Seconds to Midnight

by Philip Donlay

  Donovan worked his way down the aisle, and as he reached the door and stepped down to the frozen lake, the outside air hit him hard. He lowered his goggles over his watering eyes and pulled up his scarf to try to breathe through the wool and reduce the pain of the frigid air flowing straight into his lungs.

  The baggage door was opened, and Paul, Lonny, and Rick slid the cargo ramp into place. They unloaded the snowmobile, and once it was out of the way, they piled the other equipment at the edge of the door, where Michael and Jesse began to make separate stacks. Diving gear in one pile, the duffel bags of personal gear in another. Donovan slung a heavy pack over his shoulder, snatched a duffel bag in each hand, and started the uphill trudge toward the cabin. Montero and Sofya grabbed what they could and followed.

  The cabin sat beneath a canopy of trees about thirty yards from shore and was larger than he’d guessed. Feeling the hill, Donovan registered the burn in his legs and shoulders as the skin of his exposed cheeks grew numb from the cold. The three of them did their best to make a pathway through the knee-deep snow to the porch. Donovan turned the simple wooden lock, built to keep animals out, and pushed the door open.

  He stopped as his eyes adjusted. It was dark inside, the only light from the open door. The windows had been boarded over for the winter. The walls were pressed particleboard nailed to the studs, and a picnic table sat in one corner. There was a cast-iron stove and a kitchen cupboard over a wooden counter and sink. Donovan sat his load down and took a quick glance into the first open door. The bedroom held two sets of bunk beds, with four yellowed foam rubber mattresses rolled up on the two top bunks. A quick check into the next room revealed the same setup. One other small door opened into a bathroom, complete with primitive shower, sink, and toilet. All the amenities were useless without liquid water.

  Montero was examining the stove, and Sofya was gathering kindling from a wooden box.

  “I’m going back down for more bags,” Donovan said and hurried outside and down the path toward the Twin Otter. The plane was already unpacked and Jesse was inflating the sled with a foot pump. Michael had bags in both hands and was coming up the path. They passed wordlessly, and Donovan slid on another backpack, picked up a box of rations, and spun to start the trek back up the hill.

  “Mr. Nash!” Jesse called out as he continued to step on the pump. “We’ll be ready to go in about twenty minutes.”

  “Okay,” Donovan replied and headed toward the cabin. As he climbed, he spotted the first wisp of smoke escaping from the steel chimney, and the unmistakable aroma of burning wood filled the air. He came through the door and found Montero kneeling in front of the stove, blowing on the flames of a small fire.

  “Wow, this sucks,” Michael said as he slapped Donovan on the shoulder, then brushed away the ice that had formed on the wool mask protecting his mouth and nose. “I’m going to go see if there’s any more firewood.”

  Donovan heard the engine of the snowmobile sputter to life and grinned beneath the layers of wool. At least they wouldn’t have to walk to where the 737 waited.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  LAUREN DIDN’T OPEN her eyes until the chartered jet’s main gear touched down in Wroclaw. After a sleepless night in London, it had taken several hours to transport Kristof to a private hospital and then there were the good-byes to Abigail and Stephanie as they drove off with Reggie. The traffic to Luton had been brutal, especially with the detours Trevor threw in to make sure they weren’t being followed. The hour-and-a-half nap was exactly what she had needed. She looked out the window and found reduced visibility with low ceilings and fog, a dreary winter afternoon in Central Europe. Across the aisle, she saw that Marta had opened her eyes but not yet moved.

  Trevor was sitting up straight, alert. “Marta, wake up. We’re here.”

  Marta yawned and begrudgingly sat up in her seat.

  “You wanted to call Tomasz the moment we landed, to make sure he got the message to meet us when we arrived.”

  Marta found her phone, turned it on, and thumbed it to life. “How strange, I have part of a text message from Tomasz. It makes no sense.”

  “Call him,” Lauren said as she powered up her phone as well. As soon as it cycled on, Lauren’s phone beeped, then flashed that she had no signal.

  “Anything?” Lauren asked.

  “It’s ringing,” Marta said. Then the expression on her face plummeted. “Voice mail. Okay, we’re going to have to go in and clear customs. They know me, so it’s no big deal. The second we’re cleared, they’ll send us out a door into the old terminal and we’ll be on our own, Tomasz or no Tomasz.”

  As the Hawker came to a stop, the copilot came out of the cockpit to open the cabin door. Lauren grabbed her bag, descended the stairs, and waited for Marta to lead the way. Trevor brought up the rear. An agent escorted them across the chilly ramp, leading them toward a door being held open by an armed guard. The air inside the building was over-warm and Lauren immediately shed her coat and draped it over her arm. Standing several steps in front of Marta, a man in a suit and tie opened a door and in English asked for all three passports. He flipped through them, and said a few words in Polish to Marta. They both laughed, and he waved all three of them through a door.

  The old terminal was quiet and their footsteps echoed in the empty space as they walked toward the glass doors that would take them outside.

  “No one is here,” Marta said as she turned up the collar on her coat to ward off the damp chill. “Trevor, there’s a parking lot just around the corner to the right. We’ll need to find something to drive.”

  As they walked, Lauren’s phone beeped, announcing the arrival of both voice- and e-mail messages. She opened the menu and found a message from Montero’s contact in Florida. She opened the first e-mail and began reading.

  Situation urgent:

  You were tagged leaving Innsbruck after an armed attack on the residence of an unknown occupant(s). The Austrian authorities have classified you as a person of interest in connection to the attack. Law enforcement agencies in Europe are being advised to detain you on sight. Call as soon as possible.

  “You look worried,” Trevor asked. “What is it?”

  “Trouble,” Lauren said as her phone began to ring. She answered before the second ring.

  “It’s Florida calling. Did you get my messages?”

  “Yes.” Lauren could sense the urgency in the man’s voice. “We just landed and cleared customs. How bad is this?”

  “I’m relieved you made it through customs. I wasn’t sure you would. Don’t have any interaction with police. If you plan on leaving the city, avoid public transportation.”

  “Do you have any idea where my husband might be?”

  “His last known position was Northern Manitoba. As of a few hours ago, the entire country of Canada became a communication nightmare. Rolling electrical disruptions are the rule. They’re effectively cut off from the rest of the world.”

  “Thanks. I have to go. I’ll call you back.” Lauren ended the call. She announced to Trevor and Marta, “I’m wanted in connection with the attack in Innsbruck. I’m to be arrested on sight.”

  “Who exactly sent you this warning?” Marta asked.

  “Montero’s source in Florida.” Lauren reopened the e-mail and handed the phone to Marta so she could read the text. She, in turn, handed it to Trevor.

  “Good God,” Trevor said as he read the e-mail and handed the phone back to Lauren.

  Lauren opened the attachment and saw it was a picture taken of her in the parking lot of the Innsbruck airport. Marta was there, as well, but her hat, scarf, and dark glasses would preclude any identification. Lauren handed her phone to Marta and scanned the parking lot and beyond. Her world had just tilted on its axis. A single attentive policeman, and she could be arrested.

  “Let’s get out of here. This truck should work nicely.” Trevor opened the door and leaned inside.

  Lauren quickly transferred her Glock from her overnight bag to her
coat pocket, and leaned into the truck just as Trevor ripped a handful of wires out from under the dash.

  “I don’t like this,” Marta said as she once again tried to reach Tomasz. “Now all I get is a busy signal.”

  “Ladies, let’s go.” Trevor cranked the engine until it started, then jumped behind the wheel.

  Marta slid into the middle and Lauren climbed in and closed the door.

  “Make a left and follow this road into town,” Marta said. “Our destination is a commercial garage we use as a safe house.”

  As they drove in silence, Lauren glanced into the side mirror for anyone following them. Trevor and Marta sat close and scanned ahead for suspicious vehicles.

  “Take the next exit and then exit the roundabout heading south,” Marta said. “It’s the second building on the right, the gray one.”

  Lauren spotted what looked like any other single-level industrial building in the area. A sliding chain-link gate matched the fencing around the entire property with strands of barbed wire laced into the top rungs of the fence.

  Marta’s brow furrowed as she scanned the building. “The gate is open, which is unusual. Trevor, drive past, and we’ll turn around. When we come back, pull up to the front door, and Lauren and I will jump out. You head for the side of the building where the cars are parked. There’s a side door there.”

  Trevor pulled through the gate and stopped in front of double steel doors. A sign written in Polish hung above.

  “Let’s go.” Marta stepped to the ground, gun at her side.

  Lauren followed as Marta pushed through the door, and they found themselves in a small foyer behind a wooden counter. The building felt deserted, and Marta motioned for Lauren to follow. They moved through another door into the main workspace, and Marta brought up her gun, sweeping her weapon back and forth as they moved across the shop floor.

  Marta went to the side door and with her hip, pushed the bar to let Trevor inside. She pointed up at a walled-off section built against the back wall. A set of stairs led up to a closed door. Moving silently, they headed for the stairs and quietly climbed to the door. Marta tested the knob and then with both hands on the butt of her pistol, she used her shoulder to charge into the room. She found the switch that would turn on the lights, and a single overhead fixture jumped to life, illuminating an empty chair in the middle of the room. Lauren scanned the room and spotted several spent shell casings along the baseboard, as well as an empty hypodermic needle.

  “Is this where your people brought the man captured in Prague?” Lauren asked.

  Trevor followed them in and left the door open behind him. She saw him reach down and pick up a hypodermic needle. “Sodium thiopental I’m guessing?”

  The drug known as truth serum, though Lauren realized its reliability remained in question.

  “Partly,” Marta said. “It’s a cutting-edge cocktail formulated by scientists in Israel.” She went to a cabinet and removed a slender cloth-wrapped container, checked the contents, and stuffed it into her pocket. “It has a complicated scientific name, but the latest recipe involves MDMA, or Ecstasy, as it’s commonly known. This mixture keeps the subjects calmer, and they’re less likely to become overwhelmed as the interrogation escalates. The Israelis have had astounding success. They’re letting us test a small batch before we put it in the inventory.”

  “What do you think happened here?” Lauren asked. “Would they have already interrogated the man about Anna’s death?”

  “I doubt it. I think they’d just administered the drugs when this place came under attack.” Marta went to a solitary window with a view of the floor of the shop. “There would have only been one person, Tomasz, up here with the prisoner, prepping him for our arrival. I’m guessing the shell casings are from Tomasz returning fire.”

  “There’s no blood,” Lauren said. “Do you record the interrogations?”

  “Tomasz probably used his phone to record the dialogue. There are security cameras outside the building,” Marta said. “To be honest, I’m not sure how we access them. I don’t think the data is stored on premises.”

  Lauren took out her phone and within ninety seconds was connected with the man in Florida. “It’s me, I have a favor to ask.”

  “Go.”

  “If it’s okay, I’m going to put a friend of mine on the line about some video footage that might be stored on a remote server.”

  “We need to do it fast, I know you’ve been busy, but the initial surge from a coronal mass ejection is reaching our upper atmosphere. The geomagnetic storms are topping anything NASA has ever recorded. There are predictions from astrophysicists at the leading think tanks that suggest countries above forty-five degrees north will all have serious power outages over the next seventy-two hours.”

  “Thanks for the update. Here’s my friend. She’ll tell you what she knows about the digital setup we’re looking to retrieve.” Lauren handed her phone to Marta and walked over to Trevor.

  “So we have no idea if this guy talked, or if he’s dead, or alive?” Trevor asked.

  “We don’t know anything yet,” Lauren said, taking a quick look at her watch. She couldn’t stop thinking about the news: she was a wanted woman, and had just cleared passport control when they entered Poland. What she didn’t know was if the authorities were going to wait for her to surface again—or start hunting her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  DONOVAN WAS WITH Jesse in one of the bedrooms, far from the warmth of the stove. He was consumed by the frigid air as he stripped down to his underwear and pulled on the first pair of thermal underwear. He followed with a layer of polypropylene designed to wick away body moisture and capture body heat. The specially designed under-suit system was rated for water as cold as twenty-eight degrees Fahrenheit.

  “We’ll put on our snowmobile suits before we leave.” Jesse zipped the heavy insulated garment up to the middle of his chest before sliding on his boots. “The dry suits are far too bulky for the trip. We’ll suit up for the dive once we get out there.”

  Donovan nodded and threw his snowsuit over his shoulder.

  “Ready?” Jesse asked as he adjusted his heavy stocking cap.

  “Right behind you.” Donovan followed Jesse out of the bedroom into the main room, appreciating the warmth from the fire crackling in the cast-iron stove.

  “Whoa,” Montero said when she saw them. “I thought Jesse and Rick were diving.”

  “I’m the safety diver,” Donovan replied and waited for Montero to start in on him.

  Michael preempted Montero’s response. “You don’t even like the water.”

  “I don’t like the ocean,” Donovan said. “A lake is different; it’s just like a giant swimming pool.”

  “Jesse,” Montero said. “Are you okay with Donovan being your safety diver?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “When Donovan first called me, we talked about what I needed, and the first thing I told him was a dive buddy. I’ll admit, I was a bit skeptical until I looked at the list of qualified divers on the Eco-Watch master list. His name is there, signed off by my dad, as well as Mr. Buckley.”

  “I didn’t know you learned to dive! Buck signed you off?” Michael said. “Where was I when all of this happened?”

  “When I first learned to dive, you were most likely in preschool,” said Donovan. “I was twelve when my dad wanted me to learn. Then I didn’t dive for a long time. Years later when I was working with Jesse’s father setting up Eco-Watch Marine, he suggested I requalify so I’d understand the latest technology. I did, and then Buck, being the Navy SEAL he was, put me through the wringer when we were together in Norfolk, and my name was kept on the active list.”

  “What about when it comes time to climb into a pressurized Gulfstream and leave Churchill?” Michael asked Donovan. “I’ve heard the bends aren’t pleasant.”

  “He’ll be good to fly,” Jesse said. “If the submerged Boeing is in less than fifty feet of water, Donovan can dive to that depth and still b
e safe to act as flight crew. If the dive needs to go deeper than fifty feet, I’ll be the only one who goes there. We’ll worry about the flying part when the time comes. Donovan will hover at a safe depth and observe, fifty feet, no deeper. In my experience, these northern lakes have good visibility, so we’ll be able to see each other. Plus, we’ll have Rick topside at the end of the tether; it’ll be fine.”

  From outside, Donovan heard the snowmobile once again sputter to life, the signal that Rick was ready to leave.

  “I think our ride is waiting,” Jesse said, as he pulled on his goggles and gloves. “Once I double-check the sled, we’ll be ready to go.”

  As Jesse opened the door to leave, Paul and Lonny paused to allow him to pass, then stomped the snow off their boots and came into the cabin.

  “Nice,” Paul said as he went toward the fire and started peeling off layers.

  Lonny followed suit and sat down at the picnic table. She unfolded an aeronautical chart and spread it out.

  “How soon can we leave to fly to the other lake?” Michael asked. He walked over to Lonny and leaned over her shoulder to study the chart.