Sea Of Fire (2003)

by Clancy, Tom - Op Center 10

  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.

  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.”

  “Is that where you told him you’d take him?” Coffey asked.

  Herbert said it was.

  “That, at least, would have been legal,” Coffey said.

  “Wait. What do you mean ‘would have been’?” Herbert asked. “Can’t we still do it?”

  “Sure, but it probably won’t do you any good,” Coffey told him.

  “Why?”

  “You landed in Australia,” Coffey said. “Hawke is Australian. Under international law, that gives the authorities here first crack at him. If you took him to Singapore now, the courts there could not move against him unless Australia first declined to do so.”

  “Which they won’t,” Herbert said. “Not if Darling is involved.”

  “That’s what your guest is obviously planning on,” Coffey said.

  “Shit,” Herbert replied. “We land at the fire station, Hawke walks, Darling helps him get lost, and we don’t have a witness.”

  “Except for those people at sea, who probably got no closer to Darling than that koala.”

  “I can’t let him go,” Herbert said. “What the hell do I do?”

  “You need a witness in order to hold him,” Coffey said. “When is Loh’s patrol boat due there?”

  “Any minute
,” Herbert said. “But we don’t know what condition the crew will be in or even how many key people survived. So much for words.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I took Paul’s advice and talked to Hawke,” Herbert said. “What I should have done was follow my gut.”

  “Which told you what?”

  “To empty a bullet casing of gunpowder on his tongue and interrogate him with a match,” Herbert said.

  “I’m with Paul on that one,” Coffey said.

  “I figured.”

  “No, Bob. You did the right thing,” Coffey said. “If you had tortured Hawke, he could have landed and had you arrested.”

  Herbert was silent.

  “The more important thing now is, do you think Hawke was telling the truth about Darling?” Coffey asked.

  “I do,” Herbert told him. “He had nothing to lose. Hawke needed to keep me hooked until we reached a nonmilitary landing site. The best way to do that was with the truth.”

  The phone went silent. Herbert’s frustration was almost palpable. The tranquillity of the morning was gone.

  “You say I need a witness,” Herbert said. “Can we stay at the base until the patrol boat arrives?”

  “Yes, but if Hawke suspects anything, he can legally request an escort off the base,” Coffey said.

  “How would he get one?” Herbert asked.

  “You can’t deny him a phone call,” Coffey said. “Muscling a citizen who is not even a prisoner plays poorly in court.”

  “Lowell, you’re not helping me,” Herbert said.

  “I’m trying,” Coffey said. “I want to stay focused on the case, not on the fact that Hawke knows how to manipulate the Australian legal system. He’s probably had countless run-ins with the courts. He knows his way around.”

  “Now that you mention it, every damn thing Hawke told me implicated someone else,” Herbert said. “Jervis Darling, Darling’s nephew Marcus, Captain Kannaday. According to Hawke, all he did was run security. Yet he never even confessed to firing a bullet.”

  “What about other potential leads or witnesses?” Coffey asked. “Do you have anyone on the mainland?”

  “No one that I can—” Herbert began. He stopped suddenly.

  “What is it?” Coffey asked.

  “I just thought of something,” Herbert said. “There is someone who can nail this guy.”

  “Who?” Coffey asked.

  “Later,” Herbert said.

  “Wait, Bob?”

  There was no answer.

  “Bob, are you coming back to the station?” Coffey asked.

  The dial tone returned. So did the external tranquillity of the morning. Inside, however, Lowell Coffey was not happy. He was bothered by the subtleties of his profession. The details were legitimate and necessary, but they could also allow a nuclear terrorist to go free.

  Coffey loved the law and admired those who upheld it, in the field and in the courts. He did not think of himself as the barracuda Herbert had alluded to. What he did feel like, however, was a dolphin. Smart and swift.

  And powerless.

  SIXTY-NINE

  Cairns, Australia Sunday, 4:59 A.M.

  The Bell rose swiftly from the RAAF Airfield Defence Squadron satellite base in Cooktown. It angled toward the southwest. John Hawke had been silent since his confession. His expression was still dour. He did not make eye contact with anyone on board.

  Bob Herbert was less genial than he had been before they landed. Jelbart asked him if anything was wrong. Herbert said there was not.

  Bob Herbert was lying.

  The intelligence chief was sitting in the cabin, waiting. Figuring out exactly how he was going to play this. After Herbert had spoken with Coffey, he called Stephen Viens at Op-Center to ask for specific satellite intelligence. While he waited for Viens to arrange that, FNO Loh received a call from Lieutenant Kumar on her patrol boat. They had reached the scene of the sinking. The yacht was gone, but seven individuals had been pulled from the sea. The yacht crew had provided their names, but there was no way of knowing whether they were telling the truth. Kumar did not know whether Marcus Darling was among them.

  Loh told the patrol boat to return to Darwin. The fate of Marcus Darling worried Herbert. It certainly complicated what he was about to do.

  The helicopter finished fueling and took off. Flying time to Cairns was fifteen minutes. That was not a lot of time.

  This was going to be tight.

  After they had been airborne for three minutes, Herbert’s phone beeped. He answered quickly. Viens was on the other end.

  “I’ve got what you want,” Viens said. “Do you have access to your computer monitor?”

  “I do,” he said.

  “I’ve got the image, and I’m forwarding it to you, real time,” Viens said. “I figured you would know what you were looking at better than I would.”

  “Good thinking,” Herbert replied. “Stay on the line. I may need you to relocate.”

  “No problem.”

  The intelligence chief turned the monitor so he could look at it. If Hawke happened to glance over, he would see nothing. The screen was at an extremely sharp angle.

  The satellite image was a fairly tight view of the Darling mansion. The house was at a forty-five-degree angle. In the green night-vision image, Herbert could see that there were lights on upstairs and downstairs. That suggested a good deal of activity in the house.

  At five o’clock in the morning.

  It only took a kitchen light to make breakfast, and probably not this early. Something was not right.

  “Stephen, I want you to go to the Idlewild,” Herbert said. “Got that?”

  “The local airfield?” Viens asked.

  “Yes. To the northeast.”

  Herbert wanted to use a term with which Hawke was likely to be unfamiliar. He did not want to give the man time to think up a new strategy. The original name for New York’s Kennedy Airport seemed a good bet.

  “You got it,” Viens said. “I’ll have to walk the satellite over, though. That’s not one of the coordinates we have programmed in.”

  “Understood,” Herbert told him. “Just walk as fast as you can, please.”

  It had occurred to the intelligence chief that Jervis Darling would expect to hear from either John Hawke or his nephew Marcus after the yacht went down. Absent an all-clear call, Darling might not want to stick around. Embittered former employees might want to talk. Darling would probably want to get out of Australia. Being in another country would add another layer to any legal or political fallout. Herbert could not permit that.

  Of course, there was still the question of Marcus Darling. Marcus may have contacted his uncle to say that someone had been snatched from the yacht by helicopter. Perhaps after they were safely aboard the patrol boat. A rescue of Kannaday or even Hawke could be bad news for Jervis Darling.

  It took a few seconds for the satellite to begin shifting. The image jerked toward the top right. It changed once every second after that. It was a slow, exasperating process.

  How quickly the miraculous has become inadequate, Herbert thought.

  Each live picture was a fresh frustration for Herbert. He wanted to see the airport now. He wished the fire tower had a clear view of the field. That would make things easier.

  Herbert knew from Darling’s dossier that he had a 1994 Learjet model 31A. The Australian used that for local hops. Darling kept his larger Gulfstream G-V at the airport in Darwin. Herbert would be able to identify the smaller plane with no problem.

  A moment later, the small jet appeared on the airport landing strip. At this hour, it was the only active vehicle on the field. It stopped at the end of the runway. The pilot would go through his final preflight check. Then he would request clearance from the tower. A few moments later, Jervis Darling would be gone. The helicopter would never be able to catch him. And Lowell Coffey would definitely oppose scrambling the jets from Cooktown to force the Learjet down. Especially if Jessica-Ann Darlin
g were on board. The media would take huge bites from a story headlined, “RAAF attacks schoolgirl.”

  Herbert looked at his watch. It was approximately seven minutes until the helicopter landed in Cairns. They would never reach the airstrip in time. He no longer had time to be subtle. He leaned toward the flight deck.

  “What’s the range of the radar at the airstrip in Cairns?” Herbert asked.

  Jelbart looked at the pilot. “What have they got there, an EL/M-2125?” he asked.

  “I believe so, sir,” the pilot replied.

  “They’ve got high-resolution views to the horizon on all sides, from one degree above the surface,” Jelbart said.

  “Meaning they’ll see us as we fly toward Cairns,” Herbert said.

  “Like they were looking out the window,” Jelbart said.

  “What will they do if we come screaming in at them?”

  “Buzz the tower?” Jelbart asked.

  “I want to make a run toward the field!” Herbert said. “What will the tower do when they see us coming?”

  “They’ll shut the field down until they’ve contacted us,” the pilot informed him.

  “Then do it!” Herbert ordered.

  “You want me to streak the airstrip?” the pilot clarified.

  “At maximum drive! Now!” Herbert yelled. “Absolute radio silence.”

  As Herbert spoke, he disconnected the telephone receiver from the cord on his wheelchair. He held the plastic receiver in his right hand. With his left hand, Herbert gripped the plastic strap above the door. He did not want to use the seat belt. He needed a little mobility.

  Jelbart protested. But his complaint was lost in the roar of the powerful 500 TTSN engine. Everyone was thrown forward or back as the Bell dipped, revved up, and raced ahead.

  As Herbert expected, John Hawke was thrown toward him. Herbert swung the telephone receiver at the back of Hawke’s neck. The security officer went down. Just to make sure Hawke was not feigning sleep again, Herbert leaned down and slugged him again. Hawke would have a difficult time proving he did not hurt himself when the helicopter abruptly changed directions.