In this instance, at least, he and his boss were in complete agreement.

The telephone could be one hell of a weapon of choice.

SEVENTY - Washington, D.C. Saturday, 3:06 P.M.

SEVENTY

Washington, D.C. Saturday, 3:06 P.M.

Hood was looking at the computer monitor on his desk. Stephen Viens had just sent him the same image that Bob Herbert was seeing. Hood saw the gleaming white Learjet poised for takeoff on the end of the runway. The aircraft was just sitting there.

“So that’s Darling’s jet, and Bob’s going to try to keep him from taking off by mucking up the field’s airspace,” Hood said.

“That’s pretty much it,” Viens said.

“And then what? Did he give any clue?”

“No,” Viens admitted.

“He wouldn’t have wanted to say much,” Hood thought aloud. “Not with a suspect in the cabin.”

“I wonder if the Cooktown airbase will scramble jets to try to chase him away.”

“They might, but Jelbart could handle that,” Hood said. He shook his head. “Stephen, this is one of those times when you just have to trust the people you have in the field. But I do have one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“The poor Mississippi kid wants the rich Australian’s hide,” Hood said.

“I see,” Viens said.

“I want the nuclear material,” Hood went on.

Hood continued to watch the monitor. He did not think that Herbert would forget why he had gone to Australia.

And then he saw something on the monitor. Something new. “Stephen, can you bring me in closer?”

“I was just about to suggest that,” Viens replied.

“You see it, too?”

“Yes,” Viens said.

“Can you make it out?” Hood asked.

“Not yet,” Viens told him. “Give me another few seconds to kick up the zoom and resolution.”

The green-tinted image began to change. The Learjet became larger in the lower right-hand corner of the monitor. The white of the fuselage looked irradiated in the night-vision lens. The tarmac expanded. And the black, bloblike object in the upper left became slightly clearer.

Hood stared at it intently. He saw what the object was. And he was very sorry that Bob Herbert’s phone was not working.

SEVENTY-ONE - Cairns, Australia Sunday, 5:07 A.M.

SEVENTY-ONE

Cairns, Australia Sunday, 5:07 A.M.

The sun was beginning to brighten the charcoal gray tarmac at the tiny airfield. Inside the sleek Learjet, Jervis Darling sat in a deep, cushioned seat over the wing. The gentle hum of the engines comforted him, as always. He loved the feeling of bridled power. Especially when he controlled the reins. Bundled in his overcoat, his daughter was asleep in the seat beside him. Once they had reached cruising altitude, Darling would carry the young girl to the small bedroom in the back of the aircraft.

As the jet continued to idle, Darling became impatient. He punched a button on top of the armrest. That activated the intercom to the cockpit.