that rumor to try to keep him from investing in liberal political causes over there. God, Hood. I was with Mr. Darling when he received word of his wife's death. He was despondent. So was his daughter. The idea that he would have arranged it is frankly insulting.'
'Mr. Perry, I'm not going to dispute what you've told me,' Hood said. 'Our information differs from yours.'
'Then you are misinformed.'
'You know something, Mr. Perry? I really hope so. I hope we're wrong about everything from the homicide to the nuclear trafficking. I hope you're doing this from deep conviction and a sense of honor.'
'Mr. Hood, in the presence of God himself I would swear to everything I told you.'
'You didn't tell me anything other than your beliefs, not fact,' Hood pointed out. 'But I thank you for sharing your perspective.'
'You're welcome, Mr. Hood. I'd like to share this as well,' Perry went on. 'If Mr. Darling is bothered again without overwhelming evidence, charges will be brought against Mr. Herbert and yourself. Legal charges in Australia, ethics violations here.'
'Bruce, you should have quit before you trotted out the threats,' Hood said. 'They always stink of guilt.'
'I wouldn't know,' Perry told him. 'You collect intelligence, Mr. Hood. This is intelligence. Use it.'
Perry hung up. Hood shook his head slowly as he replaced the phone. He jabbed the Delete key on his computer. That removed Perry's file from his monitor. That was the problem with government dossiers. They gave you plenty of data but not the man.
Of course, what intelligence services called 2DD — two-dimensional data, facts without body or analysis — was only one of the problems with government service. What bothered Hood more was how officials had to battle the enemies without while fighting the enemies within even harder. The longer he stayed in public service, the more Hood became convinced that leaders were a burden to society. If they all went away, the people would do just fine. A leader could not be ambitious and still serve others. People were fortunate when the ambitions of a leader, like Lincoln, like Franklin Roosevelt, happened to coincide with the general good.
Hood took a moment to check with Mary Timm. She was already on her second sweep of the region. If someone was on the run, she was willing to bet that they were not using the GPS.
'Which could mean what?' Hood asked.
'That the subject is either very near to land and can sail by eye or compass. Or else they have no intention of going near land, in which case a navigational aid would be extraneous,' Mary replied.
That was not what Hood wanted to hear. He relayed the information to Herbert. The intelligence chief was unfazed.
'Any intelligence is useful,' Herbert replied. 'Even if it eliminates possibilities.'
And there again was the paradox of government. Within just a few minutes, Hood's enemy and his ally had both said virtually the same thing.
And they were both right.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Peter Kannaday's injuries did not prevent him from leaving his cabin. He stayed there hour after hour out of shame.
The captain alternately stood by the porthole or lay on the bed. He replayed the attack endlessly, considering things he should have done. He thought back to the days leading to that point. He wished that he had willingly formed an alliance with Hawke instead of being minimized. To do so now would be cowardly. To have done so before the attack would have been wise. Unfortunately, wisdom was not always there when you needed it. He began to wonder, after several hours, if maybe that was the way it needed to be. Lying on his back in the dark, he thought of the biblical prophets who went into the wilderness. They made the journey in order to be pounded down by the sun and starvation. The prophets bought wisdom by taking on pain, loneliness, and doubt. But the knowledge and self-awareness they acquired came with something else. Something indispensable. It nested atop the fortified backbone they needed to apply it.
Perhaps it was not too late to find courage. Realizing that, Kannaday even saw what form it should take. He had to leave the cabin and take a turn on deck. He had to show the crew and Hawke that he was beaten but not broken. He also needed to be more than just a captain. He needed to regain command.
Kannaday rose from the bed. The now-familiar aches made him wince, but they did not cause him to pause. He could not show hesitation once he left here. He had to be strong.
As Kannaday headed toward the door, he heard a key being turned in the lock. The door was already unlocked. He bolted for the knob and twisted. It did not turn. He patted his back pocket. His key case had been removed. He went to his desk for the spare. It, too, was gone. Kannaday went back to the door and banged once with the side of his fist.
'Who's out there?' he yelled.
There was no answer. The captain did not waste time or energy shouting. He looked around for something to pry the door open. Possibly the letter opener he had never used. Or one of the hooks from the closet. He would try the letter opener first. He went to the desk, but the opener was gone.
In quick succession Kannaday heard the 220 horsepower Caterpillar engine quiet, idle, then stop. The yacht slowed. This was not a scheduled stop. Then he heard the winches above him begin to turn. The dinghies were being lowered. The floor no longer hummed with the low vibration caused by the powerful motor. What the hell was going on?
Kannaday leaned on the desk. He punched on the intercom to the radio room.
'Marcus, are you there?'
Again, no answer. Which, in a way, was an answer in itself.
Just then he heard a commotion in the hallway. He went to the door and pressed his ear to it. Crew members were coming and going. He heard crashing but no shouts. The men were breaking things, but they were not fighting. It sounded as if they were in the lab.
'Sweet Christ almighty,' he muttered.
They were in the lab. Destroying the equipment. Destroying evidence? But they were not throwing it over the side. They were smashing equipment on the floor. That could only mean one thing. It would be staying on board. And that could only mean one thing.
They intended that the
Chapter Fifty-Four
Warrant Officer George Jelbart was relieved and hopeful when the Humvee returned.
Hanging around in the observation tower with Spider was not Jelbart's idea of a fun time. Spider was one of those hard-talking Sydney street kids who were equally at home rock climbing on Cradle Mountain in Tasmania or picking fights with Southeast Asians who frequented the bars of Perth. Spider was not up here because he loved nature. Or because he wanted to protect and serve the people of Queensland. He was here because he loved the danger of fire. In Spider's eyes it was the ultimate enemy. A force that existed even in the vacuum of space. Jelbart wondered how the edgy, restless young man would react if he knew about the fire his own team was trying to prevent. Fire that could not be extinguished. Fire that was the ultimate deterrent until someone actually used the damn thing. Then it was the breath of hell itself. Jelbart had seen the disaster simulations put together by the American Pentagon. Those were programs that could not properly be called war simulations. After an initial flourish, both sides were effectively crippled. They included death tolls and destructive swaths for nuclear exchanges between India and Pakistan, China and Taiwan, Israel and any of its Middle Eastern neighbors. They included statistics for small, ten-megaton bombs exploded in major metropolises. They also included data for the exploding
