Finally, there was something Herbert could agree with.
Hood said that he would call Lowell Coffey and bring him up to speed. Herbert thanked him and hung up the phone. He sat back and thought about what Hood said.
None of them could change.
Hood was right about that. But with that comment came Paul Hood's tacit acknowledgment that he accepted Bob Herbert as is. That gave Herbert a little wiggle room. He had not been told, expressly, to stay out of the investigation and interrogation.
What it did not give Herbert, immediately, was a place to put his fist. He was furious with Jervis Darling, with the polite but recalcitrant Peter Kannaday, and with the coddling mentality in general. Herbert understood talk. But to be honest, he still preferred war. It took less time and it resolved disputes a lot quicker. Nor were the casualties any heavier, really. Just quicker. The combatants lost to bullets what they would have lost to endless raids and corrosive debate.
Herbert noticed Loh staring at him.
"What are you thinking?" he asked her.
"I agree with you," she said.
"About?"
"A stalemate," she said.
Herbert smiled. "I didn't think you would care for that."
"Not at all. I would rather fight and lose than feel as though I did not give something my fullest effort," she replied.
Herbert smiled at her. That iced it. FNO Monica Loh had to become the next Mrs. Herbert. He was betting she had less patience for bullshit and insincerity than he did.
Almost absently, Herbert reached behind him and opened the computer file Paul Hood had sent. The intelligence chief angled the monitor toward him. He considered dreamily how he and Monica would be banned from every party and fund-raiser in Washington, D.C.
The file opened. Herbert glanced at it. His eyes shrank and his mouth widened. He stared at the screen more closely.
And he knew at once what to do with his rage.
Chapter Sixty-Six
The call was late.
Jervis Darling stood in the beige kitchen eating a half cantaloupe from the rind. He was no longer dressed in the gray Cairns Yacht Club sweat suit he had been wearing earlier. He had exercised on his rowing machine for forty-five minutes. Then he showered, pulled on a bathrobe, and sat in front of the television. He moved impatiently from satellite to satellite, watching nothing as the hours passed. At the same time, his mood shifted from disgust to anger to concern. He should have heard from his nephew or John Hawke by now. But the cell phone in his pocket had remained resolutely silent.
Darling finished the fruit. He cut the rind into slices and fed it into the garbage disposal. Things always seemed worse in the dark hours of night. Yet he could not help but think that something had gone wrong. Even if they had failed to sink the yacht, Marcus would have gotten in touch with him. The only thing he could think of was that miserable American.
Other than by dumb, idiotic luck, Darling could not imagine how Herbert might have found the yacht. Or what he might have done to stop Hawke. No one stopped John Hawke. As he finished pulping the rind, Darling began to consider what he should do. Earlier that evening he had called his old college friend Bruce Perry about Herbert. Perry had said he would handle it. The men had not spoken since. Darling did not want to call and ask him how the conversation went. Pressure was as good as an admission of guilt. The only thing that drove away an ally faster was failure.
Darling began to consider his next move. It might have to be a bolder preventative step than simply calling a friend at the White House. This was not a position Darling enjoyed. He was usually the one maneuvering CEOs or politicians into a corner.
Darling felt that he should wake Jessica-Ann and leave the estate. He and his daughter could go to the cove and take the yacht to his retreat in the Sister Islands. Or they could drive to the airstrip and depart by jet. If something had gone wrong, Darling did not want to be easily accessible. Since the Sister Islands were part of New Zealand, that would add another country — and another bureaucracy — between himself and any legal activities. He would let the barristers tackle any issues that might come up.
Though these concerns are premature, Darling reminded himself.
Darling still did not know for certain that anything was wrong. John Hawke could simply be hiding until dawn. He might have had a reason to maintain silence. Or he could be playing a psychological game of some kind. Darling would not put it past Hawke to make him wait. Hawke would do that from spite or to show some muscle. Just enough to be annoying but not enough to threaten. Hawke knew better than to cross that boundary.
After considering the situation for several minutes more, Darling decided that it would be a good idea to leave. He would take the jet to the nearest of his islands in the Sisters. Picking up the house phone, Darling woke Andrew and told him to pack a bag for himself and for his daughter. Next he called his pilot, Shawn Daniels, who lived in a cottage at the far end of the estate. Darling told him to be ready to fly out within the hour. The Learjet was always ready and accessible for unexpected business trips.
Finally, Darling went to wake his daughter. He moved quickly but unhurriedly to the living room and up the winding marble staircase. Jessica-Ann would be groggy, and she would sleep through the flight. She would wake up to invigorating sunshine and clean sea air. Wake from the restful sleep of the innocent. Darling wished that were something he could enjoy.
Not that it matters. Things will look better in the morning, he assured himself.
If they did not, he would have them fixed by the afternoon. Either through talk or through deed.
A man with radioactive materials at his disposal always had options.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Monica Loh sat in the deep vinyl seat of the helicopter's dark cabin. She was watching Bob Herbert. His face was in shadow, but his posture was tense, aggressive. He was leaning forward, anxiously pressing a thumb into his palm. Loh did not wonder what he was thinking. She knew. He wanted to get information from Captain Kannaday using any means possible. Herbert had said as much when he was on the telephone.
But then something changed. Herbert glanced at his computer monitor and sat up. His hands relaxed. He turned toward Captain Kannaday and regarded him for a long moment. Then he looked at her.
"Wake him," Herbert said.
Loh turned and gave Kannaday's shoulder a firm shake. He opened his eyes slowly.
Warrant Officer Jelbart turned. "What is it?"
"I wanted to ask our guest a question," Herbert said.
"I thought we had decided to let the captain be for now," Jelbart said with a hint of annoyance.
"I let him have his power nap," Herbert said. "Now I want to know something. Something simple."
"You are free to ask anything you like," the man replied.
"Thanks. But you're saying you may not answer," Herbert said.
"As I said, I am extremely tired. I don't want to say anything that is inaccurate or may be misinterpreted."
"I understand," Herbert said. "How about this, which is pretty tough to screw up. Where were you born?"
The man looked at him.
"What's wrong?" Herbert asked. "Is that too tough?"
"Are you serious?" the man asked.
"I've been accused of that, yeah," Herbert said. "Have you got an answer for me?"
"I was born here. In Australia," the man replied.
"In which town?" Herbert asked. "On what date?"
"Why?" The man grinned. "Are you going to buy me a gift?"
"One that keeps on giving," Herbert told him. "A lifetime sentence in a maximum security prison."