While Leyland waited, he stuck out his lower lip and blew perspiration from his mustache. It was something he did when he was annoyed. He was not accustomed to getting secret calls. He scanned the canopy of trees to the northwest. Fires occasionally started in the campground there.

“Captain Leyland?” the caller asked.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Warrant Officer George Jelbart, Maritime Intelligence Centre,” the caller replied.

“Is there a situation?” Leyland pressed. The man was calling from a helicopter. He could hear the sound in the radio.

“There isn’t a fire, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jelbart replied.

Leyland relaxed. He lowered the binoculars.

“But we do have a situation,” the officer went on. “We are coming in to discuss it with you.”

“We?” Leyland asked.

“We’ll discuss it when we arrive,” Jelbart said. “We should reach the helicopter pad in about fifteen minutes. We’d like clearance.”

“What kind of bird are you flying?”

“A Bell 204,” Jelbart told him.

“There’s room for you. You’re cleared,” Leyland informed him.

“We checked that before we left,” Jelbart replied. “Thanks for the backup, though.”

The caller clicked off. Leyland replaced the unit in his belt. It automatically switched back to base-audio. He was intrigued by the call but also frustrated. Leyland hated being in the dark about anything. He would have pressed for information, but he also disliked wasted effort. If the warrant officer had wanted Leyland to know more, he would have told him more.

“Eva, have Spider climb up to keep an eye on things,” Leyland said. “I’m going to the helipad.”

“Right away,” she said after giving Spider the order. “What’s going on?”

“We’re having guests,” Leyland replied. “Intelligence chaps from the Aussie navy.”

“Sounds important,” Eva said. “Is it?”

“When was the last time anyone visited who was not with the RFB?” Leyland asked.

“Never, in the three years I’ve been here,” she replied.

“And not in the six years I’ve been here,” Leyland said as he started down the ladder in the center of the tower.

“I don’t follow,” she said.

“No one comes out here if it isn’t important,” Leyland said.

FORTY-THREE - Cairns, Australia Saturday, 6:22 P.M.

FORTY-THREE

Cairns, Australia Saturday, 6:22 P.M.

Lowell Coffey could not decide which was worse—riding in a boat or in a helicopter. The naval vessel rocked its passengers this way and that. The helicopter vibrated wildly and was deafening. Not that a qualitative comparison between the corvette and the Bell was going to help. His fight-or-flight mechanism, or whatever Jelbart and Herbert had decided it was, wanted him to flee. The only reason Coffey mused about the differences was to keep from dwelling on the discomfort itself. Toward the end of the forty-five-minute journey, it was a necessary distraction.