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

by Philip Donlay

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  LAUREN CAUGHT SIGHT of strange-looking lights ahead and to the left. They were low and moving fast. At first, she had no idea what it was, a helicopter or an airplane? As the unknown craft turned toward her, the lights from a small town illuminated the underside of the object, and she knew exactly what she was seeing. Her emotions soared—a Skybridge 727—the one that Donovan and Michael took from Budapest. She sent silent thanks to Calvin for not giving up on her. He was the one person who could have pinpointed her location. As she continued to watch, her relief was short-lived, and from unbridled joy, she plummeted to the depths of her worst fear as the Boeing, clouds of water vapor billowing from flexing wings, sank heavily toward the ground. In an attempt to rescue her, Donovan, Michael, and Montero were about to crash, and she was going to witness the unthinkable.

  Slow to understand what he was seeing, the truck driver ahead of them finally applied his brakes, which focused Aleksander’s attention to what was happening ahead of them. When he grasped the enormity of the danger, he began yelling at the driver in Ukrainian.

  The Boeing leveled its wings momentarily and then descended steeply. In the brightness of the landing lights, Lauren saw the 727 maneuver to try to fly underneath massive high-power lines. Sparks erupted from at least one severed line, and the ends whipped and snaked in the darkness. The Boeing seemed to stagger and then impacted the road on its belly. For the first time, Lauren realized the landing gear was still retracted. The immediate shower of sparks sent spots across her vision. The right wing severed a tree in an explosion of bark, dirt, aluminum, and the misting jet fuel was instantaneously ignited by the sparks. A ball of fire erupted and curled skyward, a trail of flames chasing the crippled Boeing as it continued to careen toward them.

  Lauren was pushed against her seatbelt as the driver slammed on the brakes and brought them to a sudden stop. He threw the car into reverse, swung his head around to try and guide the car, and punched the accelerator. Out the windshield Lauren could see the truck containing the second Phoenix obliterated as the left wing of the Boeing ripped through the flimsy metal.

  To Lauren, it all seemed to be happening in slow motion. The truck, nothing more than a fiery chassis resting on its tires, rolled into the ditch and lurched to a stop. The main fuselage of the 727, its right wing severed, spun into a muddy field. Huge clods of dirt were thrown upward as the tail section, with the engines still attached, buckled and then separated. Both nacelles came apart while flying into the air and tumbled wildly toward the car. The roar of the engines was replaced by the crumpling of aluminum as the tail impacted the road surface, broke apart, and cartwheeled into the darkness.

  Debris peppered the BMW, shattering the windshield. The driver lost control, yelling as he fought the fishtailing sedan, bringing it to a panicked stop in a geyser of water from the rain-filled ditch. Lauren had braced herself but her head bounced hard off the padded headrest. In the light from the raging fire, she could see the forward fuselage of the Boeing resting on its side in the field, a huge rip in the aluminum starting just forward of the wing root nearly severed the entire tube in half. She didn’t see anyone emerging from the wreckage.

  Aleksander yelled again in Ukrainian, and all three men piled out of the BMW, weapons drawn. Lauren was trapped, she could do nothing but watch as they ran toward the 727 leaving her alone. She used her thumb to push the button that unfastened her seatbelt, and with her broken arm on the door’s armrest, she moved her torso to gain some leverage, and then she yanked at the armrest with her good arm, trying to free herself. She finally sat back, spent—still firmly attached to the door.

  When Lauren turned her attention outside, a wave of pure panic shocked her entire body. A lake of burning jet fuel, the flames licking far up into the sky, was expanding from the wrecked wing that had destroyed the truck and was flowing toward the BMW. She savagely began pulling against the armrest, trying to wrest it free from the door. The pungent odor of fuel filled the car. When she felt the first hint of the intense heat on her bare skin, she began to scream.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  MONTERO WAS THE first to react. She unsnapped her harness and lowered herself from her seat.

  Donovan released himself and moved toward Michael, helping him out of his seat as Montero vanished through the cockpit door.

  “I’m good,” Michael said as he found his feet and stood on unsteady legs, careful with his bandaged hand. “Hell of a landing. Now let’s get out of here. I’ll follow you.”

  When the sound of automatic weapons reached him, Donovan drew his own weapon. The gunfire was coming from the direction Montero had headed. Together, he and Michael opened the emergency hatch above them, and Donovan stuck his head out. Through the rain and smoke, he saw that the cockpit was still connected to the wing structure, but just barely. The right wing had been torn off and was burning, as was the truck. Through the smoke in the light of the fire, Donovan spotted two men moving toward a section of severed fuselage. Then another sound reached his ears, a woman screaming.

  Donovan snapped his head in the direction the screams were coming from and found only smoke. A second later, he caught sight of the sedan in the ditch. The light from the intense blaze allowed him to make out the silhouette of someone flailing in the back seat. Donovan was about to leap from the hatch, when a burst of gunfire ripped into the metal only inches away, forcing him to duck back inside the cockpit.

  “I saw her!” Donovan turned to Michael. “Lauren’s trapped in the car and it’s burning.”

  They both turned as Montero came rushing back into the cockpit.

  “Can you drop to the ground without getting shot?” Michael asked. “The second you’re clear of the exit, Montero will come up shooting and cover you.”

  “There’re two guys with automatic weapons,” Montero said in a rush. “They’ve got us cut off from back there.”

  “I’m going out this exit. Cover me. I have to get to Lauren.” Donovan pulled himself up toward the exit.

  “Donovan, wait!” Montero called out.

  Instead of only taking a glimpse, Donovan went up and through the exit at full speed, rolled over, and dropped the almost ten feet to the soft soil below. Montero began firing the instant Donovan hit the ground.

  Donovan took off toward the BMW as bullets slammed into the ground just behind him. He cut to his right, trying to use the smoke to mask his moves, but the muddy ground made it hard to stay balanced and pick up speed. The next volley of bullets sizzled through the air around him. He cut again and braced for the next burst, the sound of Lauren’s cries for help spurring him on. Then her screams were drowned out by a new sound.

  He drove himself forward as a familiar helicopter blew past only feet above his head, the rotor downwash parting the smoke and curling it downward. He glanced back as he ran and saw Trevor fly into the circle of light created by the fire, and hover directly between him and the gunmen. Automatic weapons fire rained down from the helicopter, and cut down the two exposed men. Despite the cold rain, Donovan could feel the heat intensify as he neared the car. He put his sleeve up his face and slid to a stop at the open rear door; Lauren was on the opposite side. Their eyes met and Donovan had never seen such fear on his wife’s face. Her terror sprung him into action and he crawled to her, seeing instantly that she was secured to the door. He also saw the blood that had saturated the fabric on her left leg.

  “My left arm is broken,” she cried, fear warbling in her throat.

  Donovan raised his pistol. “Close your eyes!” He pushed the barrel against the black plastic of the tie-wrap that held her, and pulled the trigger twice. The heavy .45 caliber slugs easily cracked and parted the plastic, and Lauren, now free, slumped against him.

  The rising heat started to blister the skin on the back of his neck. He put one arm under Lauren’s knees, and scooted her toward the door as best he could. She slid across the smooth leather until Donovan had her out of the car and in his arms. He pulled
her close and began to run, carrying her away from the flames.

  Trevor banked hard, away from Donovan, sliding the helicopter into a hover behind a cluster of trees. It was then that Donovan heard the roar of the MiGs coming in low from the east. Donovan swerved to take cover in the ditch. He dove and turned, hoping his body would cushion the impact for Lauren. Holding her tight, he landed on his back, and splashed into the soggy ditch. He scrambled and threw his body over hers, placing himself between Lauren and what was left of the 727.

  The MiGs streaked overhead low enough that Donovan could see the underside of their wings, the missiles hanging there. The roar of the MiGs receded into the distance, and both Donovan and Lauren took in the scene. Dozens of fires burned brightly, engulfing what remained of the Boeing, as well as the BMW and truck. Having seen the destruction, the roar from the fighters receded into the stormy night and disappeared.

  “Did you get to the Phoenix in time?” Lauren asked.

  “Yes, once Calvin had an infrared position via satellite we were able to down it in eastern Poland,” Donovan said, his ears alert for any sign of the MiGs coming back around. Gathering his wife up into his arms, he stood, and once again began moving away from the wreckage as quickly as he could. He ran until his arms ached and the sharp pain in his side couldn’t be ignored, yet stopped only when he heard the staccato beats of a helicopter drawing closer.

  Donovan felt the rotor wash pour over him as Trevor touched the skids to the ground thirty paces in front of them. Relief washed over him as the door slid open and he lifted Lauren into Michael’s waiting arms. Donovan was about to climb in when a perfectly round hole formed in the metal next to his head. He swiveled in time to see the muzzle flash of another bullet being fired. The sound of the turbine engine and spinning rotor blades masked the sound of the gunshot. Donovan ducked and launched himself into the cabin just as Trevor lifted off. The helicopter swung to the left, flying straight at the shooter. Trevor turned on the helicopters landing lights which both illuminated and blinded Aleksander.

  Donovan crouched in the open doorway as Aleksander staggered backwards, firing wildly. In the harsh light, Donovan saw the action on Aleksander’s pistol lock open—he was out of ammunition. Trevor brought the helicopter down until the skids were just above the ground. As they neared the terrorist, Donovan pushed off the skid, slamming into Aleksander and driving him down into the ground.

  As Trevor made a tight circle to come back around, Donovan swung hard, releasing the rage he’d harbored since he’d first heard that Lauren was missing. Aleksander staggered backwards from the fist to the jaw, recovered, and then charged forward. Donovan delivered three vicious body blows, knocking Aleksander to his knees. In a fit of rage, screaming at Donovan, Aleksander leapt forward and pulled his knife from his belt.

  The lights from the returning helicopter caught Aleksander midstride, his knife raised, as Donovan squeezed off the first shot. The .45 caliber slug hit center mass. Aleksander’s legs buckled and he went back down to his knees. With an expression of shock coupled with fury, he gripped the knife in preparation to throw it at his enemy. Donovan squeezed the trigger again, and the pistol jerked in his hands. The second slug hit Aleksander in the middle of his chest. The man who would have killed millions dropped the knife and toppled sideways, dead in the muddy field.

  Donovan lowered his gun and found Montero at his side. “We need to go!” She said over the noise from the helicopter.

  “Where’s Daniel’s jump drive?” Donovan asked, his eyes still fixed on Aleksander’s corpse.

  “I’ll get it.” Montero turned and ran back to the open door of the helicopter and then quickly returned.

  “Here,” Montero said as she pressed the drive into his hand.

  “We have all the information copied, right?” Donovan asked.

  “Yeah,” Montero replied. “Do it and let’s go.”

  Donovan knelt down and slipped the drive into an inside pocket of Aleksander’s jacket and left it there. There would now be no doubt what the man had tried to do, and how he’d intended to make the unthinkable a reality. Donovan stood. He and Montero hurried to the waiting chopper and climbed inside. Michael and Marta were up front, so he and Montero sat in back. Donovan went to Lauren and wrapped her up in his arms as if he’d never let go.

  “Hang on, we’re out of here,” Trevor yelled. The helicopter lifted off, pivoted sharply, and accelerated into the night toward the safety of Austria.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “CAN WE GET Calvin on the phone?” Michael asked, once Trevor had leveled off over a roadway headed west. “I’d like to know if those fighters are still around looking for stuff to shoot.”

  “No, the only satellite phone we had finally ran out of battery.” Montero said. “I’ll bet Merlin is still up there, though.”

  “Trevor, can I borrow one of your radios for a quick broadcast?” Michael asked. “It’ll just take a minute.”

  “Go ahead, mate,” Trevor replied. “I sure as hell don’t need to chat anyone up, seeing as we’re trying to sneak out of Slovakia.”

  From memory, Michael dialed in the secondary frequency they’d been given and keyed the transmit button. “Dragon one-one, calling Merlin, you still up?”

  “Affirmative, Dragon one-one, Merlin is still here.”

  “Copy that,” Michael continued. “Do you still have me on radar?”

  “Affirmative, Dragon one-one.”

  “I was just wondering if there was any traffic between my position and my destination?”

  Through his headset, Donovan listened to Michael’s carefully worded message.

  “Your present heading looks good. There is some commercial traffic at your twelve o’clock and twenty miles but it’s all well above you. Previous military activity seems to have disengaged.”

  Donovan turned to Lauren and hugged her gently. She looked up and offered him a weak smile through the pain. Donovan leaned down and lightly kissed her, their lips lingering for the briefest moment.

  “Merlin, thank you again for all your help. Dragon one-one, out.”

  “Okay,” Montero said to Marta the instant Michael was finished. “I’m really at a loss to understand where you guys came from. Please, tell us where in the hell were you?”

  “We waited in the area after Lauren was taken. Three seconds earlier and we would have had her,” Marta said. “We were taking heavy fire and had to exit the immediate area, but we weren’t going to leave her, so Trevor circled around until he found a place for us to land, under a bridge of all places. The storms were coming, so I set off on foot to see if I could find Lauren, using the weather as cover. I was able to work my way to within a hundred meters when I saw Lauren forced into the back of the sedan. Moments later, a truck pulled out of the hangar and drove away, and the car followed. It was pouring rain, there was even some hail and it was slow going back to where Trevor waited.”

  “She was a sodden mess,” Trevor added. “I fired up the chopper and we took off to try to follow them, but we couldn’t see them. Visibility was so bloody poor, I had to set us back down. When the backside of the thunderstorms finally pushed through, the visibility improved enough and we were able to get airborne.”

  “The first thing we saw in the distance was a shower of sparks,” Marta said. “We had no clue what we were seeing. Seconds later there was an explosion, and Trevor had us on our way as fast as he could fly. You can’t imagine our shock when we saw the crashed Boeing we’d last seen in Budapest, as well as the destroyed truck. It was obvious what needed to be done when we spotted the muzzle flashes from the men with the automatic weapons. You know the rest.”

  “I can’t thank everyone enough,” Lauren said. “I’m sorry you had to save me again.”

  “How did you manage to figure out that the Phoenix had an infrared vulnerability?” Michael asked Lauren. “It was genius.”

  “When I saw the second aircraft in the hangar, it was slightly different from the image we pu
lled off the Internet. It took me a little bit, but I realized that Daniel had compromised his original design and built in a weakness.”

  “Incredible,” Montero said, almost with a sigh. “Where are we headed now? What’s the plan?”

  “First, we need to get the hell out of here, and into Austrian airspace,” Trevor said.

  “Do you have something in mind?” Michael asked. “Trying to bolt across the border will probably draw unwanted attention.”

  “Fortune favors the bold,” Trevor said as he switched on all of the helicopter’s lights so as to appear as a law-abiding flight. “Marta and I discussed this earlier. We’re flying straight into the heart of Bratislava as a medevac flight. We navigate to the university hospital and act like we’re going to land. Once we’re at rooftop level, we dash for the border. It’s less than five miles.”

  “What about radio communication? You’re going to have to talk to someone, right?” Michael asked. “How do you sell all this to Air Traffic Control?”

  “I’ll speak to them using English, mixed with my natural Eastern European accent,” Marta replied. “Trevor will tell me what to say.”

  “Once we’re across the border,” Trevor added. “We’ll get Lauren medical attention straight away.”

  “Amen to that,” Lauren said, her eyes growing heavy.

  Donovan looked at the glow of lights on the horizon. Bratislava was coming up fast. He liked Trevor’s plan; the pilot had already pulled off some of the most skilled flying he’d ever seen. He pictured the geography, and guessed that they were only twenty or twenty-five miles from the border.

  In the darkened cabin, the bright red light suddenly lit up Trevor’s instrument panel like a neon billboard.

  “Trevor,” Michael asked. “What’s happening?”

  “Nothing good.” Trevor’s eyes danced over his instruments. “It says we’re losing engine oil. The gauges confirm the light. The engine is overheating—fast.”