minister's Office of Strategic Information,' Coffey went on. 'They confirm business ties between Darling and Mahathir bin Dahman. He's invested in the Malaysian's building projects, commercial aircraft plants, and water- processing facilities.'
'Do you know what the paper trail looks like?' Hood asked.
'If you're asking whether this is public knowledge or not, it is,' Coffey replied. 'Darling puts money in Malaysian banks, and bin Dahman draws on that as needed.'
'Is there a public record of Darling's holdings?' Hood asked.
'No,' Coffey said. 'The government has learned that Darling gets private stock for his money. Nothing actionable, though.'
'It's a lot of stock, I'm sure,' Hood said. 'An improportionate amount compared to what other investors get. I'll bet that bin Dahman takes a big hit every time Darling invests.'
'He does,' Coffey said.
'This could suggest that bin Dahman is using real estate and privately held businesses to pay Darling for services rendered,' Hood said. 'Such as providing him with nuclear materials.'
'It makes sense,' Coffey said. 'What's your view on Darling himself? He's got a helluva reputation down here. He's got a mega-fortune. Why would he risk all that to do something like this?'
'I've been wondering about that,' Hood said. 'Maybe it's tied into something you said a minute ago. He got away with murder and liked how it felt.'
'You mean Leopold and Loeb, the sequel?' Coffey asked. 'Bored rich man gets his kicks planning the death of millions of people?'
'You answered your own question.'
'Yeah,' Coffey replied. 'Jelbart and I were talking about this as a power grab, but you may have something there. You don't even have to run that one past Liz Gordon. It's simple but neat.'
'It's a starting point, anyway,' Hood replied. 'Meanwhile, what's your next step?'
'We're sailing back to Darwin to wait for Bob, then I guess it's on to Cairns,' Coffey said. 'We're obviously going to have to take this investigation directly to Darling.'
'I agree,' Hood said. 'And when you do grab him, I want you to do me a favor.'
'Sure,' Coffey said.
'Tell him he runs a lousy on-line service,' Hood said. 'Tell him for Matt Stoll.'
Coffey was confused, but Hood told him not to worry about it.
Hood hung up. He felt more involved than he usually did in evolving situations. For one thing, unlike Mike Rodgers or former Striker leader Colonel Brett August, Coffey was keeping him plugged into every development in the field, however small. For another, the diverse resources of three nations were available to him. It was as true in crisis management as it was in mathematics: one point was simply one point; two points defined a line; three points created a plane, and a plane was something you could stand on. The United States, Australia, and Singapore created a plane.
There was something else that gave Hood comfort as well. For all his clout, Jervis Darling was still a business-man at heart. He was a potentially twisted one, yes, but a corporate tycoon nonetheless. Unlike the rogue generals and megalomaniacal politicians Hood and his team usually faced, he understood this breed. He could sit in their chairs and imagine the decisions they made.
But there was still a storm in the distance. One that Paul Hood could not anticipate. One that Op-Center and its allies might not be able to control. It had to do with the circus, of all things. Bob Herbert once told the CIOC that a crisis was like the big top.
'You can't afford to grab the ringleader and lose the other attractions,' Herbert had said. 'While we're all packed shoulder to shoulder in the grandstands, those rampaging elephants and runaway clown cars will crush us flat.'
Hood hoped that if Darling were involved, he knew where the nuclear materials were headed and who was handling them. Otherwise, the toll in the grandstand could still be catastrophic.
Chapter Thirty-five
Peter Kannaday did not know what to expect when he reached the radio room.
He could not imagine to whom Hawke might be broadcasting. Jervis Darling? The Malaysian fishing ship? Someone else? Kannaday's mind leapt to conspiracies. Perhaps Hawke had pirates following them in order to seize the
As Kannaday swung down the stairs he learned how wrong he had been. Hawke was not even in the radio room. He and his thugs were waiting for the captain in the hall. Two men grabbed Kannaday, one hugging each arm. A third got behind him and grabbed Kannaday's windbreaker. He grasped it near the neck and put a knee against Kannaday's lower back. That prevented the captain from bending. A fourth man forced a rag in Kannaday's mouth. The captain tasted oil. It had come from the engine compartment. The men turned Kannaday so he was facing into the corridor.
Hawke was standing there.
The security man passed under the recessed light. His arms were at his sides. For the most part his expression was as inscrutable as always. Except for the eyes. They were volcanic.
Kannaday struggled for a moment before settling into tense compliance. He was not afraid. Though Kannaday had a pretty good idea what was about to take place. He was going to die. He was resigned, though still defiant.
Hawke stepped in very close. He put the heel of his left palm against Kannaday's chin and began to push up slowly. The captain's head went back. Kannaday's gaze shifted from Hawke's angry eyes to the low ceiling of the corridor. He felt the muscles tense along his shoulders and upper arms. The pressure was cutting off his air. He tried to draw breath around the rag in his mouth. Nothing was getting through. He began to feel claustrophobic, panicky. If Hawke pushed back any farther, his neck would snap.
Kannaday resisted. He began to struggle again.
'You want to breathe,' Hawke said. 'Let me help.'
Hawke released Kannaday's chin. He stepped back and punched the captain hard in the gut. Kannaday could not help but breathe then. He sucked air through his nose and around the rank cloth. Hawke moved in on him again. He hit Kannaday with a roundhouse right to the jaw. It struck so hard that the cloth flew halfway from the captain's mouth. Kannaday snatched more air through his nose and mouth as he took another blow to the belly, a hard left. Hawke stepped in as he delivered it, twisting at the waist. At the same time he drew the other elbow back, tucked tight against his ribs. That gave the twist extra snap. Hawke knew how to drive the blows in. He knew how to make them hurt.
When he was younger, Kannaday had been in a number of dockside brawls. But those always ended up on the floor and consisted mostly of grappling and clawing. He had never been given a beating. Kannaday's jaw throbbed, and his ears were pounding. He was nauseated from the blows to the abdomen. His shoulders burned from the strong fingers of the man behind him.
A left uppercut rocked Kannaday's head back. He could actually feel his brain bump the top of his skull. His teeth bit through the cloth and snapped on his tongue. He tasted blood. The bone of his lower jaw literally rang, and the ringing spread to his limbs. If the men had not been holding him up, he would have fallen. Kannaday's jaw continued ringing as Hawke followed the uppercut with a right back fist to the mouth. Kannaday's head slumped to his right shoulder. His hurt tongue flopped over dislocated teeth. His eyelids sagged.
Hawke stepped in again. He grabbed Kannaday's aching chin and squeezed. The pain forced the captain's eyes to open.
'This is just the beginning of your tutorial,' Hawke said.
He kneed Kannaday very low in the belly. Twice. The gag fell entirely from the captain's mouth now. So did thick drops of saliva mixed with blood. Hawke ignored the bloody spittle dripping onto his hand. He slapped him hard with his left hand. Against the right ear. Then Hawke cocked his left arm and jabbed a fist square into Kannaday's
