She resisted the impulse to go to full throttle and get away as fast as possible, but with all the boathouses, it was a sure bet that this was a no-wake area. If she went flying out of there, anyone who was home was going to look out the window. She was exposed enough without drawing attention to what she was doing.
Lauren rounded the bend and could finally see where the channel fed into the main river. She glanced in the mirror and saw that the cluster of boathouses was finally well behind her. She inched the throttle forward, and the four-cylinder dug in and the bow rose. She burst out into the main river and snapped her head back and forth looking for other boats, thankfully finding the river deserted. The Danube was over a hundred yards wide, and she pushed the throttle as far as it would travel. The bow flattened out as the runabout roared onto the step and accelerated quickly. Her hair whipped by the wind, Lauren leaned back and welcomed the brief, but cherished, memories of being out on the water with her father. After what seemed like days of trying to be quiet and moving slowly, the sensation of speed was exhilarating.
Off the port bow and through the trees, Lauren spotted houses, dozens of them, as well as a road that paralleled the river. This was the first road she’d seen that looked to be paved. Moments later she flew by a boat ramp. Several people looked up as she roared past.
Lauren smiled and waved with her entire arm, as though she were having the time of her life. A few of the onlookers waved in return.
Lauren turned left, away from the shore, and studied the river. She stood, bracing herself on the windshield frame and searched for the main channel, looking for the deepest water. Satisfied, she turned the boat slightly to the right and sat back down, but as she did, she caught sight of an object in the mirror. She looked over her shoulder and in the distance spotted a helicopter flying in her direction.
Lauren made another turn to stay in the center of the channel and put the helicopter square in her mirror. At this distance it looked different than the one she’d damaged yesterday. If she had to guess, she’d say it was military.
She thought about the guns and knew she had little chance of defending herself against a helicopter with two pistols. She was an American citizen who survived the crash of a jet that was operating illegally in their country. She’d shot a man and she thought of what might happen when they opened the jump drive and found plans for a stealth fighter with nuclear capability, or a target list, or God knows what else Daniel saw fit to download. She couldn’t be captured, too much rested on her escaping. If she were caught, she’d find either a firing squad or a prison cell.
Lauren glanced in the mirror again, the helicopter was still behind her, but closing. She knew that one helicopter, short of firing on her, couldn’t stop the boat. The helicopter would have a radio, and troops were probably already being ordered to intercept her. An idea formed as she made another wide sweeping turn at a bend in the river until she could no longer see the helicopter.
She slammed the throttle into neutral and killed the engine. As the stern rode up in the wake, Lauren grabbed her water bottle, took the cork out with her teeth and drank the remaining liquid. She stepped to the stern, opened the engine compartment, leaned down and unscrewed the filler cap on the gas can. She tipped the can and half poured, half splashed gasoline in the bottle. Once it was two-thirds full she stopped, secured the cap on the can, careful to leave the hatch open, and made her way back to the cockpit. The helicopter was still nowhere to be seen, so she slipped back behind the wheel, wedged the bottle between her thighs, cranked the engine. The second it caught, she slammed the throttle forward until once again she was at full speed.
Straight ahead, this section merged into the canal downstream from the hydroelectric dam, and once again became a single large river. With that thought, Lauren started searching the cockpit for some dry cloth, something she could use as a fuse.
Lauren looked back. The sun was in her eyes, but she finally spotted the helicopter about a mile away. It had changed course when she did and was set to intercept. Ahead, she saw where the channel joined the main shipping channel, it was wider, the waves bigger. She was going to make a hard ninety-degree turn downstream and hug the shoreline.
Lauren felt the sleeve of her shirt. The wind had dried out the material. She used her fingernails to work at a small rip near her elbow. When she had a strong enough grip, she yanked and a section of cloth pulled free in her hand. She had two parts of her bomb, but she didn’t dare put the fabric into the gasoline until she had it lit. Lauren looked up at the helicopter in the sky behind her. They’d descended, erasing all doubt of their intentions. Her turn was coming up fast. Lauren gripped the wheel and wedged the bottle of gasoline firmly between her knees.
She set her feet and was about to lean into the turn when the bow of a barge nosed in the channel dead ahead. The barge was moving upstream against the current, spray thrown up as the long, narrow hull was pushed forward by the tugboat connected to its stern. Lauren swore, recalculated her options, judged the distance, reset her feet and yanked the runabout hard to the left. The little boat tipped dangerously on its side and knifed in front of the barge’s bow with only feet to spare. The second she was clear of an impact, Lauren slammed the throttle closed, smashed the binoculars into the floor of the cockpit until the plastic case separated and the lenses popped out and rolled around. She snatched one, examined it and held the lens above the section of rolled-up cloth until the sunlight was focused into a tiny dot. The cloth instantly began to turn brown and smoke.
Lauren rammed the engine into reverse and backed toward the barge until wood scraped metal. She held her position snug against the hull, as the runabout bounced and scuffed down the side of the barge. She was close enough to the hull she couldn’t see the bridge, which meant they couldn’t see her. The helicopter wasn’t in sight yet, either.
Lauren held the lens steady until the material was burning with an open flame. She used her body to protect the fire from the wind. She stood on her seat and used her foot on the steering wheel to keep the runabout against the hull. She stuffed the burning fuse into the neck of the bottle and tossed the Molotov cocktail into the open engine compartment. Lauren dove headfirst into the water and clawed as deep as she could to put precious distance between herself and the propellers of the tug.
When she finally surfaced, the barge had continued to surge forward before it could finally come to a complete stop. The helicopter was circling the column of black smoke rising from the starboard side of the barge. The runabout was still burning.
Lauren took several deep breaths and disappeared beneath the surface of the turbulent water.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DONOVAN FELT HIS leg muscles tense as Trevor banked steeply over downtown Budapest. At the moment, Donovan ignored one of the most dramatic and storied riverfronts in Eastern Europe. Though well educated on the sound aerodynamic principles of helicopter flight, Donovan didn’t enjoy them. As an airplane pilot, once in a helicopter, nothing translated. All of his experience as an aviator went out the window, and he didn’t particularly care for the sensation.
“Hotel security will meet us on the roof,” Montero said over the intercom.
Trevor set the helicopter down gently in the center of the yellow circle. Michael jumped out and helped Montero and Donovan to the ground, then pulled their luggage from the baggage compartment. Leaving Trevor to deal with the helicopter, the three of them joined the small entourage of hotel staff waiting for them at a doorway.
Donovan followed the group through the doors just as Trevor shut down the engine and the rotor blades began to slow.
“Good afternoon, I’m Benjamin, chief of security, but everyone calls me Ben. Welcome to the President Hotel. Please, allow us to take your luggage.”
“Thank you Ben, I’m sorry for the last-minute reservations,” Montero replied. “Are the accommodations ready?”
“Yes, please follow me.” Ben held the door open while they stepped in an elevator. “The VI
P floor is designed with a larger group in mind, but I’ve taken the liberty of blocking out the entire floor for the three of you. You each have a view of the river, and just so you can enjoy our spectacular city, all of the glass is bulletproof. Your room key must be used in the elevator to access your floor. Myself or my staff are available twenty-four hours a day should you have a concern or a question. The employees are fully vetted by me, personally. Feel free to order room service, or the concierge will be more than happy to make other arrangements with your continued security in mind.”
Donovan caught a look from Michael that told him he might be mildly impressed. They came to Michael’s room first.
“I have some phone calls to make,” Montero glanced at her watch. “Drinks in the bar at six?”
“Sure,” Michael said.
“I will see to it that a table is reserved for you,” Ben said the moment Donovan nodded his approval.
“See you then,” Michael followed the bellman into the room.
Donovan’s room was across the hallway from Michael’s. He dug in his pocket and slid two one-hundred-dollar bills from his neatly folded stack. As he was led into the spacious suite he pressed the cash in Ben’s hand. “Thank you for taking such good care of us, I appreciate the effort.”
“Very well, sir,” Ben smiled, bowed, slipped the bills into his pocket, and handed Donovan a business card.
Donovan closed the door. He reached for his phone, saw that he had no messages, then scrolled through his contacts until he found the number he wanted. As he waited for the call to go through, he looked out the window at the Danube River, thought of Lauren, and hoped she was somewhere safe.
“Hi, it’s me,” Donovan said at the sound of Lauren’s mother’s voice. “How are things going?”
“We’re having a wonderful time. Are you with Lauren? Do you have any idea yet when you’ll be coming home?”
“We’re still working on that,” Donovan said, he hadn’t told his mother-in-law anything about what had happened to Lauren. For the moment he needed containment. “We’ll let you know. Is Abigail awake?”
“She’s right here, hang on.”
“Daddy!” Abigail cried out. “Where are you?”
“I’m in Europe. What have you and Grandma been doing?”
“We made breakfast. It wasn’t pancakes. They were crepes. Later we’re going to the park, maybe the aquarium, and then we’re going to come home and bake a cherry pie.”
Donovan smiled, his daughter’s voice was easily the best thing he’d heard since he’d left home. Abigail loved her Grandma time.
“Can I talk to Mommy?”
Her words immediately sent his spirits plummeting. “Mommy is still working, but now that Daddy is here, I can help her finish so we can come home.”
“Oh, okay.” Abigail replied. “When are you coming home?”
“In a few days, I’ll call and let you and Grandma know for sure, how’s that?”
“Daddy, remember, you promised you’d take me to my riding lesson with Halley.”
Donovan clearly recalled his words. “You’ll see Halley next Saturday, I promise.”
“Okay, Daddy, I love you, tell Mommy too. Grandma wants to talk to you again.”
“I love you, too,” Donovan said and waited for Lauren’s mother to come on the line.
“She’s so energetic. I just want you to know that if you and Lauren aren’t back in a few days, I might take Abigail and go stay at your house. I swear all she talks about is that horse Halley and how much she misses him.”
“That’s fine, whatever you like. If you need a break, remember, you can always call Susan, Michael’s wife, she’d be delighted to watch Abigail.”
“I never need a break from my granddaughter. You take care. Call when you can.”
Donovan ended the call and tried to channel his fear and frustration into something he could use, something positive. Once again he picked up his phone, only this time he dialed his voice mail at work. He grabbed a pen as he listened to several messages. It was the last message that prompted him to write down a number. He dialed immediately, hopeful that this was one problem he could fix.
He heard a small tap behind him and he turned to find a door he hadn’t noticed. He and Montero had connecting rooms. He opened the door so she could see that he was on the phone. “Hello, Mrs. Spencer. This is Donovan Nash. I just got your message.”
“Oh yes, Mr. Nash, thank you for calling. As I said in my message, we’re undergoing some possible changes, and as such, we are accepting offers for our horses. I wanted to give you some advance warning that we’re looking to sell Halley, and already have several interested parties. I understand your daughter is very attached to that particular horse, so as a courtesy, I wanted to let you know that Halley may not be here for Abigail’s Saturday lesson. But rest assured, we have another horse in mind that we’re sure Abigail will enjoy.”
“Really?” Donovan processed what he’d heard but also what wasn’t being said. “Why the changes?”
“There’s a real estate developer interested in our property. We only lease this land, and the family that owns it stands to make a great deal of money if they sell.”
“How much do you want for Halley?” Donovan asked.
“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Nash. Halley is a Black Welsh Pony of the highest pedigree.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“We’re asking twenty-eight thousand dollars.”
“It’s a deal. Can you draw up the paperwork?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, Mrs. Spencer. Do we have a deal?”
“Why, of course, I’ll get everything started.”
“Can I also arrange for Halley to continue to be stabled and cared for at your facility? I’m interested in a seamless transition, and I want the best for Halley. Also, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like for Abigail to be unaware that Daddy bought her a pony.”
“No problem. You’re not the first parent to ask me for that favor.”
“Perfect. I’m in Europe at the moment, but if you email the paperwork to my associate, William VanGelder, he can finalize the purchase and transfer the funds.”
“I see here we have Mr. VanGelder’s information in our files as an emergency contact. He should see the papers in the next hour or so.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Spencer. Take care of Halley, and I’ll see you soon. Oh, and before you go, could you tell me the name of the developer?”
“It’s the Fleming Group, they’re friends with the Butler family who we lease the land from.”
“Thank you so much.” Donovan ended the call and felt better than he had in days.
“You just bought Abigail a twenty-eight thousand dollar pony?” Montero shook her head in disbelief, though a tiny smile came to her face.
“It felt good,” Donovan said, and then his smile evaporated. “What time are you and I leaving to fly to Innsbruck?”
“I’m working on that, but I want to talk to you about something else.”
“I’m listening . . .”
“We’ve never worked together when we weren’t adversaries. We seem to have changed the dynamics of our relationship when you asked me to come with you on this mission. I’m not exactly certain where the lines are, so I’m just going to come and say what’s on my mind,” Montero squared up to him. “You’re so quiet, reserved, almost withdrawn, and I’m not sure why.”
“You’re right, our relationship has changed. Before now, you were always pushing someone else’s agenda, not mine. We had a long way to come from you as my blackmailer, to you as my protector and tactician, but here you are, and I couldn’t be happier with the job you’re doing.”
“But—”
“Here, let’s both sit down,” Donovan motioned toward the sofa. “You’re not wrong. What you’re seeing in me is the freedom to not have to watch each and everything I say. I don’t have to try to maneuver you. We’re on the same side.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that, but I can tell this is moving too slowly for you,” Montero’s tone softened. “I know you’re impatient to find your wife. The fastest way to find her is dangerous, you know that. If we find Archangel, you’ll be revealing yourself to someone you left behind, and now you show up decades later and ask for his help.”
“I know. I turn up now and he’ll have every right to be furious, maybe to the point of telling the world who I am—or shooting me on the spot.”
“It’s a risk,” Montero said, “but you keep coming back to him as our best solution. I say we go to Innsbruck and we’ll make the rest up as we go. It’s what we seem to do best.”
“It’s what Lauren does best, too. She’s always ten steps ahead of everyone else. If she’s alive, she has to know I’m coming, and she’s doing everything she can to survive until I get to her. I just don’t know if I’m holding up my end of the bargain. Right now I feel like I should be loading up a boat-full of mercenaries and going upriver to find her. Shoot my way in and out if I have to.”
“I know, she’s ahead of everyone, which includes the people after her. We just stay on our game, get the help we need, then find her, quietly and quickly. If we start drawing the kind of attention we did in Vienna, we’ll have bigger problems on our hands. But we’ll deal with that later.” Montero slapped her hands on her thighs and stood. “Now, I’m ready for that drink.”
Donovan threw on a sport coat and they went down to the bar. Montero was quick to step out of the elevator ahead of him and scan the hallway. Over her shoulder, Donovan could see Michael waiting for them. As he and Montero neared the doorway to the bar, Donovan surveyed the interior. It was on the small side, dark, almost cave-like. “How about a walk instead? I could use a little fresh air before dinner.”
“After what happened in Vienna, are we sure we want to walk around outside and play target?” Michael asked.
Pegasus Down: A Donovan Nash Thriller (Donovan Nash Thrillers) Page 10