Seconds to Midnight

by Philip Donlay

  Donovan drew the Glock that Sofya had dropped in the snow. He fired twice, forcing Lonny to duck back behind the bulkhead. Donovan started forward, but stumbled over Paul’s body in the aisle, a crimson pool already gathering on the floor surrounding his head. One of Lonny’s errant shots had struck Paul, and he was down. As Donovan stopped to step over the body, the twin turboprop engines finally surged to full power and threw him backwards against Montero. As the plane accelerated, the skis beat roughly against the uneven snow. Montero tried to steady herself as she squeezed off three more shots.

  Lonny ducked to avoid them.

  Without hesitation, Donovan grabbed Montero around the waist and charged toward the open cargo door at the rear of the plane. He went down on his hip, and they slid the last four feet on the metal floor and stopped at the edge of the door, using the seats as cover. When the Twin Otter bogged down and swerved hard in the heavier snow, they were thrown into the aisle. Donovan rolled them back toward the door as two more wild shots were fired from the cockpit.

  “What are you doing?” Montero yelled.

  “We’re out of here! Empty your Glock into the left engine. Aim just behind the exhaust stack!”

  Montero squeezed off the remaining rounds in her gun until there was nothing. Then holding her tight against his chest, Donovan pushed against the floor and rolled them both out of the plane.

  They dropped from the Twin Otter and hit the surface of the lake, bounced, and then tumbled and rolled in the snow drifts. Donovan lost his grip on Montero. Snow filled his nose and ears as he spun sideways. He came to a stop on his stomach. He moved his arms and legs and carefully raised himself on all fours, shaking the snow from his face. He blinked his eyes to see the Twin Otter accelerating away from them.

  A cloud of black smoke erupted from the left engine, followed by the disintegration of the cowling as the engine tore itself apart from the inside. The snow was peppered with shrapnel and debris as a dirty orange fire consumed the wing. With the right engine still at takeoff power, the Twin Otter careened hard to the left toward the shoreline, nearly digging a wingtip into the heavy snow. Lonny corrected, and the left wing lifted clear of the snow. The airplane wobbled, lifted off, and staggered into the air.

  Donovan watched as Lonny immediately tried to bank away from the trees, but instead, the battered and weakened left wing snapped near the root, twisted, and fluttered into the air as the fuselage of the Twin Otter plummeted back to the surface of the lake. Parts began to shed from the impact, and the full thrust from the right engine powered what was left of the Twin Otter straight into the trees. The collision silenced the remaining engine and shredded the airframe, splintered trees, until finally, the mangled airplane came to a rest upside down, the tail section twisted at an odd angle. The sound of the crash combined with the snapping trees echoed back and forth across the lake, until the ruptured fuel tanks ignited with a whoosh and the wreck became an inferno.

  “That’s just great!” Donovan heard Montero behind him.

  He turned to find her on her back, propped up on her elbows. No hat. Her goggles twisted around her neck. Snow packed in her hair and against her face, he could see rage and disbelief in her eyes.

  “Good plan, Nash, let’s blow up the only way we have to fly out of this godforsaken place! I could have neutralized her, and you could have gotten control of the plane. But no, let’s shoot the engine and jump.”

  Donovan saw Montero’s anger grow as she tried to peel away the ice frozen to her eyebrows.

  “Would you please calm down?”

  “I will not. In fact, I’m going to yell at you until we both freeze to death. And where did you get that Glock?”

  “I found it near where I rescued Sofya. She had a gun when she fled the Boeing.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter much now, does it? We’re never leaving this place.”

  Donovan heard the sound of a snowmobile engine. Someone from the cabin was coming to get them. “If you’ll stop yelling at me, I can explain, we have a way out.”

  Montero staggered to her feet and began brushing the snow off her suit. “So what have you got in mind? Travel a hundred and fifty miles in a snowmobile, camp out, and live off the land? How very cable TV of you. Like I said, the plane was our way out.”

  Donovan stood as the snowmobile drew closer. Judging from the driver’s parka, Michael was coming to their rescue. As he came to a stop, Donovan saw he was right. Michael pulled up the visor on his helmet and shut off the engine.

  “Is everyone okay?”

  Before Donovan could say a word, a muffled sound came from Donovan’s parka. Michael and Montero both looked at him, confused.

  “Uh-oh.” Donovan reached into a side pocket and removed the portable radio that Montero had taken from Paul. It was still on and set to the suspicious frequency.

  “Romeo Charlie Tango, come in, repeat coordinates, over.”

  “Oh shit, someone’s close,” Michael said as he warily scanned the sky. “We need to go, right now. It won’t take them long to spot the smoke from the burning Twin Otter.”

  Montero also looked skyward while simultaneously unzipping a pocket high on her left shoulder. She pulled out another magazine for her Glock, and in seconds, she once again had a fully loaded pistol.

  “Montero, get on. We need to get to the cabin.” Donovan looked at Michael who would have heard by now from Jesse everything that had happened at the dive site. “We’ve got one chance to get out of here.”

  “You’re still alive, so Janie’s got to be a good teacher,” Michael said as he cranked the snowmobile’s engine and lowered his visor.

  Montero opened her mouth and then promptly closed it. She cocked her head as if she hadn’t heard him correctly. “He said Janie, right? As in our Janie, our helicopter pilot? Are you saying we have a helicopter?”

  “Yes. We just don’t have Janie,” Donovan replied.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  LAUREN OPENED HER eyes. She was disoriented for a few seconds. As the sound of the turbine engines and the rotor registered, she realized she was with Trevor and Marta in the helicopter, headed for Berlin. She rubbed the last remnants of sleep from her eyes and looked out the front. The glow of a large city reflected against the base of the low clouds. Trevor kept the helicopter in perfect position one hundred feet above the road. As he’d explained earlier, if they did accidentally make an intermittent blip on someone’s radar, they’d be assumed to be a truck or other vehicle. Using his night-vision goggles, he could easily avoid collisions with any obstacles. Lauren found the volume on her headphones and adjusted it upwards. Marta and Trevor paused their conversation.

  “Did you have a good nap?” Marta asked.

  “Not bad, what are we discussing?”

  “I was asking Trevor how he knows exactly where this nightclub is located.”

  “We ran an operation out of here about a year and a half ago,” Trevor replied. “An extraction similar to this one. Only the principal came along willingly, that time.”

  “Is there any intel from that past op we can use tonight?” Lauren asked.

  “The club is on the top floor of the Constellation Hotel, which is one of a cluster of high-rise buildings built around the SONY center. Being downtown, the general noise level will help mask the sound of the helicopter. There is a landing zone on the roof of the Constellation, but the higher buildings nearby make the chances of someone spotting us a rather high probability.”

  “I’d like to come in from the roof,” Marta said. “I have a feeling that Tatiana Reznik knows exactly who comes in the front door. What about a drop and go? You could retreat and come pick us up if we need you.”

  “That works, but the stealth aspect might be compromised,” Trevor said.

  “That might be impossible to avoid,” Marta said. “How tight was security when you were here before?”

  “Average and predictable,” Trevor said. “They were not much more than amateurs, glorified bouncers really
, guarding the front door, flirting, never expecting anyone to come in from above.”

  “Though, with Tatiana here, that might boost the talent level, or at least the overall numbers,” Lauren said. “Trevor, what about the layout? Where are we likely to find her?”

  “The club is on the fifteenth floor, there’s another level above that, and then the roof. We had blueprints that showed the stairs to the roof. There were two large spaces on the upper level, but we were never inside. They could be offices, an apartment, or storage. Who knows, but I doubt Tatiana tends bar.”

  “Does she cultivate girls from the club?” Lauren asked. “Could the upstairs rooms be a private club?”

  “I think the clientele is all wrong,” Trevor said. “Adrenaline is true to its name. It’s a high-energy club with typically moneyed, hipster twenty- and thirty-year-olds, dancing, drinking, doing drugs, and hooking up. Not what I would describe as a brothel.”

  “Loud and chaotic,” Marta said. “I like it.”

  “Marta, make sure you have the two-way radio,” Trevor said. “It should work in short-range situations.”

  “We’ll need it. My cell phone shows no coverage at all,” Marta said.

  “The solar storm is playing havoc with the electrical grid.” Lauren looked at her own phone and found no signal. “It could be a plus. Everyone we encounter is used to communicating via phone. If we can’t use them, they can’t either.”

  “Okay, I can see the buildings of downtown. We’re going to come in fast,” Trevor said. “I’m not actually going to land, but I’ll hover low enough that the jump won’t be more than a foot or two, then I’m out of there, but I won’t go far. If you can’t make it back to the roof for extraction, let me know. There is a big park a few blocks to the north. If you can make it there, I’ll be able to see you via the infrared and guide you to an alternate pickup point.”

  Lauren looked over Trevor’s shoulder at downtown Berlin. She double-checked her Glock and tested the weight of her ankle holster that held a small palm-sized Sig. Lauren had no idea how many weapons Marta typically carried, but she knew that Marta was most certainly going to be the most lethal person in the room.

  Marta reached between the seats and squeezed Trevor’s arm.

  “Be safe,” Trevor said. “We’re there in three, two, one. Go!”

  Lauren held on tightly as Trevor suddenly decelerated and brought them to a rock-solid hover above the roof. Marta slid open the door and jumped into the darkness, hit and rolled, and then was up, motioning for Lauren to follow. Buffeted by the air from the thundering rotor blades, Lauren jumped. As soon as she felt the impact, she, too, bent her knees and rolled away. Marta reached up and slammed the door shut, and Trevor climbed away. Lauren’s eyes adjusted to the light from the surrounding buildings as she followed Marta toward a door.

  Condensation from their breath clouded in the air as they waited, listening for any sound coming from the other side. Marta motioned for Lauren to back away, and with her silenced Makarov, she took aim, destroyed the lock, and pulled the door open. Lauren followed as they went down a set of metal stairs probably designed as a fire escape. She could feel a rhythmic pulse resonating through the handrail.

  As they reached the bottom of the stairwell, Marta paused at another door where she lightly tested the knob and found it was unlocked. Wordlessly, Lauren moved to where she could open the door. She gripped the handle and when Marta nodded, Lauren pulled it open.

  Marta, both hands on her Makarov, swept the empty hallway and then signaled Lauren that it was clear. Together they moved silently down the carpeted hallway, turned the corner, and hurried to the first door they found. It was locked.

  Lauren moved to the next door. A click told them that it was open. Marta pushed inside. Lauren followed, closing the door as quietly as she could. The lights were on, and Lauren surveyed the large office. A desk and credenza filled an entire wall, and a large flat-screen monitor was mounted behind the desk. Two overstuffed chairs flanked a sofa on the opposite wall, which was decorated with three large paintings, each a detailed still life depicting rural European cottages from a century ago. Lauren decided that the room, while designed to radiate strength, had a decidedly feminine style.

  Marta went straight to the desk to search through the few papers scattered there. Lauren continued to take in the room, and her trained eye was drawn to a security camera lodged high on the bookcase. Lauren touched Marta on the arm and pointed out the lens at the same time they both heard a sound from the hallway. Lauren was closest, and moved to be behind the door if it opened. Marta sat down in the plush desk chair and swiveled to face whoever was coming. Lauren heard voices and gripped her Glock tighter as the doorknob turned and the door swung open.

  “Who in the hell are you?” an angry female voice called out as she and a man strode into the room. “What are you doing in here?”

  Lauren pushed the door closed, bringing her pistol up as the latch clicked. An overly manicured woman, pushing sixty, spun around and glared at Lauren, her heavily made-up face the picture of outrage. The man with her was easily ten years older, with thinning strands of gray hair combed straight back from a narrow face. He seemed less startled than the woman, though his eyes were alert and calculating, which Lauren’s mind judged far deadlier.

  Marta stood and walked briskly around the desk until the barrel of her gun was leveled at the older woman’s face.

  “What do you want?” Tatiana said. “I’ll have you both arrested.”

  As Marta pulled back the hammer of her Makarov, the click echoed through the room. “Tatiana, be quiet.”

  The woman bristled, clearly not missing the fact that she’d just been spoken to like an errant child.

  “I’m going to say this once. Archangel sent me. Do as I say, or I will kill you both.” Marta produced two thick tie-wraps and handed them to Lauren. “Both of you, put your hands behind your back.”

  They complied, and Lauren snugged the plastic tight. She quickly frisked them, finding a passport in the man’s pocket. She flipped it open. A Russian diplomat.

  “I’m Dmitri Sobolev, and as you can see, I have diplomatic immunity issued through the Russian embassy.”

  “Not tonight, you don’t,” Marta said. She turned her attention to Tatiana, hesitated, and once again locked eyes with Sobolev. “I’ve heard that name before. You’re SVR, aren’t you?”

  “I’m a diplomat with the Russian embassy,” he said. “My business is my own, and I won’t be interrogated by some little—”

  Marta cupped her hand and hit him across the cheek in such a way that the sound of the pop was as surprising as the sting. As his head turned from the blow, Lauren could see the man’s expression—utter astonishment.

  “The camera on the bookshelf,” Lauren asked. “Who is watching?”

  “This room?” Tatiana answered. “No one.”

  “The monitor,” Lauren said. “I want to see the entire club, front entrance included.”

  “There’s a remote on the credenza,” Tatiana said. “I guess I’d want to watch my back, too, if I were wanted by Interpol for questioning about a mass murder.”

  Lauren ignored her, found the remote, and brought the monitor to life.

  “As the proprietor of a popular club, I work closely with law enforcement to ensure that any unsavory types are ejected from the premises and the appropriate authorities notified. I assume everyone in Europe knows about you by now.”

  Lauren’s attention was drawn to the monitor. The screen was divided into eight different camera views. Upper left showed street level, and Lauren watched as several men hurried across the polished floor, pushing through people waiting for the elevator. When her eyes came to the feed in the lower left corner, she saw the image of herself standing with a remote control in her hand and Marta behind her with a gun pointed at Dmitri.

  “She lied; we’re about to have company.”

  “How many?” Marta asked, keeping the barrel of her pistol pointed
at both Dmitri Sobolev and Tatiana.

  Lauren studied the individual screens until she found the one that gave her a view of where the elevator opened into the lobby of the club. “Six,”

  “Dmitri, are those your people?” Marta asked.

  The Russian shrugged.

  Marta pulled the radio from her pocket. “Extraction in five minutes.”

  “Roger,” Trevor responded.

  Lauren watched the monitor. The men were less than a minute from a set of stairs that presumably led up to where they were standing.

  “The roof,” Marta said as she prodded Dmitri in the small of his back with her pistol. “Both of you keep moving or I’ll put a bullet in your elbow.”

  Lauren opened the door as Marta escorted Tatiana and Dmitri toward the fire escape to the roof. Once in the hallway, Marta kept moving, and Lauren kept turning and looking behind them, unsure when and where the men would appear. They reached the door to the stairwell, and as they ascended, Lauren could hear the heavy thump of a helicopter’s rotor.

  Marta’s radio crackled to life and Trevor spoke excitedly. Lauren couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Marta stopped and snapped her head around, shooting Lauren a worried look.

  “New plan,” Marta said. “There’s a police helicopter about to land on the roof. We exit out this door and everyone stays low and follows Lauren. I’m bringing up the rear. If either of you tries to escape or slow us down, I’ll shoot you. Lauren, go out, turn left, and run in the opposite direction of the police helicopter. Our friend is watching for us. Ready?”

  Lauren nodded and put her hands on the door handle.

  “Go!” Marta cried as the door at the bottom of the stairs opened.

  Lauren burst out into the night. Above her, a blue-, white-, and yellow-colored helicopter with POLIZEI written on the side was descending. Pelted by the rotor downwash, Lauren put her arm up to shield her eyes, ducked, pivoted to her left, and ran. She looked forward, but all she saw was the edge of the building and the sprawling lights of Berlin beyond.