“I just radioed the handler,” Eric reported. “He’s aware of your departure and wants to know if you need fuel.”
“Yeah, have the truck meet us.” Donovan replied. “But you get your fuel first.”
“I’m good,” Eric replied. “I topped off onboard ship. If you don’t mind, I’ll drop you two and head straight back.”
“By all means, and I appreciate the last-minute lift.”
Eric descended toward the same open area where he’d landed earlier in the day. Donovan surveyed the airport and discovered that the news trucks were gone. Good, their late-night departure would go unnoticed and unreported.
The skids touched firmly and Donovan stepped onto solid ground. He breathed a small sigh of relief. It was a little cooler than earlier, but the humidity was still oppressive. He pulled their bags out and secured the door. Montero joined him and they both ducked under the rotor blades and moved to a safe distance. The rotor wash buffeted them as the helicopter clawed at the air, lifted off, and headed east.
Donovan heard the low growl of a diesel engine in the distance and he saw the fuel truck headed toward them, its gears grinding as it rumbled across the tarmac. Once they fueled, all they needed was for Kyle to arrive and they could get underway.
Donovan ducked under the nose and set their bags on the ground. He fished in his pants pocket for his keys and thumbed the correct key just as the fuel truck swung into position.
“Tell him I’ll have an exact amount for him in a second,” Donovan called out to Montero. “Once he’s hooked up, he can start pumping.”
Donovan turned his attention back to the door of the Gulfstream and hesitated. It was unlocked. He tried to remember if he’d just unlocked it before he spoke to Montero. He shrugged it off, it was such an automatic action. He must have done it without thinking.
Once the door was unlatched, he pulled it over-center and allowed it to swing out and extend all the way down to the ground. He grabbed their bags and took the steps two at a time up into the cabin. He reached into the cockpit and switched on the valves that would allow the fueling to begin. Halfway to the back of the plane, he stopped—he sensed them before he saw them. He dropped the bags just as someone drove a fist into his stomach. He doubled over and something solid hit him on the back of the neck and he went down on his hands and knees. A kick to his ribs flipped him over and Donovan landed on his back, straining to draw a breath.
“Don’t make a sound or you will die.”
Donovan was stunned into silence. He felt the cold circle of steel as a gun barrel was pressed against his forehead. He couldn’t see the face of the man who’d spoken, but in the dim light he could see a finger on the trigger.
“Take care of the woman quickly and quietly,” the man said to his accomplice.
Donovan heard Montero call out to him as she came up the steps. The next thing he heard was Montero giving out a surprised groan, then the sound of a body hitting the floor.
“Get up,” the man said to Donovan.
Donovan winced as he did what he was told. He felt the gun leave his head, followed by the distinct pressure of the barrel pressed against the small of his back.
“How much fuel is onboard?”
“Four thousand pounds.”
“I want you to stand in the doorway. When the man fueling the airplane comes, I want you to tell him to pump six thousand liters. After he’s finished, you sign the ticket, smile, thank him, and wave goodbye. If you fail to do this, then not only will he die, but she will as well.”
Donovan was prodded forward. Montero had been dragged down the aisle and tossed on the floor near one of the science stations. He let the rough hands jostle him into position at the top of the stairs. As predicted, the lineman appeared at the foot of the stairs. Donovan called down that he wanted six thousand liters.
“Very good. Now we’ll stand here and wait for him to bring the paperwork.”
Donovan turned his head slightly; there was just enough light coming in the door to catch a glimpse of the man standing behind him. The white hair and beard made it easy—it was Nathan Strauss.
“I’m not going to fly you off this island,” Donovan said, trying to get some kind of read on the situation—trying to stave off his fear at what he knew about the man holding a gun to his spine.
“Don’t talk. I don’t need you to fly me anywhere. I only need you to stand here and wait for the lineman to come back with the ticket.”
Donovan could hear the pump on the fuel truck slow and then finally disengage. The lineman appeared on the tarmac at the foot of the steps. Donovan motioned him up, but blocked him from entering the cabin. He signed the receipt, smiled, and waved—exactly as ordered. Moments later the engine growled, gears ground together, and the truck pulled away from the da Vinci.
With his back to Strauss, Donovan never heard the sound of the arm swinging. All that registered was the momentary shock of being slammed in the back of his head. His knees buckled and he put out an arm to break his fall, but his world dissolved into darkness before he ever hit the floor.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Lauren opened her eyes with a start, confused, not sure what had woken her. She listened to the baby monitor, but it remained silent. She threw on her robe and went into Abigail’s room and checked on her daughter anyway.
From downstairs, she heard the faint murmur of voices. Halfway down the steps she smelled the strong aroma of coffee. Lauren was about to round the corner when Buck began talking and she stopped to listen.
“She needs to sleep. You’ve seen her, she’ll go until she collapses, and it’s only going to get worse from here.”
“Keep your voice down.”
Lauren wasn’t sure who was with Buck, but she held her ground, wanting to hear more.
“This makes no sense!” Buck began. “Years ago, the first time I met Nash we were headed out on a rescue mission into Hurricane Helena. In an unguarded moment he admitted to me that once upon a time something happened to him out in the ocean. It traumatized him. He’s a pilot, not a sailor, and he’s certainly not a salvage expert. From where I sit, he had no reason to be out on a ship while his friends and family are under siege. Perhaps there’s an explanation as to why he was out there, but I don’t know what it is.”
Lauren heard a cell phone ring and William’s familiar voice answered the call. She was shocked that William was here and had no idea why he would be taking calls at this time of night. She rounded the corner into the kitchen and found Buck at the table. William was on the phone, though the moment she made eye contact with him, he told whoever it was he’d call them back.
“What’s going on?” Lauren asked. The expression on both men’s faces spoke volumes, but no one said a word. William’s eyes were red rimmed and swollen.
“I came as soon as I heard.” William said quietly. “It’s the da Vinci. We just received word the plane is missing.”
Lauren heard the words, but couldn’t immediately grasp their enormity.
“Calvin Reynolds called,” William continued, his voice ragged and measured, as he struggled to maintain control. “We don’t know much at this point, but it seems Donovan had flown to Kingston, Jamaica. Did you know anything about this?”
Lauren could only nod that she had, he’d mentioned it in the e-mail she’d read earlier.
“Donovan told Captain Pittman they needed to leave and fly back to Florida on urgent FBI business. They were taken by helicopter from the ship to the airport in Kingston. The da Vinci had taken off and was climbing out when they radioed a Mayday. They reported an emergency and they were returning to the airport. That’s the last communication anyone heard.”
Lauren was silent, no sound escaped her, and she felt as if she were being squeezed to death. She felt an overwhelming desire to run to where Abigail was sleeping and hold her daughter—to protect her—tell her everything was going to be okay, but she couldn’t move. William helped her into a chair then knelt down next to her. Tears
spilled from her eyes and she sat motionless—the words too painful to accept.
“Is there anything you can tell us about why he was headed back to Florida?”
Lauren shook her head.
“I think we need to agree that we don’t know anything for sure at this point,” William said as he lowered his head. “We’re not clear on why he and an FBI agent were leaving in the middle of the night to fly back to Florida.”
Lauren hadn’t thought to ask if Montero was onboard the da Vinci. If she was, then according to Donovan, the clock was counting down. Whoever she’d sent the dossier to would be obligated to open it and reveal the contents. Nothing she could do now would stop that process.
“Do Michael and Susan know?” Lauren tested her voice, trying to grasp all of the elements of the coming storm.
“Not yet.” William shook his head. “I thought we’d wait until we know something more concrete.”
“I need to understand. What did they say—before?” Lauren said, slowly, terrified she’d spin out of control. The rational, deductive side of her needed to hear the facts, as bad as they might be, even as the emotional devastation threatened to sweep her away.
William nodded, a determined look formed on his face, but no words came, only silent tears. It took him a moment to collect himself before he could speak. “According to Calvin, the helicopter that flew Donovan and Ms. Montero to Kingston was airborne, headed back to the ship when Eric, the Atlantic Titan helicopter pilot, heard the distress calls from the da Vinci. He immediately returned to the airport and began flying a search pattern to locate the airplane. We’ve been told that the emergency was declared shortly after takeoff, as they were climbing out to the northwest of the Kingston airport. The airport radar facility was shut down for maintenance, so authorities had no exact location for the da Vinci. Based on how long they’d been airborne, it’s estimated they were no more than twenty-five miles from the field.”
“What was the emergency? I’ve heard the words Mayday, emergency, distress call, but no one has said what the emergency itself was.” Lauren felt the bite of her anger beginning to rise. She glared at Buck. “Pilots don’t just say Mayday. They tell the people on the ground what the hell is happening to them—right?”
“They reported a fire,” William said quietly, his voice breaking.
“What kind? What was burning?”
“Electrical,” William said. “In the cockpit.”
Lauren caved in and lowered her head. She couldn’t avoid the image of her husband being burned alive while he tried to fly the airplane. “We have to leave for Jamaica as soon as possible.” She squeezed her eyes shut as the images assaulted her and her control began to unravel. Sobs rose in her chest and threatened to unravel her completely.
“A black sedan just arrived,” Andy reported. “Deputy Director Calvin Reynolds.”
“I copy,” Buck said. “Send him in the front.”
Lauren stood and wiped at the tears in her eyes, then turned as she heard Calvin’s footsteps on the hardwood floor.
“I got here as fast as I could.” Calvin went directly to Lauren and they held each other tightly.
Lauren basked in the voice of the man she’d long ago adopted as her mentor and father figure. They stood together for a very long time, neither one speaking.
“I promise we’re doing everything we can.” Calvin said, finally. “We’ve been friends for a long time. You know you can trust me, right? Will you do something for me—for yourself?”
“What?” Lauren replied.
“Buck told me earlier that he felt like you were on the verge of exhaustion, and I believe him. We’ve all been worried about you. I know how you get sometimes and I know you’ve been running on nothing but fumes for days. I put in a call to Dr. Rhodes. He called in a prescription, something to help you sleep.”
Lauren shook her head defiantly. “No.”
“You can’t do anything more right now. It’s a waiting game and nothing will likely happen for hours. You don’t want to go to Kingston and sit in a hotel room or ride around in a search helicopter. You’re with people who care. Abigail is well taken care of—you need to look after yourself.”
“I can’t sleep. I need to be awake when—” Lauren stopped. She’d almost said when Donovan calls. She wished there were some fragment of hope in the uncertainty surrounding her, but she couldn’t find one. If she could only reach out and grasp one single molecule of anything but despair, she would—but she’d seen the look on William’s face. He knew. If Donovan had gotten the plane down safely, they’d have heard. She had another thought that caused her stomach to lurch. What if Donovan had gone down in the ocean? It would be the cruelest stroke of fate for him to die in the water. For his sake, she hoped he’d died from the smoke, not the flames, and that he never saw the ocean coming at all.
The last fragments of her control melted away—the harder she tried to hold on, the more it slipped away. Donovan’s secret would come out in a day or two, and the public would be outraged that he hadn’t died years ago and would at the same time applaud his death. Her thoughts, her plans, everything she needed to keep going collapsed. Her rational, scientific approach to dealing with problems was gone and all that remained was unbelievable loss combined with sadness and rage.
She stopped and sagged, as if she’d hit a wall. Lauren put her hands over her face as her body shook. Calvin held her to keep her from sinking to the floor. Sobs wracked her body and she couldn’t get a breath. She had so many questions, there seemed as if there were things she should try to say, but her mouth wouldn’t form the words, it was as if some essential element for communication had been disconnected. She tried to find her voice, but she had nothing. A rush of images raced through her mind—each more terrible than the one before.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Donovan gradually became aware of a droning sound. It wasn’t constant; the noise rose and fell without warning. The back of his skull pounded, the slightest movement ended with searing pain. His ears popped, and he tried to bring his hands to his head but found they were securely fastened behind his back, and his feet were bound tightly together at the ankles. He opened his eyes and blinked against the pain, trying to understand where he was and what was happening around him. The sound finally registered; it was the hum of jet engines. He made out some of the shapes surrounding him. He was in an airplane, more precisely, on the floor in the back of his airplane. He began to feel the sensations of flight, the motion of the da Vinci matched the surges of the engines. Whoever was flying was maneuvering as if getting ready to land.
The main gear hit hard and the brakes were applied heavily. The vibrations from the sudden deceleration acted like a hammer beating the back of his head. The thrust reversers howled in protest and the airplane rocked back and forth as it slowed. Just as fast as it had happened, it was over. The da Vinci was taxiing.
Donovan twisted upward to look toward the window. Wherever they’d landed, it was pitch-black outside. He felt the airplane pivot sharply, power up, and then come to an abrupt stop. Moments later, the engines were shut down and everything went silent. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt swollen. His head throbbed each time he moved, and he felt like he might throw up.
Donovan heard the main cabin door open, and the beam of a flashlight bounced around the interior of the plane. He heard the snap of a plastic tie wrap being cut and he was dragged roughly out of the plane and unceremoniously dumped on the ground. Several minutes later Montero was tossed onto the dirt next to him. In the instant that a beam of light played across her, he could see that her hands and feet were bound and she was still unconscious.
He rolled onto his other side to look at the da Vinci. Inside there was a steady light. Someone had set up a powerful lantern and it created just enough ambient light for Donovan to take in some of his surroundings. The da Vinci was sitting on thick steel plates to keep it from settling in the dirt. Above his plane, steel cables were fastened to the tops of ne
arby trees and supported a series of nets. Leaf-covered branches and palm fronds were woven throughout the webbing to create a realistic camouflaged canopy. There was absolutely no chance that the Gulfstream would be spotted by either a satellite or a low-flying plane. Just beyond the perimeter he spotted a fuel truck.
Donovan heard the baggage door open from the inside. A bundle was rolled out of the opening and hit the ground with a thud. It took him a moment to understand that it was a body—Kyle. Donovan felt both sickened and enraged. Donovan closed his eyes and tried to control his anger. He rolled over and inched himself closer to Montero.
“Veronica,” he said as loud as he dared. “Wake up. I need you to open your eyes. Veronica. Look at me! Tell me how badly you’re hurt.”
“Don’t call me that.” Montero squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed. “My head is killing me.”
Donovan, closer now, could whisper. “I think we’ve been drugged. Push through it and tell me if you can you move your hands at all?”
“Drugged? Where are we? What happened?”
“We’ve been kidnapped and flown somewhere. It’s Strauss.”
Montero blinked heavily and looked around. Donovan followed her eyes as she surveyed the da Vinci, the netting, and the men inside. He saw her crestfallen expression the moment she spotted Kyle’s body.
“How many of them are there?”
“It’s dark, but I think there’re only two.”
Montero lowered her head. “Here they come.”
Rough hands gripped Donovan by the ankles and he was dragged down a pathway. He was forced to close his eyes as dust flew into his face. He guessed he’d been dragged about fifty feet when his legs were released. He opened his eyes and discovered he was lying on the dirt floor of a tent. Overhead, a bare lightbulb provided the only light, and the tent was crawling with hundreds of insects. The space smelled of canvas, sweat, and raw earth.
Zero Separation Page 19