Tom Clancy's Op-center Novels 7-12 (9781101644591)

by Clancy, Tom

  “I shall,” Andrew said as he left the room. He did not shut the door.

  Herbert booted his computer as he moved himself to the near side of the desk. His back was to the door as he raised the armrest on the left side of his chair and unwound the cable tucked inside. He plugged that into the back of his computer and into the data port on Darling’s telephone. If the magnate did hobby-related research in here, chances were good he took business calls here as well.

  Herbert jacked in the six-foot cord and keyed the number Matt Stoll had given him. The link was established quickly through the small, slender antenna on the top right of the wheelchair. The antenna was attached to a booster on the back of the chair. Unlike standard cell phones, it could process high-speed transmissions. Herbert watched on his computer as it began searching Darling’s telephone for the number log.

  “That is quite a machine,” said a voice from behind.

  The voice was big and carried a mild Australian accent. Herbert did not have to see the speaker to know who it was. The intelligence agent smiled.

  “It’s a pretty standard Dell laptop,” Herbert replied.

  Darling smiled. “I was not referring to the computer.”

  “I know,” Herbert replied. “Good evening, Mr. Darling.”

  “Good evening.” Darling walked briskly toward Herbert. He was wearing a gray sweat suit that said Cairns Yacht Club across the chest. His eyes remained fixed on the chair. “Obviously custom made.”

  “Yes,” Herbert said. “Designed by me and built by the same people who made FDR his chair.”

  The men shook hands. “And you would be whom?”

  “R. Clayton Herbert,” Herbert replied with a smile. Inside, though, he was anxious. He was also annoyed at himself. He did not want to give his full name if he did not have to. Darling could find out whom he worked for. But he also did not want Loh or Leyland calling him Bob after telling Darling that he was someone else. He should have given them a heads-up. It was one of those details you occasionally forgot when working with outsiders.

  “Andrew said you wanted to send some E-mails,” Darling said. “I don’t want to keep you from that.”

  “It can wait,” Herbert assured him.

  The computer was still downloading as they spoke. Stoll had told him that once the file was found, it would take only a few seconds to snare the numbers. First, however, it had to make its way through whatever phone software might be piled in front of the log. Speed-dialing, voice-mail programs, call-forwarding, all of that. The search could take anywhere from a few seconds to several minutes. Stoll also said the computer would chime twice when it found what it was looking for. He would explain that to Darling as a reminder of some kind.

  “In that case, I’d love to hear about your work with wildlife,” Darling said. “You’re a volunteer, I presume?”

  “Yes,” Herbert replied. “Actually, I’m here on a holiday. I was called into this search by my friend Monica. She’s involved with IWEC in Singapore.”

  “I see. You’re American, I gather,” Darling said.

  “Mississippi born,” Herbert replied. “I live outside of Washington, D.C., now.”

  “Are you in government?”

  “Personal security,” Herbert said.

  “Fascinating field,” Darling said. “What do you think of the security we have at this estate?”

  “From the little bit I’ve seen, it’s pretty impressive,” Herbert said. “You’ve got sentries and surveillance outside, motion detectors inside. It’s a difficult combination to beat.”

  “Touch wood, no one has,” Darling replied. He leaned forward slightly, squinting. “You appear to have everything you need for personal security and comfort. Your chair has a cell phone, a computer, what appears to be a satellite uplink, a joystick steering mechanism, and even cruise control, if I’m reading the joystick base correctly?”

  “Yes,” Herbert smiled. “I can do five miles per hour on the open sidewalk. They disconnect that function when I participate in marathons.”

  “Do they really?” Darling laughed.

  “They do,” Herbert said. The insincerity of this conversation was killing him. He wished Darling would get a phone call or something.

  “Fascinating. You wouldn’t think five miles an hour would be a threat to anyone.”

  “It isn’t about the speed,” Herbert said. “It’s the idea of an assist. A marathon is supposed to be about physical endurance.”

  “Have you ever won one, Mr. Herbert?”

  “I’ve never lost,” Herbert replied.

  Darling grinned. “I like that.”

  Where the hell is that chime? Herbert wondered.

  Darling walked back behind the chair. “I’m curious, Mr. Herbert. That’s a Ku-band uplink on the back of your chair.”

  “That’s right,” Herbert said. Alarms began ringing inside his head. This was not good.

  “Why do you need an antenna to send E-mail?”

  “I don’t,” Herbert replied.

  Darling bent slightly to get a better look at the box. “But I notice the light on the power box is lit.”

  “Is it?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  “That must have been from earlier, at the fire outpost,” Herbert said. “I was downloading data.”

  “No, that couldn’t be,” Darling said. “It was not on when you arrived.”

  The outside security camera, Herbert realized with a jolt. He was watching their arrival.

  “I must have turned it on by accident,” Herbert said, smiling again. His soul ached as he reached behind the wheelchair and shut the antenna off. That cut the link to Op-Center. He unplugged the cable from Darling’s telephone. He shut the computer, which would erase Matt Stoll’s program. There would be no evidence it had ever existed.

  Unfortunately, the computer still had not pinged. That meant none of the data had been downloaded from the telephone. This whole enterprise had been a freaking waste of time. Or worse, it could hurt them if Darling suspected that they were here for something other than a stray koala. Herbert had had a choice to make. He had made it.

  Darling came back around the front of the wheelchair. He folded his arms again and paced back and forth. Jervis Darling suddenly looked as impatient as Bob Herbert felt.

  “You know, R. Clayton Herbert,” Darling said, “when people show up at odd hours for unusual reasons, it is typically a reporter hoping to get a story or a business rival trying to collect information. What is your reason, Mr. Herbert?”

  “Actually, Mr. Darling, my reason is much more serious than nailing a story about you,” Herbert said.

  “Ah.” Darling stopped pacing. He regarded Herbert. “You have the floor. And my attention.”

  Herbert hesitated. He was about to put himself, FNO Loh, and Captain Leyland in jeopardy. Their careers, possibly their lives could be ruined. He had the right to do that to himself but not to the others. And what would he gain? Darling would not give him information. If Darling were guilty, talking might cause him to send his operatives deep underground. Or it might cause him to get angry and expose himself. Or it might cause him to have the lot of them shot for trespassing. There was no way of knowing.

  Screw it, Herbert thought. He had come here to do a job. That job was to collect information and by so doing, save lives. The primary method had failed. Herbert was obligated to try another. Besides, when pressed, Darling might inadvertently answer one critical question: whether or not he was guilty.

  “Mr. Darling, I honestly don’t know jack-shit about animals,” Herbert said. “I don’t even like them much. Though there are some creatures I like even less. I do work in security, however. I won’t tell you who employs me or how I know this. But here’s the bottom line. Nuclear materials are missing from a radioactive waste site, and one leg of the trail leads here.”

  Darling did not react. Which, in a way, was a reaction. He did not ask what that statement had to do with him.

  “No co
mment?” Herbert asked.

  “Were you jacking into my telephone system in an effort to spy on me?” Darling asked.

  “I was,” Herbert admitted.

  Darling looked down slowly. His expression was blank. He walked over to the phone and removed the unit from the desk. His slippered feet rubbed the hardwood floors of the study as he made his way to the door.

  “Please show yourself out,” Darling said over a very rigid shoulder. “Immediately.”

  “You’re not calling the police?” Herbert asked.

  Darling stopped in the doorway and turned. “Why bother? I don’t know what data you hoped to glean from this telephone, but it is simply an estate intercom.”

  Herbert said nothing. That explained why his laptop did not ping. The phone had no numbers in memory.

  “Do we have any other business?” Darling asked.

  “Yeah,” Herbert said. “I’ve got a suggestion for you. I know more than I just told you. So do the people I work with. We’re going to get you and everyone you work with. My suggestion is that you cooperate with us.”

  “It’s time for you to leave, Mr. Herbert,” Darling said. “You are a man rich with suspicion, not knowledge.”

  “And you’re a man with zero conscience,” Herbert said angrily. “You and your associate Mahathir bin Dahman.”

  That was it. Bob Herbert had just played the only name he knew, the only other information he possessed. He hoped it was enough to rattle Darling into doing something careless or impulsive, such as attacking him so the fire chief could have him arrested. Or spitting out additional information in a rage. Or even better, cooperating.

  It did not.

  “Mr. bin Dahman is indeed an associate,” Darling replied affably. “I’m lucky to have a partner of his local and international standing. And you are a sad, flailing fellow, R. Clayton Herbert.” That was the last thing Darling said before he left the room.

  Herbert wanted to punch something. Hard. Jervis Darling was guilty as Judas F. Iscariot. By not calling the police he had proved that to Herbert. But the impromptu interrogation had backfired. Herbert had gambled and lost, because now Darling was on guard. He could send his people into hiding, leaving Herbert without the two things Op-Center needed.

  One was proof.

  The other was the missing radioactive materials.

  FIFTY

  Cairns, Australia Saturday, 11:27 P.M.

  Jervis Darling returned to his bedroom on the second floor. He encountered Andrew on the way and told him to make certain Mr. Herbert left the house and that the others left the grounds as soon as they found their koala. Darling did not doubt the animal was there. They would have made certain of that before coming to the door.

  Darling quietly shut the door and went to the back, to a large dressing room. He was numb and furious at the same time. The silence weighed thick and heavy in his ears. Darling sat at the restored Louis XVI desk and rang his nephew. He pulled over the only telephone in the mansion that had the number of the Hosannah in memory. He punched in his personal code, 525, to obtain a dial tone. Obtained by bin Dahman from the Russian air force, the secure phone was named the konsulstvo, or the “consulate.” It was the secure phone in use at Russian embassies around the world. The konsulstvo was a large, square unit with a computer-style keypad on the top and a receiver on the side. The keypad was for writing codes. Hawke had done that before sailing.

  “We rescued someone from the sampan.”

  Nothing the American had said after that really registered. Darling’s answers had come from some independent, automatic-functioning part of his brain. Kannaday and Hawke had done more than suffer a setback in the Celebes Sea. They had permitted a security breach that led an investigator here. More than one, probably. Darling suspected that the woman who had come with them was with the Singaporean navy. Now that he thought about it, she had that stiff-necked, feet-wide-apart posture of a seaman.

  An American and a Singaporean. With Australian officials probably hanging to the rear because they did not want to tangle with Jervis Darling. Not until they had evidence. It made sense. Fortunately for Darling, whatever Mr. Herbert was doing at the study telephone would have netted him nothing. Not R. Clayton Herbert nor the people he worked for, whoever they were. That did not even matter. Any group ferreting around in Darling business was unwelcome. He would find out who they were, and they would be stopped. First, however, Darling had to make sure there was nothing to find. Starting with the Hosannah.

  As Darling input the yacht’s number, he burned inside. He wanted to strike out in all directions simultaneously. He was angry at Kannaday and Hawke. Their ineffectiveness caused this security breach. He would deal with Kannaday now, Hawke later. He also wanted to punish Herbert for invading his home. Darling would find a way to punch a hole in his life. And he would end the career of the fire captain who had assisted Herbert. They had not paid their dues on the world stage. Darling would not allow these wage slaves to question or delay him, let alone stop him. He would take this hit and move on.

  Marcus was asleep when his uncle reached him. The elder Darling asked to speak with Hawke immediately. Marcus went to the security chief’s cabin and got him.

  “Yes, sir,” Hawke said when he came on.

  That was John Hawke. Called to the radio late at night for something that was obviously out of the ordinary. Yet his voice was the same flat instrument it always was.

  “I want you to do the following as quickly as possible,” Darling said. His voice was not as composed. “Destroy the lab completely and then the radio room. None of the equipment must survive. Then take the yacht to sea and sink it in deep water. There has to be a fire. Start it in the galley. Is there sufficient dinghy space for the crew?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” Darling said. “Get to it.”

  “Sir, Captain Kannaday will want to know why this is being done,” Hawke said.

  The devious bastard, Darling thought. Hawke had to be curious as well. Once again, the security chief wanted to keep Peter Kannaday between himself and Darling. Unfortunately, that was not going to be possible. Hawke was about to take two punches.

  “Tell the captain that his security team failed to kill all of the men on the sampan,” Darling said. “One of them was recovered.”

  The radio went stubbornly silent. That had been punch number one.

  “It would be best if the captain were lost with his ship,” Darling went on. “I do not want the accident to be perceived as an insurance scam. We do not need additional investigations.”

  That was punch number two. Hawke now knew just what the security lapse had caused.

  “I will see to all of it,” Hawke replied.

  There was no hint of humility in the security chief’s voice. Just determination.

  Darling preferred that. He wanted results, not repentance.

  Darling hung up the phone. He pushed it away and sat back.

  Jervis Darling had spent a lifetime building corporations, amassing wealth and power, and, most importantly, evolving a worldview. He realized that only businessmen had the resources to move the world forward. Governments were too partisan and slow. Armies were too bestial and rigid. Only he and his kind had the vision to motivate the masses. First, however, they had to make themselves indispensible. They had to use mercenaries like John Hawke to surgically strike targets around the world. They would target factories, transportation centers, financial districts, and power plants. Existing governments and terror groups would take the blame. Especially since he would be hiring many of their members. And covering the events in his media outlets. Darling and his colleagues would eliminate competition to make their own resources more valuable. They would use that base to build de facto political power. From there, nothing was off limits.

  Darling was still angry. But he was relatively unconcerned about the project or his goals. He had never undertaken a business or political operation that did not experience a few bumps. This was the firs
t one the current action had suffered. He was confident that the undertaking would survive and move forward.

  As confident as he was that R. Clayton Herbert would soon be wishing he had gone somewhere else this evening.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Cairns, Australia Sunday, 12:00 A.M.

  “I blew it,” Bob Herbert said over the phone.

  “What do you mean?” Hood asked.

  “I gave a world-class, standing-room-only performance of how not to gather information.”

  “You’re being way too rough on yourself, Bob,” Hood said. “You did the best you could under extremely adverse circumstances.” He was speaking softly but firmly.

  “Paul, I created the friggin’ adverse circumstances!” Herbert went on. “You want a list of do-nots that I would have reamed a newbie for? I did not case the site. I went to the wrong phone. And I gave the subject an overview of what we know without getting anything back except a vague confirmation that our suspicions were correct.”

  “This isn’t lab science,” Hood pointed out. “You took a huge risk against staggering odds.”

  “That’s what the best is supposed to do, and my job title says I’m supposed to be one of the best,” Herbert replied. “The best are also supposed to do one thing more. They’re supposed to succeed.”

  “This is just one battle in the war,” Hood replied. “And I’m not so sure we lost it.”

  “I’ve won battles before,” Herbert shot back. “This is not what victory feels like.”

  Herbert was calling from his cell phone in the Humvee. FNO Loh and Paul Leyland had found the koala. They met Herbert in front of the mansion where they helped him down the stairs. The group left the grounds after conferring with Jelbart by phone. Herbert agreed with the warrant officer’s assessment. Jelbart felt that Darling’s armed guards would be unusually aggressive after what happened. They unanimously decided that the best thing to do was return to the observation base and regroup. Herbert and Loh were sitting in the back. Leyland was driving. Little Maluka was asleep in the passenger’s seat.

  “Bob, right now it doesn’t matter how we got here,” Hood said. “Let’s look at where we are and what we’re up against.”