When she didn’t check in, Lauren knew that Donovan’s first move would be to reach out to Calvin. Even if Calvin would confide in Donovan, she wondered how much intelligence her office at the DIA would be able to uncover. All anyone really knew was the plane was missing, as were the five people onboard. Satellite surveillance would show nothing, no wreckage; the crew wouldn’t have transmitted a Mayday call, so there’d be no intercept by the NATO AWACS planes typically watching Russian airspace. By crashing into the water, the Learjet had simply vanished. Lauren had no idea what protocols or time frames were in place to notify the next of kin, but Donovan would be told fairly soon that she was missing, and presumed dead, along with Daniel Pope. She could only imagine the pain and betrayal that he would feel, and there was no immediate way for her to prevent it.
Lauren took a deep breath, it was time to get to work. She ventured away from the river and began to look for what she needed. It took her the better part of an hour, and several trips, but she finally gathered enough rocks to do the job. She slid down into the water next to Daniel and waved away the insects that had already accumulated. She opened the first three buttons on his shirt and began to pull rocks from her pile and slip them inside the shirt. When no more would fit, she buttoned it to the neck and then slipped smaller rocks into his trouser pockets.
As a test, Lauren loosened the belt that kept him afloat and he slipped beneath the water. Lauren re-tightened the belt to keep him in place. She used the back of her hand to wipe at the hair that clung to her forehead. She’d have to wait until dark, then she’d swim Daniel out into the main channel and say goodbye to him forever as she sank his body below the surface.
CHAPTER FOUR
DONOVAN LEANED AGAINST the fence encircling the paddock. Abigail was atop Halley, using both the reins and her knees to guide the pony in figure eights around the corral. Ms. Taylor, her coach, was never far away, giving both horse and rider gentle encouragement. Donovan marveled at Abigail’s focus as his daughter controlled the horse while maintaining her poise, heels down, head up, hands in the correct position. Each detail, combined with her riding clothes, served to remind Donovan how quickly his daughter was growing up.
As he glanced across the paddock, Donovan spotted the black Crown Victoria as it pulled up and stopped. The front door opened, and a man in a suit, dark glasses obscuring his eyes, surveyed the area. Satisfied, he then reached for the rear door and stepped to the side as it opened.
In the Virginia summer heat, Donovan wore cargo shorts and a loose-fitting polo pullover, his concealed Sig Sauer within easy reach. A quick glance around the perimeter confirmed that the immediate threat was from the Crown Vic. Donovan watched a figure emerge from the back of the car and relaxed as he recognized Lauren’s boss. Deputy Director Calvin Reynolds spotted Donovan and held up his hand in greeting. Dressed in khakis and a knit shirt, Calvin’s visit wasn’t official, but there was no way Calvin’s presence at his daughter’s riding lesson was accidental.
Donovan let Calvin come to him. The driver held his position at the car, while Calvin walked toward Donovan. The two men shook hands warmly, but without smiles. They’d known each other for years, their common point of interest being Lauren. His wife thought of Calvin as a father figure. Donovan had mixed feelings about any high-ranking official in the intelligence community, though over the years Calvin had proved loyal.
“She’s learning fast,” Calvin said as he turned to watch Abigail ride. “You must be proud of her.”
“Where’s my wife?” Donovan was in no mood for small talk.
“Did you know that Lauren has a code name in the CIA?”
“Yes, it’s Pegasus, given to her by an operative in Paris. Calvin, answer my question. Where’s my wife?”
“This morning I received a message from the CIA via secure text. All it said was ‘Pegasus Down.’”
“What does that mean?” Donovan felt real fear, his fight or flight response coming at him hard.
“I have serious reservations about telling you any of this. I know you’re concerned. I know you called my office this morning. What I have to tell you I couldn’t say on the phone, but you’re a friend, and so is she. I know very little at this point, but I also know how you’re going to react, which is poorly, and probably impulsively.”
“Calvin, is she alive?” Donovan said the words almost as a warning, his anger and frustration starting to spiral out of control. Abigail circled close on Halley, and all Donovan could think about was how devastating it would be for her if her mother never came home.
“We don’t know,” Calvin replied. “I’m being stonewalled by the CIA. They’re distancing themselves from this and refuse to confirm or deny anything. I’m running into interference from the top, and it’s quickly becoming something beyond my scope.”
“She’s not in Geneva, is she?” Donovan felt his world tilting out of balance as Calvin shook his head. “Where is she, and what is she involved with?”
“Ten days ago, the DIA was contacted by a scientist. The message was tagged for Lauren and marked urgent. We, as well as the NSA, took a look into the matter. There was enough evidence to believe that the scientist had been kidnapped and forced to work for an unknown group. The scientist called for an extraction, but the only person he’d turn himself over to was Lauren. She agreed, and last night the mission went active. As of this morning, the plane she was on is missing. Langley has no idea if it’s crashed or been captured. It’s vanished, along with all five people aboard.”
The effect of Calvin’s words was quick and devastating. Donovan felt the sudden heat as his face flushed, there was a ringing in his ears, and his knees started to buckle as if he was being squeezed from all directions. He couldn’t draw a full breath. Donovan closed his eyes, as if he could ward off the implications of the news. “What kind of plane are we talking about?”
“A Learjet 31.”
“Nothing draws a crowd faster than a plane crash. If it crashed, don’t you think you’d know?”
“Normally I’d say yes, but in this case I have to say—maybe. There are mountains, rivers, and wetlands in the area, so it’s possible for a crash not to be detected. We don’t know anything for sure. She may have escaped. She could simply be out of contact. Just because we don’t know where she is, doesn’t automatically mean the worst case.”
Donovan raised his head, his eyes found Calvin’s. “What’s being done?”
“I can tell from the look on your face I was right in being hesitant to tell you about this,” Calvin said quietly. “I understand how you’re feeling, I’m feeling the same things, but you can’t barge into Langley demanding answers. They’ll shut you down.”
“I’m not going to Langley,” Donovan said. “You’re the spy, you go deal with those people. I’m going to find my wife. Where was the extraction being made, and who is this scientist she went to rescue?”
“As to where, I don’t know for sure. It’s classified.”
“You don’t know where she went?” Donovan’s hands drew up into tightly balled fists that he wisely kept at his sides. “Didn’t you have to sign off on this? Aren’t you her supervisor? The CIA can’t just waltz in and start picking out members of the DIA to use as they see fit, can they?”
“She and I both signed off on the operation,” Calvin lowered his head. “Under some duress.”
“Explain,” Donovan snapped.
“They played the Paris card. They said if she didn’t volunteer, they’d reopen the investigation and transfer her to a federal interrogation center.”
“Who said that to her?” Donovan whispered the request. His rage had grown white hot. “Give me a name.”
“Quentin Kirkpatrick. One word of warning. If the CIA catches wind that you’re involved, they’ll take measures to shut you down,” Calvin explained. “With their airplane and people missing, they’re hoping it’s completely destroyed, or in such a remote area it’ll never be found. They’re gambling this will go away. They�
��re also doing whatever it takes to maintain complete deniability.”
“I’ll ask you again,” Donovan said. “Where was all of this happening?”
“Last I heard it could be Slovakia,” Calvin replied. “Or maybe Hungary.”
“What’s the scientist’s name?”
“Daniel Pope.”
Donovan wasn’t entirely surprised that Daniel was somehow involved. Long ago he’d been Lauren’s boyfriend. Donovan had met him several times and liked him, even consulted with him on several of Eco-Watch’s aeronautical modifications. He was a nice guy, a little introverted, but highly intelligent.
“What are you going to do?” Calvin asked.
“What you hoped I’d do, the single reason you came here to tell me all of this. First, I’m going to make some phone calls while I watch my daughter finish her lesson. Then, I’m going to do what no one else will do, which is go find my wife, and God help anyone who tries to stand in my way.”
“I’ll help as much as I can.”
“Thank you. I’m counting on it,” Donovan turned to watch his daughter as his mind filled with everything he’d just heard and what he was going to do about it. Without another word Calvin turned and walked away. Donovan thought the DIA deputy director’s shoulders were a little more stooped, as if what he’d just set into motion weighed heavily on the man. He waited until Calvin was out of earshot before he selected a number and dialed.
“Donovan, good to hear from you,” William VanGelder said as a way of greeting. “I was going to call you later today.”
Donovan was relieved that William had picked up. His best, as well as oldest friend, William had raised Donovan from the age of fourteen, and now, thirty-seven years later, Donovan’s first call for help was still the elder statesman. Heavily involved in the oil business for years, William was now nearly a living legend inside the State Department. There weren’t many within the beltway that hadn’t heard of, or felt the impact of William VanGelder.
“William, I can’t talk on an open line, but it’s about Lauren. We have a problem. How soon can you be at my place?”
“I’ll be there inside of an hour,” William said without hesitation.
“See you shortly.” Donovan disconnected from William, thumbed through his contacts until he found the one he wanted, and pushed the call button. Moments later a pleasant young woman answered.
“Good morning, Omni Jet Charters. How can I help you today?”
“Is Mark around?” Donovan asked. Mark Foster was a friend who owned and operated one of the top jet charter and leasing operations on the East Coast. Donovan had known Mark for years. The businessman had a passion for airplanes and had helped Donovan set up aircraft purchases for Eco-Watch. No one, least of all Mark, knew that Omni was financed in part by Donovan’s vast fortune.
“He is. May I tell him whose calling?”
“Tell him it’s Donovan Nash.”
“Of course, Mr. Nash, please hold.”
“Donovan,” Mark said as he picked up. “Good to hear from you. What’s going on?”
“Hey, Mark, it’s a zoo over here. Scheduling-wise, I’m in a bind and I need an airplane. I’m hoping you can help me out.”
“I have the Gulfstream V available. Are you looking for a charter or a lease?”
“I need it to be a charter from Dulles to Vienna, Austria.” Donovan had quickly calculated the geography. He didn’t want to risk barging into Bratislava in a United States-registered Gulfstream, and Vienna was only forty miles away. “I’d like your crew to stay around for at least a week. It’s hard to tell, but we may need to fly to some other cities.”
“No problem, when do you want to leave?”
Donovan looked at his watch. “Can we be airborne in four hours?”
“Sure, let’s call it a three o’clock departure. How many passengers?”
“Three, besides Michael and I, there will be a Ms. Veronica Montero, I believe you have her information on file.”
“Yeah, I’ve got her here. I’ll make everything happen at this end,” Mark promised. “Is this billed to the Eco-Watch account?”
“No,” Donovan answered. “Use the other account, and if you could, can you eliminate any paper trail that mentions Eco-Watch?”
“Sure, I’ll bill this to sales. We’ll call it a demonstration flight. Anything else I can do?”
“We’re probably going to need to charter a helicopter while we’re there as well. Can you find out what might be available?”
“Okay, what size are you thinking?”
“Let’s find one that will hold at least six passengers.”
“I’ll check it out. It’s already late afternoon, but I have a guy over there I can call. I’ll do my best. Is that all?”
“That’s it for now. Thanks for doing all this on a weekend.”
“It’s never a problem for a friend. Glad I could help. I’ll see you later.”
Donovan disconnected the call and slid his phone into his pocket. He applauded as Abigail brought Halley to a clean halt, and then, reins in hand, she slid off the horse without any help from her coach. Donovan took a long moment to collect his thoughts, to compartmentalize everything he was feeling. Then he prioritized what needed to be done next, making a mental list of the tasks he needed to accomplish. The thoughts that his wife might be dead, he buried the deepest, losing her was something he couldn’t begin to process—or possibly accept. His mind raced between why Daniel might be involved and the fact that Calvin had breached security protocols to bring him what little information existed. Then there was Quentin Kirkpatrick. Donovan set the thoughts of the CIA agent aside for the moment—Quentin would not go unpunished for his actions; he’d be the dessert Donovan would relish when everything else was finished.
Donovan returned Abigail’s wave and glanced at his watch. He had time for one more phone call before his daughter finished getting Halley back into the stable. Donovan stared at his phone, at the icon simply labeled Montero. He was hesitant about bringing Montero into the professional fold due to their complicated history. His relationship with Montero had begun badly, recovered, and now she was truly one of his closest and most trusted friends. He’d been hesitant to offer her a position within Eco-Watch, though, not long ago, Lauren had made a compelling case to bring her aboard to fill the position that had once been filled by another friend—one who’d died. If Buck were alive, that’s who he’d be calling next—but Buck was gone, and as much as that still hurt, right now he needed Montero’s skill set. He pushed the icon and she picked up on the second ring.
“Montero, it’s me.” Donovan addressed her by last name only. Only in an emergency would he dare use her given name of Veronica, which she hated.
“Donovan, it’s the twenty-first century, I have a smartphone. I know who’s calling. What’s up?”
“We have a situation. Can you be at my house in an hour?”
“Of course. Wait, is this administrative, or tactical?”
Donovan debated with himself one last time. Former FBI Special Agent Veronica Montero could be impatient, and at times, infuriatingly annoying. She could be direct or manipulative and deceptive. In short, she was a pain in the ass. A highly decorated former FBI agent, who, on any given day, if provoked, could become a force to be dealt with. A weapons expert, a former martial arts instructor, she’d worked undercover and brought down dozens of high-profile criminals. Most of all, and the reason he finally relented, was that Donovan trusted her. Montero was one of seven people in the world who knew the truth about his past, and she was an asset Donovan needed right now.
“Hello? Are you still there?”
“Tactical. Pack a bag, we’re going to Europe,” Donovan said. “We’ll be going via chartered jet, no TSA.”
“I understand. I’ll see you in an hour.”
Donovan needed to make one last call and he steeled himself for what was to come. Michael Ross was his best friend, they’d started Eco-Watch together, and while technically
Donovan was the boss, those lines had blurred long ago. Michael was a world-class pilot, maybe the best Donovan had ever seen. Theirs was a unique friendship based on the trust forged over the years in the cockpits of sophisticated jets. Michael’s wife, Susan, and their two kids, Patrick and Billy, were like family. The relationship was so important to Donovan that he dared not tell Michael the secrets of his past. To jeopardize what they’d built would be unimaginable. Therefore, as always, the moment Donovan made the call, he put himself in the mindset of omission, a reflexive mode not to divulge anything that Michael might think suspicious or out of place.
“Donovan, what’s up?” Michael said as he answered.
“Hey, Michael.” At the sound of his friend’s voice, Donovan considered the words he was about to say, and he felt his rising emotions trying to constrict his throat. He paused for a second, fighting down thoughts of Lauren, and the worst-case scenario.
“Are you all right?” Michael asked.
“Not really,” Donovan said the words, though he didn’t expect his voice to break. “It’s Lauren. She’s missing.”
“What do you need me to do? I can be at your house in ten minutes.”
“I have something else in mind.”
“Name it.”
“Meet me at Omni’s hangar at three o’clock. I had Mark Foster set up a charter. I’m going to Europe to find Lauren—and I need your help.”
“I’ll be there.” Michael hesitated a moment as if thinking. “Is it just going to be the two of us?”
“No, there’ll be one other. I don’t know if you’ve ever actually met her, former FBI agent Veronica Montero?”
“I’ve met her,” Michael said. “About a month ago, when you were in New York, Lauren brought her by the hangar. The three of us went to lunch. Lauren explained that she wanted us all to get to know each other. We ended up having a barbeque at my place later that evening with Susan and the kids. We all think she’s amazing. I mean the whole world knows about her. Hell, she was on the cover of every magazine in existence after she took down that terrorist. It was good to hear firsthand what she managed to accomplish on our behalf, first in Florida, then in Guatemala. You do know not to call her Veronica, right? She hates that name.”
Pegasus Down: A Donovan Nash Thriller (Donovan Nash Thrillers) Page 3