by Tom Clancy
"Talk works," Hood said. "If you're doing that, you probably aren't killing each other."
"I can do both."
"Only if you're screaming, not talking," Hood said.
Hood was right about that point. The problem was, Herbert had always liked his way of doing things. It worked. Hood made it sound bad.
"Anyway, it isn't patience," Hood went on. "Talk is my weapon of choice. It worked well with voters and with my kids. Now it's a part of me. I couldn't change if I wanted to." He added pointedly, "None of us can."
Finally, there was something Herbert could agree with.
Hood said that he would call Lowell Coffey and bring him up to speed. Herbert thanked him and hung up the phone. He sat back and thought about what Hood said.
None of them could change.
Hood was right about that. But with that comment came Paul Hood's tacit acknowledgment that he accepted Bob Herbert as is. That gave Herbert a little wiggle room. He had not been told, expressly, to stay out of the investigation and interrogation.
What it did not give Herbert, immediately, was a place to put his fist. He was furious with Jervis Darling, with the polite but recalcitrant Peter Kannaday, and with the coddling mentality in general. Herbert understood talk. But to be honest, he still preferred war. It took less time and it resolved disputes a lot quicker. Nor were the casualties any heavier, really. Just quicker. The combatants lost to bullets what they would have lost to endless raids and corrosive debate.
Herbert noticed Loh staring at him.
"What are you thinking?" he asked her.
"I agree with you," she said.
"About?"
"A stalemate," she said.
Herbert smiled. "I didn't think you would care for that."
"Not at all. I would rather fight and lose than feel as though I did not give something my fullest effort," she replied.
Herbert smiled at her. That iced it. FNO Monica Loh had to become the next Mrs. Herbert. He was betting she had less patience for bullshit and insincerity than he did.
Almost absently, Herbert reached behind him and opened the computer file Paul Hood had sent. The intelligence chief angled the monitor toward him. He considered dreamily how he and Monica would be banned from every party and fund-raiser in Washington, D.C.
The file opened. Herbert glanced at it. His eyes shrank and his mouth widened. He stared at the screen more closely.
And he knew at once what to do with his rage.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Cairns, Australia Sunday, 3:56 A.M.
The call was late.
Jervis Darling stood in the beige kitchen eating a half cantaloupe from the rind. He was no longer dressed in the gray Cairns Yacht Club sweat suit he had been wearing earlier. He had exercised on his rowing machine for forty-five minutes. Then he showered, pulled on a bathrobe, and sat in front of the television. He moved impatiently from satellite to satellite, watching nothing as the hours passed. At the same time, his mood shifted from disgust to anger to concern. He should have heard from his nephew or John Hawke by now. But the cell phone in his pocket had remained resolutely silent.
Darling finished the fruit. He cut the rind into slices and fed it into the garbage disposal. Things always seemed worse in the dark hours of night. Yet he could not help but think that something had gone wrong. Even if they had failed to sink the yacht, Marcus would have gotten in touch with him. The only thing he could think of was that miserable American.
Other than by dumb, idiotic luck, Darling could not imagine how Herbert might have found the yacht. Or what he might have done to stop Hawke. No one stopped John Hawke. As he finished pulping the rind, Darling began to consider what he should do. Earlier that evening he had called his old college friend Bruce Perry about Herbert. Perry had said he would handle it. The men had not spoken since. Darling did not want to call and ask him how the conversation went. Pressure was as good as an admission of guilt. The only thing that drove away an ally faster was failure.
Darling began to consider his next move. It might have to be a bolder preventative step than simply calling a friend at the White House. This was not a position Darling enjoyed. He was usually the one maneuvering CEOs or politicians into a corner.
Darling felt that he should wake Jessica-Ann and leave the estate. He and his daughter could go to the cove and take the yacht to his retreat in the Sister Islands. Or they could drive to the airstrip and depart by jet. If something had gone wrong, Darling did not want to be easily accessible. Since the Sister Islands were part of New Zealand, that would add another country — and another bureaucracy — between himself and any legal activities. He would let the barristers tackle any issues that might come up.
Though these concerns are premature, Darling reminded himself.
Darling still did not know for certain that anything was wrong. John Hawke could simply be hiding until dawn. He might have had a reason to maintain silence. Or he could be playing a psychological game of some kind. Darling would not put it past Hawke to make him wait. Hawke would do that from spite or to show some muscle. Just enough to be annoying but not enough to threaten. Hawke knew better than to cross that boundary.
After considering the situation for several minutes more, Darling decided that it would be a good idea to leave. He would take the jet to the nearest of his islands in the Sisters. Picking up the house phone, Darling woke Andrew and told him to pack a bag for himself and for his daughter. Next he called his pilot, Shawn Daniels, who lived in a cottage at the far end of the estate. Darling told him to be ready to fly out within the hour. The Learjet was always ready and accessible for unexpected business trips.
Finally, Darling went to wake his daughter. He moved quickly but unhurriedly to the living room and up the winding marble staircase. Jessica-Ann would be groggy, and she would sleep through the flight. She would wake up to invigorating sunshine and clean sea air. Wake from the restful sleep of the innocent. Darling wished that were something he could enjoy.
Not that it matters. Things will look better in the morning, he assured himself.
If they did not, he would have them fixed by the afternoon. Either through talk or through deed.
A man with radioactive materials at his disposal always had options.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
The Coral Sea Sunday, 4:01 A.M.
Monica Loh sat in the deep vinyl seat of the helicopter's dark cabin. She was watching Bob Herbert. His face was in shadow, but his posture was tense, aggressive. He was leaning forward, anxiously pressing a thumb into his palm. Loh did not wonder what he was thinking. She knew. He wanted to get information from Captain Kannaday using any means possible. Herbert had said as much when he was on the telephone.
But then something changed. Herbert glanced at his computer monitor and sat up. His hands relaxed. He turned toward Captain Kannaday and regarded him for a long moment. Then he looked at her.
"Wake him," Herbert said.
Loh turned and gave Kannaday's shoulder a firm shake. He opened his eyes slowly.
Warrant Officer Jelbart turned. "What is it?"
"I wanted to ask our guest a question," Herbert said.
"I thought we had decided to let the captain be for now," Jelbart said with a hint of annoyance.
"I let him have his power nap," Herbert said. "Now I want to know something. Something simple."
"You are free to ask anything you like," the man replied.
"Thanks. But you're saying you may not answer," Herbert said.
"As I said, I am extremely tired. I don't want to say anything that is inaccurate or may be misinterpreted."
"I understand," Herbert said. "How about this, which is pretty tough to screw up. Where were you born?"
The man looked at him.
"What's wrong?" Herbert asked. "Is that too tough?"
"Are you serious?" the man asked.
"I've been accused of that, yeah," Herbert said. "Have you got an answer for me?"
"I was born
here. In Australia," the man replied.
"In which town?" Herbert asked. "On what date?"
"Why?" The man grinned. "Are you going to buy me a gift?"
"One that keeps on giving," Herbert told him. "A lifetime sentence in a maximum security prison."
"Really?" the man said. "For what?"
"I think you know," Herbert said.
"Bob, we decided we weren't going to do anything like this," Jelbart said angrily.
"You decided that," Herbert said. His eyes remained on Kannaday. "Where were you born and when?"
Loh did not think Herbert would bully someone unless he had a solid reason. Apparently, he did. She watched Kannaday's reaction. He was unfazed. After a few moments the captain closed his eyes. His head sank back on the seat and was lost again in darkness.
"Bob, why do you want to know that?" Jelbart asked.
"Why?" Herbert replied. "Because this man is not Peter Kannaday."
"What?" Jelbart said.
"I just saw a photograph of Captain Kannaday," Herbert said. He angled the monitor toward Jelbart and cranked up the brightness. "There is a picture attached to his license."
Jelbart looked from the computer monitor to their guest. "I'll be a nong — an idiot, to you. Bob is right. This isn't you."
"Rot," the man replied without opening his eyes. "There's obviously a mistake in the file."
"I don't think so," Herbert said. "There were two men on the deck of the yacht. One man dies. The other man assumes his identity."
"Why?" the man asked. His eyes were still shut. He seemed utterly unconcerned.
"What better way to earn our trust than to pose as a virtuous sea captain fighting smugglers? We give that trust, along with safe passage to shore. Then, as soon as you get there, you slip away."
"The photograph is as mixed up as you are, Mr. Herbert."
"Then answer the question," Herbert pressed. "Where and when were you born?"
Loh was watching the man carefully. He did not flinch. Nor did he tell Herbert what he wanted to hear.
"I'll tell you what," Herbert said. "You're a cheap fake and a lowlife smuggler, but I won't hold that against you. You're not the guy I want."
The man said nothing.
"The man I want is Jervis Darling," Herbert continued. "You give him to me, and you walk."
The man opened his eyes slightly. "You can't offer that kind of deal."
"You don't deny that Mr. Darling is behind this smuggling operation?" Jelbart asked.
"Mr. Darling," the man said with contempt. "You'd call the fallen prince Your Highness," he suggested.
"Obviously, you do know Darling, then," Herbert said.
"Only by reputation," the man replied. He closed his eyes again and settled deeper into the seat.
Loh was surprised. Herbert seemed unusually calm. Like a grand master with a checkmate move that no one else saw.
"You look like the kind of tough monkey who isn't afraid to face death," Herbert said. "Much as I'd like to, I won't threaten to throw you out the helicopter door or anything like that. What I am going to do, however, is change the plan. And since we found you in international waters, I don't think Warrant Officer Jelbart has the will or authority to object."
Jelbart nodded. The floor was Herbert's.
"We are not going to take you to Cairns," the intelligence officer went on. "We are going to land at Cape Melville where the local police will meet us and hold you. We will turn you over to FNO Loh. When her patrol ship arrives, you will be taken to Singapore, to the military police, and the ultimate justice of the magistrate's court."
The man looked at him. "Balls to you," he replied.
Herbert shrugged. "Suit yourself, tough little monkey. Either way, I get Darling. Pilot? Make the change."
The pilot looked at Jelbart. The warrant officer nodded.
"We will get the information we want," Loh added, "because the chief interrogator will have it flogged or drugged from you. The military police have that authority under the Singaporean Nuclear Emergency Response Act of 2002. It defined nuclear trafficking as an act of terrorism. In Singapore, individual rights are suspended when evidence points to imminent deeds of mass destruction."
Herbert gave her an appreciative look for the added push.
The man opened his eyes. They did not seem quite as relaxed as they were a moment before.
"We're nearing the coast," Herbert pressed. "What's it going to be? Jail here and cooperation, or jail there and electrodes on the earlobes and God knows where else?"
The man looked out the window. The coast was coming into view.
"I'm guessing you've been pretty slick till this point," Herbert said. "But your luck has hit a wall. Trust me."
The man regarded Herbert. "I won't go to jail," he said. "I did not run the ship, and I did not run the operation. I was just a mate."
"Are you John Hawke?" Herbert asked.
"Yes," he replied.
"What was your job?"
"Security chief," he answered unapologetically. "I had no contact with sellers or purchasers, and I did not interact with the contraband. Peter Kannaday ran the ship. Jervis Darling ran the operation. His nephew Marcus operated communications and is back there in the water."
"Those flares?" Loh asked.
"They were fired by Kannaday to sink the dinghies," Hawke replied. "He wanted to prevent anyone from getting away."
"Why?" Herbert demanded.
"Because we were told by Jervis Darling to sink the ship," Hawke said.
"To hide evidence of what?" Herbert asked.
"A nuclear processing laboratory on board," Hawke replied.
Herbert smiled.
"But I will not repeat any of this for the record if you send me to prison," Hawke said. "I go free, or you have no testimony."
"The deal is this," Herbert told him. "You talk or you go to Singapore. We'll encourage leniency, but that's the best you'll get."
"That's not good enough," Hawke snarled.
"The only other option is to walk out the door right now," Herbert told him. "Frankly, I think five to ten years with cable TV is a better deal than a long drop into a cold sea."
Even in the dark, Loh could see Hawke's expression tighten. He looked as if he wanted to put a fist through Herbert's chest. But that would get him nothing. He would still have to deal with Loh and Jelbart.
John Hawke's mouth sagged into a frown. His eyes lost their cruel luster. The slight man lowered himself back into the seat and looked out the window. He appeared to be lost. Herbert was right. This was probably the first time the man had ever been cornered. And it happened without a blow thrown or shot fired. The security chief had been undone by words.
Just words.
Herbert looked as pleased and surprised as Hawke looked sullen.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Cairns, Australia Sunday, 4:45 A.M.
The sun was beginning to brighten the skies behind the hills as Lowell Coffey waited for the helicopter. The attorney had managed to get a little sleep in the fire station before Hood called to tell him about Captain Kannaday's rescue. Spider was asleep in the next cot. Coffey stepped into the brisk morning to take the call. When it was done, he breathed in the crisp air.
Washington, D.C., had never tasted like this. Nor Beverly Hills. Both cities were hot and fuel-scented. The only other place the attorney had spent any time was the Middle East. That was dusty and arid.
Queensland was not just soul reviving. It was a treat for the eyes and ears. It was a deep, rich green and silent, save for the occasional bird or cricket and the wind that carried the sound.
"Jesus!"
Coffey jumped when his phone beeped again. He fished it from his belt. It was Bob Herbert, telling him that the helicopter had landed at an air base to refuel. They would be arriving in Cairns by five-thirty. He also wanted to inform Coffey that the man they had on board was not Peter Kannaday.
"It's a thug named John Hawke, who has confessed to
sinking the yacht and helping Jervis Darling smuggle nuclear waste from ship to ship. The yacht even had a processing lab on board."
"He told you all this on the helicopter?" Coffey asked.
"Right."
"No attorney?"
"We fished a barracuda from the Coral Sea and used him," Herbert said. "No, we didn't have an attorney."
"And you have no evidence," Coffey asked.
"No."
"Then you have no right to hold him," Coffey replied.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Herbert asked. "We have a shitload of circumstantial evidence."
"No," Coffey said. "What you have is a 'confession' that he can deny ever having made. Word against word is a hollow legal exercise."
"Oh, come on!" Herbert said. "Four people heard him!"
"Four people can plot," Coffey said. "They're no more valid than one, legally. The Rule of Evidence applies here just as it does in the United States. The Evidence Act was amended in 1995 to link it to the Drugs, Poisons, and Controlled Substances Act of 1981."
"To do what?" Herbert asked. "Protect drug dealers?"
"To preserve justice," Coffey replied. "Where is Hawke now?"
"He's still in the helicopter."
"Smart."
"What?"
"He wouldn't want to get out on a military base," Coffey said. "If he did, you could theoretically hold him for trespassing."
"Lowell, this is a joke, isn't it?" Herbert demanded. "You're pulling my bum leg."
"Bob, I am completely serious," Coffey said.
"That's not what I want to hear," Herbert snapped.
"Sorry. But unless you can get someone who will identify Hawke as an accomplice, you have no reason or right to hold him," Coffey said. "Until you get to the yacht and locate evidence, until you can connect Hawke to smuggling activities or to the sinking, he's an innocent man. When you land here, he can demand to be released. And you'll have to let him go."
"I don't believe this," Herbert said. "The prick played me. He fed me what I wanted to keep from going to Singapore."
