by Tom Clancy
He unplugged the phone and logged on to the Internet. He forwarded the transcript to Hood and Coffey. Then he did a word search of Marcus, Hawke, sisters.
The words showed up in the same place, but in each case they were unrelated. There was an on-line bookstore with author Nigel Hawke, a biography of Marcus Aurelius, and a novel called The Lost Sisters. There were sports pages with a Hawke's Bay soccer team, the tennis-playing Williams sisters, and a basketball player named Marcus Fowler.
"It was too much to hope that I might catch a break," he muttered.
Herbert checked Marcus and Hawke separately. There were over four thousand references for each, too many to check. He decided to add geography to the search. He entered Marcus, Hawke, sisters, Malaysia, then replaced Malaysia with North Korea, North Korea with Indonesia, then Indonesia with Singapore. He still did not get a single link for even two of the entries.
Then Herbert increased his geographical search. He included Australia, followed by New Zealand. What he found in New Zealand was unexpected.
A surprise.
A good one.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Celebes Sea Saturday, 12:04 A.M.
Peter Kannaday remained on deck as the Hosannah sailed swiftly toward its rendezvous. He used to love this feeling of his yacht slashing through the water. It made him feel powerful and free. He had seldom done this at night due to the risk of collision. But with the radar and sonar equipment Darling had paid to install, darkness was no longer a problem.
Kannaday leaned against the port-side railing, his legs spread wide to help him keep his balance. He was pouring black coffee from a thermos. His hair was thick with sweat, and the strong wind chilled his scalp. The perspiration on his head and neck was partly from the hot coffee and partly from a sense that he was lost. He was no longer the captain of his fate or even his own ship. The professional seaman was not accustomed to feeling adrift.
Or frightened. But he was that, too.
Kannaday had spent his life on the ocean. Below its surface was nothing but mystery. He had always accepted that. And it was never a problem as long as he stayed above the water. Yet he was just becoming aware of how much of the rest of the world was hidden from view. Some of it was mundane, like hot coffee inside a thermos. Some of it was more threatening.
Like a knife concealed in a wommera, he thought. Or radiation in a lead case. Even Jervis Darling at his estate.
Also hidden were the true loyalties of men. Especially those who served with him, it seemed.
The captain had been awake for nearly forty hours. Tired as he was, however, he would not go to sleep. First, there was a job to finish. Captain Kannaday did not want to rest until the cargo had been delivered and he had reported that to Darling. He was also determined to stay on deck. If the yacht were approached by any of the military patrols investigating the 130-5 site, he wanted to be on hand and ready to talk with them.
The second reason Kannaday had stayed on deck was more important. And also more personal. It was because of John Hawke and his security team. Perhaps exhaustion was influencing his perception to some degree. But over the past few hours it seemed as though the kingdoms of the two men, like their crews, had become clearly defined. The security personnel and belowdecks belonged to Hawke. The upper deck and the seamen belonged to Kannaday. The communications center was neutral. No one had actually said as much. It was all in the looks, in the attitude of the crew, in the places men did and did not go. They bonded like pockets of algae around a rock.
Kannaday wondered how much of the tension was due to the strain between himself and Hawke. Most, he suspected. He doubted Hawke would have said anything about their confrontation. Perhaps the men had heard it. Or maybe they sensed it. A sailor who could not sniff a change in the wind, feel a shift in the rolling deck, did not survive for long.
But some of the tension also had to be due to their cargo. The events of the past two days had reminded them just how dangerous it was. Kannaday had visited the laboratory once to watch the entire purification process. Those spent nuclear reactor fuel rods, black and glittering, were among the deadliest materials on earth. They were terrifying, beautiful, and curiously sensuous, like a rattle-snake or a black widow spider. If someone were exposed to one, death would be extremely unpleasant. Kannaday had read up on radiation sickness before accepting this assignment. A brief exposure to low-dosage radiation, between 50 and 200 rads, would cause mild headaches. The same exposure to 500 or so rads would cause headaches, nausea, exhaustion, and hair loss. With exposure to 1,000 rads, individuals would suffer vomiting, diarrhea, and complete exhaustion within an hour of exposure. The cells of the body would begin to break down, and a painful death would result within thirty days.
Fortunately, the scientists who had been processing a previous delivery in the laboratory had been wearing protective garments. And the few particles of radium torn away by the blast had been carried outward by smoke from the resulting blaze. The lab workers assured Kannaday that any exposure their own people had suffered was well under fifty rads. The crew took showers to clean off whatever particles they may have picked up. There were no reports of illness.
Still, it was clear now that the potential for catastrophe was ever present. And the nature of the danger magnified the fear of the crew. There was no defense against this foe. Once released, it was invisible and unstoppable.
Kannaday took another swallow of coffee. So, if the cargo is so deadly, why are you so scared of Darling? he asked himself. And Hawke. Both men are physical, and one is not even here. They are far from invulnerable.
To the contrary. They had one weak spot, he felt. Both were certain of their power over him. He had learned on the sea that nothing was certain. Seemingly small storms could explode in a moment. An apparently smooth surface could hide an undersea tremor that spat up hundred-foot waves. Overconfidence makes a man vulnerable.
There might be something Kannaday could use in all of this. The notion of the hidden weapon. Something that would work against Hawke, and even against Darling, if necessary.
He would have to think about that. First came the job.
Marcus signaled him on the point-to-point radio. He had just received a message from bin Omar. The Malaysian ship was twenty-two miles to the northwest. They would come alongside the Hosannah within the hour. Kannaday called the laboratory for an update. They were nearly finished processing the materials. They would be ready in time for the exchange. Kannaday thanked them, then went below. He wanted to inform Hawke in person.
Maybe it was the caffeine talking through a hazy mind, but Kannaday felt that was a bold step. The idea of going to the lair of the opposition made him feel energized. It made him feel stronger. It was the same reaction he had when he stood alone against Marcus and Hawke in the radio room.
Or maybe the events of the past few days had taught him something. After all these years of sailing, Kannaday had thought he understood what it took to be a man. He believed it meant a willingness to take on muscular challenges. To risk the elements and battle the sea, to master a sailing ship. Exertion made the male, danger made the man.
That was what he thought. He was beginning to see that he could not have been more wrong. Being a man meant doing things that did not come naturally, where the risk was in challenging one's own beliefs and traditions. In his case, fighting back with mind instead of sinew.
The exertion still made the male. But it was the knowledge gained that made the man.
And Kannaday was beginning to realize that knowledge, hidden inside, was what made men most dangerous.
Chapter Thirty
Washington, D.C. Friday, 10:07 A.M.
Paul Hood was just finishing a phone conversation with Mike Rodgers when Bob Herbert called.
The general was on his way back from a breakfast with Senator Dan Debenport of South Carolina. The senior senator was going to be taking over the chairmanship of the Congressional Intelligence Oversight Committee from the retir
ing senator, Barbara Fox. Hood would not be sorry to see her go. Fox had never understood that crisis management could not function according to a rule book. Op-Center could not always get approval from the CIOC for operations. Bob Herbert had a nickname for the constant clash between Op-Center and the CIOC. He called it the "bility breach." Hood demanded flexibility. Fox insisted on accountability. Those two things did not go together.
Debenport was a former Green Beret who had done two tours of duty in Vietnam. That was why Hood had sent Rodgers to chat with him. He hoped the two military men would hit it off. That would not only help Op-Center, it would also help Hood. Even when he kept Senator Fox out of the loop, dealing with the CIOC took more time than Hood cared to give it.
From the sound of things, Senator Debenport was willing to give Op-Center a great deal of leeway in terms of the kind of operations they could mount. But there was a caveat.
"We can have the freedom we want because Senator Debenport doesn't want the United States to stumble into crises that could have been avoided," Rodgers said. "To do that, however, he wants to work closely with us. He wants to make sure there is a flow of information between him, Op-Center, the FBI, the CIA, and the NSA."
"I'm not sure there's a net gain for us," Hood said unhappily.
"Added bureaucracy, you mean."
"That, plus the senator will be in a better position to interfere with operations," Hood said. "He can tell us that we have more elbow room. But if he disapproves of something, he can shut the action down. It may not even be intentional. He might have other things to do when a plan reaches his desk. He may red-light an operation until he has a chance to study it."
"We still have autonomy, Paul."
"Until he says otherwise," Hood replied.
"True," Rodgers said. "But I'll be able to talk to him. He and I have a lot of friends, colleagues, and experiences in common. That's more than we have with Senator Fox."
"I can't argue with that," Hood said.
That was when Herbert phoned. Hood immediately took the call. He could not conference Rodgers in because the general's phone was not secure. He did, however, plug the call through to Lowell Coffey. The attorney was on the bridge of the Australian corvette.
"Okay, Bob," Hood said. "What have you got for us?"
"I talked briefly with Colonel Hwan," Herbert said.
"I got your transcript and put some people on it. Nice work."
"Thanks. I've been doing some checking myself. If you read the transcript you know that he gave me a man's surname: Hawke, I believe with an e. And someone else's first name, Marcus. I didn't find any link between them. But then he mentioned the boss of the project. Hwan said that what he'd really like is one of the big man's sisters. Now, the colonel's not married, but I don't think that's what he was talking about. I found out there is an island group east of New Zealand. It's called the Chatham Islands. North of the Chathams is an island group called the Sisters."
"I've heard of those," Coffey said. "There was some issue about native rights and fern-tree preservation on the main island. Let me ask Jelbart what he knows about them."
Herbert chuckled when Coffey left. "And here I thought the law was boring," he said. "I didn't realize that the mind-swelling topic of fern trees was part of the mix."
"A battle is a battle is a battle, whatever the prize," Hood said.
"I guess."
"Is that all you were able to get from the colonel?" Hood asked.
"That's it," Herbert said. "I pushed, but I get the feeling he gives these guys as little of his time and effort as possible."
"Which suggests what?" Hood asked.
"That he's doing it for the money, not for the cause, whatever that is," Herbert said.
"Colonel Hwan is on the payroll, but his government is not part of the project," Hood said.
"You got it."
Coffey came back on the line. "Gentlemen, either we're way off target, or we've got one hell of a bombshell," the attorney said.
"I'm not sure which is better," Herbert said.
"Jelbart says that none other than Mr. Jervis Darling owns several of the smaller islands in the Sisters chain," Coffey said.
"The media big shot?" Herbert asked.
"That's the one," Coffey replied. "Jelbart is putting in a call to Darwin to check something else."
"Forget it," Herbert said. "I beat him to it."
"I'm lost," Hood said.
"I just went on-line and did a word search," Herbert said. "Darling has a nephew named Marcus."
"You've got to be kidding me," Hood said. "Why would a man with Darling's billions and all his media holdings be involved with something like this?"
"Boredom?" Herbert suggested.
"I don't believe that," Hood replied.
"What is the name of the guy who owns the ship that was supposed to have made the drop at 130-5?" Herbert asked.
"Mahathir bin Dahman, a Malaysian billionaire," Hood said.
"Another billionaire," Herbert said.
"He's involved with everything from waste disposal to real estate," Hood said.
"This is smelling like what they call executive action over at the CIA," Herbert said.
"Which is what?" Hood asked.
"It started with the idea that businessmen from the military-industrial complex were involved in the JFK assassination," Herbert said. "They wanted to speed up U.S. involvement in Vietnam, along with the increased military buying that would entail. When Kennedy held the course, they got together and had him offed. Or so the theory goes."
"So there's an apparent executive action involving nuclear smuggling," Hood said.
"It could be," Herbert said. "The executive action profile says that men like Dahman and Darling can't be bothered with the inconvenience of the democratic process. Over time they begin to feel they're entitled to power. So they take it by any means necessary. That includes forming strategic alliances. If we have a union here, the question is who approached whom?"
"That's a big if," Coffey said. "You're making a lot of assumptions about some pretty powerful and reputable men."
"You bit," Herbert said.
"Pardon?"
"They count on that reaction to avoid suspicion, Lowell," Herbert said. "Paul, have Liz Gordon profile these guys. I'll bet she comes up with the same scenario I did."
"Even if she did, it would still be supposition," Coffey pointed out.
"Maybe, but we aren't in court," the intelligence officer reminded the attorney. "If we're going to find the missing nuclear waste, we have to make a few educated guesses."
"Bob, I agree that we have to pursue this," Hood said. "I also think we're getting ahead of ourselves. Lowell, let's assume Bob pegged this right. You're on the scene. What do you suggest?"
"To begin with, I can't imagine that the Australian government is going to move against Jervis Darling without overwhelming evidence," Coffey said. "And I mean airtight, overwhelming evidence."
"Certainly Darling would be counting on that, too," Herbert remarked.
"If he's involved," Coffey reminded them.
"You know, gentlemen, I'm thinking," Herbert said. "Why don't we step right up and ask him?"
"Just like that?" Coffey asked.
"It worked with Colonel Hwan," Herbert said.
"He's not Jervis Darling," Coffey said. "My dad deals with movers and shakers in Hollywood. They've got layers of people between themselves and the events they cause."
"Layers only work if you go through them," Herbert said. "I'll go around them."
"Before you do, maybe we should have some real ammunition," Coffey said.
"Such as?" Herbert asked.
"I'm wondering if there might be a paper trail from Darling to Dahman," Coffey said.
"Probably not," Hood said. "But there could be something else. Something I might be able to help with. This could be an executive action, as Bob suggests. Or it could be as simple as there being a hole in Darling's pocket. One that he's trying
to fill. While we've been talking I've had a look at his stock reports. A lot of those media companies aren't doing as well as they once were. And he's a majority shareholder."
"I like that," Coffey said. "At least it's a starting point."
"Meantime, Lowell," Herbert said, "maybe you can get your local friends to do some recon to help me. See what kind of boats Darling owns, where they are, possibly check his phone records."
"I'd like to hold off on that," Coffey said.
"Why?" Herbert asked.
"Because there's the very real possibility that an all-out investigation will bump into people who are sympathetic to Jervis Darling or are on his payroll," Coffey said.
"So?"
"Bob, Lowell's got a point," Hood said. "We don't want him throwing those layers of intermediaries at us until we've had a good look around. Lowell, do you think you can talk to Jelbart or Ellsworth about this without sending up too many flares?"
"Jelbart, certainly," Coffey said.
"Bob, what about Dahman?" Hood asked. "Do we have any Malaysian sources?"
"Not really," Herbert admitted. "That's something you should ask Lowell's friend FNO Loh about."
"I can do that," Coffey said. "She seems trustworthy. Though I'm not sure we should open two fronts. There's twice the opportunity for leaks."
"I'm not sure we can avoid them," Herbert replied. "This rope apparently has two ends."
"That's true," Hood said. "Which means if you tug on one, you'll get to the other. I'm with Lowell on this. I think we should concentrate our resources on the Australian end for now."
"Paul, trashman Dahman may be the easier end of the rope to grab," Herbert said.
"But if we do get him, Bob, that will give Darling time to generate alibis and red herrings to keep the heat from him," Hood said. "Darling scares me more. He's got unlimited access to interests in the West, Bob. He probably gets a free pass through customs in most places."
