Category Five

by Philip Donlay

  “Move down the aisle toward the rear of the plane.” Brent gestured with his pistol. “Lauren, I want you to try to retrace his steps on the computer. Back up anything you find.”

  Lauren nodded as she unfastened her seat belt. Her mind was racing. She couldn’t even begin to process the implications if Brent’s allegations were true. All she wanted at this point was to get Jonah back up and running. Everything depended on that information.

  “Now, Carl. Move it!” Brent stepped back to make more room in the aisle.

  Lauren stepped quickly to the vacated position and began to type commands into Carl’s computer. Before she could pull up the first page, she caught a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye. With more speed than she would have thought possible, Carl lunged at Brent, a beefy hand locked over the pistol. Lauren shot from her chair and raced forward. She knew she had no chance of helping Brent fight Carl.

  Lauren yanked open the cockpit door. “I need help!”

  “What the—” Michael snapped his head around at the sudden intrusion.

  “Carl disabled Jonah! He attacked Brent! Hurry!”

  “Go!” Michael barked at Randy, even though the copilot was already half out of his seat.

  Lauren was about to lead Randy to the back of the plane when a hand reached out and grabbed her arm. She was held firmly in place as Randy raced past her.

  “Stay here.” Michael ordered. “What the hell is going on?”

  Lauren looked past Michael. In the distance she could make out a slight depression in the blanket of clouds. It was her first glimpse of Helena’s eye.

  “Lauren, I want some answers!”

  “Carl attacked Brent.” Lauren broke her gaze with Helena and looked at Michael. “We think he sent some unauthorized commands to Jonah. Brent is with Internal Investigations. He tried to arrest Carl…then there was a fight.”

  “I’m turning this thing around.” Michael shook his head. “This mission is over!”

  Lauren was about to try to convince him otherwise when a sharp report sounded from the back of the plane. Michael grabbed for the controls at the same time a larger explosion rocked the Galileo. Lauren heard herself scream as she was thrown up against the side wall. Outside, the horizon tilted crazily as Michael fought for control of the jet. In front of her, a dozen red lights flashed on the panel, and the sound from a warning horn filled her ears. Her fear rose as the jet raised up on one wing. She was suddenly terrified they were going to flip upside down.

  “GET IN THE SEAT! PUT YOUR OXYGEN MASK ON!” Michael yelled above the warning horn, both hands on the controls trying to control the wildly unstable Gulfstream.

  Lauren did as she was told. The cockpit masks were the same as the ones in the back. Her initial training in the aircraft came back to her as she slid the mask over her head. She winced as the seal bit hard into her skin. Michael had brought the Gulfstream back from the brink; the wings were almost level again. She watched as his hands flew around the cockpit. First, he slipped on his own mask, then reached up and silenced the warning horn. Without hesitation, his hands brought back the right throttle. Lauren could read a series of warnings illuminated on the center cathode ray tube. From the cryptic abbreviations, she saw they were losing cabin pressure. The air in the cockpit had turned ice cold and her eyes were suddenly assaulted by the bone-dry air. She sat helpless and watched in horror as more lights came to life: a fire in the right engine, low oil pressure, low hydraulic pressure. Michael reached out and pulled a red handle next to her knee, and twisted the lever.

  They’d descended out of 45,000 feet. She could see Michael’s jaw working; his finger was mashed on the push-to-talk switch on the controls. Lauren could see the whites of his knuckles as he held the Gulfstream against invisible forces. Lauren looked to her right and found Randy’s headset. She slipped it on and heard an air traffic controller’s urgent words.

  “Eco-Watch 01. This is New York Center. We copy your Mayday. You’re cleared to do anything you need to do. There are no other airplanes in my airspace.”

  “The fire is out. I’m pretty sure we’ve had an uncontained turbine failure,” Michael replied calmly. “We’re through 44,000 feet and descending.”

  Lauren’s eyes grew large as she looked down at the churning mass of clouds beneath them. With each passing second, they were drawing closer.

  “Roger, Eco-Watch 01. New York center clears you to descend at your discretion. Keep us advised of your intentions. When you can, we need number of souls on board and fuel remaining.”

  Lauren looked at the control wheel. There was a button marked ICS—she knew it was for the intercom system. She pushed the switch.

  “Michael, can you hear me?”

  “Yes.” Michael nodded and turned toward her. “Get your seat belt fastened!”

  “What about Randy?”

  “If he were coming back, he’d have been here by now. Buckle up!”

  Lauren reacted numbly as Michael’s statement soaked in. What was going on in the back of the plane? Were Randy, Brent, and Carl still alive? Lauren shook off her grisly thoughts as she pulled the straps tight around her hips. She saw the swirling tops of Helena reaching up for them.

  “Michael, we can’t go into the hurricane. We have to level off!” Lauren’s eyes grew wide with fear at the thought of the jet descending into the teeth of the violent storm.

  “We don’t have a choice!” Michael pulled his own harness tighter. “We’ve had some kind of catastrophic failure of the right engine. This plane won’t stay up here on only one engine. We’re losing cabin pressure. Somewhere back there, the pressure vessel has ruptured. If I don’t get us down we’ll all die when the oxygen runs out.”

  Lauren scanned the horizon. She was disoriented. A quick look at the compass told her they were now headed south. She stretched, trying desperately to look out Michael’s side window.

  “What is it?” Michael asked.

  “Where’s the eye? We can descend into the eye of the hurricane. The air is relatively calm. If we go into the storm itself I don’t think the airplane will stay in one piece. As of yesterday, even the NOAA planes suspended their operations. The last Hurricane Hunter flight reported turbulence of almost 5 Gs as they tried to get out of the storm. Can we take that kind of punishment?”

  “Not even close.” Michael gently banked the airplane back to the north. “I can see the depression of the eye, but we’re not going to get in clean. We’re going to have to penetrate the clouds and come in from the side.”

  “Oh my God.” Lauren remembered the last image she’d seen from Jonah, the vivid echoes of the towering thunderstorms. “I have to get to the back. I think I can get us a better picture of the storm from there.”

  “You can’t,” Michael said, quickly. “Nothing back there is working. When we’re down to one generator, all the scientific equipment shuts down automatically. It’s designed to protect the essential aircraft systems.”

  “Michael,” Lauren said, suddenly. “Can I link up with DIA headquarters from up here?”

  “I’m not sure what’s working and what’s not. You’re best bet is the satellite phone. What have you got in mind?”

  “If I can talk to them, they might be able to help thread us through the worst of the weather.

  “Do it!” Michael ordered. He reached up and adjusted the Galileo’s weather radar.

  Lauren reached for the phone, thankful she had a dial tone. She quickly dialed a number from memory. She brushed Michael’s hand from the radar controls. She could work the radar just as easily as he could and it would allow him to concentrate on flying the crippled jet. She adjusted the tilt on the Honeywell radar mounted in the nose of the Galileo. The screen lit up with angry bands of precipitation echoes. The radar was working, but it was primitive compared to the resources at the DIA. If she worked this right, they could use the Doppler from Jonah, and infrared images from the DMSP-3 satellite to weave their way to the safety of the eye.

  “I th
ink we should turn to the left. We need to avoid this cluster of thunderstorms.” Lauren pointed at their radar screen.

  “I’m trying.” Michael replied.

  Lauren urged someone to pick up the phone. She could picture the scene in her lab at DIA headquarters. Steven Hughes would be the specialist on duty. Steven was the definition of nervous energy. He’d be studying Helena, constantly running his hands back through his thinning brown hair. At his side would be a huge plastic cup. Lauren had given up trying to keep track of how much Dr. Pepper Steven drank in one day. But Steven was bright, and would instantly know what they needed.

  “Hello! Steven?” Lauren demanded the instant the phone was answered. The world outside went gray as the Gulfstream plummeted into the clouds. The first tremor of rough air rocked the airframe.

  “Yeah. Who’s this?”

  “Steven. It’s Lauren McKenna. We have an emergency. Listen carefully; I only have time to say this once. I’m in the Eco-Watch jet. We’ve had an engine failure, and we’re descending into the hurricane. We have to try to make it to the eye. I need your help!”

  “Oh, Christ! I’m right here at the primary station. Give me your position.”

  Lauren was buoyed by the fact that Steven had instantly grasped the situation, but she wasn’t sure exactly where they were.

  “Never mind,” Steven said. “I just found your heat signature on the infrared satellite picture. Hang on while I pull up an overlay. Give me your heading and altitude.”

  “We’re through 40,300.” Lauren’s eyes darted around the panel. “We’re on a north heading.”

  “Okay. Got you. Turn left, twenty degrees. You’re going to need that heading for the next eleven miles.”

  Lauren relayed the information to Michael, who quickly turned the Gulfstream to the new heading.

  “Okay, Dr. McKenna. This could get a little ugly. For some reason we’ve lost contact with Jonah, but I think I can do this with the satellite image. Have you ever worked one of those mazes where the key is to get from point A to point B without touching any of the lines?”

  Lauren knew exactly what he was talking about. “Yes,” she replied.

  “I’m pretty good at those. This is going to be a three dimensional version of the same game. In eight miles, I’m going to want a hard thirty degree turn to the left.”

  “Then what?” Lauren asked. The Gulfstream’s radar showed only varying shades of red and purple.

  “I got to tell you this really sucks,” Michael added as he fought the turbulence.

  “They say be ready for a hard turn to the left.” Lauren was amazed at how calm Michael was. “It’ll be a thirty degree turn.”

  “This thing is flying like a tank,” Michael remarked. “I have a bad feeling the tail was damaged when the engine let go.”

  “Donovan always told me this airplane was the best flying machine ever built.” Lauren leaned forward until she made eye contact with Michael. “Was he telling me the truth?”

  “Yes.” Michael nodded and gave her a wink. “She’ll get us where we need to go.”

  “Start the turn…Now!” Steven ordered. “Once you roll out, you’ll have a narrow corridor for almost thirty miles. After that, we’re going to have to punch through a narrow band of thunderstorms. If you can stay above 35,000 feet, you should miss the worst of it.”

  “We’re at 34,000 feet right now,” Lauren reported.

  “I’m doing the best I can, Dr. McKenna,” Steven said evenly. “You should see the ugly weather you’re missing. By the way, I sent out the call. In a few minutes the entire place is going to know you need help. I suspect Calvin should be here anytime now. You’re doing great.”

  “Thanks.” Lauren held on tight as the Gulfstream plowed into an area of turbulence. The airplane rose, then slammed down hard. Michael battled the forces as a loud blast of precipitation pelted the windscreen. A queasy sensation rocked Lauren’s stomach; it was the first grip of real sustained fear she’d felt. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like if the airplane came apart. An icy shiver raised the flesh on her skin. Even if they made it to the eye…then what? Would they just circle until the sky turned as bright as the sun and they were vaporized by the bomb? Did they even have enough fuel to wait out the blast, or would they die in the water? Lauren gripped the seat and tried to keep the phone to her ear as the jet was battered by another wave of turbulence. For the second time in three days, Lauren wondered if she’d live to see her daughter again.

  Donovan was in a nearly colorless room. White walls, no windows. A solid black table sat between him and special agent Dixon. The questioning, so far, had been civil and polite.

  “Mr. Nash.” Dixon rubbed his chin as he thought. “Who did you give Dr. McKenna’s computer to once you’d made the swap?”

  Donovan looked puzzled.

  “We know about you and Kenneth Browning,” Dixon said as a matter of fact.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Who is Kenneth Browning?”

  “One of the people you killed in Bermuda.” Dixon leaned back as if he’d just moved a crucial chess piece into position.

  “I didn’t kill anyone. Has it occurred to you that I wasn’t even scheduled to be in Bermuda? Do your notes explain that I was home when the call came to make the trip?”

  The look of superiority was instantly erased from Dixon’s face.

  “You know what?” Donovan hoped he could deliver a verbal blow that would end this once and for all. “I would think your people could have put the pieces together a little better. How could I have organized anything in Bermuda when it was a scheduled Air Force trip? They had a mechanical problem and I went in their place. Explain how I engineered all this when I wasn’t supposed to be there?”

  “You tell me.” Dixon regained a trace of his smirk.

  “It’s because I didn’t. I couldn’t have.”

  Dixon’s smirk evaporated. “I think you swapped the computer, then saved Dr. McKenna to throw us off the track.”

  “You’re fishing.” Donovan sat back and folded his arms in front of him. “But I can’t imagine it would take very much to throw you off track.”

  “Let’s go back eleven months to your unscheduled trip to Alaska.”

  “Now you’re asking if I arranged for a Russian submarine to catch fire, so I could save half their crew, then divert to Russian soil?”

  “You know what I mean,” Dixon said, angrily.

  “No, I don’t know what you mean. Can you hear yourself? Do you even listen to your own questions? They don’t make any sense at all.” Donovan was beginning to get a bad feeling that this was just the first part in an interrogation that was designed to go on for many more hours.

  “Let’s go back and review certain events in Russia. Why didn’t you jettison all of the classified equipment before landing on Russian soil?”

  Donovan was about to answer when the door behind Dixon flew open. A man barged into the room and looked straight at Donovan. He was nattily dressed with suspenders and slicked back hair.

  “Nash. You’re with me!”

  Donovan didn’t think twice. This was his chance to escape.

  “Director Reynolds.” Dixon quickly got to his feet. “I was just getting started here.”

  “No. You’re just finishing. I want Mr. Nash in my office. Mr. Nash, follow me.”

  Donovan didn’t bother to look at Dixon as he breezed into the hallway. “You’re the person Lauren called this morning, aren’t you?”

  “Don’t say a thing until we’re in my office,” Calvin said, abruptly. He stayed two steps ahead of Donovan as he strode down the corridor.

  Donovan wasn’t sure what was going on, but Director Reynolds was obviously far higher up the food chain than agent Dixon. Was this the DIA’s version of good cop, bad cop? Though he decided it might be more like dumb cop, smart cop. Donovan wished he could make one phone call and at least let William know where he was.

  “In here.” Calvin pointe
d at an open door. He moved aside and let Donovan go in front of him. “Take a seat in my office; I’ll be right there.”

  Donovan walked past the secretary’s desk and into the moderately sized room. Out the rain-streaked window, he could see the Potomac River, and just beyond was Washington National Airport.

  “Donovan?”

  He turned and found Erin Walker seated in a chair. Her arms were folded defensively in front of her. There was an unsettled, almost frightened expression on her face.

  “I trust you two know each other.” Calvin blew into the room and allowed the door to slam behind him.

  “We’ve met.” Donovan stood where he was, not at all sure where this was going.

  “Have a seat next to Ms. Walker.” Calvin threw a folder down on his desk, then turned to face them, putting his weight against the edge of his desk.

  Donovan settled into the chair and folded his hands in his lap. He hated the feeling of being surrounded by government officials. It brought back an avalanche of unwanted images from Costa Rica—helpless feelings, as politically blinded men grappled with Meredith’s kidnapping.

  “I’m not a very happy man this morning. I’ve got a big problem, and you two seem to be in the middle of it.” Reynolds cleared his throat, then fixed his angry eyes on Donovan. “Mr. Nash. You’ve been at the heart of an investigation we’ve had underway for almost eleven months. Your presence in Bermuda set off a chain of events that made it necessary to bring you in for questioning. I’m certain you’re aware of our concerns.”

  Donovan nodded. He’d seen his wallet, cell phone, and key ring on Reynolds’ desk. Next to him, Erin was sitting rigid in her seat. Her unblinking eyes were fixed on Reynolds. He wondered what she’d told him.

  “Why is Ms. Walker here?” Donovan asked.

  “We connected her to a member of our staff. We searched her apartment this morning and found photographs and files pertaining to both Eco-Watch, and to the DIA. The last thing that’s going to happen is for this investigation to be played out in the Washington Post before I can deal with it internally.”

  A phone rang behind Reynolds. He ignored it.