Sea of Fire (30 page)

“So I’ve been told,” Herbert said. “Still, I’m hoping there’s a loophole somewhere. I need a reason to go into the estate.”

“A reason to get on the property or in the house?” Leyland asked.

“In the house,” Herbert said.

“You mean like asking to use the dunny?”

Coffey inferred from the context that
dunny
meant
lavatory.

“No, it has to be somewhat more substantial than that,” Herbert replied. “Assuming Mr. Darling is there, I need to be inside the mansion for about ten minutes while he is on the outside. Would you have a legal right to check the grounds for fire safety violations?”

“Only if there were a fire,” Leyland said. “We have what’s called the right of inquiry. We are allowed to investigate the cause of a blaze to make sure it doesn’t happen again. But don’t ask me to start a fire. It hasn’t rained for two weeks. It could easily spread.”

“We wouldn’t ask you to do that,” Jelbart said.

Coffey watched Herbert’s expression go from hopeful to annoyed. Obviously, the intelligence chief thought he had his way in.

“Let me ask you this,” Leyland said. “Is it necessary that you see Mr. Darling himself?”

“No. His presence is not required,” Herbert said.

“He may not even be there,” Jelbart pointed out.

“Then I have something that may work, though it’s going to take a bush liar to sell it,” Leyland said.

“We’ve got some of those,” Herbert replied. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m thinking that Mr. Darling would rather deal with us than with a group that could really do him some damage,” Leyland replied.

“Who?” Jelbart asked.

“Come with me,” Leyland added. He started toward the tower. “I’m going to show you how to stamp your passport.”

Matt Stoll was the only other person in the operations level when Paul Hood arrived. That was not unusual. It was a Saturday morning.

Hood came in on Saturday mornings now because he had nowhere else to go. He would get an update from Herbert or Coffey wherever he was. One thing on his to-do list was to call Daphne Connors and see if she was free that night. If he did not push himself, no one else would.

Stoll usually came in on weekends to write or try out software he did not get to use during the week. Unless there was a technology convention in town, the computer genius did not have an active social life. He had no interest in socializing with women who did not speak his language.

“She doesn’t have to know gate propagation in high-res temporal resolution, though that would be heaven,” he once said. “But she should know how many megabytes there are in her PC and what that means. If I have to explain it, then the sex is never very good.”

Hood was not clear on who the sex was not good for or why. He was glad he was not on the need-to-know list.

As it turned out, the cherubic-looking Stoll was not here to tinker with a new program. He said he had gotten a call from Bob Herbert. The intelligence chief told him he needed something very specific.

“Bob wants me to rig him a Hoover,” Stoll said in his joyless monotone. Excitement, whenever Stoll showed it, was in the speed his fingers moved on a keyboard. Right now he was typing very rapidly.

“Which is what?” Hood asked. He suddenly felt very sorry for any woman Stoll had ever met.

“A Hoover is a data vacuum,” Stoll replied. “Bob wants to use his wheelchair computer as a drop zone for an external source.”

“You mean we plug into Bob, and Bob plugs into something else,” Hood said. “He serves as a conduit that allows us to read the ‘something else.’ ”

“I couldn’t have said it better,” Stoll said.

“What is Bob planning to plug into?” Hood asked.

“Well, he called right before his chair was loaded into a helicopter, so he didn’t go into a whole lot of detail,” Stoll said. “Apparently, Bob’s going to try to get into Jervis Darling’s estate. He wants to jack into his phone system.”

“Why? I thought we already hacked the Darling phone records.”

“We did,” Stoll said. “If he’s using his own uplink for secure calls, they wouldn’t show up on his public records. But if Bob plugs in directly, he’s accessing the origin point of the calls. That will give him access to all the numbers in the telephone’s memory.”

“What if those numbers aren’t programmed in?” Hood asked.

“Most phones retain the information somewhere,” Stoll assured him. “The redial function usually stores ten to twenty numbers. It costs less to build a chip that eliminates numbers by attrition. They get scrolled from the system rather than erased. Most people don’t know that.”

“What about incoming calls?” Hood asked. “We need to ID them.”

“If Darling’s phone has caller ID or whatever the Australian equivalent is, those numbers will also be stored,” Stoll said. “If he doesn’t, we’ll have to settle for the outgoing calls.”

“Did Bob say how he intended to get access to Darling’s private line?” Hood asked.

“For the record, it’s not the line he needs to get access to,” Stoll said. “It’s the phone itself. Bob can’t just splice into the fiber optics. That would put him outside the scrambler. Any data he got would be useless.”

“I see. Okay. How does Bob plan to jack into the phone?”

“He didn’t say,” Stoll replied. “I’m sure Darling has an office phone with multiple lines. That would mean there’s a data port. All Bob has to do is plug his computer into that. That will give us access.”

“That’s
all
Bob has to do,” Hood said. “I’ll give him a call.”

“He said he was turning his phone off,” Stoll told him. “He doesn’t want it beeping while he’s in with Darling. If it helps, Lowell told him the only legal risk would be invasion of privacy. Lowell is also pretty sure Darling would not press that issue. He said the reasons for the investigation would come out, and the publicity would be bad for Darling, even if he were innocent.”

“The legal options are not what worries me,” Hood said. “If Darling’s into nuclear trafficking, he’s probably also in bed with some ugly characters. They may not bother with lawyers.”

“I don’t blame them,” Stoll said.

Hood scowled.

“I guess we could call Lowell to try to stop him,” Stoll suggested.

“No,” Hood said. “We need facts to support our theory, and this is probably the best way to get them. I take it Lowell is not going along.”

“Right,” Stoll said. “It was Bob, a fire warden, a lady officer from Singapore, and a koala.”

“A koala? An animal?” Hood asked.

“Yeah. Search me what that’s all about.” Stoll smiled as he finished writing his program. “It’s like the cast of the
Wizard of Oz
. And they’re in Oz. Pretty ironic, don’t you think?”

That it was. Right down to the big, blustering wizard spewing fire. Only this Oz was no dream.

Stoll activated the program. He ran a test on an Op-Center phone line just to make sure it was working. It functioned perfectly. They had all the numbers Lowell Coffey had phoned the day before he left. Hood looked away and ordered the list purged from Stoll’s computer.

“I’ll bet you didn’t peek in the girls’ locker room in high school, either,” Stoll said.

“As a matter of fact, I didn’t,” Hood admitted. “I don’t mind being a spy. I never liked being a voyeur.”

“Interesting. We’ll have to discuss the distinction,” Stoll said.

“I can give it to you in two words,” Hood said as he clapped a hand on Stoll’s rounded shoulder. “National security.”

“The voyeuristic instinct is a doorway to intelligence, and intelligence is the spy’s basic unit of data,” Stoll said. “Unless you look, how do you know Lowell’s not working for the Chinese or some terrorist group?”

“He believes too strongly in the rule of law. Tell me, do you routinely check on all of us?” Hood asked.

“Nope. I’m not a voyeur. I was only asking you.”

Hood felt like kicking himself. He should have known better than to take one of Matt Stoll’s infamous buggy rides. They took you slowly around the park without getting you anywhere. Hood did not have the time or focus for this kind of discussion.

Stoll told Hood he would not know anything else until data started coming in. Hood asked his computer wizard to let him know the moment that happened, then left to go to his office. It was disconcerting to see the corridors so empty. It was like a manifestation of his own hollow life. Maybe that was something Bob Herbert had learned after losing his wife. You mourn, but you don’t sit still. You fill that empty hall with anything you can. Even if it isn’t necessarily good for you.

Of course, there’s a difference between recreational and reckless,
Hood thought. He was certain that Bob had considered the risks. He was also sure of something else. Herbert was probably enjoying the hell out of them. Hood only hoped that the intelligence chief was aware of the greatest danger.

Complacency.

A quiet, seaside estate was not war-ravaged Beirut or a skinhead stronghold in Germany. Those were the kinds of environments where Herbert was accustomed to waging war. They were unstable regions where instinct kept the mind and body on high alert.

Hood had to trust that his colleague knew what he was getting into. He also hoped that Herbert would come up with something else. Something that quickly sketched plans did not always allow.

An exit strategy.

He hurt.

Everywhere.

Peter Kannaday suffered pain with every breath. It was dull and warm and it was everywhere. He felt it spiritually as well as physically. The captain lay on his bed in a bruised heap, belly down, face to the wall. He had slept on and off since Hawke’s thugs had brought him here. Kannaday’s eyes and mouth were open, but it was dark. He did not see, nor speak, nor swallow. His stomach was rumbling from hunger. His tongue was swollen and dry. The only liquid he had tasted lately was his own blood.

Sometime during the night Kannaday had roused himself briefly to see if the door was locked. It was not. He checked to see if his gun was still there. It was not. He was free to walk the deck, broken and humiliated but unarmed. He would probably be able to radio Jervis Darling because he was free and he was still the captain. But what would he say? That he had been minimized, reduced to a figurehead? That he had not been able to enforce his authority or hold what was his? That he had no idea what to expect or what to do?

Kannaday closed his mouth. Even his neck muscles hurt. He must have strained them when he struggled with the men who were holding him. He had to get past the pain and think. It was clear that Hawke would not kill him. He wanted Kannaday as a buffer between himself and the law. But Kannaday had no idea what Darling might do. Darling did not like dealing with weak men. Kannaday would be kept around no longer than necessary. Then he would be dismissed or, more likely, eliminated. Darling was a man of absolutes.

From the slow rocking of the swells, Kannaday could tell that they were close to shore. No doubt Hawke had reported back to the cove and was now following their cruising course along the Great Barrier Reef. Kannaday had time to act, but not a lot.

Kannaday forced himself to move. He got his arms under him and pushed up. Slowly. His upper arms trembled as he worked himself into a sitting position. He eased his back against the wall at the side of the bed. The solid support felt good. His head throbbed as blood fought to reach it. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Miraculously, it did not feel as if any ribs were broken. He flexed his fingers. They were swollen. Maybe he had punched someone. He could not remember. The last thing he remembered clearly was running down the stairs. That moment was so immediate he felt as though he could go back there. Do things differently.

But it would still come out the same,
Kannaday realized. Unlike Hawke, he had been predictable. On top of that, there was an unusual dynamic. Hawke was not after something that Kannaday had. He wanted to preserve the hierarchy exactly as it was. But with privileges. And he had succeeded. The fact that the rest of the crew had not come down to check on him was telling. If the cook had come by, Kannaday did not hear him. But he doubted it. Either the crew had been told to stay away or did so from fear.

Kannaday’s body was beginning to accept the pain as a fact of life. It felt as though he had strained every muscle in his arms, torso, and neck. It was that kind of taut, deep-muscle ache. Kannaday knew that the more he moved, the more it would hurt. But he had no choice. He had to get out of here. Somehow, he had to take charge.

The captain waited another few minutes before trying to move again. He shifted to the edge of the bed and put his feet on the floor. He rose slowly. Most of the damage had been done north of Kannaday’s waist. His legs felt all right. He felt a little light-headed as he took a few shuffling steps toward the door. The sensation passed after a few moments. It was not pleasant, but Kannaday had his footing. What he did not have was something just as important.

A plan.

Kannaday reached the door. He turned and leaned his back against it. Standing in the dark, he pondered his next steps, both literally and figuratively. As he did, something occurred to him. The events that had brought Kannaday here could be useful. After all, he made the same mistake twice. He had acted just as Hawke had expected him to.

Hawke would probably expect him to do it again. Especially after the beating he had taken.

Kannaday went back to the bed. He sat down. He tried not to think the way he usually did, as if he were going down a checklist of things to do before leaving port.

He let himself contemplate all the scenarios that would surprise Hawke. And Darling, for that matter. Everything from setting fire to the
Hosannah
to taking the dinghy and vanishing into the night sea.