'I'll make it easy for you,' Kannaday said. He stepped forward, took the wommera blade, and placed it against his heart. 'Use it!'
Hawke glared at the captain. Kannaday did not know what the security officer would do. It was not as if the authorities of any nation or maritime group would care that a smuggler had mutinied.
Hawke pushed the tip through Kannaday's shirt. He continued to drive it forward. Kannaday knew he could not back down. Not with everyone watching. Not after he had given Hawke this opportunity.
Hawke stopped. He did not remove the wommera blade from Kannaday's chest. The knife hurt, dull and tight like a muscle cramp. But the captain refused to show pain.
'I do not participate in gestures,' Hawke said. 'Our customers can see to the security of their own vessel. I was hired to look after this one.'
'In that case, your job is done,' Kannaday said. 'You may go below.'
Hawke hesitated. The captain realized there was only one way to end this impasse.
Kannaday took a step back. The blade slipped from his chest. The captain ignored the laceration and the bleeding beneath his shirt. He turned and addressed the crew at the stern.
'Mr. Neville, take the cargo to the fishing vessel,' Kannaday said to the launch pilot. Neville was one of Kannaday's men.
'Yes, sir,' the seaman replied.
The men lowered the launch into the water. Kannaday walked to the railing and watched as the small boat settled into the smooth sea. The four men climbed down an aluminum ladder and boarded her. Neville turned on a small spotlight at the front of the boat. A moment later they pulled from the yacht and headed toward the fishing vessel.
Kannaday turned back to finish up with Hawke. His rage was gone but not his anger. It had been turned into strength of purpose. The captain did not know what he would say or do. Fortunately, he did not have to decide right now. John Hawke was gone.
So were his men.
Kannaday began walking toward the mainmast. As he did, he casually pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He shook it out and slipped it under his shirt. He pressed it against the wound. The cut was bleeding moderately. A bandage should take care of it. He would tend to it when he went below. He wished his problem with John Hawke could be as easily resolved.
Kannaday was exhausted, but he dared not rest. When the launch returned, they would head back to Cairns. The trip would take nearly four hours. Hawke would surely attempt some form of retribution during that time. The security chief could not let the public rebuke stand. Not if he wanted to retain credibility with his men. And not if he wanted to maintain his own self-respect. Kannaday knew damn well what that was like. He was glad he had been able to turn this around.
Suddenly, Marcus Darling emerged from belowdecks. The radio operator hurried toward the captain. It was strange to see the younger Darling hurry anywhere. Nothing in life had ever seemed important to him.
'What is it?' Marcus asked breathlessly as he approached.
'What is what?' Kannaday asked.
'Mr. Hawke said you wanted to see me,' Marcus said. 'He told me it was urgent.'
Kannaday felt as if he had been stabbed again, this time in the back of the neck. His sense of satisfaction evaporated like sea mist at morning. He looked at the younger man and swore.
Already aware that it was probably too late, Kannaday ran around Marcus Darling and headed toward the stair-well. Hawke wanted the radio room for a reason. And whatever that reason was, it would not be in Kannaday's best interests.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Monica Loh had never felt comfortable conversing with outsiders. To her, that meant anyone who was not a member of her immediate family. She had always been able to prove herself with actions. She felt confident in any situation where physical or command skills were required. She was proficient at judo, skilled with handguns, and emphatically prepared to carry out orders. That was what an officer of the Singaporean military did.
Conversation was a different matter. FNO Loh could never anticipate every question, and she hated saying, 'I don't know.' That was a sign of weakness. She was particularly uncomfortable talking with men. Rarely was the conversation simply what it seemed to be. She usually felt that they were talking down to her or tolerating her. Sometimes they were looking at her body and not even listening. She could always tell. Thoughts relaxed them. When the mind was engaged, only their eyes were alert. But when men were exposed to physical stimuli, their entire body became tense, predatory.
Fortunately, Jelbart and Coffey had not been with her when she told them about Dorothy Darling. The conversation was only about what she knew, which was not much.
Loh told them how the thirty-five-year-old woman had gone to Singapore with her young daughter Jessica- Ann. They went to the famed Jurong Birdpark early one morning, two hours before it opened to the public, then went off by SUV into the surrounding hills. Mrs. Darling was a pilot and an avid fan of hang gliding. While her daughter picnicked with Mrs. Darling's personal secretary, Robin Hammerman, Mrs. Darling and her longtime flight instructor from Cairns drove their car higher into the range. They brought a powered hang glider — a tandem unit that looked like a large motor scooter suspended from a traditional hang glider. The unit was an early, homemade model. It did not have the ballistic parachute system that came with later designs.
Loh told the men how the engine of the hang glider caught fire shortly after liftoff. While Jessica-Ann watched, the blazing hang glider briefly circled the hills before plunging into a dense wood.
'That had to have left some serious psychological scars,' Lowell Coffey suggested.
'The girl described the sight as a red-and-black bird,' Loh said. 'She said there were screeches coming from it.'
'Jesus wept,' Jelbart murmured.
'Was this information contained in an official investigation report?' Coffey asked.
'I only read the Australian newspaper reports, which were rather graphic,' Loh told him.
'Many of the local rags tend to be that way,' Jelbart admitted. 'I don't like reading or repeating that rot.'
'I did hear that Mr. Darling's bank accounts were flagged and watched,' Loh said.
'By which nation?' Coffey asked.
'Australia,' Loh said. 'According to those newspaper accounts, which I've read, the man's wife was allegedly having an affair with the flight instructor. Prosecutors wanted to see who Darling might have paid to sabotage the engine. If they found anything that would have given them an actionable crime, they could have made a case for intent to cause death.
'The murder investigation was the start of the search, but the end was somewhat surprising,' FNO Loh continued. 'There was not enough of the engine left to examine, and investigators did not uncover any sort of payoff from Mr. Darling to whoever may have executed this crime. But they did find evidence of unusual financial activity.'
'Unusual in what way?' Coffey asked.
'Mr. Darling was putting more money into Singapore banks at a lower interest rate than he could get in Australia,' Loh said. 'And he was keeping it in liquid assets only.'
'Was that in the newspapers, too?' Coffey asked.
'No,' she replied.
'Then how do you know?' he pressed.
'I briefly dated a banker. He liked to impress me with the names on accounts he was managing,' she said.
'Hence the 'briefly dated,' ' Coffey said.
Loh did not respond. But the American attorney was correct.
'This banker bloke told you that the government was watching Darling's accounts?' Jelbart asked.
