Pegasus Down: A Donovan Nash Thriller (Donovan Nash Thrillers)

by Philip Donlay

  “I’m just saying,” Michael said, “mountains are a great place to hide.”

  “At night?” Montero asked, as she connected the dots of the conversation.

  “Do we have the fuel?” Donovan asked.

  Michael loosened his straps and twisted in his seat until he could see the fuel quantity on the flight engineer’s panel. “Going fast, down low—it’ll be close.”

  “What do we do when we get to this hangar?” Montero asked.

  “It’s an airport, which means there’s a runway,” Donovan said. “Chances are we have the element of surprise.”

  “Exactly,” Michael said as he cinched himself back into his seat. “Who expects help to arrive in the form of a crashing 727?”

  “Crashing?” Montero leaned in between them. “Who’s crashing?”

  “We are,” Donovan said. “More like an emergency landing, since we probably won’t be able to put the gear down.”

  “Oh,” Montero’s expression never changed.

  “All we need are some eyes,” Donovan looked at the phone then back to Michael and Montero. “Are we all good with this? It ends with us on the ground in Slovakia.”

  “Polish jail, Slovakian jail.” Michael shrugged. “How much difference can there really be?”

  “If we get caught with Lauren, there could be a great deal of difference,” Montero added. “She’s wanted for murder and espionage.”

  “We’re terrorists,” Donovan said. “I’d say the general task at hand here, is to not get caught. Can we do that?”

  “Is there any way you can talk to Merlin using one of the radios?” Montero asked. “That way, I can use the secure phone.”

  “Are you going to call Marta?” Donovan asked.

  “We need to talk to her, or Kristof, tell them we’re coming,” Montero said. “They’re our best chance of getting out of Slovakia.”

  “Okay, this thing is happening,” Donovan said, thinking how to get everything he wanted, and then brought the phone up to his ear. “Calvin, with the infrared satellite, do you have a useful horizon for the Carpathian Mountains?”

  “We’re checking. What do you have in mind?” Calvin asked.

  “Merlin,” Donovan directed his next question at the AWACS crew. “Is there a way for us to communicate with each other via radio? We need to free up this phone.”

  “We can establish a VHF link on one thirty-seven point seven-five. Though it won’t be secure.”

  “It might not need to be,” Donovan said, feeling the beginnings of the rush that formed when a plan was coming together in his head. “Merlin, our plan is to fly directly to Pegasus. Can you help us thread our way through the Carpathian Mountains low enough to avoid detection by the Slovakian air force?”

  “Theoretically, it might be done,” Calvin said. “We’d need to calculate the optimum routes using different variables, and run some simulations based on known geographic overlays.”

  “Calvin, we don’t have time. This needs to happen now. Merlin?” Donovan let his question float out into space.

  “We’ve got the latest software updates that allow us to pull up existing topography and interface it with our primary radar,” Merlin replied. “We can vector you through the mountains. Our capabilities combined with space-based assets should allow you to fly into Slovakia under their radar. Give me an entry point.”

  “Start calculating, we’ll use Krakow, Poland, as our initial starting point.”

  “I understand,” Merlin said. “Krakow. And your exit point?”

  “My suggestion is Galánta, Slovakia,” Calvin replied. “It’s close to where we think she’s being held. We’ll need to be careful to avoid the Slovakian Air Force base at Badín.”

  “Calvin, how long is the runway where they’re holding Lauren?” Donovan asked.

  “It’s just over five thousand feet. Is that long enough?”

  “It will be tonight,” said Donovan.

  “If we’re going to sell this,” Merlin said. “I need a diversion, a big one. Right now you’re a hijacked 727, and radar installations from the entire region are tracking your position, plus I think half of those sites are reporting directly to CNN. We need to focus all those watchful eyes on one point. Skybridge 770 needs to crash.”

  “Is there a sparsely populated area between here and Krakow?” Donovan asked.

  “Affirmative,” Merlin replied. “Fifty miles dead ahead, outside the small town of Kielce, sits a ten-square-mile forested area that would be perfect. The terrain in that area is roughly eight hundred feet above sea level. I’m thinking some more of those erratic turns, a final Mayday followed by a big dramatic descent afterward. I’ll pass along some breaking news for CNN to wet themselves over.”

  “Perfect.” Donovan allowed himself a small smile at the beauty of Merlin’s plan.

  “Use your Skybridge 770 call sign on the emergency frequency, one twenty-one point five, and then once you’re down low and level, your new call sign is Dragon one-one. It’s a legitimate military handle we’ll borrow from a unit in England who flies F15s. They’re quiet tonight, but all of the prying ears are used to hearing them airborne.”

  “I understand,” Donovan said. “No wonder they call you Merlin.”

  “Tell me that again after all this works,” Merlin said calmly. “Your primary VHF is one thirty-one point seven five, backup is one twenty-eight point two-five. Fly heading two-four-zero for Krakow; you’re free to descend at your discretion.

  Donovan read back the frequencies, and as he did, Michael dialed each one of them into the radios. “Merlin, we’re switching to VHF. Calvin, whatever you do, don’t lose her.” Donovan hung up the phone and handed it to Montero.

  “I take it there’s a plan?” Montero asked as she took the phone.

  “We’re going to send out a final distress call as Skybridge 770 and then plummet to our deaths,” Donovan explained. “Michael, once we’ve accomplished that little task, our new call sign is going to be Dragon one-one. Merlin will vector us as if we’re a military flight while reporting that Skybridge 770 has crashed.”

  “I like it.” Michael nodded. “When do we start?”

  Donovan looked out the cracked windshield at what lay ahead of them. The plains of Poland were scattered with the lights of farms and towns. From thousands of hours of being aloft, he easily spotted the darkened area forty miles in front of them. “Michael, one o’clock, forty miles, that dark spot is lightly populated forest. Merlin says the ground is eight hundred feet above sea level. If there was ever a time and a place to give Air Traffic Control some theatre, this would be that time.”

  Michael picked up the microphone and double checked the frequencies.

  On the horizon was the glow from Krakow, and beyond, where the lights ended, was the beginning of the eight-thousand-foot tall Carpathian Mountains. Donovan saw the flashes of lightning that marked the trailing edge of the distant squall line.

  “I’m ready when you are,” Michael said.

  Donovan took the controls from Michael and they both shared a knowing glance. Then Donovan pulled the nose up sharply, pinning them all into their seats. As they soared upward, he banked the 727 hard to the left, and then just as quickly, made another urgent turn in the opposite direction. He eased back the throttles and allowed the nose to fall well below the horizon until they were pointed steeply downward. Then he pulled the lever to deploy the speed brakes. Panels flew open from the wings and created a massive amount of drag. The entire 727 shook and vibrated as Donovan made another abrupt turn as the altimeter unwound. The lights on the ground seemed to tilt and fill the windshield, as Donovan pointed the wildly oscillating Boeing toward the dark forest below.

  “Skybridge 770,” Michael transmitted, his voice a convincing blend of professionalism and stark terror. “We’ve lost control, we’re—going down. I repeat. Mayday, we’re—”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  ALEKSANDER ENDED THE call, opened the back of the case, pulled out the batte
ry, and tossed it aside. Then he leaned down to Lauren. “How did you find this place?”

  “Daniel told me,” Lauren said.

  “That’s a lie. Daniel never knew where he was being held.”

  “He described it perfectly,” Lauren said, though she knew she was making everything up as she went. If Aleksander knew that the Phoenix was being hunted through a design flaw that she was aware of, he could potentially abort the mission and the Phoenix could vanish.

  “Dr. McKenna, you had your chance to tell me where Daniel is hiding.” Aleksander slipped his hand under her right arm and pulled her to her feet. “It’s time to do this the hard way.”

  Lauren grimaced in pain as she was propelled into the hangar. She did her best to support her broken arm. Once in the light she could see her thigh. It looked like she’d been grazed by a bullet, but, while bloody, her leg still functioned. Aleksander finally released her and pushed her heavily into a chair. He secured her right wrist to the arm of the chair with a tie-wrap and then called for one of his men. There was a quick conversation and she heard the name Tomas, the name of the man she’d killed. She steeled herself for payback.

  Aleksander drew a pistol from under his jacket and jammed the barrel up under Lauren’s chin and pushed until her head was tilted upward and their eyes met. “I’ve just learned that you’ve killed another of my men.”

  “I killed no one,” Lauren lied.

  Aleksander held the pressure with his gun hand, then reached with the other and wrapped it around her left wrist, just below the broken bone, and twisted.

  Lauren thrashed against the pain. He blocked her kicks, and all she could do was throw her head from side to side in an attempt to shake loose from the barrel of Alexander’s pistol. A scream formed, and as it echoed through the hangar, she barely recognized it as her own. An instant later, the twisting stopped.

  “Imagine hours of that.” Aleksander used his gun to bring Lauren’s eyes back to his. “I don’t enjoy hurting people, though I have one man who relishes inflicting pain. Tomas, the man you killed, was his friend. I can always turn you over to him.”

  Lauren could feel the tears from her pain run down her face. She glared at Aleksander, refusing to blink or to show fear of any kind. Behind him, she saw the wings of the second Phoenix being removed, and the fuselage wheeled into the back of a truck. Aleksander was moving the aircraft.

  Aleksander slapped her hard across the face. “You will give me your full attention when I’m speaking to you! Who were you talking with on the phone? Who is Calvin, and what does he know?”

  Lauren could taste the blood in her mouth as she saw his eyes turn into hate-filled slits. “He’s my handler in Vienna and he knows nothing. I was trying to send him a report when you found me.”

  “Where did the helicopter go?” Aleksander pushed the gun barrel harder into Lauren’s flesh. “How many people were with you?”

  “I don’t know what the pilot’s orders were in the event of a retreat,” Lauren said, as she latched on to her theory that as long as she could keep feeding Aleksander tantalizing bits of intelligence, he might keep her alive. “I’m not a spy. The only reason I’m here is that Daniel requested me. We used to be friends a long time ago.”

  “That’s the first element of truth you’ve spoken since we met,” Aleksander said. “What is your specialty?”

  “Earth Science, Meteorology.” Lauren answered truthfully as a man yelled from across the hangar.

  Aleksander yelled over his shoulder in return, speaking rapid Ukrainian, and then turned to face Lauren. “You and I have a history of interrupted conversations. Think long and hard about how much pain you’re willing to endure for Daniel Pope. I promise we’re going to have a prolonged chat very soon, one that I can assure will be very difficult for you.”

  Two men arrived and dragged her out of the chair into a small office, where she was forced to sit, tied to a different chair. One man opened a first aid kit, ripped open her pant leg and sloppily applied antiseptic and hurriedly wrapped the wound. They did nothing about her arm and quickly left the room. Through a dirty window, Lauren listened for sirens, beating helicopter blades, anything that would tell her that help was coming. She heard the rumble of approaching thunder, mixed with brilliant flashes of lightning that lit up the cracks around the covered window. The line of thunderstorms was almost on them and her hopes began to sink. The heavy weather would slow any rescue attempt, as well as help mask the fact that Aleksander and his men were moving. A raid, if it came, might very well find an empty hangar.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  DONOVAN JUDGED THE pullout as close to the ground as possible. Michael turned on all the Boeing’s lights to give any eyewitnesses on the ground something to report. At fifteen hundred feet, Donovan eased the nose of the 727 up until it was level, at the same time he stowed the speed brakes and pushed the three throttles forward until they were screaming across the ground as fast as the Boeing could go. He dropped down until the high-intensity landing lights illuminated the tops of the trees blowing past five hundred feet below them.

  Michael, microphone in his good hand, killed the external lights with his thumb, making the Boeing invisible again in the night sky. Anyone watching would have seen them abruptly vanish, which was the impression he wanted to send. He switched away from the emergency frequency. Relief from the voice of the Polish air traffic controller, whose frantic calls had grown in urgency until he’d finally announced that he’d lost radar contact, was a blessing. “Merlin, this is Dragon one-one, how do you read?”

  “Roger Dragon one-one, this is Merlin, I read you five by five, radar contact, turn right to a heading of two-four-five degrees. Say your altitude.”

  “Dragon one-one, copy two-four-five degrees, we’re level at one thousand five hundred feet,” Michael replied, knowing full well that Merlin knew what their altitude was down to the foot.

  “I just tried Marta and Trevor and got no answer,” Montero said. “Is there another number I can try?”

  “Try Calvin, they might reach out to him,” Donovan said. “If not, try Marta again.”

  “We need to save battery power on the phone, it’s getting low.”

  Donovan focused on hand flying the Boeing at two hundred eighty knots, five hundred feet above the unseen terrain. Occasional lights on the ground gave him some perspective as to how low and fast they were flying. The Boeing was also loud. The three older-generation jet engines produced a massive amount of noise, and Donovan imagined that people for miles along their path were awakened as they roared past in the darkness.

  “What’s our estimated time of arrival at Lauren’s position?” Montero asked.

  “Roughly thirty minutes,” Donovan said, glancing down at the information displayed by the Flight Management System. “Depending on how many turns it takes to make our way through the mountains.”

  “I don’t understand. I should be able to reach Marta,” Montero said as she stared at the phone in frustration. “I don’t like this at all. Do we have any other exit plan out of Slovakia if we can’t reach her or Trevor in time?”

  “It’s the middle of the night at a rural airport,” Michael said. “We’ll steal another airplane, or a car—we’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “I say call Calvin,” Donovan said. “He may be in contact with Marta, or he may have already devised a way to get us out of Slovakia.”

  “Dragon one-one, this is Merlin. Turn further right to a heading of two-one-zero degrees, climb to one thousand eight hundred feet.”

  Donovan did as instructed. The Boeing bounced hard as they flew through some sharp turbulence. Below them, lights flashed past, but Donovan had no time to study the landscape other than to glance at the glow of Krakow, which was slipping behind them. Merlin was steering them away from the city, and the climb was due to the rising terrain. As the darkened 727 thundered up a valley, Donovan caught sight of a brief flash of lightning far to the south, the momentary burst silhouetting the jagged
tops of the terrain dead ahead. Behind him he heard Montero talking on the phone.

  “Dragon one-one, climb to be at two thousand five hundred feet in fifteen seconds, and stand by for an eighteen-degree turn to the right. New heading will be two-two-eight degrees. You are in the corridor.”

  As Michael confirmed the clearance, Donovan glanced at the clock and climbed. In the valley, on either side of them, unseen terrain reached well above them. He needed to do exactly what he was told. Donovan leveled at two thousand five hundred feet just as the second hand on the ancient analog clock hit the fifteen-second mark. The radar altimeter, which showed the exact distance between the belly of the Boeing and the terrain below, had been holding steady at five hundred feet, now jumped to two hundred feet as they crossed a ridge.

  “Dragon one-one, turn to a new heading of two-two-eight degrees, and climb to be at three thousand two hundred feet in thirty seconds.”

  In the turn, Donovan inched the nose up to initiate the climb as another flash of lightning, more intense than the last, filled the southern sky. In the brief light, Donovan saw a rounded peak above them to his right, but the much closer jagged rocky spire to his left startled him by its proximity. His apprehension grew as the night once again closed in around them, leaving the now invisible terrain etched in his mind.

  “Dragon one-one, descend to two thousand eight hundred, and turn left to one-eight-zero degrees.”

  Donovan banked hard and descended just as another staccato burst of lightning danced across the distant sky. The Boeing lurched as they flew through another pocket of turbulence. Donovan reacted quickly and held the plane steady. He’d felt the airplane try to climb and roll at the same instant, marking the turbulence as terrain induced. As the winds increased over the peaks, the rougher their route would become. Without taking his eyes from the instruments, he called back to Montero. “Ask Calvin exactly where the weather is situated. Threading our way through the mountains in thunderstorms would be suicidal.”