
“Whatever you say will be reported and distorted, both pro and contra Mr. Darling,” Ellsworth said. “That can only help his case.”
“Prejudice the judicial process,” Coffey said. “Make it look like the government has prejudged Darling.”
“Precisely. One thing I must ask you,” Ellsworth said as he slipped his cell phone from inside his jacket. “The prime minister is waiting to hear from me about the missing cargo. He wants to know what the chances are of getting those materials back.”
“That depends,” Herbert said. “First we have to find the people who distributed the stuff. Then we have to get them to talk.”
“We also have to hope the materials haven’t already been passed around,” Jelbart added.
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Herbert said. “These guys work like diamond and art thieves. The neighborhood is too hot to try transferring it now. We’ve got a week or two to find out who they are. Everything depends on how you handle Darling, Hawke, and the other members of the crew.”
“You may have to cut them deals you aren’t going to like,” Coffey said.
“I’m not going to like anything that doesn’t have them hanging by their feet over a pit of rattlesnakes,” Herbert said.
“Well, Mr. Coffey, we are sure to be engaged in various dances with Mr. Darling’s legal lancers,” Ellsworth said. “I actually worry about them nearly as much as I worry about the smugglers.”
Herbert understood that. He resisted shooting a nasty look at Lowell Coffey. Ever since an attorney in Lebanon had helped free one of the men responsible for the Beirut embassy bombing, attorneys had been one step above terrorists on Herbert’s favorite-people list.
“With a little forethought, we should be able to find the nuclear material,” Loh promised.
“How can you be sure?” Ellsworth asked.
“Did you ever play volleyball, Mr. Ellsworth?” she asked.
“In school. Why?”
“There are times when you rally for position, and there are times when you spike,” she said. “This is a time to spike. We need to follow the trail while it still exists.”
“How?”
“Give me one of the sailors,” Loh said. “Any one of them, though I suggest a less hardened member of the crew. We will find that trail and the missing materials. We may not even have to take him to Singapore. Just the idea of it seems to make people talkative.”
Ellsworth thought for a moment. “Officer Loh, your vessel has the crew now. You might want to decide which of those men actually fired at your sampan. That would make a strong case for Singapore having the right to arrest and try those individuals.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ellsworth,” she said. “I will communicate that to the lieutenant in charge.”
Ellsworth turned his back on the reporters as he made the call to the prime minister. Loh went to use the telephone in one of the waiting sedans. While they did that, Herbert excused himself. He wanted to have a minute with the pilot. He wheeled himself over to the helicopter cockpit. The pilot jumped out. The man seemed glad to see Herbert.
“I just wanted to thank you for all your help,” Herbert said, extending his hand.
“Thank you for the adventure, sir,” the pilot said.
“You know, I’m ashamed to admit this, but I don’t even know your name,” Herbert admitted.
The pilot grinned. The grin stayed there for several seconds. Herbert was puzzled.
“Did I miss something?” Herbert asked.
“No, sir,” the pilot said. “Actually, my name is Bob Herbert.”
The intelligence chief grinned. “You’re joking.”
“Swear on the Bishop Barker. Only my family pronounces it Erbert,” the pilot told him. “I may have to change that, though,” he added as he saluted Herbert. “It’s been a rare honor, sir.”
Herbert returned the salute, then shook his head with disbelief. He turned to rejoin the others.
Civilization might be in jeopardy, and rats like Darling helped make the world a hell. But that exchange made Herbert feel as though he could fix those problems single-handedly. Men like Pilot Bob Herbert gave him a reason to keep slugging. They also gave him hope.
By God, this war is far from lost, Herbert thought, as he made his way to the waiting sedan.
SEVENTY-EIGHT
Darwin, Australia Sunday, 7:13 A.M.
Herbert and his team were shuttled to Jelbart’s office, where more reporters were waiting. The three sedans entered the building through an underground garage. They rode a freight elevator to Jelbart’s floor. Loh had the feeling, for a moment, that she was on an aircraft carrier. She felt at home and in charge. It was nice. Herbert was such a dynamic character. He had taken command of this mission and not let go. At first Loh thought it was the same kind of male arrogance she had always encountered among soldiers and intelligence personnel. Then she discovered that ego and testosterone had nothing to do with it. Herbert took charge for one reason only.
He knew what he was doing.
There was something exciting and refreshing about that. For that reason alone she was sorry to see this brief operation end.
Upon reaching Jelbart’s office, Loh contacted her patrol boat. It had remained at the site of the sinking. Lieutenant Kumar said he had wanted to secure the yacht before it was swept away by currents or evidence was degraded by the salt water. At the same time, he took the initiative and interrogated the individuals they pulled from the Coral Sea. Faced with the prospect of being taken to Singapore for questioning, Marcus Darling would probably choose to reveal a great deal about the operation. He al
so spoke expansively about his uncle’s involvement in it. Hearing from Kumar, Loh wondered if Mr. Coffey might be wrong. It did not sound as though Jervis Darling would be in a position to bargain for leniency.
Loh told Kumar that she would be arriving early the next morning. Jelbart wanted to revisit the site with his own ship. He said he would ferry her out there. They would be leaving in about two hours. Loh would clean up and rest on the ship. She had something else she wanted to do before she left. She went to Jelbart’s office to arrange it. Then she headed toward the elevator.
Herbert and Coffey had been on the phone with their superior in Washington. She walked past the conference room they were using. Herbert saw her go. He excused himself and went after her. The intelligence chief wheeled alongside the officer as she walked down the hall.
“Are you leaving now?” he asked.
“At ten o’clock,” she told him. She pressed the elevator button.
“Jelbart sent out for coffee and doughnuts. Do you want to wait with us?”
“There is something else I must do,” she replied.
“By yourself?”
She looked at him. “I would prefer to.”
“Oh.”
“But I was wondering about something,” Loh went on. “I have three weeks’ leave in two months. I have never been to America. I was thinking I might like to fly to Washington.”
“That sounds like a very good idea,” Herbert smiled. “I would love to show you around.”
“I would like that,” Loh smiled back.
“Just make sure to stay away from our deputy director, Mike Rodgers,” Herbert said. “He’ll send you on a mission.”
Loh frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“You will,” Herbert assured her. “I’ll have to introduce you to Maria Corneja. She’ll explain.”
All of this was very confusing. But FNO Loh liked the idea of a world ripe for exploration. She also liked the fact that Bob Herbert seemed genuinely pleased by her suggestion. That surprised her. He had not seemed like a man who would enjoy leisure.
But then, you are not a woman who likes to socialize, she thought. Perhaps all it took was the right person.
The two parted with a long handshake. Herbert held her hand between both of his. They were strong hands, but gentle. She was glad Herbert had taken charge of this, though the good-bye could easily take far longer than expected. And she had something to do. Loh smiled warmly and left quickly.
“Monica!” Herbert called after her.
She turned. “Yes?”
“Thanks for everything,” he said. “And I don’t mean just the crisis management.”
“You are welcome.”
“Good luck with whatever you’re off to do.”
“Thank you,” she said.
And then she went off to do it.
SEVENTY-NINE
The Coral Sea Sunday, 7:45 A.M.
Although the Singaporean patrol ship was not a fully equipped salvage vessel, it did carry air buoyancy bags. These were to be deployed in the event the ship itself suffered a critical breach. Descending well before sunrise, divers placed the bags in the higher stern section of the Hosannah. It was a difficult salvage, due to the darkness. However, Lieutenant Kumar did not want to risk the boat sinking further. The air compressor filled the bags one at a time. Finally, with six bags inflated, the aft section of the Hosannah broke the surface.
However, with the ship’s return came something else. Something the crew did not expect.
A body.
The divers recovered the remains. Kumar went to the cabin, where several of the rescued seamen were being kept. He asked the young man Marcus Darling to come to sick bay and identify the body.
Marcus seemed numb and pale as he looked at the stilldamp, slightly bloated corpse on the gurney.
“Who is he?” Kumar asked.
“That is Captain Kannaday,” Marcus said softly.
“Was he part of the ring?” Kumar asked.
“At first,” Marcus Darling said. “Then . . . something happened.”
“What happened?”
“He changed,” Marcus said. “He turned on Mr. Hawke.”
“I see.” Kumar motioned to the medical officer. The man handed him a white towel. The lieutenant opened it gingerly and showed it to Marcus.
“We found this tangled in the ropes beside him,” Kumar said. “Did it belong to him?”
“No,” Marcus said. “That belonged to Hawke.”
“What is it?”
“A weapon,” Marcus told him. “A wommera. You use it to throw darts.”
“That might explain the wounds on his body,” the medic interjected. “Was there a struggle, Mr. Darling?”
“I don’t know,” Marcus told him. “We were in the water.”
Kumar covered the weapon and set it on the gurney. “It appears as though Mr. Hawke may earn himself a murder charge as well.”
Marcus snickered. “That’s funny. Hawke was always so careful. They all were.”
“All it takes is one active conscience to undermine the cleverest criminal plot,” Kumar said.
“Well, I’m sure that is a real comfort to Kannaday here,” Marcus said. “Instead of being wealthy, he’s dead.”
Kumar looked disdainfully at the man beside him. “I believe it must have been a significant comfort to him. Buddhism teaches that the quality of a moment can be valued more than corrupt longevity. The ripples are felt throughout the world and time.”
“Thanks for the lesson,” Marcus said.
“In fact, Mr. Darling, it was advice.”
“Was it?”
“Yes,” Kumar said. “We have reason to believe that you were one of the men who shot at the sampan.”
“I did what? I don’t even know how to fire a gun!”
“You can tell that to the chief interviewer in the Maximum Security Changi Prison in Singapore,” Kumar replied.
“Changi? You’re not taking me to the logs,” Marcus said.
“I have consulted with my superior, who is with representatives of your government. They agree that it is within our rights to ascertain your innocence,” Kumar replied.
“This is wrong!” he shouted. “I want a lawyer!”
“You will have one, though it may be a few days before he can see you,” Kumar said. “Singapore’s courts are always very busy.”
“I want one of my uncle’s lawyers!”
“I’m told they are going to be fully engaged as well,” Kumar said. “May I suggest a compromise, however?”
Marcus asked what that would be.
“Tell us who your captain dealt with,” Kumar said. “Do that, and we will return you to Cairns.”
“I thought this was about shooting the sampan,” Marcus said.
“It can be,” Kumar said.
“You bloody bullock,” Marcus said.
“I am not bloody,” Kumar replied. “Not yet.”
Marcus huffed for a moment, then said he would have to think about it. On the way back to the cabin, he agreed to cooperate with Kumar. The lieutenant radioed to inform FNO Loh that he had a successful chat with Marcus Darling. The young man seemed willing to cooperate. Kumar also told Loh that they had located the real Peter Kannaday.
Back in sick bay, the medical officer finished cleaning the body of the seaweed that had collected on it. He picked it away carefully, using long tweezers and cotton swabs. Then he covered the body with a sheet and left it on the gurney. There was nothing else he could do. The body could not be touched until an autopsy had been performed onshore. He turned off the light and locked the door. It had been a long night of caring for the halfdrowned sailors. He needed to rest.
Captain Peter Kannaday was alone. He was at sea, where he belonged.
And one thing more.
He was at peace.
EIGHTY
Darwin, Australia Sunday, 7:46 A.M.
Lee Tong had never felt ill or disoriented when he was at sea. Not even
the first time on the wonderful old timber carrier. Now he was on land, and it made him sick to move. Anything more than a slow, short breath caused deep waves of nausea. Which was strange, because Tong was also hungry. The young man could not remember the last time he had eaten.
In fact, Tong could not remember much of anything. He remembered closing in on a boat and being shot at. He remembered an explosion. After that, he remembered nothing.
Tong appeared to be in a hospital room. It was white with yellow walls and a large screen of some sort. People came in now and then, but he did not know who they were or what they were saying. Most of the time he did not bother to look or listen. Lying in the cool bed, floating in and out of sleep, was physically less disturbing. Yet even that was not a haven. He dreamed of better times, of a happier youth. The future had never held much promise for him. But when Lee Tong sailed the ocean with his father, at least there was the prospect of success. There was hope. He preferred that to the reality of failure. In the moments after he woke, Tong would wish desperately to go back and try again. But then the truth washed over him. He was here. Hope was gone. People did not get a second chance.
“Lee Tong.”
The young man thought he heard someone say his name. The voice was muffled, but it did not sound like a voice from one of his dreams. He forced his eyes open, just barely. Someone was looking down at him from the foot of the bed. A woman. She had a darker face than the others, but was also wearing a mask and gown. Through his nearly shut eyes she looked gauzy, like a ghost.
“Can you hear me?” she asked.
She was speaking Malay. It was beautiful. He nodded once. The nausea reminded him to stay as still as possible. He obeyed.
“Good,” the woman said. “I am Female Naval Officer Monica Loh of the Singaporean Navy. You are suffering from mild radiation poisoning. It came from the vessel you attacked. But I’ve just spoken with your physician. You will recover. Do you understand?”
Tong nodded once, very, very slowly. The nausea was a little kinder this time. He opened his eyes a little wider. Some of the haze lifted from the woman. She was real.
