“There!” Shannon shouted as an object flashed low on the horizon.
Donovan couldn’t look. He’d spotted a street name he recognized and made a sharp right turn. They skirted a fire by pulling up over the curb and cutting through the scattered trees and brush of a deserted lot. The speeding Ford came down hard on the other side, but Donovan was now on a street that would take him where he wanted to go. He held his breath and rounded a corner and exhaled a silent thanks as he spotted the gate that led into Pebble Beach.
They roared past the abandoned guard shack, and Donovan pressed harder now that he knew exactly where he wanted to go.
“I see it,” Shannon said excitedly. “Look, they’re hovering. We can catch them!”
Donovan spotted the Jet Ranger. Channel 10 was painted in large letters on the fuselage. He cranked the steering wheel hard over, and the Ford’s tires screeched as he made the turn onto 17 Mile Drive and barreled toward The Inn at Spanish Bay. Still obscured by the trees, he saw intermittent flashes of the chopper through the trees. He accelerated even faster. Ahead lay a section of road that split two fairways. They’d be clear of the trees, out in the open. He drove as fast as he could, his eyes locked on the road. They were close enough that he could hear the beating blades of the hovering chopper.
Donovan made the turn on Old 17 Mile Drive and sped from the trees. The setting sun caused him to squint and blink against the brightness. He reached up to pull down the visor, and in doing so, he spotted another airborne object. Coming fast down the beach was a low-flying personal drone. Four feet across with six separate rotors, its course remained steady as if the drone pilot was following the shoreline.
Donovan slammed on the brakes, bringing the truck to a stop. He jumped out and hit the ground running, waving frantically, trying to get the attention of the helicopter crew. He watched with stunned disbelief, as neither aircraft took evasive action. The drone slammed into the Jet Ranger’s tail rotor, and splintered metal and plastic flew upward into the main rotor arc.
“Oh, God, no!” Shannon screamed.
The crippled helicopter twisted and turned as it plunged downward. The fuselage hit the ground on its side, and the sickening sound of crumpling metal carried across the grass. The uncontained blades threw hunks of grass and sod into the sky. The ruptured fuel tank exploded, and a large ball of flame boiled upward as the wreckage scattered and settled. The heat from the fire caused Donovan to turn away with the certain knowledge that no one could have survived the crash.
He staggered back to the truck. As he slid behind the wheel, Shannon was staring at the scene, unblinking, her eyes brimming with tears that rolled down her face. She turned toward him and shook her head in obvious disbelief.
“There’s nothing we can do.” Donovan put the truck in gear.
“Someone will see the smoke and come, won’t they?” Shannon said as she used the back of her hand to wipe at her tears.
“Look at the horizon, it’s just more smoke.”
“Don’t aircraft have locator beacons or something?”
“Yes, but there has to be someone in a position to do something about it, and we’ve seen no evidence that anyone is coming.”
“We were so close.” Shannon slumped.
Donovan accelerated down the road, giving the fiercely burning helicopter a wide berth. Once they were past the wreckage, they both saw what the Channel 10 chopper had been fixated on. A yacht was sitting upright on the soaked fairway, placed there by the tsunami. Continuing on, Donovan let Shannon work out her growing disbelief in silence. He hadn’t gone far when he plowed through the first pool of standing water, then another, which was even deeper. He slowed and stopped on an uneven section of the road that was above water. Squinting into the sun, he surveyed 17 Mile Drive. It was the fastest route to Cyprus Point, but all he saw was the setting sun glint off the pools of standing water. As far as he could see, 17 Mile Drive was mostly underwater or covered with mounds of sand and kelp.
He turned and looked back into the hills, at the smoke pouring from scorched neighborhoods, and he knew he had no choice.
“What are we going to do now?” Shannon asked.
Donovan put the truck in four-wheel drive, and cranked the steering wheel hard to the left. “To every golfer in the world, we’re about to do the unthinkable,” Donovan said as he powered through the shallow, water-filled ditch, and when they popped up onto a fairway of the Monterey Peninsula Country Club, he gunned the Ford and headed uphill. On the pristine grass, free from tree limbs, burning houses, and downed power lines, the Ford quickly reached fifty miles per hour. At the sound of the truck, a startled coyote ran for cover. Donovan watched it flee in his rearview mirror and ignored the chunks of grass and dirt flung upward by the all-terrain tires.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LAUREN SAT NEXT to a window on the right side of the helicopter and fastened her seat belt. Montero sat next to her, and Janie went through the engine start checklist as Ernie took a window seat on the left side of the helicopter.
“Okay, this is what I know right now,” Montero said as Janie started the first engine and the turbine began to spool up. “I spoke with Michael. Rick is in surgery. The doctors were encouraging, but guarded. I asked him if he had his injuries looked after, and he said he didn’t want to talk about it, so I’m assuming the answer is yes.”
Lauren heard the second engine start and accelerate until both turbines were spinning the heavy rotor in preparation for liftoff. Janie called out for everyone to plug in a headset so they could communicate. Moments later, everyone checked in loud and clear and Lauren watched Janie do her familiar scan outside the chopper, clearing the area before takeoff.
“Here we go,” Janie announced and then they lifted straight up, pivoted ninety degrees, and began to accelerate southward.
As soon as they lifted free of the hangars and other buildings, Lauren could see the sun still above the horizon in the west, though toward the Monterey Peninsula, all she found was a wall of dirty black smoke.
Montero nudged Lauren and passed her the cell phone to show her a text:
Ms. Montero,
We have received the proper authorization, and as soon as possible, we will attempt to locate the vehicle rented by Mr. Donovan Nash from our Monterey, California, airport location. Due to scattered satellite outages, this may take some time. We appreciate your patience.
Sincerely,
Bethany Daniels
Customer Service, Prestige Rentals
Lauren nodded her approval and returned Montero’s phone. Then she checked her own. There were several missed calls she already knew about, but nothing from Donovan or William.
“Once we cross the Santa Cruz Mountains, I’ll be taking us lower as we approach Monterey. The smoke might create some visibility problems.” Janie’s voice carried through the intercom. “Air Traffic Control has reported unauthorized media helicopters in the area, and the radar coverage is sketchy with all of the power outages, so everyone keep an eye out.”
Lauren’s ears popped as they climbed. She put away her phone and began to scan the sky and ground on her side of the helicopter. They topped the highest peak and Lauren looked out over the Pacific Ocean—usually a breathtaking sight, but at this moment, she felt the press of the waning daylight wear on her already tattered nerves. The sun glowed orange through the dense smoke, and she calculated that there was only an hour of useful daylight remaining.
“I just got an update on the civil evacuations,” Ernie said. “Full-scale evacuations are under way. Thank God it’s Saturday, so we don’t have the schools to worry about. Priority has been given to hospitals, assisted living facilities, and detention centers. Buses have been pulled into service, and many of the Monterey area military personnel are assisting. Critically ill or disabled individuals are being airlifted out by a combination of civilian medevac as well as law enforcement helicopters.”
“Do you know if the governor has called in the National Guard yet?”
Lauren asked.
“Even if he has, those assets won’t typically be made available for twenty-four to thirty-six hours. I’m sure it’ll happen, but not within a time frame that helps us now.”
“What about Carmel?” Montero asked. “Do we know about those residents?”
“Carmel was lucky,” Ernie continued. “As far as we know, they avoided any direct meteor hits. The majority of people reacted to the tsunami warning, and local authorities were able to direct everyone out of the city. We’re hoping for very few casualties in Carmel as well as most of Carmel Valley.”
“Pebble Beach?” Lauren asked.
“No power, multiple meteor impacts, roughly the same level of damage as Pacific Grove. We can only hope their higher elevation, and fewer people, means fewer tsunami casualties.”
As they neared the shore, Lauren began to survey the tsunami damage. It looked as if the surge had reached inland beyond the initial thousand yards she’d estimated earlier.
“Lauren, do you think there was a second wave?” Janie said over the intercom. “The damage looks to be further inland than before.”
“That’s the Salinas River.” Ernie pointed to the area where Highway 1 was completely submerged. “The elevation of the flood plain doesn’t rise very fast. It looks like the surge traveled inland for miles.”
“Yes, there would have been a second wave, typically larger than the first, maybe even a third. Look at how much water is just now streaming back toward the ocean.” Lauren wished she had an idea of the mass of the meteorite that had plunged into the ocean offshore. Depending on the disruptions to the water column when the meteor finally settled onto the ocean floor, there could easily be more tsunamis of unknown strength on their way.
The wreckage below was complete—buildings ripped apart, streets flooded and clogged with debris. Lauren tried to shut off everything but her scientific brain. They were flying low enough to spot individual bodies floating in the carnage, and despite traveling at 150 mph, their speed didn’t lessen the reality. She turned her attention out to sea, and as Janie made the turn inland, Lauren was able to see the Monterey harbor. Almost nothing remained of the marina.
A massive pile of ships was stacked on the beach and strewn well into downtown. Most were buckled and broken, smashed against the buildings. She didn’t see a single vessel still afloat. Fisherman’s Pier, which housed dozens of restaurants and gift shops, had collapsed. Not a single structure remained, just the twisted remnants of plumbing fixtures. The center section of the pier was split in two from a large fishing vessel flung by the surge, its superstructure smashed by the force of the tsunami. With the angle of the sun, Lauren could see a thick sheen of fuel oil coating the water inside the marina and trailing out into the ocean.
The one miracle seemed to be wharf number two, the older commercial pier that jutted out into the water and then bent slightly to protect the ships moored within the marina. The working pier of Monterey’s fishing fleet, it, too, was stripped clean of buildings by the powerful waves, but it still stood on its pilings, and seemed mostly intact. Lauren strained to spot Cannery Row and the aquarium, but a combination of low altitude and smoke made it impossible.
When Janie leveled the helicopter and slowed, Lauren spotted the wall of tangled wreckage that marked the inland boundary of the tsunami’s surge. It was well short of the airport. Below them, she saw their abandoned Gulfstream was still parked where Michael had left it after they landed. She leaned closer to the window and frantically scanned the apron, looking for any sign of Donovan. She could feel the collective frustration in the cabin as Janie made one complete circle and continued on. The terminal looked gutted by the fire that still burned inside. Black soot scarred the building, and smoke swirled and joined a larger fire just outside the airport perimeter. Janie swung in a wide arc, putting considerable distance between the helicopter and the flames leaping skyward. Just beyond the airport, Lauren spotted Highway 68. It looked like a long, narrow parking lot filled with vehicles.
“We have a problem.” Ernie looked up from his phone. “Highway 68, east of here, is the main evacuation route. We have an overturned vehicle and it’s blocking two lanes near a bridge. Tow trucks are mired in traffic, at least an hour away. I need to take a look.”
“Where exactly is this place?” Janie asked.
“Follow the highway,” Ernie said.
“Roger that. Everyone hold on,” Janie announced.
As the helicopter flew through some heavy smoke, they were buffeted by rough air. Lauren gripped the seat until it passed, knowing that the rising air created by the fire had caused the turbulence.
Janie raced along the traffic-choked road, until they came to the accident scene. She slowed, and then banked around the wreck. Lauren could see the overturned vehicle, a blue SUV. Cars were stuck, and with the guardrails along the bridge, there was no space for traffic to pass, or for anyone to push the damaged SUV out of the way. Janie slowed the 412 to a hover, and then made a slow circle around the wreckage.
Janie keyed the intercom. “Anyone have a guess at how much a Subaru Outback weighs?”
“Hang on. This close to Salinas, I have a signal on my phone,” Montero said. “I’ll have that for you shortly.”
“Ernie,” Janie said. “I can hoist two tons. Do you have any experience at Cal Fire rigging a sling load?”
“You bet. I trust you have the hook and release mechanism?” Ernie asked.
“Yeah, it’s coiled up in the baggage compartment,” Janie replied.
“I got it.” Montero looked up from her phone. “The Outback has a curb weight ranging from thirty-four hundred to thirty-six hundred pounds.”
“I’m going to set us down, and we’ll rig up.” Janie scanned the ground for a place to land. Satisfied with her selection, she started to descend toward a flat spot in a field not far from the road. The skids settled into the grass, and Ernie slid open the door. Janie brought the engines to idle, and the rotor spun harmlessly overhead, only a barely perceptible swishing sound coming from the blades.
From what Lauren understood about the process, there was a hook mechanism that attached to a mount beneath the 412. A cable then ran down to another hook that would securely clamp itself to the straps supporting the cargo. She watched as Ernie and Janie crawled beneath the helicopter to install the cable. Moments later, Janie brushed the dirt from her flight suit and climbed back inside the cockpit.
“I’ll meet you at the Subaru,” Ernie said.
“You know the drill,” Janie called out. “If it’s too heavy or starts swinging, I jettison the load.”
“I’ve seen it happen,” Ernie said. “Be careful.”
Out the side window, Lauren watched Ernie sprint for the Subaru.
“Son of a bitch!” Montero cried out as her head snapped up from her phone and she turned and scanned the long row of vehicles stuck in traffic.
“What happened?” Lauren said, turning to find what Montero had seen.
“Donovan’s rental car is back there a little ways. It’s a gray Chevy Tahoe. If he’d have seen us land, he’d be here by now. Let me out!” Montero said as she unsnapped her seat belt and went for the side door.
“Wait!” Lauren called out to her. “What are you going to do?”
“My job,” Montero said. “You guys take care of that Subaru; I’m going to go have a little chat with whoever is driving Donovan’s rental.”
“Do you need any help?” Lauren asked.
“No, I’m good.” Montero’s eyes narrowed with anger as she jumped to the ground and closed the door.
As she headed for the road, Lauren saw Montero double-check her Glock.
“Ernie was quick with it and had a bit of success. He says he’s ready.” Janie gestured toward the Subaru and Ernie.
Lauren could see Ernie standing on top of the wrecked SUV holding what appeared to be heavy-duty canvas straps high over his head.
“Here we go.” Janie spooled up both engines to their fam
iliar takeoff crescendo.
Lauren kept her eye on Montero as the former FBI agent walked briskly down the narrow shoulder in search of the Tahoe.
Janie lifted off and neatly brought the 412 into a hover above the Subaru, watching the events below through the bubble window next to her seat. “We’re all hooked up and good to go,” Janie announced.
Lauren couldn’t see anything that happened straight below the helicopter, but down the road she saw Montero step up to a gray SUV, her Glock in hand but hidden behind her. An instant later, she was on the ground, and the Tahoe had pulled off the highway throwing dirt and sand high into the air. The SUV negotiated the ditch, nearly tipping over, then hit the bottom, spun its tires and fishtailed, then climbed up the other side. The driver of the Tahoe negotiated the incline, careened through a fence, and sped away, mowing crops as he raced down the middle of the field.
“What in the hell happened?” Janie yelled as she caught sight of the fleeing SUV. “Where’s Montero?”
“Those people are driving Donovan’s rental. Montero went to talk to them,” Lauren said squinting through the dust to find Montero on her feet running after the SUV. “Montero’s okay, but we’re going to lose them.”
“No, we’re not,” Janie said as she cleared the bridge, the Subaru slowly twisting at the end of the cable.
Lauren hung on as Janie banked the 412, swinging the helicopter around and accelerating on a heading to intercept the SUV. Within seconds, the 412 roared over the fleeing SUV. The moment Janie released the weight of the Subaru, she threw the now unburdened helicopter into a steep bank, and Lauren watched the Subaru drop. When it hit, a cloud of dirt exploded upward, nearly obscuring the scene. Janie cranked the helicopter steeper as the Subaru seemed to break apart and fly into a dozen separate pieces, the wheels and tires bouncing in crazy directions from the pancaked blue body. An instant later, the fleeing SUV plowed into what was left of the Subaru and came to an abrupt stop.
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