Speed the Dawn

by Philip Donlay

  “I do.” Marcus stepped forward. “Me. He knows I’m a medic; I told him I’d check in on him. I can walk in and he won’t suspect a thing.”

  “Are you sure?” Donovan asked. “This guy is a killer.”

  “Not on my ship, he’s not.” Marcus clipped his radio on his belt, put on his Eco-Watch hat, and moved past Donovan out into the passageway. “Follow me.”

  Donovan ignored his exposed leg and limped as fast as he could but fell behind. Marcus was a man on a mission. As they reached a junction in the corridor, Marcus stopped to wait for Donovan.

  “The infirmary is the third door on the left,” Marcus whispered, and then snapped his head around as he heard someone opening a nearby hatch.

  Donovan watched as Marcus walked toward the sound and waited until a young woman stepped out of the room.

  “Teresa,” Marcus said quietly as he took her by the arm. “We have a problem. We need your help.”

  “Marcus, what are you talking about?” The young woman turned toward Donovan. “Mr. Nash? What’s going on?”

  “We have a potential situation in the infirmary. One of the survivors from the wharf is a suspected criminal. He’s bald, tattoos, probably armed and dangerous,” Marcus said in a rush. “Don’t use the radio. In fact, don’t let anyone use a radio. I need you to get to the bridge. Inform the captain what’s going on, and we need to find Montero.”

  To his great relief, Teresa nodded and took off running. Donovan turned toward Marcus. “Ready?”

  “Try to keep up,” Marcus said as he strode toward the infirmary.

  Marcus threw open the door and with Donovan right behind him, they barreled into the room. The four bunks were empty, and on the floor lay a man wearing an Eco-Watch uniform.

  “Tim.” Marcus knelt next to the man and checked his pulse. Then he stood, opened a locker, and extracted a package.

  Marcus snapped a capsule in half, and Donovan instantly smelled the acrid ammonia vapors.

  “Tim, time to wake up.” Marcus waved the capsule under the downed man’s nose and within seconds, Tim began to respond. “Tim, it’s Marcus. Are you hurt?”

  “That bastard.” Tim waved at the capsule to get it out of his face and then touched the growing bump on his forehead. “He held a scalpel to Shannon’s neck until I gave him all of our narcotics. Then he slammed my head into the wall.”

  “He has Shannon. Who else was in here?” Donovan asked.

  “Michael Ross came in and was sitting with her when he was called to the bridge,” Tim said as he raised himself up with Marcus’ help.

  “Michael’s on the bridge?” Donovan asked.

  “I don’t know for sure. He left before the guy came in and grabbed Shannon.”

  “Okay, the tattooed guy wants off this ship,” Donovan said to Marcus. “Which way is the boat deck?”

  “This is a full-blown hostage situation,” Marcus said. “I think we should wait for Montero.”

  “Attention, helicopter launch crew, this is the Captain. Man your departure stations. We need the helicopter airborne as soon as possible.”

  “Montero’s not coming,” Donovan said to Marcus. “She would have been here by now. Our guy is on the bridge, and he’s using Shannon to get off the ship via the helicopter. The captain knows the helicopter won’t fly. He’s trying to buy some time. The guns aboard—are they still locked in the captain’s quarters?”

  “Yes, the captain and his second-in-command have the only keys, but we’d have to run the risk of trying to get past the bridge to get to them.”

  “The problem with using a gun is if that jerk is holding a scalpel to Shannon’s carotid artery, one involuntary nerve twitch, and she’s dead.”

  Donovan heard the sound of someone running down the corridor.

  “It’s me.” Teresa held up her hands as she stepped into the infirmary. “The tattooed guy, he’s up there on the bridge with Shannon. I couldn’t tell anyone anything.”

  “Who all is up there?”

  “Captain Pittman, the usual two-man crew seated at the controls, Ethan, Ms. Montero, and Michael Ross.”

  “Marcus, you bandaged his arm,” Donovan said. “I’m trying to find a weakness. How much can he use his injured arm and hand?”

  “His hand works fine,” Marcus said. “His problems come with strength in his upper arm as well as range of motion. He’ll have some limitations, as in it’s unlikely he can throw much of a punch.”

  “Teresa,” Donovan said. “When you saw him, how was he positioned in relation to Shannon?”

  “He was standing behind her, his left arm across her chest. With his right hand, he was holding something against her neck. I only took one glance and then turned and ran back.”

  “Okay, here’s what I want you to do, and we don’t have much time.” As Donovan spoke, he remembered Buck always telling him he was impatient and reckless, and this idea wasn’t going to be any different. “When he and Shannon go from the bridge to the helipad, I’ll ambush him.”

  “You can barely walk,” Marcus said. “Let me take this guy out.”

  “He’s mine. If it doesn’t work, I take the responsibility. If we find the right place for the ambush, I won’t need to walk.” Donovan took a moment and looked at Teresa. “If I remember correctly, you’re part of the dive team, right?”

  “Yes, sir, assistant dive master.”

  “Perfect,” Donovan said. “As fast as you can, go to the equipment room and bring up three of the bang sticks. I want the four-footers.”

  Teresa’s eyes grew wide, before she smiled at the idea and raced from the infirmary.

  “I see now what you’re thinking,” Marcus said, “but we run into the same problem we have with a gun. Just like with a shark, if you hit him with a bang stick, the bullet goes off, the shark flinches and twists in the water. If this guy jerks with that scalpel, Shannon runs the risk of bleeding out.” He started to pace in the small compartment. “There’s got to be a better way.”

  “Hang on. Mr. Nash might be on to something.” Tim walked over to Donovan. “Can you feel this?”

  “Sure,” Donovan said as the tips of Tim’s fingers pressed into the flesh at the base of his skull.

  “Now, imagine a golf ball–sized sphere positioned where my fingers are. Roughly, that’s the area that contains the brain stem. All of the brain’s messages to the body are routed through here. If you can position the force from the cartridge in the bang stick here, it’s over. The assailant will experience flaccid paralysis—no messages from the brain reach the body. He’ll go limp.”

  “Perfect,” Donovan said. “All we need is to set up the ambush.”

  “There are two completely separate ways for them to get from the bridge to the helipad,” Marcus said. “We’ll have to set up two different ambush points.”

  “No, there’s one place we know he’ll be. Plus, he’ll be an easier target if he’s stationary.”

  “The helicopter?” Tim asked.

  “Yes, and we need to get out there before he does. Let’s plan for the worst. Marcus, is there a portable trauma kit of some kind you guys could bring to use on Shannon if things go south?”

  “I’ll get the go-kit.” Tim opened a locker and grabbed a red duffel bag.

  “Find me a roll of white tape,” Donovan said as he formed the beginning of an idea.

  “I’m ready.” Tim looped the go-kit across his back and handed Donovan the roll of tape.

  “Can I ask you two for a little help?” With Tim on one side and Marcus on the other, Donovan was whisked out of the infirmary down the passageway that ran alongside the hangar. They stopped at the door that led to the helipad. The ground crew had already pulled the helicopter from the hangar and positioned it on the pad. Donovan was relieved that the large hangar doors were closed in preparation for the launch, which prevented an audience. Janie, a worried frown on her face, had just pulled herself up into the pilot’s seat, the door still open.

  “I need to step outsi
de and try to talk to Janie without anyone from the bridge seeing me,” Donovan said as he opened the hatch and realized it was strangely quiet. The wind was blowing from the stern and blocked by the superstructure of the ship. He steadied himself on his good leg against the pitching of the ship in the following sea and waved his arms until he got Janie’s attention.

  “Don’t look at me, but listen,” Donovan called out, hoping that his voice wouldn’t carry to the bridge. “Whatever you do, don’t take this thing into the air. Sit on the helipad and melt the engines if you need to, but don’t fly.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” Janie said as she continued running her checklist. “Once I start the engines, the guy is coming down from the bridge with Shannon. Montero whispered to me that once the guy is off the bridge, Ethan is going to break out rifles from the weapons locker. The plan is for Montero to try to take him out before he reaches the helicopter.”

  Donovan turned as Teresa arrived and handed him the bang sticks.

  “They’re loaded and ready,” Teresa said.

  Donovan selected two and gave the remaining one back to Teresa. “Self-defense.”

  “Mr. Nash,” Teresa asked. “Have you ever used one of these before?”

  “I have. Buck taught me.” Donovan faced the helicopter. “Janie, if you can, radio the bridge, tell Montero to shoot only as a last resort. Once this guy is on his way down here with Shannon, I’m going to climb up on the roof of the helicopter. It’ll put me high enough he won’t be able to see me from hangar level. Make sure to leave the side doors open. Tell him it’s his only way out if you need to ditch or something. I need the doors open. When the rotors reach full speed, I’m making my move. Understand?”

  “Got it,” Janie said, never once glancing at Donovan. “I’ll flash a landing light when they’re on their way down.”

  Donovan handed Marcus the tape and lined up both bang sticks so that the cartridge-filled power tips were side by side. “Tape these together. Two shots are better than one.”

  Marcus worked quickly, wrapping the tape tightly at both ends.

  “Well done.” Donovan tested the lightweight weapon. It felt as nimble as a pool cue compared to the steel pry bar that had gotten him through the night. “I’m going to need a boost up to the top of the helicopter when it’s time. Once I’m up, I’ll need you to toss up the bang sticks.”

  “No problem,” Marcus said as he studied the helicopter. “I’ll step up on the skid, and you use my shoulders like a ladder.”

  Donovan took off his shoes and instead of leaving them to be noticed, he threw them over the railing. “I need to stay quiet until Janie has the engines and rotors making enough noise so the target can’t hear me moving on top of the helicopter.”

  “Is there going to be enough room when the rotors start to turn?” Marcus asked.

  “Yes, as long as I don’t stand up. What I need from you is a signal to tell me where he’s seated. Can you do that?”

  “Sure,” Marcus said. “Janie is in seat one. Seat two is right next to her. Seat three is behind her. Four is next to it, back and forth. Will that work? Once I get you situated, I’ll drop down off the helipad to the main deck. You’ll be able to see me, he won’t. I’ll get a look and hold up some fingers.”

  “That’s perfect,” Donovan said.

  Janie turned on the red rotating beacon as a warning to the ground crew, and the first turbine engine began a low whine as she began the start sequence. Donovan put his arm around Marcus and waited.

  “Go!” Donovan said the instant Janie flashed the helicopter’s landing lights. With Marcus taking most of his weight, they quickly made it around the fuselage, and Donovan felt himself being boosted up toward the top of the helicopter. He placed his good foot on Marcus’ shoulder, pushed off, and squirmed his way on top of the cabin. Marcus handed up the two bang sticks and then dropped to the pad and slid off to the deck below.

  Donovan did his best to make himself as flat as possible. The rotor was spinning just above him, and the hideous whistle from the damaged blades seemed to rip through his entire body, shaking his bones. His eyes locked on Marcus, and the noise grew even louder as Janie started the second engine. As it spooled up, Donovan caught sight of shadows on the deck moving toward the helicopter. It was too loud to hear anything but the deafening shriek, and the entire helicopter shook to the point that Donovan worried about his ability to deliver an accurate strike.

  Marcus held up three fingers. His target was seated directly behind Janie. As the rotor accelerated, Donovan slid to the edge of the roof. Mounted in front of him was the housing for the hoist. The brackets were stressed to suspend nearly seven hundred pounds.

  Donovan pictured the interior one last time and wrapped his left hand around the hoist for balance. He clenched the bang stick firmly, and in one fluid motion, he swung his upper body down into the space created by the open door. Hanging upside down, Donovan zeroed in on the side of the bald head, pinpointed his target, and jabbed the twin cartridges as hard as he could.

  The noise from the rotor blades masked the simultaneous discharges from the bang sticks. A spray of blood peppered the opposite wall, and the man who had caused Donovan and Shannon so much grief dropped the scalpel and slumped in his seat.

  Donovan felt himself sliding. His center of gravity was too far over the edge, and he desperately grabbed for the hoist with his other hand as he reached the edge.

  Janie chopped the power to the engines and threw off her harness. Donovan’s hand momentarily caught the hoist, jerking him outward, but his fingers slipped off the metal. A yell came from deep inside Donovan’s chest as he twisted in an effort to land on his good leg.

  The impact rattled him. He rolled onto his shoulder, hit hard, and lay still. On his back, Donovan watched Marcus, gloved up, reach into the cabin and come away with Shannon in his arms. She looked small in his thick arms. Marcus lowered her to the deck.

  “Donovan, don’t move,” Janie called out as she used the rotor brake and brought the whistling blades to an abrupt stop. The only sounds Donovan could hear were the pounding of the Buckley’s bow against the waves and people running.

  Michael knelt at Donovan’s side and put his hand on Donovan’s chest to keep him from moving. “Stay where you are. Don’t try to get up quite yet. Wiggle your hands and toes.”

  Donovan did as Michael asked. “I’m fine. Everything works. Shannon?”

  “They’re working on her,” Montero said as she joined them. “Donovan! Holy crap. A bang stick? That was genius. I was watching through a scoped rifle—it was going to be a pretty dicey shot with the pitching deck. You nailed him. His entire body went limp the instant you hit him. Can you move?”

  Donovan raised his head and looked to where Shannon lay. Marcus, gauze pads in hand, worked to pull her hair away from her blood-covered neck. Donovan saw her eyes wide open with fear.

  Tim arrived and knelt next to Marcus. He set the go-kit on the deck next to him and joined in to wipe away the blood on her neck. “Where’s she hit?”

  Janie swung out of the cockpit and leaned over Shannon. “Come on, Shannon, talk to us.”

  “I don’t think this is her blood,” Tim said as he continued searching her neck and head. “She’s not injured. I can’t find a single laceration.”

  Shannon’s expression changed as the fear slowly left her body, and it began to sink in that she’d survived. “Oh, my God, thank you,” she said and began to sob.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re a little old to be doing gymnastics,” Michael said to Donovan.

  “I’m good.” With Michael and Montero’s help, Donovan eased himself up until he was standing between them. He tested his joints and his balance. “No worse than before. I might be a little sore in the morning, but I’ll live.”

  “Let’s get you up to the bridge,” Michael said.

  “Janie and I will stay with Shannon,” Montero said.

  Marcus helped Shannon to her feet. He used his body
to block her view of the carnage inside the helicopter. Before she was helped away, Shannon turned and over her shoulder gave Donovan a grateful nod.

  “We still need to talk,” Michael said as they made their way toward the elevator.

  “Can it wait twenty minutes while I clean up and change clothes? If not, we can talk now.”

  “It’ll wait for twenty minutes.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  DONOVAN SAT IN Captain Ryan’s ready room, complete with dry clothes, crutches, and an icepack bundled around his knee. He’d wolfed down a breakfast sandwich and a bottle of orange juice. He’d made several phone calls while watching the reports about how the enormous fire on the Monterey Peninsula had been stopped. It would be months before the full extent of the damage and loss of life would be known. What was clear was that California might still be burning without the daring plan initiated by Lauren and an assemblage of government agencies working together.

  Precisely twenty minutes elapsed when Michael knocked and let himself into the room. He held two cups of coffee. He handed one to Donovan.

  “Thanks for the refill,” Donovan said.

  Michael took a chair across from Donovan. He placed his hands flat on the table, looked into his lap, then took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  Donovan felt the little hairs on the back of his neck tingle. Michael was typically easygoing, yet quietly fearless. They’d been close friends for years. In all that time, he’d never seen him have to build up the courage to speak.

  “I’m just going to come out and say this. We have a problem. I overheard Shannon trying to talk to William in the infirmary.”

  “Talking about what?”

  “She was whispering—I only heard bits and pieces. William was still kind of out of it, so it was pretty much a one-sided conversation. When I moved closer, she stopped. I heard enough to realize that somehow she knows you used to be Robert Huntington. With William and Lauren ashore, I needed to warn you so we can start making contingency plans.”