Seconds to Midnight

by Philip Donlay

  “What does Reggie think?” Lauren asked as she imagined and then processed a dozen scenarios, each one leading her to believe Marta was right.

  “I haven’t talked with anyone except Trevor. He says, and I agree with him, if we make a bit of a production leaving England, sort of advertise that Archangel is on the move, then it would make you, Abigail, and Stephanie safer, less of a target. Right now we’re all bunched together, and sooner or later, we’ll be found. Trevor says if we split up, he wants to go with us to Poland to act as backup.”

  Lauren noticed that Marta’s eyes lowered for an instant at the mention of Trevor. “I’m inclined to agree with that assessment. At best, it’s going to take Donovan until tomorrow to reach the sunken plane, and even longer to get to a place where he can tell anyone what he’s discovered. I think you and Kristof should go to Wroclaw, and I’m coming as well.”

  “What about Abigail?”

  “I go on business trips all the time. She’ll be fine here with her aunt Stephanie and Reggie.”

  “Okay.” Marta tilted her head as if unsure of Lauren’s motives. “This isn’t because you don’t think Dad and I can handle this, is it?”

  “That’s the last thing that crossed my mind. Do you remember last night when we were talking about how lucky we both were to call Montero a friend? Right now she’s hurting because of the woman who was killed in Prague. If Montero weren’t overseeing the safety of my husband, and the others within Eco-Watch, including Sofya, she’d be here, and if the positions were reversed, you know she’d be doing the same thing for us. I think we owe Montero that much.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  DONOVAN STOPPED THE Lincoln when prompted by the customs agent. He rolled down the window and handed over all three passports. Montero’s was on top. Icy air poured into the Navigator’s interior, stinging Donovan’s cheek.

  “Ms. Montero?” The agent leaned down to get a better look. “Are you the former FBI Special Agent, Veronica Montero?”

  Donovan knew she hated the name Veronica with a passion, yet she smiled, and her face lit up as if pleased to be recognized. “That’s me.”

  “What brings you to Canada?”

  “We’ve been to a funeral in Fargo, and now we’re meeting up with the Eco-Watch jet in Winnipeg.”

  “I read about that. Studying the solar storms, are you?”

  “Yes, haven’t the Northern Lights been incredible?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The agent handed over all three passports without bothering to look at Sofya’s or Donovan’s. “It’s a pleasure to welcome you to Canada and a personal highlight to meet you in person.”

  “Thank you, you’ve made my day,” Montero said.

  “My pleasure, ma’am.” He stepped back and motioned Donovan to proceed into Canada.

  Before Donovan could say a word, Montero cut him off. “I don’t want any flak from you. I got us through, okay? It was overplayed, but we’re in Canada.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Donovan said. “It was a pleasure to see you in action, ma’am.”

  “Keep in mind I’ve still got all the guns.”

  “If you were going to shoot me, you’d have done it a long time ago.” Donovan smiled and glanced in the mirror, hoping to find Sofya amused as well. What he found was a silently sobbing, frightened girl, her arms wrapped tightly across her chest. “Sofya, what’s wrong?”

  The girl gulped and her silent sobs became wails, as if she were in physical pain. Montero threw off her seat belt, climbed over the seat to sit next to Sofya, and wrapped the traumatized woman in her arms.

  Donovan listened to the jumbled words as Sofya tried to talk through her gasps. None of it made sense, though what registered in his mind was that Montero had been right. She’d warned him that Sofya could unravel, and Donovan had no idea if this was an isolated event—or the beginning of something they couldn’t control. As he drove, he wondered if the uniformed customs officer had triggered Sofya’s meltdown—or if it had been the fear of being discovered.

  The remaining sixty miles passed slowly as Montero calmed Sofya down until she fell asleep with her face buried into Montero’s shoulder. Donovan and Montero shared guarded looks in the mirror, and Montero simply shook her head. The overcast had finally broken up, giving way to clear skies as Donovan followed the signs to the Winnipeg airport. He turned onto Hangar Line Road when he spotted the private aviation facility he and Michael had discussed earlier. The Galileo was sitting on the ramp.

  When Donovan parked the Navigator, Sofya snapped awake, her bloodshot eyes full of uncertainty.

  “You’re fine,” Montero said as she swept Sofya’s hair away from her eyes. “We’re at the Winnipeg airport. Let’s go inside and freshen up. Then we’ll introduce you to the rest of the team. Okay?”

  Sofya took a deep breath and nodded.

  Once inside, Donovan found the lobby, where a receptionist spotted them and signaled for someone from the line staff to take care of the luggage. Moments later, Montero and Sofya emerged from the ladies room. Sofya looked better, though her eyes were still red and puffy.

  “The luggage has already gone out,” Donovan said. “Are we ready?”

  “Let’s go,” Montero said.

  Donovan led Sofya out the automatic doors, into the frigid air, and the three of them hurried across the ramp and up the steps into the Galileo. Just inside the jet, Michael waited.

  “Hi guys, hello, Sofya, I’m Michael. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t remember meeting you.” Sofya looked at Donovan for help.

  “It’s okay,” Donovan said. “Michael knows you might have a few gaps in your memory. I thought we might have a meeting before we take off. Are we taking on fuel here?”

  “Already taken care of,” Michael said, and then shot a distressed look toward Donovan. “Wait, we’re having a real meeting? Like one of those staff meetings everyone in the free world hates?”

  “Yes, and no one hates these more than I do. Get everyone together in the back, and we’ll get this thing started.”

  “But there’s no donuts,” Michael mumbled as he winked at Sofya. “Staff meetings require donuts. It’s a rule.”

  Donovan caught the lines of amusement pass briefly across Sofya’s face, and he silently thanked his friend for recognizing her stress and making her smile.

  “Where should I sit?” Sofya asked.

  “Right here.” Donovan motioned to a seat that would place her between him and Montero. “As you can see, this airplane is designed for scientific research. The usual plush interior has been replaced with work stations. Typically, we fly with a small group of scientists and study natural events such as hurricanes, volcanoes, high-altitude winds, and weather. We can design the equipment for the mission.”

  “Like solar storms?” Sofya asked.

  “Exactly.” Donovan smiled, and then it dawned on him that despite all of the equipment, there wasn’t a single scientist in the group this trip. Montero squeezed past him and sat in the seat he’d saved for her, close enough to react to Sofya if needed. Michael, Rick, and Jesse joined the group and they all looked toward Donovan. “Okay, I’m going to make this quick, I want to be airborne as soon as possible. Everyone, this is Sofya.”

  “You’ve already met Michael,” Montero said to Sofya in a soothing, nonthreatening voice. “Next to him is Rick, another pilot, and then there’s Jesse. We’re all with Eco-Watch.”

  Sofya nodded.

  “Jesse, as you know, we have a Boeing 737 sitting at the bottom of a lake. You and I spoke on the phone about all of this, but I need to hear it from you again, in person. Can we do this? Can we get inside this airplane?”

  “Yes,” Jesse said, confident at first, but with a bit of a shrug thrown in as if to hedge his bet. “I mean, it will all depend on how deep the lake is, and if the aircraft is in a position that allows access. If it’s flipped over on its back, we may have to cut our way inside. There can also be issues with the condition of t
he ice. Will I be going straight down from above the wreck, or will I have to make my way from the shore? More swimming eats up the downtime, as well as my endurance. We have dry suits, but the water temperature is still a significant issue. I won’t be able to stay down for extended times. But, yeah, I’ve done cold-water salvage before. It’s doable if all of the variables are in place.”

  “Michael,” Donovan said. “Did you find anything new last night as you surveyed the area?”

  “Overall, the area is flat, though the terrain rises slightly between the lakes, but no more than a hundred feet, so it’s of no concern flying in visually. We did spot what looks like a fishing or trapper’s cabin on a lake not far from the crash site. It’s in the woods and covered with snow. The only reason we spotted it are the boats stacked near what appears to be a removable dock stored near the shore. There looks to be a channel or river that connects the two bodies of water, so we should plan to try and utilize the cabin. With the extreme temperatures, the hole in the ice where the Boeing broke through has already frozen over. Based on the current temperatures, we don’t think there can be more than three or four inches of new ice. We didn’t see any evidence of footprints or tracks of any kind, unless you count the caribou. As to the object that fell from the plane, we conducted an intense search where we calculated it came down. We found snow and limbs knocked from some treetops, but we couldn’t confirm the object’s presence.”

  “How far is the object from the plane?” Montero asked.

  “Exactly 10.2 miles.”

  “How are we going to get from the cabin, overland, to conduct the search?” Montero said.

  “Hold that thought,” Michael said. “Rick and I have drawn up the logistics and we’ll get to that in a minute. Our cover story is as follows: with the solar storm as our backdrop, we’re going to set up some stationary monitoring equipment to measure the radiation levels aboveground, as well as below the water. This will explain the diving gear, but again, we’re Eco-Watch, everyone knows what we do. Rick, why don’t you walk us through the logistics. You used to fly in Alaska, so that makes you our expert.”

  “Yeah.” Rick cleared his throat. “I spent three years flying back and forth to the oil fields on the North Slope, so I know a little bit about cold weather. Mainly that I don’t recommend it to anyone. The closest airport that can handle the Galileo is Churchill, Manitoba. As a former military base, they also have hangar space for the Gulfstream, which we’ll need. The current daytime high temperature in the area is running steady at minus twenty degrees Fahrenheit. It’s clear and cold, and expected to stay that way due to a big dome of high pressure parked over Northern Manitoba—which is why we chose the area to study the solar storm in the first place. As long as the high-pressure area remains, there won’t be any snow, though with the extreme cold, we all need to be aware of hypothermia as well as frostbite. One of our first priorities is to make the fishing cabin a suitable base camp. We ordered some equipment from an outfitter here in Winnipeg that was delivered just before you arrived. It’s already been stowed on board—basic winter survival gear. Snowshoes, snow suits, goggles, boots, gloves, all the same equipment that climbers wear when they ascend a mountain.”

  “How far is the lake from Churchill?” Montero asked.

  “It’s one hundred and fifty nautical miles,” Rick said. “We were able to charter a plane out of Thompson, Manitoba, that will serve our needs nicely. It’s a de Havilland Twin Otter on skis. Based on our estimates of the full weight of gear and personnel, we’ll all fit into the Twin Otter with room to spare. They’re flying it to Churchill as we speak, and it should be there by the time we arrive.”

  “Here’s where it gets a little tricky,” Michael said. “Under no circumstances do we want the Twin Otter pilots to know what we’re doing. When we set up the charter, we gave them coordinates for a different lake, west of Churchill. We’ll change that destination once we’re airborne. The distance is the same, so it won’t affect the fuel situation on the Twin Otter, it just keeps our actual destination a secret. By having the Twin Otter land at the lake with the cabin, they’ll have no idea what we’re actually doing on the neighboring lake.”

  “How do we get the diving gear from the airplane to the crash site?” Montero asked.

  “Part of the cold-water equipment from Norfolk is an inflatable sled—it also doubles as a litter if we have an injury,” Jesse said. “It’s designed to ride up on top of the ice and therefore is easy to pull. With snowshoes, it will take us a little while to get everything from the cabin to the dive site. Think of it this way, the jog will help keep us warm.”

  “Once we arrive at the cabin,” Rick continued, “we’ll offload the diving gear and other supplies, and then the Twin Otter will fly to a lake ten miles away, where the distance from the shore to the unknown object looks to be about a hundred yards. According to the meteorological data, there’s been roughly two feet of snowfall so far this season. The hike through the forest will be tough enough, but to find whatever it is under all that snow is going to be especially challenging.”

  “Is this the airplane we’ve chartered?” Montero looked up from her phone and held it out for Donovan to see.

  Donovan leaned over and saw a Twin Otter. “Yep, a rugged twin turboprop with a fat high wing. It offers slow speed in return for large payloads and high lift capability. It’s been around forever, it’s a proven workhorse and one of de Havilland’s most successful designs. It’s a good choice.”

  “It looks like the box some other plane came in,” Montero said. “When are we leaving Churchill to fly to the lake? And more importantly, since we’re splitting up, who’s going where?”

  “We’ll fly to Churchill today and plan to be wheels up tomorrow at first light, which this time of year is nine o’clock in the morning,” Michael said. “The sun sets at three thirty, so we’ll have about six hours of useful daylight. We may very well have to spend the night at the cabin, and while it’s going to be rustic, we’ll all survive. As far as duties once we land, the plan is for me to go with Montero and Sofya, to search for the object that was dropped from the plane. That leaves Donovan, Jesse, and Rick to get to where the Boeing went down.”

  “Most of all, I want to impress on everyone that the charter pilots see and hear nothing,” Montero said. “We’ve broken a law or two over the last few days, and while we’ll make everything right in due time, having our actions revealed to the authorities ahead of schedule does not work in our favor. Is that clear?”

  Donovan waited until everyone nodded. “Very good. Are there any other questions?”

  “Won’t we be leading the men trying to kill us straight to the crashed airplane?” Sofya asked. “They could kill us all out in the middle of nowhere and no one would ever know.”

  “The way they’ve been able to follow us is through public flight-tracking websites,” Michael said. “The sites typically get their information from the government database that generates all of the instrument flight plans. With the weather being as clear as it is over Canada, we’re not going to file a flight plan. We’ll simply fly using visual flight rules; we’ll be at a scenic seventeen thousand five hundred feet for the trip to Churchill. If someone is watching the flight-tracking data, it will show that we haven’t departed Winnipeg. That and the remote location will help make it practically impossible for anyone to know where we are. From a logistical standpoint, my guess is we have a good twenty-four hours until we could expect company.”

  “I agree,” Donovan said. “Sofya, I hope that answers your question. If we didn’t think we could do this and stay safe, I promise, we’d look for a different way.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Is there anything else?” Donovan asked as he looked into the determined faces of his small team, happy to find nothing but resolute expressions. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  AS LAUREN HAD suspected, Abigail wasn’t the least bit upset when she explained th
at she was leaving on a short business trip and that Aunt Stephanie and Reggie would take care of her. Her daughter had shrugged it off, and as was her style, exacted a promise ensuring that Lauren was going to be back for New Year’s Eve when Daddy and Grandpa William arrived. Lauren had agreed to the terms, and satisfied, Abigail immediately held up the book she’d selected. As it had for months, tonight’s story revolved around Princess Noel and a faithful pony named Skyler. Abigail pulled her covers up to her chin, wiggled into the mattress, and nodded that Lauren could begin.

  It was late, but even so, Lauren was worried that Abigail would be too revved up from the day’s events in Innsbruck, the plane ride to London, and yet another extraordinary display of the Northern Lights for her daughter to fall asleep easily. She was relieved, as she lay on the bed reading to her, to see Abigail’s eyelids begin to droop. Lauren always loved putting her daughter to bed. They’d always talk about the next day, and then Lauren would read a book that Abigail picked out. When Abigail’s eyelids stayed closed and her breathing slowed into the rhythmic cadence of sleep, Lauren leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. She switched off the light and went down to join the others.

  “Any problems?” Kristof asked.

  “No, she seems to be fine,” Lauren said. She took the glass of wine Stephanie offered and sat on the sofa between Marta and Kristof. “Today wasn’t the first time she’s been in that situation, and her response has always been pretty much the same. She recovers quickly and seems to gain confidence from the experience.”