The phone went silent. Herbert's frustration was almost palpable. The tranquillity of the morning was gone.

"You say I need a witness," Herbert said. "Can we stay at the base until the patrol boat arrives?"

"Yes, but if Hawke suspects anything, he can legally request an escort off the base," Coffey said.

"How would he get one?" Herbert asked.

"You can't deny him a phone call," Coffey said. "Muscling a citizen who is not even a prisoner plays poorly in court."

"Lowell, you're not helping me," Herbert said.

"I'm trying," Coffey said. "I want to stay focused on the case, not on the fact that Hawke knows how to manipulate the Australian legal system. He's probably had countless run-ins with the courts. He knows his way around."

"Now that you mention it, every d.a.m.n thing Hawke told me implicated someone else," Herbert said. "Jervis Darling, Darling's nephew Marcus, Captain Kannaday. According to Hawke, all he did was run security. Yet he never even confessed to firing a bullet."

"What about other potential leads or witnesses?" Coffey asked. "Do you have anyone on the mainland?"

"No one that I can-" Herbert began. He stopped suddenly.

"What is it?" Coffey asked.

"I just thought of something," Herbert said. "There is is someone who can nail this guy." someone who can nail this guy."

"Who?" Coffey asked.

"Later," Herbert said.

"Wait, Bob?" Bob?"

There was no answer.

"Bob, are you coming back to the station?" Coffey asked.

The dial tone returned. So did the external tranquillity of the morning. Inside, however, Lowell Coffey was not happy. He was bothered by the subtleties of his profession. The details were legitimate and necessary, but they could also allow a nuclear terrorist to go free.

Coffey loved the law and admired those who upheld it, in the field and in the courts. He did not think of himself as the barracuda Herbert had alluded to. What he did feel like, however, was a dolphin. Smart and swift.

And powerless.

SIXTY-NINE.

Cairns, Australia Sunday, 4:59 A.M.

The Bell rose swiftly from the RAAF Airfield Defence Squadron satellite base in Cooktown. It angled toward the southwest. John Hawke had been silent since his confession. His expression was still dour. He did not make eye contact with anyone on board.

Bob Herbert was less genial than he had been before they landed. Jelbart asked him if anything was wrong. Herbert said there was not.

Bob Herbert was lying.

The intelligence chief was sitting in the cabin, waiting. Figuring out exactly how he was going to play this. After Herbert had spoken with Coffey, he called Stephen Viens at Op-Center to ask for specific satellite intelligence. While he waited for Viens to arrange that, FNO Loh received a call from Lieutenant k.u.mar on her patrol boat. They had reached the scene of the sinking. The yacht was gone, but seven individuals had been pulled from the sea. The yacht crew had provided their names, but there was no way of knowing whether they were telling the truth. k.u.mar did not know whether Marcus Darling was among them.

Loh told the patrol boat to return to Darwin. The fate of Marcus Darling worried Herbert. It certainly complicated what he was about to do.

The helicopter finished fueling and took off. Flying time to Cairns was fifteen minutes. That was not a lot of time.

This was going to be tight.

After they had been airborne for three minutes, Herbert's phone beeped. He answered quickly. Viens was on the other end.

"I've got what you want," Viens said. "Do you have access to your computer monitor?"

"I do," he said.

"I've got the image, and I'm forwarding it to you, real time," Viens said. "I figured you would know what you were looking at better than I would."

"Good thinking," Herbert replied. "Stay on the line. I may need you to relocate."

"No problem."

The intelligence chief turned the monitor so he could look at it. If Hawke happened to glance over, he would see nothing. The screen was at an extremely sharp angle.

The satellite image was a fairly tight view of the Darling mansion. The house was at a forty-five-degree angle. In the green night-vision image, Herbert could see that there were lights on upstairs and downstairs. That suggested a good deal of activity in the house.

At five o'clock in the morning.

It only took a kitchen light to make breakfast, and probably not this early. Something was not right.

"Stephen, I want you to go to the Idlewild," Herbert said. "Got that?"

"The local airfield?" Viens asked.

"Yes. To the northeast."

Herbert wanted to use a term with which Hawke was likely to be unfamiliar. He did not want to give the man time to think up a new strategy. The original name for New York's Kennedy Airport seemed a good bet.

"You got it," Viens said. "I'll have to walk the satellite over, though. That's not one of the coordinates we have programmed in."

"Understood," Herbert told him. "Just walk as fast as you can, please."

It had occurred to the intelligence chief that Jervis Darling would expect to hear from either John Hawke or his nephew Marcus after the yacht went down. Absent an all-clear call, Darling might not want to stick around. Embittered former employees might want to talk. Darling would probably want to get out of Australia. Being in another country would add another layer to any legal or political fallout. Herbert could not permit that.

Of course, there was still the question of Marcus Darling. Marcus may have contacted his uncle to say that someone had been s.n.a.t.c.hed from the yacht by helicopter. Perhaps after they were safely aboard the patrol boat. A rescue of Kannaday or even Hawke could be bad news for Jervis Darling.

It took a few seconds for the satellite to begin shifting. The image jerked toward the top right. It changed once every second after that. It was a slow, exasperating process.

How quickly the miraculous has become inadequate, Herbert thought. Herbert thought.

Each live picture was a fresh frustration for Herbert. He wanted to see the airport now. now. He wished the fire tower had a clear view of the field. That would make things easier. He wished the fire tower had a clear view of the field. That would make things easier.

Herbert knew from Darling's dossier that he had a 1994 Learjet model 31A. The Australian used that for local hops. Darling kept his larger Gulfstream G-V at the airport in Darwin. Herbert would be able to identify the smaller plane with no problem.

A moment later, the small jet appeared on the airport landing strip. At this hour, it was the only active vehicle on the field. It stopped at the end of the runway. The pilot would go through his final preflight check. Then he would request clearance from the tower. A few moments later, Jervis Darling would be gone. The helicopter would never be able to catch him. And Lowell Coffey would definitely oppose scrambling the jets from Cooktown to force the Learjet down. Especially if Jessica-Ann Darling were on board. The media would take huge bites from a story headlined, "RAAF attacks schoolgirl."

Herbert looked at his watch. It was approximately seven minutes until the helicopter landed in Cairns. They would never reach the airstrip in time. He no longer had time to be subtle. He leaned toward the flight deck.

"What's the range of the radar at the airstrip in Cairns?" Herbert asked.

Jelbart looked at the pilot. "What have they got there, an EL/M-2125?" he asked.

"I believe so, sir," the pilot replied.

"They've got high-resolution views to the horizon on all sides, from one degree above the surface," Jelbart said.

"Meaning they'll see us as we fly toward Cairns," Herbert said.

"Like they were looking out the window," Jelbart said.

"What will they do if we come screaming in at them?"

"Buzz the tower?" Jelbart asked.

"I want to make a run toward the field!" Herbert said. "What will the tower do when they see us coming?"

"They'll shut the field down until they've contacted us," the pilot informed him.

"Then do it!" Herbert ordered.

"You want me to streak the airstrip?" the pilot clarified.

"At maximum drive! Now!" Now!" Herbert yelled. "Absolute radio silence." Herbert yelled. "Absolute radio silence."

As Herbert spoke, he disconnected the telephone receiver from the cord on his wheelchair. He held the plastic receiver in his right hand. With his left hand, Herbert gripped the plastic strap above the door. He did not want to use the seat belt. He needed a little mobility.

Jelbart protested. But his complaint was lost in the roar of the powerful 500 TTSN engine. Everyone was thrown forward or back as the Bell dipped, revved up, and raced ahead.

As Herbert expected, John Hawke was thrown toward him. Herbert swung the telephone receiver at the back of Hawke's neck. The security officer went down. Just to make sure Hawke was not feigning sleep again, Herbert leaned down and slugged him again. Hawke would have a difficult time proving he did not hurt himself when the helicopter abruptly changed directions.

Monica Loh had had the foresight to buckle her seat belt. That wonderful lady did not miss a thing.

Scooting back up in his seat, Herbert looked at his phone. The receiver was cracked. He would apologize to Viens later for disconnecting him. He would also have to frame the phone and give it to Paul Hood.

In this instance, at least, he and his boss were in complete agreement.

The telephone could be one h.e.l.l of a weapon of choice.

SEVENTY.

Washington, D.C. Sat.u.r.day, 3:06 P.M.

Hood was looking at the computer monitor on his desk. Stephen Viens had just sent him the same image that Bob Herbert was seeing. Hood saw the gleaming white Learjet poised for takeoff on the end of the runway. The aircraft was just sitting there.

"So that's Darling's jet, and Bob's going to try to keep him from taking off by mucking up the field's airs.p.a.ce," Hood said.

"That's pretty much it," Viens said.

"And then what? Did he give any clue?"

"No," Viens admitted.

"He wouldn't have wanted to say much," Hood thought aloud. "Not with a suspect in the cabin."

"I wonder if the Cooktown airbase will scramble jets to try to chase him away."

"They might, but Jelbart could handle that," Hood said. He shook his head. "Stephen, this is one of those times when you just have to trust the people you have in the field. But I do have one problem."

"What's that?"

"The poor Mississippi kid wants the rich Australian's hide," Hood said.

"I see," Viens said.

"I want the nuclear material," Hood went on.

Hood continued to watch the monitor. He did not think that Herbert would forget why he had gone to Australia.

And then he saw something on the monitor. Something new. "Stephen, can you bring me in closer?"

"I was just about to suggest that," Viens replied.

"You see it, too?"

"Yes," Viens said.

"Can you make it out?" Hood asked.

"Not yet," Viens told him. "Give me another few seconds to kick up the zoom and resolution."