by Tom Clancy
The helmsman steered the yacht into the calm, wide-mouthed inlet. Kannaday looked down at the stained-glass blue water. Then he walked forward as sweet, warm air washed over the deck. It carried the hint of grapes from the Darling vineyard located to the southwest. Immediately to the northwest was a limestone formation scooped from a hundred-meter-high cliff by ancient storms. The rock glowed rust orange in the twilight.
The high reef concealed the cove from the open sea. To access the inlet a sailor had to know to come around the reef well to the north. The mouth itself was less than a half kilometer across. It was just about 200 meters to the far shore. There was a long stone wharf ahead and deep stretches of tawny white sand on all sides. Two motorboats, a motor yacht, and a pair of sailboats were at anchor. Security cameras were concealed in the 200-foot-tall karri trees that ringed the cove. Kannaday knew that microphones were hidden in the trees as well. They rarely heard more than the wind, the soft breakers, or the cry of a lost dolphin. For boaters who happened by, there were signs at the entrance to the cove. The oak boards, floating on moored buoys and mounted to posts, announced that this was the private property of Darling Enterprises. There were no posted warnings, no threats. Anyone who knew of Mr. Darling knew to keep out. Those who did not were arrested within two minutes of entering the cove. Guards lived in a small cabin just beyond the beach. Most of the time they surfed the Internet or played tiddledywinks. Darling held twice-yearly competitions among the staff with a sizable purse.
It did not escape Kannaday that the object of that game was to gather all the different chips in one cup. A cup that was controlled by Jervis Darling.
Kannaday took another moment to watch the sun set. This was the ninth or tenth time he had sailed into this cove. The quiet, majestic beauty of this place thrilled Kannaday for a moment. It always did. But this time it also made him angry. He felt as though he should own the seas he had just traveled. Kannaday had a yacht, and he was on the way to having enough wealth to keep him comfortable for the rest of his life. Instead, all he could think about was the displeasure of Jervis Darling. A man whose name alone on a placard was enough to frighten would-be trespassers. Kannaday resented the man's power and feared his disapproval. The captain also hated his own resentment and fear.
The yacht would be anchoring in a few moments. Kannaday would take a motorized dinghy. He would be met there by a Humvee. There was no need to radio ahead. The guards would have seen him. As the yacht slowed, Kannaday wondered if Jervis Darling feared anything. The billionaire probably feared failure. Also death, most likely. And almost certainly in that order. A man like Darling would only accept defeat at the hands of God himself.
If only I could have God as an ally, Kannaday thought bitterly. Instead, he had John Hawke.
The security officer was belowdecks with his men. They were probably watching action movies on DVD. That was all they ever did. There was no curiosity about the world, no desire for self-improvement. Perhaps that was why Kannaday had assumed Hawke would take his offer and go. It was easy.
Men like Hawke liked things easy.
Kannaday walked to the port-side winch that held the dinghy. He waited as one of the crewmen lowered it to clear water. The hum of the motor echoed through the cove. Kannaday's stomach began to burn.
Even though John Hawke had physically threatened the captain, Kannaday did not fear him. Fear did not come from known threats. It did not come from fear for one's physical well-being. For a man of the sea, the adrenaline kick that came with danger carried the captain through moments like those. Even when he had the knife at his throat he was not fearful. He had been focused on surviving, which was not the same thing.
Fear came from one thing above all. It came from the unknown. It grew from the anticipation of something debilitating. A loss of freedom. The inability to realize one's vision.
Darling represented that kind of power. Kannaday was not looking forward to this meeting. He considered calling Hawke's bluff. Would that little man have the courage to seize the yacht? And would Darling accept Hawke as commander if he did?
Sun-bronzed first mate Craig McEldowney ambled over. The big, thirty-nine-year-old New Zealander stopped beside Kannaday. The two had been together for two years. They had met in a bar in Surabaya, Java, where McEldowney was washing glasses. The former dock-worker had just served five years' hard labor for stealing shipments of tobacco and selling it at a discount to the locals.
"It's going to be all right," McEldowney said. "The chief isn't going to blame you for what happened."
"Who will he blame?" Kannaday asked.
"Nobody," McEldowney replied. "Captain, these things happen. Just like they did to me."
Kannaday grinned. McEldowney was a decent but dullwitted man. That was why he had been caught.
Kannaday left his first mate in charge and swung down the aluminum ladder into the blue-gray dinghy. The rungs were damp with sea spray. He had to hold on tight to keep from slipping. He reached the sturdy little boat and sat on the aft bench. He released the winch cable, switched the engine on, and sped toward the wharf. The guards were already driving down the sloping, wooded path. The crunch of wood chips and the growl of the Humvee engine added to the noise.
This is how chaos is built, Kannaday thought. One noise at a time.
The question before Kannaday was simple. What was the best way to prevent his own situation from becoming more chaotic? Unfortunately, only one man had the answer.
And that answer was unknown.
Chapter Eighteen
The Celebes Sea Friday, 7:33 P.M.
When Lowell Coffey was eight years old, something wonderful happened. His father took him to see the circus in Sherman Oaks. What was most memorable, however, was not the show itself. What Coffey remembered best was sticking around to see the circus being broken down. The deconstruction had been a mesmerizing sight, awe-some in its scope and complexity.
The departure of the Singaporean and Australian ships from Darwin reminded Coffey of that. Banners flying and large vessels setting out. Instead of roustabouts, sailors were putting the big machine in motion. Instead of elephants, there were helicopters and motorboats being moved into position. Instead of the smell of horses and sawdust, there were diesel fuel and ocean air. The scope and logistics of both were memorable. There were, however, two major differences. After the circus was packed and moving, the young Lowell Coffey had gone home with his father. The boy had felt sad and disconnected. This morning, the adult Lowell Coffey had gone with the seagoing convoy. He felt plugged into a great and powerful enterprise. It was invigorating.
For about three minutes.
Unfortunately, the adult Lowell Coffey was also desperately nauseated. He was sick from his high, hammering forehead down through his vacant gaze to his sloshing stomach. Even the joints of his knees felt as if they were rolling in their sockets. And the attorney was sitting down.
Coffey was on the small, claustrophobic bridge of the MIC corvette. George Jelbart was in command and seated in a swivel chair to his right. The medic had given Coffey two dimenhydrinate tablets, a generic form of Drama-mine. It did not make Coffey feel better, but at least he got no worse. There was only one exception. Whenever Warrant Officer Jelbart swiveled in his seat, Coffey tasted his own breakfast for a moment. There was something very disorienting about the officer's side-to-side movement.
The swift, modern warship had departed Darwin minutes after Loh's patrol boat had set out. Ellsworth did not join them. He had gone back to his office after intensive dockside discussions about how to manage this joint investigation. Since this was Loh's plan, it was agreed that she and her crew would conduct the initial phase. Jelbart would lend whatever support was necessary in terms of equipment, manpower, or technical capabilities. Coffey had told them that Op-Center's intelligence chief, Bob Herbert, was coming to Darwin. Herbert would be prepared to assist with analysis of whatever they did or did not find at sea. Ellsworth had been happy to hear about the NCMC's invol
vement. He was grateful for the intelligence resources, of course. But Ellsworth was more interested in America's support. This could turn out to be an isolated incident, in which case everyone would be relieved. If it were something else, though, the more weight Ellsworth had behind him, the happier he would be.
Jelbart removed the small, compact headset he was wearing. He hung it around his neck. "How are you doing there, Mr. Coffey?" he asked.
"The situation has stabilized somewhat," he said with a weak smile. He looked down. Unlike the horizon, the floor of the bridge was not moving. Attorneys were meant to be in quiet wood-paneled offices where the only movement was the pendulum of a grandfather clock.
"You'll get used to it," Jelbart promised. "By the time we get back to Darwin, it will feel unnatural to be on ground that doesn't move."
Coffey had to take that on faith. Right now it did not seem plausible.
The radio operator leaned in. He was located in a cubicle just off the main control center.
"Sir?" he said. "Incoming from FNO Loh."
Jelbart slipped the headset back on. He adjusted the mouthpiece. "Jelbart here," he said.
"We have reached the target area," she said.
Jelbart glanced at the control panel. There was a small black monitor to his right. It had an electronic grid overlay in light blue. Ships were red dots. Jelbart had previously explained to Coffey that this was an adjustable global positioning display. They could pull back as far as five hundred square kilometers or move in as tight as ten square kilometers. The area currently being displayed was twenty square kilometers.
Jelbart turned to his right. "Helm?"
"Yes, sir," said one of the two men seated there.
"Coordinates ten-five-nine west, three-four-two north," Jelbart said, reading from the grid. "Backwater standby, on command."
The helmsman repeated the coordinates, acknowledged the command, and set the course accordingly.
Coffey looked up. He was confused. "I can see them out the window," he said. "Why don't you just follow them?"
"We have been," Jelbart told him. "But if something happens to officer Loh's vessel and we lose visual contact, we want our computer to know exactly where they are."
"I see," Coffey replied. It was an unpleasant thought but a practical one.
The Singaporean patrol boat came to a complete stop. Jelbart ordered the corvette to half speed. He came alongside the other vessel, keeping 300 meters to port. After a moment, the corvette stopped. With one axis of motion removed, Coffey immediately felt a little better. Able to look out now without feeling sick, the attorney watched the prow of the Singaporean vessel. Using fishing nets, sailors had lowered several black boxes into the water. They looked like laptop computers.
"What are those?" Coffey asked.
"They're grannies," Jelbart replied. "Gamma ray and neutron irradiation saturation detectors. I learned about them in the physics course MIC gave its personnel. Impressive little units."
"What do they tell us?" Coffey asked.
"The kinds of materials we are searching for give off three kinds of radiation," Jelbart said. "Alpha particles, beta particles, and gamma rays. Gamma rays are the most powerful. Even mild doses can cook your insides. That's the first thing you want to detect."
"If the sampan encountered gamma radiation, the sailor would not be alive," Coffey suggested.
"Possibly. He may not have been exposed to the mother lode. It's good to keep a watch out for it. That's also the reason I gave the backwater standby command. In case we have to get out of here in a hurry."
"I like that option," Coffey said.
"Neutron irradiation tells you something about the elements involved and the size of the nuclear sample," Jelbart went on. "Officer Loh checked with the INRC to determine the size of the drums deposited out here. There is always trace radiation, however tightly these things are secured."
"That's reassuring," Coffey said.
"The levels are not dangerous unless exposure is cumulative," Jelbart added. "That's one reason to put it out to sea or deep in caves."
"What about the ecological impact?" Coffey asked.
"The fish are tested regularly. As long as they aren't affected, I don't think anyone in the area cares very much," Jelbart said. "The point is, given the time the last vessels were here and the amount they off-loaded, Officer Loh knows exactly what the readings should be."
"What was the last ship to come out here?" Coffey asked.
The computer monitor was located in front of Coffey. Jelbart swung toward it. His swivel was quick and unsettling. The attorney looked down and took a slow, deep breath to try to get his balance back.
"The last vessel to visit here was a Chinese freighter with four twelve-gallon drums of material from a nuclear power plant outside of Shanghai," Jelbart said. "Before that it was a cutter owned by International Spent Fuel Transport out of Malaysia. They deposited three ten-gallon drums of material from a Japanese nuclear power plant. No one was out here for ten days prior to that."
"How will we be able to tell them apart?" Coffey asked.
"They each have a specific drop point," Jelbart replied. "The coordinates Loh sent us represent the Chinese site."
"I see," Coffey said. "I'm still unclear about one thing, though. What does she hope to find? If one of these ships were damaged, wouldn't someone have been notified?"
"Possibly," Jelbart said. "What concerns us is that one of the vessels may have transferred their cargo to another ship. That other ship may have been the one the pirates attacked."
"What do you do if that scenario pans out? Go after the vessel?"
"I don't know," Jelbart replied.
"You don't know? Wouldn't that be a logical step?" Coffey asked.
"Perhaps," Jelbart told him. "It could also tip off whoever has the nuclear material. It might be more prudent to try to find that material, then go back and clean up the relay team itself."
"Doesn't the MIC have simulations and playbooks for this sort of thing?" Coffey asked.
"We have search patterns and seizure protocols, yes," Jelbart replied. "When it comes to tracking radioactive cargo, we're in unfamiliar territory. Just as America has been. The only nuclear materials we've actually hunted were two warheads missing from the Soviet Union's Strategic Rocket Forces. One was from a facility in Kazakhstan, the other from Belarus."
"Did you find them?" Coffey asked.
"The Russians eventually did," Jelbart replied. "There were indications that the warheads had been purchased by Indonesian rebels. Perhaps they were, but delivery was never made. The weapons had actually been moved to a cave in the Ukraine. Russian engineers and physicists hired by a retired general were in the process of dismantling them."
"Lovely," Coffey said.
"We try to rebuild Eden, but the snakes are always there, more persistent than ever," Jelbart said.
"They've had a lot of time to study us from the underbrush," Coffey observed.
"Too true," Jelbart said. "The other thing about this mission, Mr. Coffey, is that we have a partner." He nodded toward the Singaporean vessel. "We don't know how porous their command center might be. We don't know how many secrets we'll be comfortable sharing."
"I wonder if she feels the same," Coffey said.
"Almost certainly," Jelbart said. "Though with her it's as much a cultural issue as a political one. The Singaporeans are aggressively private."
"That's an oxymoron. I'll have to think about it," Coffey remarked.
"You'll see what I mean when you spend more time with FNO Loh," Jelbart promised.
It also sounded racist. Coffey hated even benign generalizations like that. He would try not to hold that against Jelbart.
Ten minutes after the search had begun, Loh radioed that the Chinese site was registering the anticipated levels of ambient radiation. She provided the coordinates for the next site. The patrol boat moved on.
So did the corvette.
And so, once again, did Co
ffey's stomach.
Chapter Nineteen
Over the Pacific Ocean Friday, 2:57 A.M.
Once in a very rare while life surprised Bob Herbert.
Mike Rodgers was able to get the intelligence chief on a TR-1 long-range strategic reconnaissance aircraft. The plane was headed from Langley Air Force Base in Virginia to Taiwan with a stopover at the Australian Defence Force Basic Flying Training School in Tamworth, New South Wales. There, the USAF was going to pick up three officers for hands-on experience in surveillance upgrades. The RAAF would give Herbert a lift to Darwin. The TR-1 was leaving at one-thirty A.M., which meant the intelligence chief had to hustle. Herbert drove himself from his waterside home in Quantico, Virginia. There was literally no traffic at that time of the morning. He made the eighty-mile trip in one hour.
There was a small officers' station on board the sixty-two-foot-long aircraft. It was located near the cockpit. The crew removed the seat, and Herbert was able to tuck his wheelchair into the area. There was a power source for the chair batteries and a wireless Internet jack for his computer. Herbert felt oddly like a cyborg, a part of the big, sleek spy ship. Happily, the aircraft was not as noisy as transports he had been on. In fact, it was as quiet as a commercial jetliner.
Life was good, at least for the moment. And since a moment was all anyone could count on, Herbert tried to enjoy it. He did, for a while.
Herbert submerged himself in research and coffee. The coffee was provided by a very considerate navigator. The black coffee did more good than the research. The moment of contentment passed.