Hawke drew the wommera from his sash. The four-inch-long darts were in a closed canvas sack that hung beside it. Kannaday was not concerned. There was not enough room to use them in here. And the stick was neither solid nor thick enough to use as a club.

“I refuse to resign,” Hawke said. There was steel in his jawline, in his voice. “Now. How will you enforce your decision?”

“I have weapons, too,” Kannaday said. “And I have the men to use them. More men than you have.”

“You have sailors,” Hawke said. “I have killers.”

“Half of them are Aboriginal and half of them are white,” Kannaday said. “How do you know they won’t turn against each other in a showdown?”

“My people are loyal to me,” Hawke said.

“Your people? Your killers still work for the chief, and they will want to get paid,” Kannaday assured him. “Now get out. I have to inform the Indonesians that we will not be making the rendezvous in the morning. Then I’m going to turn over security operations to one of my people, Mr. Henrickson. You may have free run of the ship as long as you agree not to work any mischief.”

“I will not resign,” Hawke said.

“Then you are dismissed,” Kannaday said. He glanced at the wommera as he rose. “And if you’re thinking of taking me on personally, I’ve tangled with monkeys like you my whole life. Up and down the islands, in bars and down alleys, on and off board ship.”

“Monkeys,” Hawke said contemptuously.

“Yes,” Kannaday said. “Annoying little creatures. Now leave before I throw you out.”

“Like trash,” Hawke said.

Kannaday had had enough of this. Everyone felt oppressed these days. He reached for the security chief’s shoulders. As he did, Hawke jerked the wommera as though he were cocking a shotgun. The top quarter of the stick flew off. Beneath it was a scalpel-sharp five-inch steel blade. Hawke thrust the slender knife forward. He pressed it into the soft flesh just below Kannaday’s larynx. The blade was pointed up. Hawke forced Kannaday to the balls of his feet. Kannaday had not known the wommera had a concealed blade. He felt stupid. That was worse than feeling helpless.

“Don’t ever assault me,” Hawke said. “I’m not your dog . . . or monkey.”

Kannaday said nothing. At moments like these it was best to listen. That provided information as well as time.