Sea Of Fire (2003)

by Clancy, Tom - Op Center 10

  But it would still come out the same, Kannaday realized. Unlike Hawke, he had been predictable. On top of that, there was an unusual dynamic. Hawke was not after something that Kannaday had. He wanted to preserve the hierarchy exactly as it was. But with privileges. And he had succeeded. The fact that the rest of the crew had not come down to check on him was telling. If the cook had come by, Kannaday did not hear him. But he doubted it. Either the crew had been told to stay away or did so from fear.

  Kannaday’s body was beginning to accept the pain as a fact of life. It felt as though he had strained every muscle in his arms, torso, and neck. It was that kind of taut, deep-muscle ache. Kannaday knew that the more he moved, the more it would hurt. But he had no choice. He had to get out of here. Somehow, he had to take charge.

  The captain waited another few minutes before trying to move again. He shifted to the edge of the bed and put his feet on the floor. He rose slowly. Most of the damage had been done north of Kannaday’s waist. His legs felt all right. He felt a little light-headed as he took a few shuffling steps toward the door. The sensation passed after a few moments. It was not pleasant, but Kannaday had his footing. What he did not have was something just as important.

  A plan.

  Kannaday reached the door. He turned and leaned his back against it. Standing in the dark, he pondered his next steps, both literally and figuratively. As he did, something occurred to him. The events that had brought Kannaday here could be useful. After all, he made the same mistake twice. He had acted just as Hawke had expected him to.

  Hawke would probably expect him to do it again. Especially after the beating he had taken.

  Kannaday went back to the bed. He sat down. He tried not to think the way he usually did, as if he were going down a checklist of things to do before leaving port.

  He let himself contemplate all the scenarios that would surprise Hawke. And Darling, for that matter. Everything from setting fire to the Hosannah to taking the dinghy and vanishing into the night sea.

  How far are you willing to go? he asked himself.

  More important than that, Kannaday needed to find out exactly what he wanted.

  Kannaday was doing the job he had agreed to do. The crew had suffered a setback because of the sampan attack. Not a dramatic one, but Darling’s reputation for absolute efficiency had been tarnished. Darling would be able to absorb the blow. The gentry knew how to talk to the gentry. He would explain it all to Mahathir bin Dahman. Darling would blame it on the serfs. But Darling would also want to make the head villain pay. Darling had known precisely how Hawke would respond to a threat or challenge. He had sent Kannaday back to be humiliated.

  Kannaday realized that he was not interested in recapturing Darling’s respect. He wanted to hurt Hawke, and he wanted to hurt Darling. The question was how to do that without hurting himself.

  Or was it?

  There is flaw in your thinking, he admonished himself. The question itself made him vulnerable. It cost him the advantage of surprise.

  The question itself held the answer.

  FORTY-SIX

  Cairns, Australia Saturday, 10:04 P.M.

  They did things differently in Australia.

  Bob Herbert had expected to be at the Darling estate by eight P.M. at the latest.

  All they had to do was set the trap around back, go to the front, and knock on the door. But Leyland and Jelbart were not so impulsive. They insisted on taking several passes over the 500-acre estate in the helicopter. They used fire brigade night-vision goggles to study the terrain. They wanted to know where the security posts were and where there were places that could serve as emergency exits. The property was heavily fenced to keep out wild hare and deer. However, they found two spots where the bait could credibly be set inside. The security personnel would know those spots and probably go right to them. Jelbart wanted to time how long it would take for the teams to drive their golf carts to and from that area. Ordinarily, Herbert would have admired their thoroughness. But potential nuclear terrorists were on the run. He wanted to capture them. Herbert said so after they made their second slow pass over the estate. A pass they would explain to Jervis Darling or his security chief when they came to visit.

  “We won’t be able to capture anyone if our ruse is exposed,” Jelbart pointed out. “We’ll be the ones being investigated.”

  FNO Loh was sitting between Coffey and Herbert in the backseat. “I cannot believe that your government would discipline you. We are pursuing a reasonable lead in a case of some urgency,” she said.

  “The government would not bother us if we were pursuing the lead in a reasonable fashion,” Jelbart replied. “We are not. We are invading a citizen’s privacy. The law is very specific about things like that.”

  “Specific and constipated,” Herbert said. “Remind me to quote the law to whatever guys are looking to slip nuclear material into populated cities and poison our water supplies.”

  “We’re not certain that’s the case,” Coffey said.

  “Certain enough to make me want to kick Darling’s ass for quick answers,” Herbert replied.

  “And then what? If we become what we behold, then all of civilization goes to hell,” Jelbart pointed out.

  “If we don’t, hell will come to civilization,” Herbert shot back. “Don’t take this personally, Jelbart, but I’m getting really sick of our leaders reacting instead of taking preventative action. Am I the only one who realizes that this isn’t the twentieth century anymore?”

  “What do you mean?” Coffey asked.

  “Somehow, over the last forty or so years, the Western world evolved this screwed-up coddling mentality toward killers and terrorists. That is going to destroy us,” Herbert said.

  “This isn’t about coddling killers; it’s about individual voices and dignity,” Coffey said. “And for the record, it came from us. From America. It came after the Vietnam War protests and civil rights movement proved effective. It came when police were required to read criminals their rights. Now everyone on earth wants a share of humanity. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

  “That may have worked in the sixties and seventies, but it’s a luxury we can no longer afford,” Herbert said. “We don’t stop eating tuna because a few dolphins get snared.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Coffey asked.

  “Yes, what are you suggesting, Mr. Herbert?” Jelbart asked.

  “That we hunt down bad guys aggressively,” Herbert said. He was yelling so that they could hear him over the rotor. But it felt good to yell because he was angry. “Once in a while you may grab an innocent. You apologize and make amends. But that’s how you protect the majority of the people.”

  “So you think that we should just do away with human rights?” Jelbart pressed.

  “No!” Herbert shouted. “The actions can be selective. I suggest we grant exceptional authority in emergency circumstances, like these. We have fanatical racists and radical sociopaths with access to nuclear fuel. We’ve got mass murderers in our high schools. When I was a kid, juvenile delinquents packed zip guns and switchblades. Once in a while they flashed their weapons, and once in a really rare while they used them. Usually on other hoodlums. Usually shitting their pants when they did. Now we have kids packing AK-47s and attitude. They’re cool killers, Warrant Officer. You’re trying to play soccer or football or whatever the hell you call it against a team that disregards referees, fouls, out-of-bounds lines, clocks, and rules. I’m telling you that if we don’t identify and neutralize them, the game is over. With us the losers.”

  The cockpit was silent for a long moment. After making a final pass over the estate, Leyland spoke.

  “I see a tree we can use,” he said. He made another pass and showed it to the others.

  “Maybe we should just hang ourselves from it,” Herbert said. “Save Darling or whoever is behind this plot further inconvenience.”

  “You know, Mr. Herbert, I sympathize with you,” Captain Le
yland said as the helicopter turned back to the landing pad. “I look at every camper or tourist as a potential arsonist. But that does not make them one. Even if they’re smoking or carrying matches, I can’t go hosing them down. That’s the price we pay for freedom. If we surrender that, we still won’t have security. Not really. We will only have less freedom.”

  “Only if you’re extreme about it,” Herbert told him. “Look, we already have the fire. We have a guy who picnicked at the spot that’s burning. He has matches. We should have the ability to sit him down and ask him questions before he can wash away the smell of the smoke.”

  “Obviously we agree with that to some extent, or we wouldn’t be doing this,” Jelbart said.

  “We’re doing it by sneaking in the back door,” Herbert said. “I prefer a more direct approach.”

  “Like beating it out of him?” Coffey asked.

  “No, like point-blank asking the guy what the hell’s going on,” Herbert said. “And if his answers don’t match the facts we do know, we take him in. Ask him again. And again.”

  “The legal and political fallout would be disastrous,” Coffey said.

  “Only if we’re wrong,” Herbert said.

  “That’s just it,” Coffey said. “You could still be right and lose. Those confessions wouldn’t be allowed in court. It would cost the state tens of millions of dollars to defend against a wrongful arrest lawsuit, to name just one, and you still wouldn’t have your man.”

  “Then he has an accident, as his wife did,” FNO Loh suggested.

  “Bingo!” Herbert said. “I like your style. That’s the price of protecting the twenty-first-century world.

  The debate ended as the Bell chopper set down. Leyland unfolded a detailed map of the area. He showed Jelbart the road to the area of trees they could use to set the trap. Herbert half-listened while Loh unloaded the wheelchair and helped him from the chopper. He was sick of talk in general. While they were crisscrossing the estate, radioactive material could be making its way to a terrorist factory. Or it could already be en route to Washington or London or Sydney. How stupid would they feel looking for perimeter access if a dirty bomb was built with this material and a few sticks of TNT? How would they live with themselves if 10,000 people died from radiation poisoning? Herbert had no interest in finding out. He would rather risk the wrath of Jervis Darling.

  When Leyland and Jelbart had agreed on a place to carry out the first part of the operation, the brigade commander summoned the gangly kid named Spider. The young firefighter was going to help Jelbart with the insertion. Then he would return to his post. That was already one more person than Herbert wanted to be involved.

  When Herbert worked for the CIA, the objective was to streamline operations, not to pad them.

  It was well after ten P.M. when Herbert, Leyland, and Loh slipped into the brigade’s Humvee and headed toward the front entrance to Darling’s estate. Loh had borrowed civilian clothes from Eva. They were a little roomy, but they would serve their purpose. As the trio left, Jelbart and Spider also departed. They drove out in a jeep to the tree they had selected in the flyover. A tree that was on public land but overhung the wall of the Darling estate.

  The tree where they would take Little Maluka, the mascot of the Queensland North Rural Fire Brigade, to play his part in the deception.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Washington, D.C. Saturday, 8:47 A.M.

  Hood was in his office, waiting for nine A.M. to arrive. That was when he planned to call Daphne Connors at home. While he waited, his phone beeped. He hoped it was the advertising executive. If Daphne called him, that would make his life a whole lot easier.

  It was not Daphne Connors. It was Lowell Coffey.

  “Well, we just sent two teams on a very unusual mission,” Coffey said.

  “Where are you?”

  “At the observation post cabin of the Queensland North Rural Fire Brigade,” Coffey said. “We have a new member of the team.”

  “Oh?”

  “A koala that was burned in a fire,” Coffey said. “They’re sneaking him into the Darling compound through a back entrance. Then the fire captain, FNO Loh, and Bob are going in the front door to try to get him back.”

  “Who are Loh and Bob supposed to be?” Hood asked.

  “Volunteers with the local International Wildlife Education and Conservation Group,” Coffey told him. “They’re going to position the koala as their local poster child. Tell Darling what bad press it would be if the little escapee was hurt on his property. While they’re inside, Bob is going to try to split from the others to get to Darling’s phone.”

  “Has he got a chance?”

  “You know I would never bet against Bob,” Coffey replied. “But I have to admit he’s got me worried. Bob’s pretty pissed off.”

  “About what?”

  “He was getting pretty hot about Darling, about the whole idea of a guy in our sights being innocent until proven otherwise,” Coffey said.

  “Hold on,” Hood said. “I’m going to conference in Liz Gordon.”

  “Paul, I don’t know if it’s that serious—”

  “Exactly,” Hood said. “Let’s talk to someone who will.”

  Hood put Coffey on hold and punched in Liz’s home phone. She was there, obviously still asleep. The Op-Center psychiatrist did the Washington bar scene on Friday nights. Not to party, she swore, but to research a book she was writing on the dynamics of human flirtation. Maybe that was true. But Liz certainly sounded hungover when she answered the phone. She recovered quickly when she heard it was Paul Hood on the line. He brought her up to date and then plugged Coffey into the conversation.

  “Lowell, Liz is on the line,” Hood said.

  “Good morning,” Liz said groggily.

  “Late evening here,” Coffey said. “But good morning.”

  “Right. Lowell, did Bob seem unstable, impatient?” she asked.

  “He seemed fed up,” Coffey replied. “He was disgusted out of proportion with the situation we’re facing.”

  “How bad did he lay into you personally?” Liz asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did he insult you, criticize you, work you over?” Liz asked. “Putting it bluntly, Lowell, is this payback?”

  “No!” Coffey said. “Even if he had, I can be objective. Give me credit.”

  “Not my job,” she said. “Was there any physical manifestation? Was he pounding things, playing repetitively with anything on his wheelchair?”

  “He was in the backseat of the helicopter,” Coffey said. “I couldn’t really see.”

  “Paul, was he airlifted from the Beirut rubble?” Liz asked.

  “I believe he was,” Hood said.

  “This could be subconscious motor memory, the chopper sound and vibration triggering unresolved hostility,” she said. “Bottom line, Lowell. Do you think Bob is dangerous?”

  “That may be an overstatement,” Coffey replied. “I mean, you want a guy in that position to be aggressive.”

  “So the answer is no,” she said.

  “The answer is no, he was sounding almost blood-thirsty,” Coffey replied. “Not quite, but getting there.”

  “But he was not violent,” she said.

  Coffey said he was not.

  “Paul,” Liz said, “were there any reports of Bob overreacting on his last field operation? In Germany, I think it was?”

  “It was Germany, and no, there was nothing,” Hood said.

  “What this sounds like is displacement,” Liz said. “Shifting anger or desire from an original target to a more convenient one. Possibly triggered by the chopper, possibly by delayed post-traumatic stress. All of it tied together by Bob’s natural frustration with the system and possibly some jet lag. It’s difficult to ascribe exact causes without talking to Bob. But it doesn’t sound as if he’ll flip out on you. People who experience transference usually peak at the onset of symptoms. They’re looking to dump. Something triggers it, and off they go.”
/>   “So we’ve seen the worst of it,” Hood said.

  “Probably,” Liz replied. “Unless someone sprays lighter fluid on the fire. Is that likely to happen, Lowell?”

  “From everything I’ve heard, Jervis Darling is a pretty cool fellow,” Coffey said.

  “What about the people Bob is traveling with?” Liz asked.

  “Leyland is pretty lighthearted, and Loh is very quiet and serious, almost catatonic,” he replied.

  “That should help keep him in balance,” Liz said.

  “So we’re okay to let this play out,” Hood said.

  “Given that nothing is ever guaranteed, I’d say yes,” Liz told him. “I don’t see him blowing.”

  “Not even if they’re stonewalled?” Hood asked.

  “Bob has a self-imposed objective, which is to get data from a telephone,” Liz said. “If he fails to do this, he’ll be angry. But his training will probably keep him in check. He will regroup and try again. The real danger is if he is personally exposed by Jervis Darling.”

  “As a spy and not an animal welfare worker,” Hood said.

  “That’s correct,” Liz said. “The assumed identity gives him a way of keeping his real feelings inside. If that’s stripped away, he might become the person Lowell described. It’s part of the fight-or-flight mechanism, and Bob Herbert is not prone to flight.”

  That was the truth. Hood had never been a big believer in psychiatry. But if he peeled away the jargon, the things Liz said made sense.

  Hood thanked her and let her go back to sleep. Then he told Coffey that he was going to let this play out. Whether or not they liked Herbert’s inquisitorial manner, there was no avoiding the bottom line. While there was still a trail to follow, they had to find out who made it and why.