“This is getting uglier by the minute,” Michael said as he tightened his harness.
“Forget about landing in West Palm Beach. Once we get out of this, we can figure out where to go.” Donovan winced as another burst of lightning lit up the cockpit. Michael was more than his longtime colleague—they were more like brothers. Their deep friendship and considerable flying experience had been honed by over a decade of flying together all over the world. Officially, Donovan was the boss, a detail that Michael frequently ignored, though Donovan was smart enough to understand that that was one of the ingredients that made everything work. With a camaraderie and understanding that had been forged in hundreds of dangerous situations just like this one, there was no one Donovan trusted more at the controls than Michael.
They were out over the ocean, paralleling the worst of the weather. As they flew toward a small cluster of harmless rain showers that had popped up over the ocean, they clipped the top of the wispy clouds and the airplane buffeted momentarily. Michael couldn’t avoid the next one, and the da Vinci hit it dead center. The precipitation hissed passed the windows and the Gulfstream reeled from the turbulence, its nearly hundred-foot wingspan flexed up and down in the dark clouds.
They blew through multiple cloud layers. Each sliver of clear air allowed them an all too brief view of the squall line dead ahead. Donovan often thought of this as a three-dimensional chess game played at three hundred miles per hour. They couldn’t see the massive anvil tops above them, but he knew the line of thunderstorms blossomed well above fifty thousand feet.
“I saw some lights dead ahead.” Michael pointed off the nose as the Gulfstream broke out of the clouds into smoother air. He wordlessly pushed up the throttles, and the da Vinci gathered speed immediately.
“We’re due east of West Palm Beach. If we can—”
“You smell that?” Michael interrupted and snapped his head toward Donovan.
Donovan turned toward the darkened cabin and tested the air. It only took a moment to confirm what Michael had detected. Smoke.
“We need to get this thing on the ground. Now. Is that an airport out there?” Michael pointed. “See the rotating beacon, just this side of the interstate?”
“That’s Boca Raton.” Donovan typed KBCT into the flight management system and grabbed the microphone. Donovan watched as the FMS data confirmed that it was the Boca Raton airport. The acrid smell of burning insulation continued to drift up into the cockpit.
“Tell them that’s where we’re landing.” Michael pulled on his oxygen mask and then banked the da Vinci and began to slow the speeding jet.
“Tower, this is Eco-Watch zero one,” Donovan transmitted. “We’ve got Boca Raton in sight at twelve o’clock and eight miles. We’d like a straight-in approach for runway two-three.”
“Roger, Eco-Watch zero one. You’re cleared for a visual approach to Boca Raton. Contact Boca Tower on 118.42. He knows you’re coming.”
Donovan clicked on a flashlight, turned, and pointed the beam of light into the cabin. The smoke was visible, and as Donovan played the narrow beam around the cabin, he guessed that the smoke was originating from the aft equipment rack.
“Still burning?” Michael said through his mask while concentrating on the fast approaching airport.
“It’s not bad, yet. It looks like the lightning fried the new equipment we just had installed. We’ve still got all our aircraft systems—everything we need to get this thing on the ground is still working.” Donovan spun in the frequency for Boca Raton. “We’ll deal with it on the ground. Just keep flying. We’re almost there.”
CHAPTER TWO
Lauren peeked in on Abigail, making sure her two-year-old daughter was tucked in and sleeping peacefully. She adjusted the blanket and then lightly rested her hand on Abigail’s forehead, taking in the smooth skin and the perfect smell of baby shampoo.
She quietly left Abigail’s room and went back to her own bedroom. She checked that the baby monitor was on, and then collected the paperwork she’d brought home from the office. As a senior meteorological consultant with the Defense Intelligence Agency, the scientific articles were required reading and piled up quickly if she didn’t stay current.
Lauren felt her frustration rise, Donovan should have called by now. She operated best with order and discipline in her world and right now, at least as far as her husband went, she had nothing remotely resembling order. He’d been especially distant and distracted before he’d left for Florida. She’d been thinking about it all evening and couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. There had been little signs for weeks now until Lauren wasn’t even sure when things began to change—only that Donavan was different, or they were both somehow different. Theirs was a relationship trapped in a loop of silent discontent, and she wasn’t sure how to identify the issues, let alone break the cycle.
Lauren headed downstairs to make herself a cup of hot tea, but as she passed the closed door to the study, she heard a small beep coming from inside the darkened room. She clicked on the light and went in to investigate. The smoke alarms were fine, they’d been checked recently. The bookshelves held nothing electric, so she moved to the desk just as the beep sounded again. Lauren turned toward the credenza and pushed a key on the laptop computer. The moment the screen blinked to life, she found the problem—a low-battery alert. She located the power cord on the back of the drive and discovered that it was loose. She firmed up the connection and sat down to make sure the battery was going to accept the charge.
It seemed odd that the cord could have worked itself out. In a house with a two-year-old, Abigail was usually the easiest explanation, but she wasn’t ever allowed in this room. A row of books lined the wall behind the computer, and as Lauren looked closer, she noticed some dust. In the dust she spotted marks that told her the dictionary had been slid in and out recently.
Curious, Lauren knew that when Donovan needed help spelling something, he defaulted to the computer. There was no way he was going to wrestle with the massive volume to verify a word. She pulled the dictionary out and was surprised when a DVD slid out from between the pages and fell to the floor. Using her thumb and middle finger she picked up and studied the disc. The title, One Earth, was printed in bold black letters, followed by the warning that the DVD was an Academy Screener copy, for awards consideration only and not for public viewing.
Lauren knew exactly what she was holding. One Earth hadn’t been released yet, but somehow Donovan had gotten his hands on a reviewer’s copy of the documentary about Meredith Barnes. Over the years there’d been many television shows about the life and untimely death of celebrity conservationist Meredith Barnes, but this was a major Hollywood production and there was early Academy Award buzz for the project.
They’d both known that the movie was being made, and when she’d asked him about it, Donovan hadn’t seemed concerned or even acted interested. Despite his history with Meredith. Despite the certainty that he would be depicted poorly in the film. His position was that everything between him and Meredith had happened twenty years ago and that he was happy Meredith’s work was still relevant after all this time. End of subject.
She slid the disk into the computer and moved through the prompts until the first images appeared on the screen. A dirt road cut through a lush jungle, the faint sounds of screaming began to grow—there were shouts of alarm and the distant wail of emergency vehicles. The screams began to draw closer and were filled with more immediate urgency. An image began to take shape, a light-colored object surrounded by darkness. Slowly, the screen came into focus to show stark images of Meredith Barnes’s murdered body being discovered in a muddy field outside San Jose, Costa Rica. A rapid-fire burst of still pictures ripped across the screen, actual photos from that day. Meredith’s sightless eyes, her hair and chalk-white skin matted with blood from the single bullet wound to her forehead.
Lauren watched as the scene faded and was replaced with a young Meredith Barnes, smiling and laughing f
or the camera. Images showed a warm photo montage of her love for the outdoors as she went through adolescence and then graduated from college. Lauren, as well as most of the world, knew the story. Fresh out of school, Meredith Barnes had traveled the world researching and writing what would become her best-selling book, One Earth. Part science, part spiritual expedition, her book, along with her movie-star good looks, thrust her center stage. Her message wasn’t just about what was wrong—but how each and every one of us could do something to heal our planet. Hollywood, captivated by Meredith’s passion for life, showcased her journey and her message in a motion picture. The world fell in love with her.
After the movie, she produced and hosted a wildly popular television series about the hot-topic issues. Crisscrossing the globe, she and her crew dramatically illustrated how we were harming our planet. She highlighted what needed to be done to stop the damage. She was a frequent guest on late night talk shows. She participated in hot-topic political discussions. She held court at countless environmental rallies, speaking for a voiceless planet and championing a better future. She enlisted powerful allies—Princess Diana, Bono, Elton John, as well as other high profile A-list celebrities to further her causes. The public couldn’t get enough—Meredith’s fiery temperament coupled with boundless compassion made her a media darling. She influenced politicians and policy makers on a global scale, yet she always came across as warm and genuine.
Meredith’s message: peace and conservation, a no-borders philosophy that would serve to save our “one earth” from everything we were doing to destroy it. As Lauren watched and listened, she understood all over again how Meredith had become such a cherished figure in the eyes of the world—and why she was still relevant. Part emissary for the planet, part celebrity, Meredith had touched millions of people. Beautiful and intelligent, powerfully charismatic, using soft-spoken kindness when needed—and her intense passion when calm diplomacy failed.
Lauren fast-forwarded through Meredith’s college years then began watching again when she recognized the famous footage of Meredith tearing up a three-million-dollar check written to her foundation by billionaire oilman Robert Huntington. Meredith threw the pieces in his face, poked him in the chest with her index finger, and demanded to know how the heir to the Huntington Oil fortune could sleep at night. She rattled off a dozen ways his multinational company was killing the planet. The narrator of the documentary used the confrontation as evidence of ground zero in a bold conspiracy employed by Robert Huntington and Huntington Oil to murder Meredith Barnes.
The movie continued. Following the fireworks from that first meeting, it explained that Robert sought Meredith out, used her, and manipulated her by proposing a series of initiatives that led Huntington Oil to appear as if they were on the forefront of responsible energy-recovery methods. But the film implied that Huntington had another agenda: he seduced her to get close enough to orchestrate her death. The screen filled with images of the two of them as they traveled the world, their movements tracked by both Hollywood and Wall Street. One shot in particular of Robert and Meredith kissing distressed Lauren to the point that she looked away, as if she were intruding. The narrator continued to reiterate that Huntington was nothing more than a ruthless sociopath. A deeply flawed man who had no problems using a potent combination of charm and his unlimited supply of money in a premeditated, brutal plan to destroy Meredith Barnes and her message.
Lauren watched as the narrator explained that Huntington continued the charade of their relationship, that he exploited their combined influence by arranging an environmental summit in Costa Rica. An unprecedented gathering of political dignitaries and business leaders from all over the world convened to reduce the destruction of the rain forests, to develop alternative energy for emerging economies, and to set controls on commercial fishing as well as ban harvesting of oceanic mammals. By all comparisons to previous attempts, the Costa Rica summit promised to be an epic rally on behalf of our planet, but according to the narrator, Robert Huntington had other plans.
What followed was a series of events Lauren had never heard. The narrator provided details. That despite threats against visiting diplomats and even toward Meredith herself, she and Huntington had left the safety of the host hotel. The trip was unannounced. En route to a rented villa, their limousine was stopped, their driver killed, and Meredith taken at gunpoint. The only living witness to the alleged abduction was Huntington himself, who was beaten badly. Later this was used as evidence of how far he was willing to go to destroy Meredith. A ten-million-dollar ransom demand materialized almost immediately by way of an anonymous letter left at the hotel. The summit evaporated. Weeks of investigations by the police, plus unending posturing by the Costa Rican and American authorities, resulted in nothing except Meredith’s death.
Huntington, it was explained, did very little at first. He was a billionaire and yet the ransom demand was initially ignored. It was only later that he started assembling the cash, a delay that pointed to his culpability in Meredith’s demise. When he finally had the money, he demanded proof of life; he wanted to speak with Meredith. When the phone call finally came, Robert took the call. It was late at night, and to this day, no one knows what was said. The equipment that should have recorded the conversation was somehow switched off by the police on duty. The next day, Meredith’s body was found in a muddy field. She’d been murdered. The backlash was immediate and unyielding. Blamed for everything from refusing to pay for her release to being the actual murderer, Robert Huntington was charged, tried, and sentenced in the court of public opinion. No one was sure what happened to the ten million dollars. Virtually overnight, Robert Huntington became the most hated man in America—if not the world.
Meredith’s funeral, attended by a Who’s Who of politicians and celebrities, was broadcast around the world. Robert Huntington was notably absent. Instead, a series of photos were published, showing Robert Huntington on an unnamed beach with a young blonde woman. The images fueled the public’s unwavering rage toward Robert Huntington—a bitter hate still alive after twenty years.
Family and close friends of Meredith Barnes were interviewed, as well as an array of celebrities and law enforcement experts. All expressed their belief that Meredith had been murdered by Huntington and his oil industry cronies and this verbal condemnation led up to the vivid New York Times headline that announced that Robert Huntington was dead. Lauren cringed when the plane crash death of Robert Huntington was celebrated, as if the planet itself had exacted some sort of karma for his atrocities and killed him for what he’d done to Meredith Barnes.
Lauren hit the stop button and was relieved when the screen went black. She hated what she’d seen, and for the moment she didn’t know what was real and what was fabricated. This was the first she’d heard of previous threats against Meredith, or the delay in assembling the ransom, or the final phone call, or that there was a question about the ten million dollars. She, of course, knew a much different story, the one that couldn’t be told. First and fore-most she knew that Robert Huntington hadn’t died in a plane crash. She knew he’d been devastated by Meredith’s death. She knew that he had eventually orchestrated his own death, that he’d gone to Europe for appearance-altering surgeries. Lauren was one of six people in the world who knew the truth. The reason she knew all of this: the man who used to be Robert Huntington was now Donovan Nash, the man she’d married.
CHAPTER THREE
“Eco-Watch zero one, this is Boca Raton tower. West Palm Beach informed us you’ve taken a lightning strike. Do you need assistance?”
“Negative.” Donovan replied, and then took a quick look over his shoulder into the cabin.
“Still burning?” Michael asked.
“No change.”
The Gulfstream touched down smoothly on the main gear. Michael expertly lowered the nose, deployed the thrust reversers, and brought the da Vinci to a quick stop. They’d beat the approaching storms, but the squall line was bearing down on Boca Raton as the
y pulled clear of the runway.
Ground control issued instructions, and Michael swung the da Vinci onto the taxiway that would take them to the Executive Ramp. In the distance, Donovan could see Boca Raton Aviation, the hangars and offices brightly lit. They had managed to land ahead of the storm, but one look at the western skyline told them the thunderstorms were only minutes away. Ahead, the doors to a large hangar were open as the line crew pushed a plane into an already packed space.
As the da Vinci rolled onto the main ramp, one of the linemen jumped into a golf cart and raced across the tarmac, waving his lighted batons to guide them. They were directed toward a row of larger planes parked well away from both the office and hangar. The planes were dark, the engine covers installed, obviously not scheduled to leave anytime soon. Donovan spotted one empty space situated between a Gulfstream and a Global Express; it was just big enough for the da Vinci. He brought the Gulfstream to a rest, shutdown the engines, set the brakes, and turned off the electrical power.
Donovan threw off his harness and raced to the rear of the plane. Using his flashlight in the darkened cabin it was easy to locate the source of the wisps of white smoke: the control module for the new high-resolution camera array they’d just installed. Donovan threw open the door to a cabinet and grabbed a tool pouch. He found the screwdriver, quickly backed out the fasteners, then slid the unit from the rack. He twisted apart the Cannon plug and ran with the smoldering box toward the door.
As he lowered the airstair, the warm humid air poured in from the stiffening breeze. The sudden peal of thunder told him the weather was closer than he’d expected, and he realized how good it felt to be on the ground. He hurried down the stairs past the lineman standing below to set the still-burning component on the ground a safe distance away from the plane.
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