Sea of Fire

ready to resign from Op-Center for your kids, for your family.'

'True. But I would draw the line at killing millions of people,' Hood said.

'Would you?' Rodgers asked.

'I don't follow.'

'We've gone to war to protect our way of life, to preserve our view of the future for our children,' Rodgers said.

'When we've been attacked,' Hood said. 'That's an important distinction.'

'Maybe Darling believes that his world has been attacked, or at the very least threatened,' Rodgers said. 'He may feel that Australia has been minimized by the United States and the European Union. He may fear the growing political, financial, and military strength of China. Maybe the states around China are also afraid, and he has rallied the oligarchy to fight back. Maybe Beijing is their target. We just don't know.'

'All good points, though instinct tells me this is more of a challenge to Darling than a political issue.'

'That could be,' Rodgers agreed. 'It doesn't change the fact that he has to be stopped. Fortunately, as I said, the people on site are probably the best we could ask for. And we've got good ones in reserve, if needed. It won't come free, or even cheap, but we'll fix this.'

Hood thanked Rodgers for the assessment. Then he hung up and cracked the window slightly. After being inside, he wanted to feel more of what his son Alexander called 'real' air.

This was not a job for people who had families. Or liked to be able to sleep nights. It was one thing to worry about a corporate bottom line or a project deadline. It was far different to worry about lives, whether it was one life or ten thousand. Then again, Hood was inevitably encouraged, even inspired, by people like Mike Rodgers and Bob Herbert. Men and women who had vast experience, perspective, and something else. Something easily misplaced in the day's slush of ominous data and frightening theory.

Hope.

Optimism.

And the resolve never to let them go.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Cairns, Australia Saturday, 9:45 A.M.

Jervis Darling had gone to bed after receiving a signal that the transfer had finally been made. It was three rings on his cell phone, twice in succession. Because Darling had installed an FDS, a file-disabling security chip, there was no record of who had called. If someone had been watching the yacht, there was no way they could triangulate the call. Ordinarily, communicating with the yacht did not concern him. But there had been disturbing news reports about the sampan attack in the Celebes Sea. There were unconfirmed reports that radiation was detected on the wreckage. If that were true, naval patrols might be monitoring communications in the region. They could be searching for radioactivity as well as looking for anyone who might have heard or seen the explosion. If the Hosannah were picked up for any reason, his nephew knew to play dumb. Marcus would say that he had been hired to run the radio shack by the yacht owner. Period. Jervis would then telephone the person in charge. He would protest the presumption that his nephew was in any way involved with nuclear trafficking. Peter Kannaday would take the fall for it. Yachts were easy enough to acquire. Blame was what Captain Kannaday was being hired to carry.

The Hosannah was not coming directly back to Cairns. It would sail the coast for several hours after dawn, like any pleasure boat. When Kannaday was sure they were not being followed, he would bring her in. That should happen around ten in the morning.

Darling spent the early part of Saturday morning as he always did: having breakfast with his eight-year-old daughter. The meal of salmon, scrambled eggs, and raisin toast was Jessica-Ann's favorite. It was served in a large atelier adjoining Jervis Darling's bedroom. The room had been built for Darling's wife to pursue painting. It was too bad Dorothy did not stick to that as her principal hobby. As John Hawke put it after investigating her activities, 'Your wife has been working with a new brush.' Because a man is occupied, that does not give his wife license to amuse herself with someone less busy. Jervis and Dorothy Darling had exchanged vows, not contingencies.

Dorothy's wooden easel and tray of paints were still stored in a corner of the sunlit room. There was an untouched canvas stretching in its frame. Jessica-Ann said she wanted to paint on it one day. She liked coming here. The blond-haired girl had been one of her mother's favorite subjects. She said the smell of the paint made her feel as though her mother were still here. Darling could not deny his daughter that comfort.

Despite the loss of her mother four years earlier, Jessica-Ann was an outgoing, cheerful, and open young lady. Darling had seen to it that she did not want for companionship or activities. He also made sure that they spent as much time together as possible. Darling had no reservations about taking her to meetings at home and abroad. If he were leaving the country, he would simply pack up a tutor or two to travel with them.

Darling did not want to push his daughter into any of his businesses. For all he knew, she might want to be a painter, like her mother. She already liked to draw. She enjoyed sketching birds and insects. She imagined what the faces might be on the butterflies and fireflies she saw around the estate. That would be fine with Darling. He wanted to expose Jessica-Ann to all the possibilities. When the time came, she alone would decide what to do with her life. And she would make that decision in a world that did not revolve around Europe or America.

Jessica-Ann came to the table in a brilliant yellow jumpsuit. Her long hair was piled under a cap sporting the name of the latest boy band she was into. Darling had a permanent skybox at all the arenas and stadiums in Australia. Jessica-Ann got to see every concert that toured Down Under. Her high cheekbones had a healthy flush, and she wore her big, perennial smile. The young girl had just gone for a morning squash lesson at their private court. She took a moment to mime for her father the proper way to serve.

'Let me ask you something,' Darling said as she slid into one of the cushioned iron chairs. 'Would you rather play with perfect form and lose or with bad form and win?'

'I'd rather win,' she said without hesitation. 'It would be even better to do it with bad form, because that would show I had amazing talent.'

'I like the way you think,' Darling said as Mrs. Cooper served their breakfast. Smelling the fresh salmon, Jessica-Ann's Siamese cat Spokane ambled over. The overweight cat was named for the first city outside of Australia that Jessica-Ann had visited. The cat moved aggressively along her leg, and Jessica-Ann slipped it a thin slice of salmon.

Darling and his daughter saw each other regularly during the week. But this was their special time. Business was not permitted to intrude. Thus, it was not until nearly ten A.M. that Darling took a call from the Hosannah. He was drinking coffee and having his first look at the on-line news services. Though it was not the call he had been expecting, it was not a surprise.

Peter Kannaday was not on the other end of the phone. It was Darling's nephew Marcus. He was calling from a landline. The yacht was able to plug into it upon entering the cove.

'You received the signal?' Marcus asked.

'I did. Why are you calling instead of the captain?'

'He's in his cabin,' Marcus replied.

'I repeat the question,' Darling said. He could tell when someone was being evasive. They tended to answer directly and quickly, as though the answer had been rehearsed.

'He had a run-in with Mr. Hawke,' Marcus said.

'Is Mr. Hawke with you?'

'No,' Marcus replied. 'Shall I get him?'

'That isn't necessary,' Darling told him. 'What happened?'

'I'm not entirely sure,' Marcus replied. 'We made the rendezvous at the rescheduled time. As the launch was setting out, Mr. Hawke came below with several of his men. He asked me to tell Captain Kannaday that Hawke was in the radio room. I was to remain above deck until they came for me.'

'How long were you up there?' Darling asked.

'About ten minutes,' Marcus told him. 'Mr. Hawke came up and told me it was all right to go below.'