Sea of Fire

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Surprise was a wonderful but dangerous thing.

Whether giving or receiving, surprise was short-lived, explosive, and directed. Wielded deftly, it was an intelligence operative's greatest tool. It was also valuable as "incoming." Knowing there might be danger behind a door or around a corner or even at the other end of a telephone kept an agent sharp. Being unready for it could be lethal. Bob Herbert had learned that in Beirut. Since then, he had no trouble ramping up to high alert.

That zero-to-sixty acceleration was one of the qualities Bob Herbert cherished most about intelligence work. He did not have to know what time it was. He did not necessarily have to know where he was. All Herbert needed to know was who or what the target was. Once he had that goal, exhaustion, discomfort, and even lust slipped away. If he had not gotten into the intelligence game, Bob Herbert felt that he would have made a helluva chess grand master.

Matt Stoll got the colonel's home phone number for Herbert. Stoll did not even have to slip into the North Korean People's Army classified phone directory. The number was attached to an intelligence research file included with the North Korea Advisory Group Report to the Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives from 1999.

"I've learned to search our own government databases before going to others," Stoll said.

If the number didn't work, Stoll said he would take the next, longer step to get it.

Herbert would have preferred verification up front. But he also wanted to get this done as quickly as possible. He had suffered through a traditional bomb attack. If the Beirut terrorists had possessed nuclear material, he and thousands of others would not be alive today.

While he waited, Herbert booted his wheelchair computer. He plugged the phone into a jack with two cables. He jacked one back into the aircraft comm system and the other into his computer. He activated the transcription interface, a program that would simultaneously create a typed recording of their conversation. Herbert also practiced speaking in as deep a monotone as possible. Herbert was not sure of the nationality of the individual who had spoken to Hwan. He wanted his voice to be as geographically neutral as possible. Accents were less about the spin given to vowels and consonants than about cadence and pitch. The deeper and flatter a voice, the less identifiable it would be.

Herbert's headset was still jacked into the aircraft's secure phone line. He input Colonel Hwan's number. The phone beeped several times before someone answered.

"Hwan," said a man with a high, nasal voice. There was a long moment before the man spoke. That meant he had lifted the receiver, then had to get into position to use it. Probably because he was in bed.

"We need more coverage," Herbert said. His voice was like a bow being drawn across a bass cello. And his goal was to keep the conversation in the third person singular. Herbert needed names.

"I'm in bed," Hwan said.

"We need it now," Herbert replied.

"You cannot have it now," Hwan replied. "And who is this? You are not Marcus."

"Marcus took ill. You know how it is here."

Hwan said nothing.

"He's been working too many hours, like everyone else on this damn project," Herbert added.

Again, Hwan did not bite. Perhaps the North Korean did not know what the project was.

"I'm Marcus's backup, Alexander Court," Herbert said. Court was the author of a novel Herbert had seen lying in the crew bay. He liked the sound of the name. Good pseudonym. "What about it, Colonel? Can we count on your help just one more time?"

"Alexander, remind Mr. Hawke that I agreed to give him one look," Hwan said. "I cannot afford to do more at this time. Don't make me go to his superior, Mr. Court."

"Maybe you should go to the boss," Herbert pressed. "Hawke has been making all our lives miserable."

"I suggest you complain to him yourself," Hwan said.

"He would never take my calls," Herbert said. He was pushing Hwan, trying to get a name.

"I doubt he would take mine either, even if I knew how to reach him," Hwan said. "Good night, Mr. Court."

"Colonel Hwan, will you reconsider if the boss himself calls?" Herbert asked.

"It would depend on what he has to offer," Hwan said. "If he is willing to part with one of his Sisters, I might consider it." He said that with a laugh.

"Which one?" Herbert asked.

"His choice," Hwan said.

The connection was cut.

Herbert sat still for a long moment. He felt drained. He had not gotten everything he had hoped for, but he had gotten something. An uncommon first name, Marcus. A surname, Hawke. The fact that Hwan had attached a "Mr." to it suggested strongly that it was not a code name, "hawk" without the e. And they were all working for a secretive, tough-to-reach figure who had more than one sister. Possibly young, apparently wealthy.

He unplugged the phone and logged on to the Internet. He forwarded the transcript to Hood and Coffey. Then he did a word search of Marcus, Hawke, sisters.

The words showed up in the same place, but in each case they were unrelated. There was an on-line bookstore with author Nigel Hawke, a biography of Marcus Aurelius, and a novel called The Lost Sisters. There were sports pages with a Hawke's Bay soccer team, the tennis-playing Williams sisters, and a basketball player named Marcus Fowler.

"It was too much to hope that I might catch a break," he muttered.

Herbert checked Marcus and Hawke separately. There were over four thousand references for each, too many to check. He decided to add geography to the search. He entered Marcus, Hawke, sisters, Malaysia, then replaced Malaysia with North Korea, North Korea with Indonesia, then Indonesia with Singapore. He still did not get a single link for even two of the entries.

Then Herbert increased his geographical search. He included Australia, followed by New Zealand. What he found in New Zealand was unexpected.

A surprise.

A good one.