Sea of Fire

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Jervis Darling had gone to bed after receiving a signal that the transfer had finally been made. It was three rings on his cell phone, twice in succession. Because Darling had installed an FDS, a file-disabling security chip, there was no record of who had called. If someone had been watching the yacht, there was no way they could triangulate the call. Ordinarily, communicating with the yacht did not concern him. But there had been disturbing news reports about the sampan attack in the Celebes Sea. There were unconfirmed reports that radiation was detected on the wreckage. If that were true, naval patrols might be monitoring communications in the region. They could be searching for radioactivity as well as looking for anyone who might have heard or seen the explosion. If the Hosannah were picked up for any reason, his nephew knew to play dumb. Marcus would say that he had been hired to run the radio shack by the yacht owner. Period. Jervis would then telephone the person in charge. He would protest the presumption that his nephew was in any way involved with nuclear trafficking. Peter Kannaday would take the fall for it. Yachts were easy enough to acquire. Blame was what Captain Kannaday was being hired to carry.

The Hosannah was not coming directly back to Cairns. It would sail the coast for several hours after dawn, like any pleasure boat. When Kannaday was sure they were not being followed, he would bring her in. That should happen around ten in the morning.

Darling spent the early part of Saturday morning as he always did: having breakfast with his eight-year-old daughter. The meal of salmon, scrambled eggs, and raisin toast was Jessica-Ann's favorite. It was served in a large atelier adjoining Jervis Darling's bedroom. The room had been built for Darling's wife to pursue painting. It was too bad Dorothy did not stick to that as her principal hobby. As John Hawke put it after investigating her activities, "Your wife has been working with a new brush." Because a man is occupied, that does not give his wife license to amuse herself with someone less busy. Jervis and Dorothy Darling had exchanged vows, not contingencies.

Dorothy's wooden easel and tray of paints were still stored in a corner of the sunlit room. There was an untouched canvas stretching in its frame. Jessica-Ann said she wanted to paint on it one day. She liked coming here. The blond-haired girl had been one of her mother's favorite subjects. She said the smell of the paint made her feel as though her mother were still here. Darling could not deny his daughter that comfort.

Despite the loss of her mother four years earlier, Jessica-Ann was an outgoing, cheerful, and open young lady. Darling had seen to it that she did not want for companionship or activities. He also made sure that they spent as much time together as possible. Darling had no reservations about taking her to meetings at home and abroad. If he were leaving the country, he would simply pack up a tutor or two to travel with them.

Darling did not want to push his daughter into any of his businesses. For all he knew, she might want to be a painter, like her mother. She already liked to draw. She enjoyed sketching birds and insects. She imagined what the faces might be on the butterflies and fireflies she saw around the estate. That would be fine with Darling. He wanted to expose Jessica-Ann to all the possibilities. When the time came, she alone would decide what to do with her life. And she would make that decision in a world that did not revolve around Europe or America.

Jessica-Ann came to the table in a brilliant yellow jumpsuit. Her long hair was piled under a cap sporting the name of the latest boy band she was into. Darling had a permanent skybox at all the arenas and stadiums in Australia. Jessica-Ann got to see every concert that toured Down Under. Her high cheekbones had a healthy flush, and she wore her big, perennial smile. The young girl had just gone for a morning squash lesson at their private court. She took a moment to mime for her father the proper way to serve.

"Let me ask you something," Darling said as she slid into one of the cushioned iron chairs. "Would you rather play with perfect form and lose or with bad form and win?"

"I'd rather win," she said without hesitation. "It would be even better to do it with bad form, because that would show I had amazing talent."

"I like the way you think," Darling said as Mrs. Cooper served their breakfast. Smelling the fresh salmon, Jessica-Ann's Siamese cat Spokane ambled over. The overweight cat was named for the first city outside of Australia that Jessica-Ann had visited. The cat moved aggressively along her leg, and Jessica-Ann slipped it a thin slice of salmon.

Darling and his daughter saw each other regularly during the week. But this was their special time. Business was not permitted to intrude. Thus, it was not until nearly ten A.M. that Darling took a call from the Hosannah. He was drinking coffee and having his first look at the on-line news services. Though it was not the call he had been expecting, it was not a surprise.

Peter Kannaday was not on the other end of the phone. It was Darling's nephew Marcus. He was calling from a landline. The yacht was able to plug into it upon entering the cove.

"You received the signal?" Marcus asked.

"I did. Why are you calling instead of the captain?"

"He's in his cabin," Marcus replied.

"I repeat the question," Darling said. He could tell when someone was being evasive. They tended to answer directly and quickly, as though the answer had been rehearsed.

"He had a run-in with Mr. Hawke," Marcus said.

"Is Mr. Hawke with you?"

"No," Marcus replied. "Shall I get him?"

"That isn't necessary," Darling told him. "What happened?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Marcus replied. "We made the rendezvous at the rescheduled time. As the launch was setting out, Mr. Hawke came below with several of his men. He asked me to tell Captain Kannaday that Hawke was in the radio room. I was to remain above deck until they came for me."

"How long were you up there?" Darling asked.

"About ten minutes," Marcus told him. "Mr. Hawke came up and told me it was all right to go below."

"And the captain?"

"Hawke said he had retired and was not to have any visitors or messages," Marcus told him.

"Are you sure Captain Kannaday is alive?" Darling asked.

"I went to the door and had a listen," Marcus said. "I heard movement but nothing more."

"He hasn't asked for anything," Darling said.

"Not that I'm aware of," Marcus replied. "He hasn't used the intercom."

"So Hawke has been running the ship."

"Apparently," Marcus replied. "He brought us in. I was asleep most of the time."

"Is anyone coming ashore?" Darling asked.

"Not yet," Marcus said. "Mr. Hawke asked me to call in. I have no further instructions or information."

Darling poured himself more coffee. It was already prepared to his taste, dark and sweet.

John Hawke was smart. Kannaday had obviously done what Darling had suggested. He had made noises like a real captain. Hawke must have threatened Kannaday in return. Perhaps they had tied him up or beaten him. But locked in his room, Kannaday was still the captain. If there were ever a fall to take, legally or with Darling, he would still have to take it. But that was Kannaday's problem. Darling's problem was that if he asked to see Kannaday, he would find out what happened. That Hawke had pushed him to the wall and won. Then he would either have to replace him or send him back to the Hosannah. If Darling left him in charge, then he himself would look weak. He could not knowingly leave a crippled captain in charge. Unfortunately, there was no one available to replace Kannaday except for Hawke. But if Darling asked Hawke to take charge, he ran the very real risk that Hawke would decline. John Hawke preferred the shadows to the light. His refusal would also make Darling appear weak. As Hawke had just demonstrated, he was not afraid to push back.

The next pickup was not for another four days. The yacht was scheduled to cruise with its "paying" customers until then.

"When you see the captain, tell him I'm pleased that everything went as it was supposed to," Darling said.

"What if I don't see the captain?" Marcus asked anxiously.

"Then deliver the message to the next in command," Darling replied. "That is typically how things are done, is it not?"

"Of course," Marcus replied. He hesitated.

"Was there anything else?" Darling asked.

"Actually, yes," Marcus said. "I'm not sure I want to go back on board."

"Why?"

"There's bad air on that ship," Marcus said. "First the attack, now this strangeness between the captain and Mr. Hawke."

"That shouldn't impact your work or your job performance," Darling said. "You're insulated from all of that."

"I don't feel insulated," Marcus complained. "Everyone on board feels it."

"Deal with it," Darling said firmly. "Set an example for the others. I need my radio operator."

"Yes, sir."

"Now go back on board," Darling told him. "Remember that fear is its own fuel. Have a positive attitude."

"I will, sir," Marcus said unconvincingly and hung up.

Darling placed the phone in its cradle. He glanced at his laptop without seeing it. He felt confident with Hawke watching things. He actually felt sorry for Peter Kannaday. Command was beyond the abilities of some people. Kannaday was one of those men. He was and would continue to be nothing more than the master of a pleasure boat. A rich one after another few years, but what did wealth matter without self-respect?

Darling wondered if Kannaday would settle into his role as a subordinate captain or whether he would try again to take on Hawke. Darling did not know the captain, but he knew human nature. He knew men. When it came to testosterone and reason, reason usually lost.

Kannaday would lash out again. Only this time it probably would not end with the captain being locked in his cabin.

Darling returned to the computer to read the latest rumors about a radioactive sampan found in the Celebes Sea. According to the reports, no one knew who the unconscious sailor was or what happened to him.

That was good. Even if he were conscious, it was unlikely the seaman had seen or heard anything useful. Hawke would have made certain of that. After all, Darling thought, he did do his best work in the dark.