Tom Clancy's Op-center_ Sea Of Fire Part 36

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.

The sun was beginning to brighten the charcoal gray tarmac at the tiny airfield. Inside the sleek Learjet, Jervis Darling sat in a deep, cus.h.i.+oned 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 alt.i.tude, 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 b.u.t.ton on top of the armrest. That activated the intercom to the c.o.c.kpit.

"Shawn, what's the delay?"

"Mr. Darling, the tower has put us on temporary hold," pilot Shawn Daniels replied.

"Find out what it's about," Darling snapped. "I want to be airborne as quickly as possible."

"Sir, that may not be possible," Daniels told him.

"What are you talking about?"

"There's activity on the tarmac," he replied.

"What kind of activity?" Darling demanded.

"The tower has not given me that information, sir," Daniels replied.

"d.a.m.n the tower," Darling said as he unbuckled his seat belt. He moved through the narrow cabin, ducking his head slightly under the low ceiling. He opened the c.o.c.kpit door. Pilot Daniels and copilot Kristin Bedard moved slightly to either side so he could see out the winds.h.i.+eld.

A helicopter was parked at the end of the runway. The rotor was still churning, and a side door was open.

"Do you know who that is?" Darling asked.

"No, sir," Daniels told him. "It's a Bell helicopter, but I can't see the identification number."

Darling squinted into the darkness. Something was being off-loaded. He could not tell what it was.

"Mr. Darling," the pilot said. "I could be mistaken, but that looks like a wheelchair."

"He wouldn't dare," Darling muttered.

"Sir?"

Darling ignored the pilot. He continued to look out the window. After a moment, the helicopter rose slowly from behind the object. Darling could see clearly now. It was was a wheelchair. The wheelchair of R. Clayton Herbert. And it was coming toward him. a wheelchair. The wheelchair of R. Clayton Herbert. And it was coming toward him.

"Can you take off around him?" Darling asked.

"Sir?"

"Can you go around him, over him, through through him?" Darling yelled. him?" Darling yelled.

"No, sir," the pilot said. He seemed surprised.

"Ask the tower why no one is coming to take him off the field," Darling demanded.

"Sir, they've plugged me into the cross talk between themselves and the helicopter," the pilot said. "Apparently, Warrant Officer George Jelbart of the Maritime Intelligence Centre has just commandeered the landing strip for a military action."

This cannot be happening, Darling thought. Darling thought.

"The tower is asking the helicopter for a reason," the pilot went on. "The warrant officer is saying there is a question about the cargo of the jet." The pilot seemed surprised. He glanced back at Darling. "I can cut in if you like, sir. Do we have a response for them?"

"Yes," Darling said. "Tell the tower I am going out to remove the impediment. If they have a problem with that, they can take it up with the prime minister, whom I intend to wake once we are airborne."

"I will tell them, sir," the pilot said.

Darling backed into the cabin. He motioned to copilot Bedard, who jumped from her seat and opened the door. She lowered the retractable stairs.

"Sit with my daughter in case she wakes," Darling told her as he swept onto the tarmac.

The night seemed endless, but Darling's patience was not. The new world power structure was inevitable.

It might as well begin here and now.

SEVENTY-TWO.

Cairns, Australia Sunday, 5:16 A.M.

A Learjet looks a h.e.l.luva lot bigger when you're rolling right up to it, Herbert thought. Herbert thought.

That was not the only thought he had, but it was a powerful one. Waves of heat from the turbines were rising in the dawning sun. The machine was hot, volatile, dangerous. The pointed nose was like a lance aimed directly at him. The low hum of the engines was what Herbert imagined tigers would be like growling from behind brush. All it would take was a gentle nudge from someone inside to send the beast charging toward him. The helicopter had moved to an emergency access road beside the tarmac, leaving Herbert alone. Now that the Bell was out of the way, Herbert had no doubt that Jervis Darling would like to run him over. The intelligence chief hoped the pilot and copilot would be disinclined.

As Herbert rolled himself forward, the cabin door of the jet swung open. Someone charged down the steps. Herbert could not see the figure clearly, but it could only be Jervis Darling. He approached aggressively, with a shoulder-driven swagger. It gave Herbert a moment's hesitation. Darling was not that many generations removed from the people who first cut civilization into the rough terrain here. They were convicts and their keepers, for whom hards.h.i.+p was constant. As he had discovered before, it was going to take a lot to cow him. Hopefully, the extra ammunition Herbert had would give him the kill shot he needed.

"Get out of my way!" Darling said as he approached. "Leave, or I will call the chief constable and have you removed."

"Call him. Then I'll have to explain why I was here." Herbert stopped moving forward. He pressed down on the brake to lock his wheels. There was no wind. He could hear Darling breathing as he approached.

"Your delusions don't interest me," Darling said as he stopped in front of Herbert.

"My 'delusions' will interest the police," Herbert said.

"Let's see," Darling said. He took out his cell phone.

"Why don't you start talking, Mr. Darling? It'll save us a lot of time."

Darling speed-dialed a number.

"Even if I am removed, you're not going anywhere," Herbert said. "The helicopter will see to that. You're not leaving here, and if you're planning on going to your cove, the helicopter will get there before you do. And you can't afford to wait. That's why you were leaving now."

Darling turned his back on Herbert. He began walking away, the phone to his ear.

"The reason you didn't hear from John Hawke is because we rescued him from the yacht," Herbert went on. "He told us everything he knew about the operation. I'm sure I'll get more from your nephew. The Singaporean navy scooped him and several others from the Coral Sea. Probably an underachiever, right? I'm willing to bet he'll finger you to buy leniency for himself. That's what sycophants do."

Darling stopped. He closed the phone. He turned.

"What do you want, Mr. Herbert?" Darling asked. "I don't mean to leave the airfield but to go away. To leave me alone."

"You can start with the location of the nuclear materials you've been shuffling around."

"They're in your mind! mind!" Darling said angrily. "We're not going to talk about your fantasies. Only about the reality of this moment. I'll ask one more time. What do you want?"

"I just told you."

Darling shook his head. "Mr. Herbert, I've tried to be reasonable with you. I've failed. Now I hope you'll get off the tarmac. Because I can fly that jet, and I intend to take off."

"You'd run over me?"

"Mr. Herbert, if everything you've intimated is true, one more criminal act would not make things worse," Darling pointed out.

The Australian turned and left. Herbert had one more round in the chamber. It was his silver bullet.

"I did not accuse you of murder," Herbert shouted. "But only a man who had already committed one would say that he has nothing to lose."

"I suggest you move!" Darling yelled over his shoulder.

"How will your daughter feel when she learns you had her mother murdered?" Herbert said.

Darling kept walking, but only for a moment. He turned and threw the cell phone at Herbert. It fell short, exploding on the tarmac. The Australian stalked back toward Herbert.

The kill shot had hit its target. Now Herbert needed one more very specific result.

"You s.h.i.+t! s.h.i.+t!" Darling yelled. "You deformed s.h.i.+t!" s.h.i.+t!"

There was the verbal abuse. That was the start of the final phase, like Hitler shouting orders in the bunker as his world burned. If Herbert did this right, the rest was inevitable.

"Your ambition is as limited as your mobility!" Darling went on. "You have no eyes, no soul to dream, nothing!" nothing!"

"You want to talk about a soul? I lost my legs in a terrorist attack," Herbert said. "I lost my wife then, too. I would give anything to have her back. But you had your wife killed out of vanity. Because it was convenient. Who's the deformed s.h.i.+t? s.h.i.+t?"

"You don't know anything anything about my life!" Darling yelled. about my life!" Darling yelled.

"This may come as a shock, but the world is not Darling-centric," Herbert said. He was pus.h.i.+ng. He needed one more thing.

He got it.

The Australian reached Herbert's side and threw a hard right backhand across his face. Herbert took the hit.

"You don't know anything about life itself!" Darling went on angrily. "Go back to your grim little cubbyhole and review reports and study the activities of individuals who make history! But don't be a spoiler. You have no idea what you're doing!"

"I do," Herbert said. "I just got a lunatic to slug me. The tower saw it. My people are calling your friend the constable right now from the helicopter. You're going to be arrested for a.s.sault. Then your government and mine are going to stop you from slipping radioactive material into subways and office buildings around the world."

Darling shook his head violently. "I was trying to help help the world! Why should history be written by America or China? What happens to the rest of us? Where is our place in history?" the world! Why should history be written by America or China? What happens to the rest of us? Where is our place in history?"

"Some of us would have been happy building an international empire and having a couple of jets to tool around in," Herbert said.

"Which is why you don't don't have those things!" Darling replied. "You settle. You dream small!" have those things!" Darling replied. "You settle. You dream small!"

"Really?" Herbert said. "I just sank you with a few words. That, Mr. Darling, is not small."

The sun cleared the horizon, and Jervis Darling seemed to shrink in it. In a moment, his shadow was taller than he was. The billionaire's arms went slack, and his chin fell.

"Where I come from, everything isn't about changing the world on an epic, historic scale," Herbert said. "Some of it is about improving ourselves, becoming better people. Better spouses. Better parents. That is not small either, Mr. Darling. It's a very big dream and an even bigger project. You ought to try it sometime."

The Australian looked at the yellow-orange sun. His face was lined, older in the stark light. Head c.o.c.ked oddly to one side, he turned and began walking slowly toward the aircraft.

"Mr. Darling, where are you going? I need you to stick around," Herbert said.

"You need to leave."

"That isn't going to make the problem go away," Herbert said. "Too many people know."

He continued to walk toward the airplane.

"Mr. Darling!"

"One thing you still have to learn," Darling said, "is that people know what you tell them. I am not finished."

Herbert frowned. Something was up. Something unsettling.

And Herbert had an idea what it was.

SEVENTY-THREE.