Darling felt that he should wake Jessica-Ann and leave the estate. He and his daughter could go to the cove and take the yacht to his retreat in the Sister Islands. Or they could drive to the airstrip and depart by jet. If something had gone wrong, Darling did not want to be easily accessible. Since the Sister Islands were part of New Zealand, that would add another country—and another bureaucracy—between himself and any legal activities. He would let the barristers tackle any issues that might come up.

Though these concerns are premature, Darling reminded himself.

Darling still did not know for certain that anything was wrong. John Hawke could simply be hiding until dawn. He might have had a reason to maintain silence. Or he could be playing a psychological game of some kind. Darling would not put it past Hawke to make him wait. Hawke would do that from spite or to show some muscle. Just enough to be annoying but not enough to threaten. Hawke knew better than to cross that boundary.

After considering the situation for several minutes more, Darling decided that it would be a good idea to leave. He would take the jet to the nearest of his islands in the Sisters. Picking up the house phone, Darling woke Andrew and told him to pack a bag for himself and for his daughter. Next he called his pilot, Shawn Daniels, who lived in a cottage at the far end of the estate. Darling told him to be ready to fly out within the hour. The Learjet was always ready and accessible for unexpected business trips.

Finally, Darling went to wake his daughter. He moved quickly but unhurriedly to the living room and up the winding marble staircase. Jessica-Ann would be groggy, and she would sleep through the flight. She would wake up to invigorating sunshine and clean sea air. Wake from the restful sleep of the innocent. Darling wished that were something he could enjoy.

Not that it matters. Things will look better in the morning, he assured himself.

If they did not, he would have them fixed by the afternoon. Either through talk or through deed.

A man with radioactive materials at his disposal always had options.

SIXTY-SEVEN - The Coral Sea Sunday, 4:01 A.M.

SIXTY-SEVEN

The Coral Sea Sunday, 4:01 A.M.

Monica Loh sat in the deep vinyl seat of the helicopter’s dark cabin. She was watching Bob Herbert. His face was in shadow, but his posture was tense, aggressive. He was leaning forward, anxiously pressing a thumb into his palm. Loh did not wonder what he was thinking. She knew. He wanted to get information from Captain Kannaday using any means possible. Herbert had said as much when he was on the telephone.

But then something changed. Herbert glanced at his computer monitor and sat up. His hands relaxed. He turned toward Captain Kannaday and regarded him for a long moment. Then he looked at her.