'Radioactive,' Hood said.
'Right,' Coffey replied.
Hood felt a chill in the small of his back. 'Did he give you any context, a scenario of some kind?' Hood asked.
'Zero,' Coffey said. 'But I was on a cell phone, and he obviously didn't want to say very much. All I was told is that there's an airplane waiting to take me to Darwin.'
Herbert had already swung up the laptop computer attached to his wheelchair. The intelligence chief had lost the use of his legs in the Beirut embassy blast that had killed his wife. He had wireless Internet on the laptop, as well as the ability to tap any of Op-Center's computers using LEASH — Local Executive Access Secure Hookup. The technology only worked within a radius of 500 feet from the personal computer in his office. While Coffey was speaking, Herbert had gone to the Australian Department of Defence file. He found the dossier on Warrant Officer Jelbart and read it.
'What do you know about Jelbart?' Rodgers asked.
'He's a heavyweight,' Herbert said. He spoke loud enough for Coffey to hear. 'He's fifty-two, a career officer, divorced twice, no kids. He runs the coastal intelligence network and has a background in mapping and signal recon. Commendations up to his eyeballs.'
'Bob, are there any nuclear submarines in the Darwin area?' Rodgers asked. 'I'm wondering if there could be a leak.'
'I was not given that information.'
'It could also be a plutonium-powered satellite that fell to earth,' Hood suggested.
'I suppose,' Coffey agreed. 'But why would Jelbart call me for either of those? My first thought was that there might be civilian casualties resulting from an accident of some kind—'
'Possibly American civilian casualties,' Rodgers pointed out.
'Right. But wouldn't they go to an embassy first?' Coffey asked.
'Not necessarily,' Hood said. 'If they were negligent in some way and wanted to cover their asses, having an internationally known human-rights attorney on site would be a nice cosmetic touch.'
'Gentlemen, before we go to war with Australia over this, I'd like to check both possibilities,' Herbert said.
The intelligence chief went to the United States Department of Defense secure file and accessed the naval intelligence Red List — an up-to-the-minute listing on the whereabouts and status of nuclear-capable craft. It was the list that gave the Pentagon the first warning that the Russian submarine
'I sure was hoping it was one of them,' Herbert said.
Hood did not have to ask why. Absent an accident, that left the probability of illegal nuclear activity, possibly the transportation of weapons or raw nuclear material.
'Lowell, are there any nuclear power plants in the Darwin region?' Rodgers asked.
'I already asked my host,' Coffey told him. 'She said she does not believe there are.'
'I'm with you, Lowell,' Herbert said. 'Nothing personal, but I'm bothered by the fact that they asked for you instead of an official representative of the federal government.'
'I am, too,' Coffey said.
'Do we know that they didn't do that as well?' Hood asked.
'I was told that I was their one-and-only,' Coffey said.
'Jelbert's aide may not have been in possession of that information,' Hood pointed out. 'For all we know, the American embassy has been notified. We're going to have to let this play out until we know more.'
'There obviously has to be a legal issue involved,' Herbert said. 'Something that requires Lowell's expertise in international affairs.'
'That does seem to make sense,' Hood said. 'Lowell, how long until you reach the airport?'
'About fifteen minutes,' Coffey replied.
'Maybe we'll know more by then,' Hood said. 'Lowell, let us know what you find out as soon as you can.'
'Of course,' he said.
Hood wished him well and hung up. He looked at the others. 'Bob, is there any history of nuclear trafficking in that region?'
'The answer is, 'possibly,' ' Herbert said.
'Jeez, I remember when intelligence agencies used to deal in probablies,' Rodgers said.
'When you were a greenhorn in 'Nam, they did,' Herbert said. 'We still had human intelligence resources in every backwater den you could imagine. Then the electronic intelligence guys came in and said there was no reason to risk lives anymore. They were wrong. Satellites can't do belowdecks imaging in a freighter or oil tanker.'
'What about those possibilities, Bob?' Hood asked, getting them back on subject.
'We suspect that terrorists and rogue states in the Pacific Rim have used commercial ships and private vessels to transport nuclear weapons or components,' Herbert told him. 'But we have no evidence of that. For the last few years a bunch of navies and air defense forces around the world, including Australia, have been placing radiation-detection equipment on their vessels. These gizmos measure gamma radiation or neutron fields, depending on whether they're looking for raw radioactive material or weapons, respectively. But they haven't found anything.'
'Which doesn't mean much,' Rodgers said. 'Adequate lead shielding will hide that.'
Herbert nodded. 'That's why we need more people watching potential traffickers on the shipping and receiving ends. The CIA and the FBI are working on that, but we're nowhere near up to speed yet.'
'All right,' Hood said. 'The system has a lot of holes. But you're saying the Aussies have the capacity to pick up hot cargo?'
'That's right,' Herbert said. 'And if that's what happened, there are a lot of reasons they might want someone like Lowell to have a look.'
Hood suggested that Herbert and Rodgers return to their offices to see if there was any other intelligence they could dig up. He would notify them as soon as Coffey called.
As they left, Hood looked at the photo of Harleigh and Alexander on his desk. He wished he could roll back the clock ten minutes. The responsibility of fighting nuclear terrorism was an unimaginable burden. The price of failure would be appalling.
Still, whether Hood wanted it or not, that responsibility might be his. Hopefully, this would prove to be something far less dire than he could imagine.
Chapter Seven
It was like talking to stone.
When Lowell Coffey did not get the service, respect, or answers he was looking for, his inclination was to stand and fight. Quietly, but with unshakable determination. Jaguar dealers or presidents, it did not matter.
This was a rare exception.
Coffey and Penny arrived at the domestic cargo terminal. It was a vast, low-lying building that looked as if it had been built in the 1960s. It was situated away from the main terminal area. Penny parked the pickup among rows of semis with container rigs. They walked to the front office, which sat just inside the main hangar. There they were met by a petty officer from the MIC. He was a fresh-faced kid whose name tag said Lady. That name must have got him teased a lot more than Date. Coffey judged him to be about twenty-five. The petty officer checked
