“I trust all the modifications on the Eco-Watch Gulfstream went smoothly?” Malcolm asked. “We’re really in a bind as far as observing Mt. Atitlán, and right now the Scimitar is our best bet to understand what might be happening.”
“I’m not sure I fully understand.” Donovan said.
“Rick and Oliver were trying to install seismic monitoring equipment directly on the mountain when the attack took place. The USGS has banned all personnel from the area. With the weather what it is this time of year, we usually only get a small window of opportunity in the morning to actually observe the mountain itself, before the clouds and rain make visual assessment impossible. There are satellite resources, but they make a limited appearance overhead, and the time delay for analysis is less than ideal. We have seismic arrays in place at two other volcanoes, but they’re quite a distance, so the readings for Atitlán aren’t as precise as we’d like. If we can get the Scimitar in the air, it would give us a great deal of information we simply don’t have right now. Of course, the helicopter you’ve provided will go a long way in helping us monitor the situation as well.”
Donovan stopped and turned toward Malcolm. “A helicopter?”
“Come, it’s in the hangar with the Scimitar. I’ll show you.” Malcolm gestured to one of the doors on the side of the hangar. “We’ll go in this one, all the rest are locked.”
Donovan followed Malcolm inside and stopped just inside the hangar to give his eyes a moment to adjust. When they finally did, he could see the ominous black shape of the Scimitar. Next to it sat what looked like a brand new Bell 412 helicopter. It lacked any paint except for a base coat of white. The only markings were on the tail, a United States registration number: N819EW, the EW he knew stood for Eco-Watch. It was a replacement for the Bell 407 that had been lost in Alaska. After some deliberations, he and Michael had decided to go with the twin-engine 412 for operations out at sea. As far as he knew, this machine, which was destined to be based aboard the Eco-Watch ship Pacific Titan, wasn’t being delivered for two more months, and should still be at the Bell helicopter factory in Fort Worth, Texas.
“Mr. Nash? Buck!” A woman, more cute than beautiful, called out as she stepped from behind the helicopter. She wasn’t tall, no more than five feet five, she’d lost some weight, and was less pear-shaped than when the two men had last seen her. She wore overalls and her wavy brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but her fully charged smile was just as infectious as always.
“Janie Kinkaid, I can’t believe it’s you!” Buck put his arms around her, the two hugged intensely, he lifting her off the ground and then returning her gently to earth. The two had grown close after serving together on an Eco-Watch mission in Alaska.
Janie turned to Donovan, cocked her head, and studied his long hair and beard. “Mr. Nash, I assume you’re in there somewhere?”
Donovan reached out and gave her a hug. Janie had shown them all, firsthand, that she was one of the best helicopter pilots around. He and Michael had first met her years ago in Australia. They learned she’d grown up with four older brothers, and had developed a wicked sense of humor as well as a rough-and-tumble attitude toward life. One night in Perth, Michael and Donovan learned firsthand that they couldn’t out-drink her—it hadn’t even been close.
Janie was typically based aboard the Eco-Watch ship Pacific Titan. Three months ago she’d been injured in a helicopter crash, the same crash that had injured Lauren and Buck. Thanks to Janie’s remarkable flying and Buck’s quick thinking, they all escaped with recoverable injuries. As far as Donovan knew, Janie was supposed to be recuperating from a broken elbow at home in Australia. To find her in Guatemala was a complete surprise.
“It’s good to see you,” Donovan said as they disengaged. “How are you? How’s the elbow doing? Why are you here?”
“I’m fine,” Janie nodded. “Since I was cleared to return to flight status ahead of schedule, Michael, Mr. Ross, was able to arrange with Bell to take an early delivery of our 412 last week. Eric and I finished our training, and yesterday we loaded it on the cargo plane with the Scimitar and flew down here. When we’re finished, it’ll go back to Fort Worth for paint and a final inspection before we take her out to the Pacific Titan and her sea trials. She’s a beaut, isn’t she?”
“Eric Mitchell is with you?” Donovan asked. Eric was the helicopter pilot on the other Eco-Watch ship, the Atlantic Titan.
“Yeah,” Janie replied. “Michael thought it would be smart to train us both at the same time so we could standardize the new machines within Eco-Watch operational specifications. Eric’s off talking to another Bell operator based here. He should be back shortly.”
“Is it flyable?” Donovan asked.
“You bet. I’m just fussing with my new baby. You want to go up right now?”
“Yes,” Donovan replied immediately. “Can you get us out to the volcano?”
“No problem,” Janie smiled. “Eric and I will have her ready to fly in an hour. That’ll give you and Buck a chance to check out the Scimitar.”
“Perfect,” Donovan said, ignoring the annoyed expression on Buck’s face.
Donovan turned from the helicopter and took in the Scimitar. His first impression was that the drone was far larger than he’d expected. The basic airframe came straight from the latest version of the Predator. The MQ-9 Reaper was bigger, faster, and more powerful than its older cousin. Buck let out a low whistle as they both approached the nose.
“What do you think?” Malcolm asked.
“I’ve seen the military version of this thing.” Buck put out his hand and touched the black surface. “But this looks completely different, the skin feels more solid. What is it?”
“A ceramic resin,” a deep, resonant voice said from the other side of the Scimitar. “It helps it deflect heat, like the ceramic tiles used on the space shuttle, only four generations more advanced.”
Donovan discovered a short, rather rotund man walking their way. He had on white coveralls and was wiping his hands with a rag. A full head of black hair framed an oval face and bright smile. From five paces away Donovan could see the unmistakable intelligence in the eyes of Professor Benjamin Murakami. Donovan held out his hand in greeting. “Professor, I’m Donovan Nash. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you—and the Scimitar.”
“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Nash.”
“This is my colleague, Howard Buckley.” Donovan let his eyes travel down the sleek lines of the Scimitar. He felt the aeronautical enthusiast within him begin to formulate a dozen questions.
“Hello, Mr. Buckley.” Murakami shook Buck’s hand. “What is your position within Eco-Watch?”
“I’m in charge of logistics,” Buck replied instantly. “I’m sort of Mr. Nash’s go-to guy.”
“Ah, I see. We should all have someone like that in our life.” Murakami turned back and faced Donovan. “Well. What do you think?”
“I’m intrigued,” Donovan said honestly. “Why don’t you give us a walk-around, but first, I’m curious about the name.”
“Scimitar was a name chosen by my graduate students at the university. They likened the project to cutting through the darkness, which is exactly what the Scimitar will do. A round-the-clock, scientific sword if you will.”
“Perfect,” Donovan said, as he touched the ceramic-based covering that protected Scimitar. The UAV was big; it was almost forty feet long with a wingspan of sixty-six feet. It had a nine-hundred horsepower turboprop engine mounted aft, which pushed the Scimitar through the air at speeds close to two hundred thirty miles per hour. Aerodynamically, the tail was V-shaped, a proven design with the benefits of less drag. The graceful wings were built like a glider’s—long and straight, for high endurance and maneuverability. The one characteristic that Donovan couldn’t get used to, no matter how many times his eyes swept across the carefully constructed airplane, was the fact that there were no windows, no cockpit. The Scimitar was going to be flown by a pilot who may have never actually flown a r
eal plane. The operator sat in a mobile control room and flew the Scimitar from miles away.
“This is, of course, the business end of the aircraft.” Professor Murakami gave the Scimitar a gentle pat on the nose. “I won’t bore you with all the technical specifications, but suffice it to say, we have a full-color nose camera that the pilot uses for navigation. There is also a variable aperture camera, which is not unlike a television camera that functions as Scimitar’s main set of ‘eyes.’ We also have low light or night viewing with the infrared camera, as well as SAR, or synthetic aperture radar, for seeing through smoke, clouds, or haze. Each one of the cameras can produce either video or still frames. As for the particle sensors, we carry a sophisticated mass spectrometer to sample gases directly from the plume. We can read the amount of carbon dioxide, sulfur dioxide, water vapor, and hydrogen sulfide. As we measure the gases, we also log the winds aloft to keep a running calculation of where the gases are headed.”
“Impressive,” Buck said. “Has any of this been done before?”
“No, not at the level we’re about to attempt. Scimitar will actually be able to loiter in and out of the plume for hours, measuring changes and showing trends about what’s happening deep within the mountain. We haven’t yet installed the necessary satellite uplink capability. We’re still working on that issue. Antennas don’t react well with the caustic ash and gas from a volcano. That’s where Eco-Watch comes into play. We need a set of eyes to help guide the Scimitar in real-time and maintain a line-of-sight data link. Our pilot will be in the back of the Eco-Watch Gulfstream controlling the Scimitar. We’ll also have the advantage of the Gulfstream flight crew looking out the window, sort of like a mother ship.”
“Well said,” Malcolm nodded his approval. “The ability to monitor a volcano, day or night, without being hampered by clouds, or even steam and ash, is unprecedented.”
“How did you solve the problems of keeping the engine free of ash, and protect it from the high temperatures?” Buck asked. “We all know volcanic ash is a deadly mixture of rock and glass fragments. I remember a Boeing 747 that flew into an ash cloud over Alaska, and all four of its engines shut down. They almost crashed before they could restart enough engines to make an emergency landing.”
“That was the first of many problems we needed to address,” Murakami said. “There are elaborate filters for the engine, but the heart of what protects the Scimitar is a liquid nitrogen heat exchanger. We circulate super-cooled jet fuel throughout the airframe. Everything that the heat of a volcanic plume could affect is protected by this system, including the air that is ingested into the engine.”
“Amazing—what’s the endurance on the Scimitar?” Donovan asked.
“Fourteen hours with a thirty-minute reserve.”
Donovan thought how difficult it must have been to engineer all the complicated systems and still keep the aerodynamics intact. “How do you keep the corrosive aspects of the ash from destroying the optics? I wouldn’t think it’d take very long for the ash to eat away at the lenses, and then all you’d have is one very expensive, but blind, airplane.”
“Yes, you’re correct. In laboratory tests, we discovered that the typical ash cloud renders the Scimitar’s optics unusable in about eight minutes. I devised a rotating lens cover system that continually slides a new protective film into position when needed. The optics system is unproven, and that’s one of the necessities of flying the Scimitar from inside your airplane. In the event that the Scimitar is blinded, our pilot can guide the drone to a safe landing by actually looking out the window of the Galileo and visually controlling the flight.”
“Professor, thank you for the tour. I’m looking forward to seeing the Scimitar in action.”
“As am I,” Professor Murakami replied, as he nodded a farewell and went to resume his work.
“Incredible,” Buck said. “I’ve seen firsthand what these things can do out in the field, at least the militarized version.”
“Here we are.” Malcolm held open the door to a small office connected to the hangar itself. “We set up a makeshift office here at the airport to be closer to the Scimitar and the data we hope to recover from the test flights.”
Donovan could see that the room was small and hastily put together. The air was filled with the acrid smell of over-cooked coffee. Donovan guessed that this place was manned twenty-four hours, and coffee was a by-product of that vigilance. Along one wall were several computers situated on old metal desks, the floor snaked with the wires of multiple connections going to printers and phone lines. On the facing wall was a row of seismographs, each contained white rollers with long metal pointers etching lines on the drums. Donovan knew enough to understand that each small variation of the ink reflected some unseen movement deep inside the earth. Seated at one of the terminals was a smallish woman with straight, mostly gray hair tied in a ponytail. Her glasses were pushed up onto the top of her head.
“Honey,” Malcolm called out. “We have company.”
The woman turned, and Donovan saw that she was probably in her early sixties, similar in age to Malcolm. Her features were sharp, but the lines of time and obvious exposure to the elements were visible around her eyes. She struck Donovan as someone who spent a great deal of time in the outdoors, thin and tall, almost stately, she was the perfect match for Malcolm. She rose from her chair to greet them. As she neared, Donovan could see in her eyes what looked to him to be a great sadness. She didn’t smile, but Donovan immediately felt a kinship with this woman.
“Gentlemen, this is my wife Lillian,” Malcolm said. “Honey, I’d like you to meet Donovan Nash and Howard Buckley. They’re with Eco-Watch.”
“Nice to meet you,” Lillian replied, then turned toward her husband. “There were a series of three small-scale earthquake swarms about twenty minutes ago.”
“I’d like to see what that looks like,” Donovan said, as he turned and tried to figure out exactly which instrument in the room might show an earthquake swarm.
“It’s right here,” Lillian said, pointing to one of the seismograph drums. “See how we get a big spike and then it gradually goes back to normal?”
Donovan could clearly see what she was talking about. It looked like a drawing of pine tree, the lower, bigger branches indicated the start of the swarm, and it gradually got smaller like it would at the top of the tree.
“Where is this being detected?” Donovan asked. “It’s my understanding that Atitlán doesn’t have a seismograph.”
“This one is located south of here on Mount Fuego,” Lillian explained. “There are also other seismographs in other parts of Guatemala. It’s not ideal, but it’s all we have right now. The swarms are miles deep, but we’ve learned that earthquake swarms are one of the precursors to a major eruption.”
“How many people do you have monitoring the situation?” Buck directed the question toward Malcolm. Buck had walked closer to the lone window in the room and pulled back the grimy blinds; he glanced outside, and his eyes swept the immediate area.
“There are only the two of us,” Malcolm replied. “We try to split it up into ten-hour shifts and let the Guatemalan monitoring station take over the task when we’re away. There are two other USGS people on their way; they should arrive here in the next several days.”
Through the window, Donovan saw that the Boeing 737 was still on the ramp, though in the distance he could see a fuel truck pulling away from under the right wing. He hadn’t thought to ask William if the Air Force crew and airplane were staying with them, or leaving. From all appearances it looked like they might be getting ready to depart. Donovan shrugged, it probably didn’t matter. He and William weren’t leaving anytime soon, plus, later today, they would have the Galileo at their disposal.
“Buck!” Janie yelled from the far side of the hangar. “Hurry!”
In an instant, Buck, gun drawn, was racing across the building. Donovan and Malcolm brought up the rear. As Donovan rounded the helicopter, he saw Janie holding a la
rge envelope. In her other hand was a sheet of paper.
Buck holstered his pistol, and he and Donovan walked around behind Janie so they could see what was written. At the top of the page was a bloody fingerprint, below that were the words:
three million u.s. dollars
to see Stephanie alive again
you have three days
Buck turned to Malcolm. “I need you to call the control tower and stop the Air Force jet!”
“Where did you find this?” Donovan asked Janie.
“It was leaning against the rear door. I heard what sounded like the sliding door on a van open and close. Then someone pounded on the door. I opened it and there was no one there, but the envelope was, so I opened it.”
Buck opened the door and looked up and down the access road that connected the private hangars, as if quietly assessing their vulnerability. “I want everyone inside. I also need something to handle this with besides my fingers. Can someone find me some gloves? Or better yet, tweezers, or forceps?”
“I’ve got some in my kit,” Janie said, returning moments later with a small pair of forceps.
“Let’s get this to the office.” Buck carefully picked up the letter and the envelope with the forceps, careful not to contaminate the evidence any more than Janie already had.
“The tower said they’d relay your message to the Boeing,” Malcolm said as he rejoined the group. “That was all they could promise. The 737 hasn’t moved, so I think we reached them in time.”
Buck hurried back to Malcolm’s office. They quickly photographed the contents of the envelope as well as the envelope itself. With Lillian’s help, they carefully secured all the items in a large plastic bag, which Buck then sealed.
Malcolm eyed the plastic bag. “Are you sure we shouldn’t call the police, or the embassy, first?”
“The Air Force jet we flew down here on is headed back to Washington, DC. In four hours this can be in the hands of the FBI. I’m hoping they can give us some clues. I also have to ask everyone to keep everything you’ve seen here to yourselves. As far as Eco-Watch goes, it’s business as usual.” Buck looked at Malcolm and Lillian. “I’m not sure why they delivered this here, but I’m going to request round-the-clock security for the two of you. I don’t think you’re in danger, but I’d like to err on the safe side.”
Aftershock: A Donovan Nash Novel (A Donovan Nash Thriller) Page 5