Sea of Fire (22 page)

“I know,” Hood said. “But Lowell was pissing you off. I wanted to get him on his way, then come back to what you’re thinking.”

“He pisses me off because he’s a left-wing elitist,” Herbert said. “But he may be right about this. I’m not sure I’m right about going after Dahman.”

“And I’m not sure you’re wrong,” Hood admitted. “What if you went to Malaysia? Did some checking?”

“Frankly, I’d enjoy the hell out of it. If time were not at a premium, I’d push for it,” Herbert said. “But since we don’t have the resources to go in with me, I’m not sure it’s the best use of my time, but I appreciate the counterproposal. Did you think I’d accept?”

“I wasn’t sure,” Hood said. “I thought you might.”

“My independent Southern soul?” Herbert commented.

“Something like that.”

“Well, I’m thinking you might be right about that one,” Herbert told him. “I got into the spy game because I wanted to be Peter Gunn. Remember him? The TV private eye?”

“Vaguely,” Hood said. “I was a
Gunsmoke
and
Bonanza
man myself.”

“An ensemble guy,” Herbert said.

“I never looked at it that way, but I suppose so,” Hood admitted. “I wanted to run the Ponderosa.”

“Gunn was a loner,” Herbert said. “He always knew what to say whether he was talking to a thug, a cop, or a woman. Just the smartest, most confident repartee. He was tough. He could take a beating or give one. And he never lost. That’s what I wanted to be like.”

“But?”

“But I don’t have Gunn’s writers,” Herbert said. “I learned there is a big fat difference between fiction and reality. Just between us spies, I didn’t get quite as much information as I wanted from Colonel Hwan.”

“You got what we needed.”

“Barely,” Herbert said. “When that happens, I tend to push a little too hard on the next one. Thanks for reeling me in.”

“You reeled yourself in,” Hood said.

“You’re wrong, but we’ll leave it at that,” Herbert told him.

The intelligence chief hung up. Hood sat back. It was funny. He never knew that Herbert had joined the CIA to be like a TV character. He wondered if things like that should be in a person’s dossier. He found it touching. He was glad they had that conversation. Not just for Herbert’s sake but for his own. There were times when Hood had his doubts about decisions. That came from not being a specialist like Herbert, Coffey, or Rodgers. There were other times, like now, when he was sure of himself. He thought back to something his mother’s mother had said in her later years. Grandmother April was a dressmaker who learned her trade in Phoenix when Arizona was still a territory. After the family relocated to Los Angeles, she got work in the movies. Hood went with her to the studio one day and watched as she was making a ball gown for a movie. She asked for a bolt of gray. Her eleven-year-old grandson asked why she wanted such a boring color.

“Sometimes red and blue can’t function together unless you have a neutral color between them,”
his grandmother had replied.

She was right. Which was why he felt pretty good right now.

Sometimes people needed that, too.

Coffey asked to see Warrant Officer Jelbart in private. With permission, the men walked over to the captain’s small ready room. It was little more than a closet with a desk and chair, but it had a door. Coffey closed it. The men remained standing. Jelbart had known that the American was on a call to Op-Center. But Coffey had spoken quietly, and the bridge was filled with the usual conversation and radio communication, as well as the constant rumbling of the engines far below. Jelbart did not know what Coffey had discussed.

Jelbart was stunned when the American told him. He did not doubt the accuracy of the intelligence, but he refused to accept the conclusion.

“Mr. Coffey, why would a man in Salty’s position become involved with
any
black-market activity?” Jelbart asked.

“Excuse me. Salty?” Coffey asked.

“Yeah. Nicknamed for a crocodile,” Jelbart said. “And may I say, the shoe fits.”

“Interesting,” Coffey observed. “Crocodiles are not discriminating about their prey. They’re survivors.”

“What you’re getting at won’t fly,” Jelbart said. “I’m sure they would be much more selective if they had billions of dollars to plan their menu.”

“Perhaps.”

“Mr. Coffey, forgive me,” Jelbart said. “But do you have any idea what you’re saying?”

“I do. Which brings us back to your question, Warrant Officer. Let’s assume the information is correct. Why
would
a man in Mr. Darling’s position do anything like this?”

Jelbart shook his head. “I cannot begin to imagine.”

“Try,” Coffey urged.

“Boredom, maybe? A challenge?” Jelbart said. “God knows he’s got all the power, money, and influence he needs.”

“Is his power base very solid?” Coffey asked.

“Lord, yes,” Jelbart replied. “For many ordinary folks, Jervis Darling embodies the spirit of Australia. He has proven that anyone can build an empire. Politicians fight for his endorsement and photo opportunities.”

“What about his personal life?”

“The business press doesn’t like him, but the society pages love him,” Jelbart said. “He and his young daughter go everywhere. Usually with some established actress or political matron on his arm. No supermodels or fluff.”

“What happened to Mrs. Darling?”

“Dorothy Darling died in a hang-gliding accident four years ago,” Jelbart said. “You may also be interested to learn, Mr. Coffey, that Jervis Darling has never been the subject of personal litigation. And it has nothing to do with the army of legal firms on his payroll.”

“Tell me something, Warrant Officer. Are you under his spell, too?” Coffey asked.

“No,” Jelbart replied. “But I admire the quality that my countrymen see in him.”

“And that is?”

“Noblesse oblige,” Jelbart said.

Coffey frowned slightly.

“I know that sounds strange to you Americans. But Mr. Darling presents class and benevolence in balance,” Jelbart went on. “It makes him nonthreatening. And that makes him beloved. Sort of like Walt Disney or Thomas Edison. A man who started by creating small, special-interest magazines about archaeology, geology, prehistory. Merging them synergistically to create rich harbors for upscale advertisers. Using his profits to buy real estate, start a bank, develop the Internet. He’s a local hero. People don’t want to know about his flaws.”

“Is all of this a way of saying we can’t investigate him?” Coffey asked. “Or that you won’t?”

“I don’t know.” Jelbart exhaled. “Your evidence is not overwhelming.”

“I’m aware of that,” Coffey told the officer. “But we do know that nuclear material is missing. We don’t know where it is. Should we hold off until someone explodes a dirty bomb?”

“I’m not suggesting that,” Jelbart said.

“You just don’t want to involve Jervis Darling,” Coffey said.

“Yeah. That’s what I don’t want.”

“And we won’t,” Coffey said. “Certainly not at this stage. Hopefully not ever, if it turns out that our information is incorrect.”

“What worries me is how do we verify that information? And then what happens if it is correct,” Jelbart said.

“I’m confused. If Mr. Darling is proven to be a reasonable suspect, then I would think the law takes over,” Coffey replied.

“In which case even solid evidence may not be enough to bring him down,” Jelbart said. “Attorneys can battle the validity and admissibility of proof, you know that.”

“Of course.”

“Even if it does implicate Darling, his fall will do more than shake his empire,” Jelbart said. “His investments, his reach, are everywhere.”

Coffey said nothing. Jelbart shook his head.

“All of that aside, I would have to sell an investigation to Commodore Atlan, who is the commander, Maritime Patrol Group. He would probably want to take it to one or more of the ministers for defence. Darling will be a very tough target to sell and also to keep quiet.”

“Do you need the authorization of Commodore Atlan to look into nuclear trafficking?” Coffey asked.

“Right now, all I am authorized to investigate is the destruction of a sampan that washed up on Australian soil,” Jelbart said. “This is an issue of nuclear materials missing from international waters. When I file my report, the CDRMPG will make a determination about Australia’s risk and, thus, her levels of involvement. Ironically, if Mr. Darling is involved, they will be less inclined to believe that Australia is at danger. He has always been a patriot.”

“Maybe Australia isn’t at risk,” Coffey agreed. “What about Japan? Or Taiwan? Or the United States?”

“Do you want the truthful answer or the one you want to hear?”

“The truth,” Coffey said.

“We are surrounded by nations who are distrustful of our Western culture, fearful of our freedoms, and covetous of our prosperity,” Jelbart replied. “We move very, very carefully in this region because of that. Our neighbors look for any excuse to run us down to their people. So we tend to stay out of matters that do not directly concern us. I’m no coward, Mr. Coffey—”

“I never said that you were, nor did I mean to imply it.”

“I wanted to be up front about that,” Jelbart said. “I’d take on Satan himself if he swung his pointy tail at the Gold Coast. But all we know for certain is the following: that a Malaysian boat did not make its scheduled drop of nuclear materials; that a Singaporean sampan was apparently and inadvertently involved as a third party in the off-loaded materials; and that a North Korean officer is watching our investigation of the site. Your own intelligence, based primarily on a brief phone conversation with the officer, suggests that an Australian citizen might—
might
—be involved. Mr. Coffey, that is far from compelling.”

“It doesn’t have to be compelling. We are not writing a novel,” Coffey said. “We are investigating possible criminal activity. We are obligated to follow reasonable leads.”

“Well, there you’ve hit it,” Jelbart said. “I don’t find the lead reasonable. I’m not going to recommend a course of action based on some dilly theory. Marcus is not a common name, but Marcus Darling is not the only one who owns it. Jervis Darling is not the sole landowner in the Chatham Island Sisters group, nor even the largest investor there.”

“It’s the two of those together that make this a reasonable lead,” Coffey said patiently.

“Tape recordings or fingerprints are reasonable. This is speculation,” Jelbart said dismissively.

“Fine, call it ‘speculative’ or ‘possible’ or even ‘remote. ’ Pick whatever word you like,” Coffey said. “But it’s not impossible. Op-Center is going to look into Darling’s activities regardless. Will you be part of that? Or would you prefer that we come back to you if or when we find a more solid connection? At which point you will have to explain to your government why you did not pursue a possible lead about nuclear smuggling.”

“Mr. Coffey, I don’t give a ripe fig about saving face,” Jelbart replied. “What I do care about is mindless activity. I’m too busy for that. If you want my help investigating Jervis Darling, give me one reason why someone like him would deal in nuclear waste.”

“Maybe he wants to blow up one of his own holdings, get himself international sympathy,” Coffey suggested. “Maybe he wants to blow up a rival’s holdings and put him out of business.”

“Talk about concocting novels,” Jelbart said.

“You asked for ideas,” Coffey said with an angry shrug. “I’m an attorney, not a theorist. But I can tell you this. If you’re wrong, there could be a very heavy price to pay. Are you prepared to accept that?”

Jelbart stood in the small room. He listened to the purr of the ventilator fan above. The air smelled metallic. Part of that was due to the perspiration that had begun collecting on his upper lip.

“I assume you are going to brief FNO Loh and tell her about the other chap, the Malaysian,” Jelbart said.

“We decided to wait on that,” Coffey said. “Director Hood felt that it would be an overreaction to involve Singapore at this early stage.”

“Why?”

“Think Salty,” Coffey said. “The animal, not the man. Tug the tail, and the head might bite you.”

“What if I wanted her involved?” Jelbart asked.

“For what reason?”

“Triangulation,” Jelbart said. “We don’t do anything in the military without a three-point tag. Anyway, she will give us another set of eyes. Yours and mine obviously see things differently.”

“Fair enough,” Coffey said. “If you insist on her involvement, then we would have to go along with that.”

“I insist,” he said. “When you agree to that, I’ll contact my superiors.”

Coffey regarded the officer. “I need to know something, Warrant Officer. Which is it that’s moving you? Respect or fear?”

“Neither,” Jelbart said. “I said what I said so you’d know who Darling is. I want Loh involved to protect the RAAF and my career. As for me personally, I would feel this way if you were investigating a slushy in the ship’s galley. I believe in fairness and the right to privacy, Mr. Coffey.”

“As do I,” Coffey said. “But we live in a dangerous world, Warrant Officer. And I also believe in the rights of people to live without fear. In this case, fear of being irradiated.”

“I cannot argue with that, Mr. Coffey. Do you want to inform Op-Center before or after we chat with Loh?”

“After,” Coffey said. “Asking permission isn’t as important as having information.”

Jelbart did not know if that were meant as a dig or if Coffey were simply being frank.

There was a firm rap on the door. Jelbart moved aside to open it. Communications Specialist Edie Albright was standing there with a radio.

“FNO Loh,” she said.