Pegasus Down: A Donovan Nash Thriller (Donovan Nash Thrillers)

by Philip Donlay

“Do it,” Donovan said.

  Dr. Janos pulled back the sheet, folding the fabric respectfully over her breasts.

  It all happened at once. Donovan saw the auburn hair and stiffened, the chalk-white skin pulled over similar bone structure, and then it was all wrong, the lips, chin, the forehead—it wasn’t Lauren. Donovan couldn’t speak. He slowly shook his head that it wasn’t her, then turned away and walked from the room. His emotions were frayed, but more than anything, he felt immense relief, followed by anger. A woman who bore more than a passing resemblance to his wife had died. Was it accidental or a carefully planned execution?

  “Let’s go,” Montero and Marta caught up with him, walking him up the stairs from the morgue. At the top of the stairs Montero’s and Donovan’s phones beeped, Donovan’s began ringing.

  Donovan saw that it was Calvin; it was early in D.C. “Nash here.”

  “Thank God I found you!” Calvin’s voice left no doubt that something had happened. “Lauren was arrested near the river north of Budapest. She’s being held at the District III police station. The chatter we picked up says she’s going to be transferred to Police Headquarters in Budapest. I already spoke to William, he says the embassy in Budapest is stalling, which you and I know is by design. You need to get to her, do everything you can to make this as public as you can. We need reporters taking pictures, start a riot, anything! The fear at this end is she’ll be turned over to the Hungarian Secret Police; if the TEK have her, she’ll be swept off into the shadows, and we’ll never see her again.”

  “I’m on it.” Donovan ended the call.

  Montero had just finished reading the email Calvin had sent. “Marta, she’s at the District III Police Station, but they’re transporting her to Police Headquarters. How do we get to her?”

  “Follow me.” Marta hurried for the door. “Karl!”

  Donovan heard what sounded like muffled gunshots the same moment that Marta reached the double doors. He heard a car door slam and an engine rev.

  Marta took one look through the glass, turned and yelled, “Get back!”

  Donovan grabbed Montero and pulled her with him as the doors exploded inward, the space filled by the trunk of the Mercedes 600. More gunshots sounded.

  Marta was the first to reach the car. She opened the front door and motioned for Donovan and Montero to get in the back as before. Once they were inside, Donovan could see where bullets had peppered the side window and windshield leaving opaque divots, but none had penetrated the interior.

  “Go!” Marta shouted the instant they were all in the car. “It’s an old trap. Kill someone who looks like a missing family member and then kill everyone who shows up at the morgue.”

  Karl slammed the gas and the tires spun on the smooth waxed floor as they pushed through the remains of the wooden door out into the open. He cranked the wheel to the right and not so much as winced as two slugs hit the glass next to his head. The Mercedes screeched as Karl swerved down the alley where at the far end, a white van pulled across the entrance to block them.

  “Brace yourselves!” Marta yelled as she pulled her seatbelt across her body in one fluid motion.

  “We’ve got a car behind us,” Donovan said as he turned and spotted a burgundy Volkswagen in pursuit.

  Donovan and Montero secured themselves as Karl accelerated down the narrow corridor. The heavily armored Mercedes slammed into the side of the van, nearly slicing it in half as both vehicles rolled out onto the boulevard, shedding tires, glass, and debris as they went. Karl jerked the Mercedes to the right, slammed on the brakes, threw the Mercedes into reverse, and collided with the Volkswagen the moment it emerged from the alley. Donovan barely felt the impact, and as he spun in his seat to look, he could see the second car pinned against the corner of the building. The front airbags had deployed, steam and dark smoke from hot oil poured out from under the buckled hood.

  “Stay in the car,” Marta ordered Donovan and Montero as she produced a pistol and opened her door. Karl threw the Mercedes into park and exited quickly to catch up with his boss. Donovan watched as Marta, gun first, leaned in through the shattered passenger window. Moments later, Marta and Karl jumped away from the vehicle as the whoosh of igniting gasoline enveloped the wrecked car. Both of them ran to hurriedly slide back into the Mercedes. When Donovan took one last look out the rear window, the sound of the first sirens could be heard echoing through the buildings. The car that they’d T-boned was blocking traffic and the few onlookers began to flee as Karl pushed on the gas and they sped away from the growing funeral pyre.

  Montero looked up from her phone. “A motorcade just left the District III police station. Calvin thinks they’re transporting Lauren.”

  “Idiots!” Marta snapped. “Hungarians are afraid of police, so they think if they show force and flash their lights they’re safe. But all they’ve done is advertise their intentions.”

  “How far are we?”

  “Too far. We’ll never get to her before they reach Headquarters.”

  Donovan already had his phone to his ear. “Trevor! Where are you?”

  “Mr. Nash, I’m at the hotel with Michael. Where are you?”

  “In trouble,” Donovan said. “Get the helicopter ready to fly. We’re going to be there as fast as we can.”

  Marta turned to face Donovan. “If you’re talking about the President Hotel, we’re twenty minutes away in this traffic.”

  “I heard that,” Trevor said. “Let me come to you. Where are you?”

  “I’m handing you off to someone who knows the city.” Donovan put the phone into Marta’s outstretched hand.

  “Take off from the hotel, fly west. When you reach the river turn south. You’ll cross three bridges. When you get to the fourth, we’ll be on the east side.”

  Marta handed the phone back to Donovan. “Trevor, you got that? Let’s keep this line open.”

  “We’re on the roof now,” Trevor reported. “I see smoke to the south and I hear lots of sirens. Does that have anything to do with us?”

  “Yes. And hurry.” Karl accelerated through a yellow light and made a tight turn, pressing Donovan hard against the door.

  “We’ll be airborne in three minutes,” Trevor said.

  “We might have a problem. I don’t think this will work,” Karl said as they rounded the corner that put them next to river. “He can’t land a chopper here, the park is full of kids.” He quickly raced the length of the busy park and then slammed on the brakes, put the Mercedes into a U-turn, and sped back the way they came.

  Donovan desperately searched each open area in the park, but there was no place for the helicopter to land safely.

  “Up there, just this side of the bridge.” Montero pointed as she spoke. “A tour boat just departed.”

  Karl nodded and gunned the big engine. Through the trees, Donovan spotted what they needed—an empty dock without obstacles.

  Donovan picked up the phone. “Trevor, are you still there?”

  “It’s Michael. Trevor’s flying. We’ll be there in thirty seconds. We see the bridge. Where are you?”

  “Do you see the tour boat pulling away from a dock next to the bridge?”

  “Yeah,” Michael said.

  “We’re headed for the dock.”

  “Trevor says that’s perfect.”

  Donovan pocketed the phone as Karl pulled the Mercedes to a stop next to the gangway that led to the dock. There was a fence prohibiting entry.

  “Stay put.” Karl swung the car around and used the grill as a battering ram. The chain snapped and the fence buckled and twisted to the ground. “Now you’re good.”

  “Thanks, Karl,” Donovan said as he and Montero stepped out—as did Marta, who reached back in, took a pistol from Karl, and handed it to Montero. Behind them the bright red helicopter roared down the river, slowed at seemingly the last second, raised its nose, and gently touched down on the floating dock.

  Karl peeled away the moment the three of them reached the helicopter. Mi
chael was out and holding the door open against the downwash. Protecting his bandaged hand, he helped Donovan, Marta, and Montero climb into the helicopter.

  “I just spoke to William,” Michael shouted. “He briefed me on Lauren’s situation and he wanted me to tell you that the Hungarians are ignoring the Ambassador’s request to release Lauren into American custody.”

  Donovan nodded his appreciation for the update and piled into a seat next to Montero, strapping in as Michael hurried back up front to join Trevor.

  “Where to?” Trevor turned and asked.

  “North. Follow the river,” Marta said as she found her harness and clicked it into place.

  Without hesitation, Trevor lifted off, and in a smooth turn to the left, they accelerated, the helicopter only a few scant feet above the muddy Danube. They gained altitude and passed over a twin span suspension bridge and continued to climb until they were clear of any obstacles as they followed the river. They made a gentle right turn abeam the Hungarian Parliament, the massive dome and ornate spires dominating the horizon. Donovan pulled a set of headphones for himself, then handed a set to both Marta and Montero and saw that everyone was connected.

  Michael turned to Marta. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Marta, I’m a consultant. A private detective, if you will. I know my way around this part of the world. We need to get to the north end of Margaret Island. From there we’ll backtrack toward the District III police station. There’s only one route the motorcade can travel, which is over the Árpád bridge. I’m sure we can spot them.”

  “Then what?” Michael asked.

  “Most big city media outlets monitor the aviation frequencies,” Donovan said. “Calvin suggested we draw some attention to the fact that Lauren is being held. I’m pretty sure we can provide some news, so that reporters will start moving in the right direction.”

  Trevor nodded as they cruised down the river at nearly 150 miles per hour, a city map of Budapest on his knee. He finally pointed out the tip of the island and the Árpád Bridge that spanned the Danube.

  Donovan leaned forward, and peering over Michael’s shoulder, scanned the river ahead. “What in the hell is going on over there?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  LAUREN, WEARING A bulletproof vest, sat in the back of a police car, her hands cuffed behind her. The motorcade whisking her toward the center of town consisted of three squad cars and two motorcycles. Off to her right, she spotted a small blue-and-white helicopter with Police painted on the side. The entire time she’d been in the cell, she’d asked for the American Embassy, explaining over and over that she was the victim of a robbery, that she’d been thrown from a bridge in the dark. The only comfort was the fact that she’d been given water, a hardboiled egg, and some cheese. It was the first food she’d had in nearly twenty-four hours.

  They sped down the thoroughfare, three lanes in each direction. She had no idea where they were, but sensed they were headed south. They passed cement-gray apartment buildings, leftovers from Stalin-era construction. A cemetery flashed past, as did more modern office buildings. En route, drivers had been forced to pull over, turning to look as the procession sped past. The road made a curve to the left, and Lauren caught sight of the half-mile wide Danube, a sliver of an island and a marina to her left, a larger island to her right. Ahead, she could see two modern office buildings, easily fifteen stories tall, straddling each side of the bridge.

  Lauren looked up as the police chopper once again flew overhead. An instant later the helicopter transformed into an orange ball of fire, rotor blades and burning debris tumbling uselessly in the sky as the burning aircraft began a sickening corkscrew descent into the river below. Lauren flinched as the shock wave from the explosion enveloped the convoy. She spotted the smoke trail from a missile diffusing and fragmenting in the sky.

  The driver slammed on the brakes, and Lauren was thrown forward. She hunched her shoulder and tried to get low as the sound of automatic weapons filled the air. Ahead, through the steel mesh partition, she saw the lead car raked with gunfire. Then it burst into flames. None of the doors ever opened. Behind her, policemen leapt from the vehicle and began shooting. Lauren looked to where they were aiming and she caught sight of two speeding white BMW X5s. A man’s torso protruded from the sunroof of the lead car, the missile launcher on his shoulder erupted, and the police car behind her exploded.

  The side window of the police car exploded inward and Lauren sank as low as she could in her seat as the officer on the passenger side slouched forward, his chin resting on his chest. With the next burst of automatic weapons fire, the windshield dissolved into tiny fragments that bounced wildly, showering Lauren with pieces of glass. The lead BMW ground to a halt, and a man jumped to the road. Leading with an automatic weapon, he came straight for her. As he neared, she recognized him—the sharp features, dark eyes, and now he wore a heavy gauze bandage taped to his cheek.

  He yanked her door open, leaned in, and dragged her out of the car by her hair. Lauren screamed from the pain and shock as her feet hit the asphalt hard. She tried to gain purchase with her boots to keep up with the man who had her, but she kept falling. The sound of rotor blades filled the air, and the man with the missile launcher was looking upward, twisting in all directions to spot an incoming craft. A second later, a red helicopter raced across the bridge no more than ten feet above the concrete. Startled, everyone ducked. With tears streaming down her cheeks, Lauren was dragged the last few feet, picked up, and tossed into the back seat of the one of the white BMWs. Before the door slammed shut, she thought she heard the sound of the helicopter coming back around.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “BLOODY HELL, THAT helicopter just exploded!” Trevor yelled over the intercom.

  “There was a missile. I can still see the smoke trail,” Michael said.

  Donovan leaned to get an unobstructed look out the front just in time to see burning debris raining down into the river. Another flash and a car on the bridge exploded.

  “Can you bring us in close without ending up like the other helicopter?” Montero asked.

  “You bet,” Trevor transmitted.

  Donovan tightened his seatbelt as Trevor dropped down until they were eye level with the modern concrete-and-steel bridge. He eased the helicopter to the left and hugged the shore of the island, the treetops just below the skids. In a flash they sped over the Grand Budapest Hotel. Donovan could see the startled onlookers who’d been drawn outside by the sound of the explosions. They were suddenly past the hotel, and Trevor banked away from what looked like a hospital. As they approached the bridge, Donovan saw a white SUV with a man standing up through the sunroof, the unmistakable shape of a Stinger missile tube on his shoulder. Three police cars were stopped on the bridge, two were burning.

  “I see the guy with the launch tube, he’s looking up, he can’t find us,” Trevor’s voice came through the intercom. “We’re coming in low and fast. I want everyone to hang on.”

  Donovan leaned forward. As they drew closer, he spotted two SUVs, BMW X5s. They were converging on the remaining police car. A figure stood at the rear door. He leaned in, yanked a woman out of the car, and began pulling her across the pavement. As the helicopter flashed overhead, Donovan recognized Lauren; she was being dragged by her hair. His anger flared beyond all comprehension, and he was about to yell for Trevor to land, when the bottom seemed to drop out of the helicopter.

  As they crossed the bridge span, Trevor made a hard descending turn, nearly touching the water. He slowed dramatically, raising the nose as they flew under the bridge and came to a hover.

  “They have no clue where we are,” Trevor said. “but that fellow with the missile launcher bothers me. If I pop us up real quick, is there someone who can put a bullet in him?”

  “I can,” Montero offered at the exact same time as Marta. Both women gripped pistols.

  “We can’t shoot, they have Lauren,” Michael said and looked back at Donovan. “I saw her.”


  “I did too,” Donovan said. “Those men have her. We can’t attack. We need to follow them.”

  “Bloody hell,” Trevor said as he exhaled. “I can’t follow up high, he’ll shoot us down. This will have to be low and dirty. We’re going to break a bunch of laws and generally piss off the whole lot of Hungarian police. Understand that we’re not going to be able to go back to the President Hotel, or any civil airport in Hungary . . . ever.”

  “Make it happen,” Donovan said.

  “Here goes, then,” Trevor moved the stick and they slid sideways out from under the bridge. The second he had rotor clearance, Trevor climbed them straight up to take a quick look. The two BMWs were gone.

  “There they are, headed west!” Marta shouted as she spotted them. “There’s no one standing in the sunroof.”

  Trevor pivoted the helicopter smartly, and staying low, gave chase. Donovan couldn’t get the image of his wife out of his head. Handcuffed, wearing a vest, a man with a bandaged face pulling her by her hair. Donovan vowed to make them all pay. The advantage of giving chase in a helicopter was they were twice as fast and could maneuver in three dimensions, but Trevor was right, if they climbed to the optimum altitude for observation, they’d no doubt get a missile. He kept his eye on the twin BMWs and realized he had no idea which one held his wife. If the vehicles split up, they’d be screwed.

  The BMWs exited the main road and merged on a road that led south, toward central city, on the Buda side of the river. Donovan pulled out his cell phone, found the number, and sent the call. He ripped off his headphones and held the phone close to his ear, using his free hand to cover his opposite ear to try to block out the noise. Donovan let out a silent thank you when Calvin answered. “It’s Donovan! Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, barely, there’s a lot of background noise.”

  “Lauren’s alive, I saw her! She was just abducted from a police motorcade. We’re in pursuit via helicopter. The kidnappers are driving two identical BMW X5 SUVs, and I don’t know which one is Lauren’s? Calvin, I need your help!”