Sea of Fire

Chapter Sixty-Six

The call was late.

Jervis Darling stood in the beige kitchen eating a half cantaloupe from the rind. He was no longer dressed in the gray Cairns Yacht Club sweat suit he had been wearing earlier. He had exercised on his rowing machine for forty-five minutes. Then he showered, pulled on a bathrobe, and sat in front of the television. He moved impatiently from satellite to satellite, watching nothing as the hours passed. At the same time, his mood shifted from disgust to anger to concern. He should have heard from his nephew or John Hawke by now. But the cell phone in his pocket had remained resolutely silent.

Darling finished the fruit. He cut the rind into slices and fed it into the garbage disposal. Things always seemed worse in the dark hours of night. Yet he could not help but think that something had gone wrong. Even if they had failed to sink the yacht, Marcus would have gotten in touch with him. The only thing he could think of was that miserable American.

Other than by dumb, idiotic luck, Darling could not imagine how Herbert might have found the yacht. Or what he might have done to stop Hawke. No one stopped John Hawke. As he finished pulping the rind, Darling began to consider what he should do. Earlier that evening he had called his old college friend Bruce Perry about Herbert. Perry had said he would handle it. The men had not spoken since. Darling did not want to call and ask him how the conversation went. Pressure was as good as an admission of guilt. The only thing that drove away an ally faster was failure.

Darling began to consider his next move. It might have to be a bolder preventative step than simply calling a friend at the White House. This was not a position Darling enjoyed. He was usually the one maneuvering CEOs or politicians into a corner.

Darling felt that he should wake Jessica-Ann and leave the estate. He and his daughter could go to the cove and take the yacht to his retreat in the Sister Islands. Or they could drive to the airstrip and depart by jet. If something had gone wrong, Darling did not want to be easily accessible. Since the Sister Islands were part of New Zealand, that would add another country — and another bureaucracy — between himself and any legal activities. He would let the barristers tackle any issues that might come up.

Though these concerns are premature, Darling reminded himself.

Darling still did not know for certain that anything was wrong. John Hawke could simply be hiding until dawn. He might have had a reason to maintain silence. Or he could be playing a psychological game of some kind. Darling would not put it past Hawke to make him wait. Hawke would do that from spite or to show some muscle. Just enough to be annoying but not enough to threaten. Hawke knew better than to cross that boundary.

After considering the situation for several minutes more, Darling decided that it would be a good idea to leave. He would take the jet to the nearest of his islands in the Sisters. Picking up the house phone, Darling woke Andrew and told him to pack a bag for himself and for his daughter. Next he called his pilot, Shawn Daniels, who lived in a cottage at the far end of the estate. Darling told him to be ready to fly out within the hour. The Learjet was always ready and accessible for unexpected business trips.

Finally, Darling went to wake his daughter. He moved quickly but unhurriedly to the living room and up the winding marble staircase. Jessica-Ann would be groggy, and she would sleep through the flight. She would wake up to invigorating sunshine and clean sea air. Wake from the restful sleep of the innocent. Darling wished that were something he could enjoy.

Not that it matters. Things will look better in the morning, he assured himself.

If they did not, he would have them fixed by the afternoon. Either through talk or through deed.

A man with radioactive materials at his disposal always had options.