“What is it?” Coffey asked.

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

“Who?” Coffey asked.

“Later,” Herbert said.

“Wait, 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.

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 Kumar 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. Kumar 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.