"That sounds like a very good idea," Herbert smiled. "I would love to show you around."

"I would like that," Loh smiled back.

"Just make sure to stay away from our deputy director, Mike Rodgers," Herbert said. "He'll send you on a mission."

Loh frowned. "I don't understand."

"You will," Herbert a.s.sured her. "I'll have to introduce you to Maria Corneja. She'll explain."

All of this was very confusing. But FNO Loh liked the idea of a world ripe for exploration. She also liked the fact that Bob Herbert seemed genuinely pleased by her suggestion. That surprised her. He had not seemed like a man who would enjoy leisure.

But then, you are not a woman who likes to socialize, she thought. Perhaps all it took was the right person. she thought. Perhaps all it took was the right person.

The two parted with a long handshake. Herbert held her hand between both of his. They were strong hands, but gentle. She was glad Herbert had taken charge of this, though the good-bye could easily take far longer than expected. And she had something to do. Loh smiled warmly and left quickly.

"Monica!" Herbert called after her.

She turned. "Yes?"

"Thanks for everything," he said. "And I don't mean just the crisis management."

"You are welcome."

"Good luck with whatever you're off to do."

"Thank you," she said.

And then she went off to do it.

SEVENTY-NINE.

The Coral Sea Sunday, 7:45 A.M.

Although the Singaporean patrol ship was not a fully equipped salvage vessel, it did carry air buoyancy bags. These were to be deployed in the event the ship itself suffered a critical breach. Descending well before sunrise, divers placed the bags in the higher stern section of the Hosannah Hosannah. It was a difficult salvage, due to the darkness. However, Lieutenant k.u.mar did not want to risk the boat sinking further. The air compressor filled the bags one at a time. Finally, with six bags inflated, the aft section of the Hosannah Hosannah broke the surface. broke the surface.

However, with the ship's return came something else. Something the crew did not expect.

A body.

The divers recovered the remains. k.u.mar went to the cabin, where several of the rescued seamen were being kept. He asked the young man Marcus Darling to come to sick bay and identify the body.

Marcus seemed numb and pale as he looked at the still-damp, slightly bloated corpse on the gurney.

"Who is he?" k.u.mar asked.

"That is Captain Kannaday," Marcus said softly.

"Was he part of the ring?" k.u.mar asked.

"At first," Marcus Darling said. "Then . . . something happened."

"What happened?"

"He changed," Marcus said. "He turned on Mr. Hawke."

"I see." k.u.mar motioned to the medical officer. The man handed him a white towel. The lieutenant opened it gingerly and showed it to Marcus.

"We found this tangled in the ropes beside him," k.u.mar said. "Did it belong to him?"

"No," Marcus said. "That belonged to Hawke."

"What is it?"

"A weapon," Marcus told him. "A wommera. You use it to throw darts."

"That might explain the wounds on his body," the medic interjected. "Was there a struggle, Mr. Darling?"

"I don't know," Marcus told him. "We were in the water."

k.u.mar covered the weapon and set it on the gurney. "It appears as though Mr. Hawke may earn himself a murder charge as well."

Marcus snickered. "That's funny. Hawke was always so careful. They all were."

"All it takes is one active conscience to undermine the cleverest criminal plot," k.u.mar said.

"Well, I'm sure that is a real comfort to Kannaday here," Marcus said. "Instead of being wealthy, he's dead."

k.u.mar looked disdainfully at the man beside him. "I believe it must have been a significant comfort to him. Buddhism teaches that the quality of a moment can be valued more than corrupt longevity. The ripples are felt throughout the world and time."

"Thanks for the lesson," Marcus said.

"In fact, Mr. Darling, it was advice."

"Was it?"

"Yes," k.u.mar said. "We have reason to believe that you were one of the men who shot at the sampan."

"I did what? I don't even know how to fire a gun!"

"You can tell that to the chief interviewer in the Maximum Security Changi Prison in Singapore," k.u.mar replied.

"Changi? You're not taking me to the logs," Marcus said.

"I have consulted with my superior, who is with representatives of your government. They agree that it is within our rights to ascertain your innocence," k.u.mar replied.

"This is wrong!" he shouted. "I want a lawyer!"

"You will have one, though it may be a few days before he can see you," k.u.mar said. "Singapore's courts are always very busy."

"I want one of my uncle's lawyers!"

"I'm told they are going to be fully engaged as well," k.u.mar said. "May I suggest a compromise, however?"

Marcus asked what that would be.

"Tell us who your captain dealt with," k.u.mar said. "Do that, and we will return you to Cairns."

"I thought this was about shooting the sampan," Marcus said.

"It can be," k.u.mar said.

"You b.l.o.o.d.y bullock," Marcus said.

"I am not b.l.o.o.d.y," k.u.mar replied. "Not yet."

Marcus huffed for a moment, then said he would have to think about it. On the way back to the cabin, he agreed to cooperate with k.u.mar. The lieutenant radioed to inform FNO Loh that he had a successful chat with Marcus Darling. The young man seemed willing to cooperate. k.u.mar also told Loh that they had located the real Peter Kannaday.

Back in sick bay, the medical officer finished cleaning the body of the seaweed that had collected on it. He picked it away carefully, using long tweezers and cotton swabs. Then he covered the body with a sheet and left it on the gurney. There was nothing else he could do. The body could not be touched until an autopsy had been performed onsh.o.r.e. He turned off the light and locked the door. It had been a long night of caring for the half-drowned sailors. He needed to rest.

Captain Peter Kannaday was alone. He was at sea, where he belonged.

And one thing more.

He was at peace.

EIGHTY.

Darwin, Australia Sunday, 7:46 A.M.

Lee Tong had never felt ill or disoriented when he was at sea. Not even the first time on the wonderful old timber carrier. Now he was on land, and it made him sick to move. Anything more than a slow, short breath caused deep waves of nausea. Which was strange, because Tong was also hungry. The young man could not remember the last time he had eaten.

In fact, Tong could not remember much of anything. He remembered closing in on a boat and being shot at. He remembered an explosion. After that, he remembered nothing.

Tong appeared to be in a hospital room. It was white with yellow walls and a large screen of some sort. People came in now and then, but he did not know who they were or what they were saying. Most of the time he did not bother to look or listen. Lying in the cool bed, floating in and out of sleep, was physically less disturbing. Yet even that was not a haven. He dreamed of better times, of a happier youth. The future had never held much promise for him. But when Lee Tong sailed the ocean with his father, at least there was the prospect of success. There was hope. He preferred that to the reality of failure. In the moments after he woke, Tong would wish desperately to go back and try again. But then the truth washed over him. He was here. Hope was gone. People did not get a second chance.

"Lee Tong."

The young man thought he heard someone say his name. The voice was m.u.f.fled, but it did not sound like a voice from one of his dreams. He forced his eyes open, just barely. Someone was looking down at him from the foot of the bed. A woman. She had a darker face than the others, but was also wearing a mask and gown. Through his nearly shut eyes she looked gauzy, like a ghost.

"Can you hear me?" she asked.

She was speaking Malay. It was beautiful. He nodded once. The nausea reminded him to stay as still as possible. He obeyed.

"Good," the woman said. "I am Female Naval Officer Monica Loh of the Singaporean Navy. You are suffering from mild radiation poisoning. It came from the vessel you attacked. But I've just spoken with your physician. You will recover. Do you understand?"

Tong nodded once, very, very slowly. The nausea was a little kinder this time. He opened his eyes a little wider. Some of the haze lifted from the woman. She was real.

"Mr. Tong, you were the only member of the sampan crew to survive the explosion," the woman went on. "We will need you to testify about the nature of the firefight. Whatever you remember, we want to know." The woman took several steps around the edge of the bed. "But that is not why I came to see you. I know what you were doing out there. We cannot prove you did anything wrong. However, I would like to keep you from doing anything illegal in the future. When you are released from the hospital, I would like to see you about a civilian job with the navy. There are a number of defense technical positions and administrative support positions for which you can be trained. I hope you will consider them."

Lee Tong was awake. He knew that because he felt queasy. But he thought he heard the woman say she wanted him to work for the navy. He had neither the education nor the kind of background recruiters sought. No one in his family had served in the military. It did not make sense.

"Why . . . ?" he asked weakly.

"Why do I want you?" Loh asked. "It took a great deal of skill to navigate a sampan that far out to sea. We can always use talented men and women, and I don't just mean the navy." The woman smiled under her mask. "I heard someone use the phrase 'the good guys' to describe us today. I like that. I want you to be one of them, Mr. Tong."

He looked at her and smiled back weakly. He nodded once. The nausea was worth it.

The woman nodded back and left.

The navy, Tong thought. Even in a civilian capacity, naval service would give him the kind of respect his father had always wanted for him. His only regret was that his shipmates were not here to collect their share of respectability. They were good men and loyal friends. He would miss them. Tong thought. Even in a civilian capacity, naval service would give him the kind of respect his father had always wanted for him. His only regret was that his shipmates were not here to collect their share of respectability. They were good men and loyal friends. He would miss them.

The young man's eyes blurred again, this time from tears.

As he slipped back into sleep, Lee Tong's last thought was that he no longer had to dream of happier times. He could imagine them.

For they were no longer behind him, but ahead.

EIGHTY-ONE.

Washington, D.C. Sat.u.r.day, 6:29 P.M.

Paul Hood was about to leave his office when the phone beeped. The caller ID identified it as Bob Herbert. He picked up.

"Lowell went on to partic.i.p.ate in what's left of his conference in Sydney, then decided to hang with the hostess and her husband," Herbert said. "But I'm coming home. I'm flying commercial later in the afternoon. First cla.s.s."

"I hope you've got the frequent flier miles for it," Hood laughed.

"Nope. Op-Center's treat. I don't think chasing Darling's plane earned me enough to upgrade," Herbert said.

"I'll see if we have any money left in our 'off to save the world' account," Hood joked.