Donovan made a right turn down a side street, went up a hill, and pulled into the parking lot of a dental office. He backed into a spot away from the overhead lights where he could survey the entire parking lot and then switched off the car. He powered down his window and waited for her to calm herself.
She sniffed and then wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. She fished in her pocket for a tissue and dabbed away the rest. “I’m sorry,” she said her voice barely above a whisper.
“Take your time,” Donovan said. “You’ve been on the run for a long time. I know that you’re the only survivor of a massacre in Germany. I know you did off-the-books medical work at the clinic and that you’re probably a prime suspect in the murders or someone’s loose end. I’m not going to tell anyone about you. I promise you’re safe.”
“Where did that information come from? I saw the name Lauren, who’s she?”
“Lauren is my wife. She’s in Europe. The information most likely came from the CIA.”
“I’ll never be safe,” she said her voice still thick from crying. “From the moment I heard about what happened in Dusseldorf, I knew it was only a matter of time before everything started to unravel. I’m a dead woman.”
“Who’s trying to kill you, and how do they connect to the people threatening me?”
“I’ll get to that, but if at any point I think you’re lying, I won’t hesitate to shoot you. Do I have your word that we’re in this together?”
“Yes, you have my word. Now, how do you know what’s happening to me?”
“I was standing in the room when he vowed to kill you.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“He gave us a fake name and identification, as did she. It wasn’t until near the end that Karl, the doctor at the clinic, found out who he’d been treating. The woman’s name is Nikolett Kovarik. Dr. Drescher heard from friends in the Czech Republic that she was an assassin for hire; Hungarian, he thought. The man was an escaped prisoner from Brazil. His name is Garrick Pearce. He was imprisoned over fifteen years ago for—”
“Oh, no,” Donovan whispered, cutting her off midsentence.
“What is it? You know him?”
“I do.” Donovan nodded. “In the late eighties he formed the One Earth Society, the leader of a militant group of eco-terrorists who fashioned themselves as warriors championing the causes of the book One Earth. Have you ever heard of it?”
“By Meredith Barnes, of course. Who hasn’t?”
“The story goes that Garrick and Meredith Barnes were more than friends once, but she eventually distanced herself from both Garrick and his group.”
“Did you know Meredith?”
“No, I only knew Garrick.” Donovan said, careful with what he revealed. “Meredith publically denounced Garrick’s tactics when his acts of protest turned violent. Instead of a peaceful revolution to save the planet, Garrick was using bombs and guns, sabotage and blackmail.”
“What happened to him?”
“Garrick tried to destroy a mining operation in Brazil after it was determined that the chemical runoff was polluting a huge section of the region’s water table. Garrick’s raid set off an explosion that killed seven of his own team and fifteen mine employees, most of them local Brazilian workers. During the botched raid on the mining operation, Garrick was blinded and captured. He stood trial and was convicted of murder and sent to some hellhole of a prison for life, and as far as I knew that’s where he still was.”
“He’s not in Brazil anymore,” Erica said. “He’s out. His eyesight is restored, and he hates you with a rage I’ve never seen one person have for another.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
“Why?”
Donovan had no intention of explaining that Garrick’s rage was personal, that Garrick had been the man in Meredith’s life when Robert Huntington had arrived on the scene. Meredith had made the decision that her relationship with Garrick had run its course, but Garrick never saw it that way. He blamed Robert for stealing Meredith and then later blamed Robert for killing Meredith. Garrick was the most vocal of his critics, calling for the deaths of not only Robert but of all of the executives of Huntington Oil. He urged those who loved Meredith to bomb Huntington Oil refineries, ships, and pipelines. Do anything possible to cripple the company and oust its murderous owner. All of that came to an immediate end after Robert Huntington staged his death, and then five years later, ever the eco-terrorist, Garrick ended up in a prison cell in Brazil.
“Why does he want you dead?”
Donovan let go of his memories and quickly came up with a lie that would hopefully placate Erica. “I was part of his circle once myself. But I went another direction long before he became so militant. When he was imprisoned, he reached out to me for help, and I didn’t answer. I’m sure he hates me for that. Garrick was always a troubled man with a deep-seated hatred for those he feels have wronged him.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“You said you were there when he vowed to kill me. What happened?”
“It was months ago, before his surgery, so he was still sightless. He liked to listen to the radio, had it on all day, said he hated the silence. One day I was in the room and he was listening to the BBC. It was after the terrorist attack in Washington D.C., last fall. There was a brief segment when you were released from the hospital. You said very little to the reporter, I can’t even remember what you said, but it was enough for Garrick to fly into a rage. I clearly remember him ranting that you’d died when your plane crashed. He was livid you were still alive. He kept ranting that He was alive. I ended up sedating him, but that was the day I heard him swear to hunt you down and destroy you.”
Donovan tried to remain passive. There had in fact been two plane crashes. One was twenty years ago. The other was last summer. He hadn’t died in either one. What frightened Donovan was that Garrick had recognized Robert Huntington’s voice after all of these years. He wondered if being blind had played a part in the process.
“Did the accident alter Garrick’s voice?”
“His vocal cords were damaged after inhaling fumes from the same chemicals that blinded him,” Erica replied. “He can talk, just not very loud, and he has a permanent rasp.”
“I saw pictures the FBI took of these people leaving Hawaii. None of the men looked like Garrick. He was tall, with a hawklike nose and prominent chin. Was his face altered?”
“If it was, he didn’t have the work done at the clinic. As far as I know, he should look exactly the same. There’s some scarring around his eyes from the acid that blinded him, and he has a great deal of difficulty blinking. The only other difference from when you knew him is that he won’t be able to move his eyeballs in the sockets due to the ocular muscle damage. He’s like an owl, in that he has to rotate his head to change his field of vision.”
“Okay, then he wasn’t in those FBI pictures. I would have recognized him, which means we have no idea where he is right now.”
Erica shook her head and then looked away.
Donovan suspected there was something else coming.
“There’s one other part of the story you should know. But I don’t want it to change our agreement.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Do I have your word?”
“No, Erica, you don’t. I won’t agree to something you’ve obviously withheld. If what you tell me is a deal breaker, then we go our separate ways. I will, however, promise to reward you for what you’ve told me already—enough to get you on your way to where you can hide again. As soon as Garrick and Nikolett are dealt with, you’ll be free.”
“No I won’t. I’ll always have to hide.”
“Who else would be trying to kill you if not Garrick?”
“There were two doctors at the clinic. Viktor…Dr. Viktor Klasen, an ophthalmologist, and his business partner Dr. Drescher, who specialized in plastic surgery. We were a research facility for Dr. Klasen’s work using stem cells for optical nerve regenera
tion.”
“If you were just a research facility, how did you end up treating Garrick Pearce?”
“There was another facet to the clinic. There would be calls, mainly through Dr. Drescher. We’d treat people off the books, and every once in a while, we’d alter someone’s appearance.”
“How were these people referred?” Donovan asked.
“I’m not sure, though I did overhear a heated conversation between Dr. Drescher and someone from Tel Aviv.”
“Tel Aviv?” Donovan interrupted. “As in Mossad?”
“That was my assumption, though Viktor would never confirm my suspicions.”
“What made you finally leave Germany?”
“I was having an affair with Dr. Klasen. He finally admitted to me that he would never leave his wife, though he’d told me a hundred times he didn’t love her and wanted to be with me. I was devastated, I felt betrayed, and I made some angry, mindless comments. Dr. Drescher threatened me, promised to destroy my career if I ruined Viktor’s marriage, or divulged anything I knew about the clinic. He scared me badly.”
“But they’re both dead now.”
“When I left, I made a file to protect myself. I used Viktor’s password and made copies of every patient’s record. Each separate procedure, every before-and-after picture, names and dates, payment trails. I have in my possession every incriminating detail about their operation. Besides Garrick and Nikolett, there are exactly seventeen men and five women who have every reason to want me dead.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I need to know,” Erica asked. “Are we still working together?”
“Yeah.” Donovan fired up the Porsche. “Let’s go back to Laguna Beach. We can check you into a hotel. You’ll be safe until we can figure out something longer term.”
“I’m not sharing a hotel room with you, and I’m definitely not sitting in some strange hotel that takes cash and fake names. I’ve been invisible since I came back to the States seven months ago. I lived for three months on a boat in the Pacific Northwest; I bummed around Oregon and Northern California before coming to Orange County. I’m safe where I’ve been staying. Just get back on the San Diego Freeway.”
“I don’t like that idea.”
“Nothing in the information you showed me mentions where I am. You only found me because I called you. I’ll feel safer in familiar surroundings. Don’t think for a moment that you have a vote in this. Now drive.”
Donovan didn’t argue with her. He followed her directions in what seemed like a maze of apartments. He memorized street signs so he could find his way out, only to understand that she was driving him in circles. Finally, she motioned him to pull to the curb.
“This will work. I can walk from here.” Erica popped open the door and jumped out with her bag. “Drive two blocks up this street and then turn left. You’ll figure out how to get back to the highway from there.”
“Be careful. I’ll be in touch tomorrow. Call if you change your mind.”
“Go.” Erica closed the door.
Donovan sped off. In the mirror, he saw her stand her ground, watching him leave. She was still standing there when he made his left turn. He’d traveled three more blocks when his phone rang. He glanced down and saw that it was Erica calling.
“That was quick,” he said as he answered.
“Someone was waiting for me. I’m running west of where you dropped me off. Oh, shit, he’s coming, hurry!”
Donovan put the phone on speaker, hit the brakes, and cranked the steering wheel hard to the left. The car spun one hundred and eighty degrees. He downshifted and mashed the gas pedal to the floor. In seconds he flew through sixty miles per hour, reached the corner, switched off his headlights, and slammed on the brakes. He made the turn, downshifted, and accelerated, searching the street ahead for Erica or her pursuers.
When he calculated she couldn’t have gone much farther on foot, he slowed dramatically, reached under the seat, and pulled out the pistol. He powered down his window and listened. He heard her voice, but it was coming from the phone not the night air.
“I cut north. Oh, no, I screwed up. There are two of them.”
Donovan was about to accelerate to go around the block when he heard a gunshot come from between the buildings just to his left. He grabbed the phone and the gun and jumped out of the Porsche. He began running down sidewalks and as he turned a corner, he saw Erica’s bag lying on the ground. He scooped it up and kept going. He looked at the phone, the counter was running, the call was still connected. From both the phone and to his right he heard a muffled scream.
He ran toward the sound, but before he reached the corner of the building, two men came the other way, they each had an arm under Erica’s, half carrying, half dragging her. A strip of duct tape had been pressed over her mouth. Donovan stopped and raised the pistol. “Let her go!”
The second the words came out, he knew he’d made a mistake. Buck’s words echoes in his mind. If you decide to point your gun, the time for talking is over. The man on Donovan’s left raised his free hand, a pistol clearly visible. Donovan squeezed the trigger just as the man fired. The sound of both gunshots was deafening as it echoed through the apartment complex. The man went limp and hit the sidewalk hard as he collapsed into Erica. She untangled herself from him, shoving the other man just as he, too, raised his gun and fired at Donovan. This time Donovan heard the hot sizzle of the bullet whiz past his head. Off balance, the remaining man struggled to aim his weapon. Donovan was about to fire again when Erica picked up the first man’s weapon and shot the final assailant twice, once in the chest and once in the head. Erica ripped the tape off her mouth, fished in the pockets of the first man who’d gone down, and extracted both her gun and his wallet.
“Let’s go,” she said.
Donovan took one look back at the two men lying on the ground and with no remorse whatsoever, took Erica by the arm running with her back through the buildings to the Porsche, still idling in the street.
Donovan jumped behind the wheel, his thigh burning from the exertion. He pushed in the clutch, found first gear, and without turning on the headlights, sped into the night. Street by street Erica led him to a back way out of the development and onto a major road that fed into Highway 133 south that would take them through the canyon to Laguna Beach.
“The first shot I heard, you or them?”
“Me. I’d just put my key in the lock when the first guy showed up. I ran, but the second guy was on me before I could get off a good shot.”
“You redeemed yourself,” Donovan said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I watched you stand there all calm like, guns blazing, while you came to my rescue. Thank you.”
Donovan wondered what she was really feeling. He wondered what he was feeling. They’d both just killed, and he felt nothing but relief. She seemed unaffected as well. He wondered if the shock and sorrow would come later, or if he were already so damaged that killing a man wouldn’t even register above all the other stresses in his life.
“Who is he?” Donovan asked as Erica found the dome light and started going through the wallet she’d lifted.
“I don’t know. All that’s in this is cash and a key card. Did they look like any of the guys in the photos the FBI showed you, the ones from Hawaii?”
“They looked the absolute opposite. The crew from Hawaii were a little on the scruffy, unkempt side. The guys back there were wearing slacks and sport coats.”
“They weren’t messing around. They came right for me. It was hard to miss their intent. My question is why were they trying to kidnap me? Why not just kill me?”
“They wanted to interrogate you.”
Erica looked behind them. “I hope we’re not going very far. A red Porsche 911 is going to be easy to spot—you’ve got to think someone saw us leave the scene.”
“We’ll be fine. We’re headed back to Laguna Beach, but first we need to get rid of these guns.”
“Give yours to me,”
Erica held out her hand. She pulled a t-shirt from her bag, ejected the round from the cylinder, dropped the clip, and then broke down the rest of the pistol. She carefully wiped down each component then repeated the process on her gun as well as the one she’d taken from the scene. “Can your gun be traced back to you?”
“No.”
“I hate to be without weapons right now, but you’re right, we need to unload these.”
“Where’d you learn to shoot?”
“I’m the only child of a man who’d hoped for a son.”
He swung in behind an auto-body shop and Erica jumped out and buried the parts of the pistols in two different dumpsters. Donovan pulled back out and they cruised into downtown Laguna Beach, finally swinging onto the Pacific Coast Highway, heading south.
Donovan’s phone rang. It was a number he didn’t recognize. He motioned for Erica not to say a word.
He answered as neutral as he could. “Nash here.”
“Robert,” the raspy voice began. “I wanted to give you a heads up about a new video that’s going to go viral in about thirty minutes. Meredith would have really liked this one, so will you. I can’t wait to see the public’s reaction. You can find this one on YouTube under bear’s revenge.”
“Why try to kill me before you post another video? Seems rather counterproductive.”
“It’s not your time, Robert. You’ve grown paranoid. I told you, I don’t want you to die just yet, I want you to suffer.”
“I’m talking about your thugs twenty minutes ago.”
“It wasn’t me, but if you stop and think about it, you’ve developed quite a few new enemies in the last thirty-six hours. People are calling for your head. It’s just like old times, isn’t it? Good-bye, Robert, and be safe.”
Donovan hung up the phone and looked at Erica. “That was Garrick. They’re getting ready to post another video.”
“Oh, God, it is so terrifying to think that you were on the phone with him. What did he say when you asked him why he tried to kill us?”
Deadly Echoes Page 8