Deadly Echoes

by Philip Donlay

  “So far there haven’t been any direct threats phoned into Eco-Watch. The FBI is trying to trace who actually posted the video, and they’re also running any of the online comments that seem even remotely suspicious. All of our assets are in full defensive posture, but besides some name calling, we’re fine.”

  Donovan nodded. “Where are we staying?”

  “The Kauai Beach Resort. It’s only a few miles north of the airport. Nice place, full of honeymooners, makes it hard for anyone trying to harm us to blend in. The head of security is an old Navy guy out of Pearl Harbor. He’s giving us whatever we need, which right now is access to a freight elevator so we can get you up to your room. I suggest burning those clothes.”

  They drove into the lush surroundings and parked near a loading dock. Buck walked Donovan onto the elevator, and they went up to the fifth floor. After checking the hallway, Buck escorted him to his room at the end of the hall.

  Donovan closed the door and welcomed the silence. He emptied his pockets, being especially careful with the photograph. He set it facedown on the table then stripped off his clothes and stuffed everything but his shoes and belt into a plastic laundry bag before wrapping them in a trash bag and tying off the opening. Buck was right—his clothes were history. While the water in the shower heated up, Donovan ripped the paper off all the soaps he could find and put them in the shower stall. He stood in front of the mirror, recognizing the signs of fatigue on his face, the lines around his eyes looked deeper, the circles underneath darker, more pronounced. His short-cropped brown hair was dashed with a bit of gray, as was the hair on his chest, but that was from being forty-nine years old. With all of the reconstructive facial surgery he’d undergone, he didn’t look his age. His eyes were still the same vivid blue they’d been when he was a kid, but everything else was different. He wondered what he’d look like if he was still Robert Huntington, and the answer was usually the same—Robert Huntington wasn’t on a path that promised any kind of longevity and probably would have died years ago.

  The math told him he was pushing fifty, but he still imagined he could do everything he could do in his thirties, though his body was telling him otherwise. He’d lost weight since Lauren had left and was leaner than he’d been in a decade, but his body had taken a beating in the last year. The eight-inch scar on his thigh was crimson red and throbbing from today’s activities, as was the almost identical wound on the inside of his right wrist. A small round scar near his left clavicle marked the entry wound from a nine-millimeter round. Less noticeable was a purplish puncture wound on the back of his right hand. It was round, about the diameter of a pencil with an identical scar on his palm where the screwdriver had passed all the way through. A friend had told him once he was the most scarred man she’d ever met—and she wasn’t talking about the visible ones. It was an honest comment and the truth in the words had stuck with him.

  Twenty minutes later and an entire bottle of shampoo and three bars of soap, a stench-free Donovan emerged from the bathroom with a towel secured around his waist. He opened the minibar fridge and pulled out a cold beer. He pressed it to his forehead for a moment, extracting its coolness, then found the opener, popped the cap, and took a long pull. He walked to where he’d set his phone and called William.

  William picked up immediately.

  “I found something today.”

  “What is it?”

  “A picture of Meredith, when she was younger, it was tacked up in the bridge of the fishing boat.”

  “Any idea what the message is?”

  “No, not beyond the obvious. My guess is the picture is a message aimed at me. They want to rattle me, for me to know that they’re serious.”

  “I think the events aboard the fishing boat put a strong emphasis on how serious they are.”

  “How many views are there now on the video?”

  “Last I checked there were 2.8 million and climbing.”

  “I was afraid of that. Not the kind of publicity I wanted.”

  “You sound tired. You should get some rest. Remember, you don’t have to do this alone. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  Donovan ended the call, but William’s words lingered. Lauren had accused him of operating alone and leaving her on the periphery, and at some level, they were both right, but he wasn’t ready to address those issues. He retrieved another beer, and then against his better judgment picked up the picture of Meredith. He sipped his beer and stared into her innocent, yet expectant, eyes. So young and idealistic, with no idea that she was truly going to change the world. She hadn’t yet written her wildly bestselling book One Earth. She hadn’t traveled the world producing and starring in her documentary nature film series. She hadn’t become the global ambassador to save our planet, had no idea how loved and famous she was going to be, that her receptions across the globe would rival that of leaders of state, and she’d have the ear of politicians and kings alike.

  His cell phone rang and as he picked it up he saw that the area code was 808, which meant the Hawaiian Islands.

  “Nash,” Donovan answered, expecting it to be the FBI or the Coast Guard.

  “Hello, Robert. I’m happy to see you were so quick to arrive in Hawaii.”

  Donovan stiffened at the raspy voice. Wide awake this time, he caught the faintest hint of an accent. “You have my full attention. You don’t need to kill any more people. What is it you want?”

  “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

  “I found the picture you left. Is that how you and I are connected? Through Meredith?”

  “You were never connected to her. You used her so you could silence her.”

  “I didn’t kill her.”

  “That’s a lie, and I’m here to punish you for your crimes. It’s payback time, Robert. I just sent you an e-mail. You’ll find a video I made. It’s just between us. I believe the person is important to both you and your friend William. Take note that he died exactly like Meredith. Good-bye, Robert.”

  The line went dead and Donovan closed his eyes. This call confirmed that Meredith was the common link with this man. Donovan yanked his laptop out of his briefcase and fired it up. He sat down and logged on to the hotel’s wireless signal, opened his browser, thumbed through his e-mails, and found the latest message. He opened it and then clicked on an attachment. He was immediately assaulted with the image of a tortured John Stratton. His friend was blindfolded, tied to a chair on the teak deck of the Triton. It looked as if the skin on parts of his face had been burned. There didn’t seem to be any sound. Then, without warning, a gun went off and a round hole appeared in John’s forehead. His head sagged forward and he was still. Moments afterward, the image went black.

  Donovan closed his computer. He died exactly as Meredith had. Donovan looked at the picture of her as an eighteen-year-old, and all he could think about was the singular event that ended her life. She didn’t know that she was going to meet and fall in love with Robert Huntington, the heir to the Huntington Oil Fortune, the man she wanted to marry. She didn’t know that despite all of her hopes and plans, the wedding wasn’t ever going to take place. She didn’t know that when she was twenty-eight years old, she would be kidnapped and murdered.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The phone woke Donovan. He groaned as he pulled his stiff and sore body up from the chair, noting that it was light outside. Reaching for the phone, he saw it was five forty-five in the morning.

  “Nash,” he said as he rubbed his eyes.

  “Mr. Nash. It’s Agent Hudson. We found the helicopter.”

  “Where?” Donovan snapped fully awake.

  “In a hangar at Honolulu International airport. Island Aviation is the name of the facility. They’re a Bell Helicopter service center.”

  “When did it arrive? There should be plenty of surveillance of these guys as they passed through an airport facility. Hell, there’s probably footage of them going through security at the main terminal. I mean, why else fly to an airport if you’re not catc
hing a flight out?”

  “We talked to the service manager, and he remembers the pilot. The guy was in a hurry, had passengers, but gave the manager a list of things to do to the helicopter and then used a Stratton Partners credit card to open the work order. The service manager thought nothing of it because a Stratton Partners Falcon 900 was waiting on the ramp. Everyone got aboard, and the plane departed for Orange County.”

  “Oh, no, not Beverly’s plane.”

  “I’m sorry. She was found in her car at the parking lot at the Orange County airport, the flight crew as well. They’re all dead. The people who murdered them are on the loose in California, and they’ve got a twelve-hour head start.”

  “You’re telling me the bad guys somehow convinced Beverly to fly from Kauai to Honolulu so they could board there? What kind of leverage did they have that she would leave the company of the FBI, then fly to Honolulu and pick up the people who murdered her husband and fly to the mainland?”

  “I don’t know,” Hudson replied. “But we’re going to find out.”

  Donovan made an instant decision and quickly calculated how soon they could be airborne. “Is there anything else? We’re going to leave for Orange County as soon as we can.”

  “Slow down. I’m on my way to your hotel. There are some pictures I need you to see. I’m about thirty minutes away. Have some coffee ready. It’s been a long night.”

  Donovan called Buck and quickly brought him up to speed on the events surrounding Beverly Stratton.

  “We should all meet with Hudson when he arrives, Michael included,” Buck said. “Do you want to tell William about Mrs. Stratton or should we let Hudson?”

  “I’ll do it. Can you make sure Michael is up and that he knows we want to be wheels up for Orange County as soon as possible?”

  “He’s been up for hours. I ran into him down in the fitness center, but I’ll make sure he knows.”

  “Check in with Peggy. After we finish with Hudson, I’ll want a full status report on Eco-Watch’s security around the globe, but it’s for our ears only. For the moment, I want to leave Hudson out of our internal affairs.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m going to go talk to William. I’ll see you shortly.” Donovan found Meredith’s picture on the floor between the chair and the table, slid it in his briefcase, and headed for the bathroom for a fast shave and shower.

  Twenty minutes later, William opened the door and let Donovan into his room.

  “Did you get any sleep?” William asked.

  “Yeah, I did, a little,” Donovan replied. “I got a call from Hudson. He’s on the way over to bring us all up to speed on developments.”

  “What’s happened?” William asked, the expression on his face guarded.

  “It’s Beverly,” Donovan said quietly. “She was found murdered.”

  “Oh, God.” William wavered and then sat down on the sofa. “I knew something was wrong and I didn’t press. It was as if she wanted to say something, but I let it go, I figured she’d talk when she wanted to. Now that I think about it, everything was off. I spoke with her several times and tried to get her to wait for our arrival, but she said she couldn’t. Again, I thought it odd, but she was upset. She’d just lost her husband.”

  “It’s not your fault. Hudson has evidence that points to her being forced to cooperate with the people responsible for John’s death. They flew back to California with her and then killed her, as well as her crew. Hudson is bringing us some photos. Maybe we’ll know who’s behind this.”

  Donovan heard a knock. William stood and straightened his tie. When Donovan opened the door, he found Buck, along with a steward pushing a meal cart. Behind them were Michael and Special Agent Hudson. The steward quickly set up coffee and Danish. Buck signed for the food and thanked the man.

  “I think we should let Special Agent Hudson bring us all up to date,” William said as he poured the first cup of coffee and handed it to the FBI agent.

  Hudson elected to stand while everyone else took a seat. “As I told Mr. Nash earlier, a few hours ago FBI agents in Honolulu located the Triton’s helicopter. It was in a hangar at the Honolulu International Airport. Subsequent investigation led us to believe that Mrs. Beverly Stratton, under duress, was forced to allow the people responsible for her husband’s death to board her private jet for the flight back to Orange County. We sent agents to investigate and found Mrs. Stratton and her driver. They were both dead. They never made it out of the parking lot of the airport. The flight crew was also found dead. We have some security camera photographs that were taken in Honolulu, as well as on the executive ramp at Orange County where Stratton Partners based their jet. None of them are great quality, but I need you to take a look.”

  Donovan glanced at William who was the first one out of his chair as Hudson retrieved a folder he’d set down earlier. “Oh, before you look at these, I need to show you a photo we found on the bridge of the Triton. We can’t identify the person in the photo, and we have no idea if it’s relevant. It might simply be someone connected to Mr. Stratton or his crew, but we need to ask.” Hudson slid a transparent evidence bag from his inside suit pocket and handed it to William.

  William shook his head. “I don’t recognize her.” He then passed it to Donovan.

  Meredith. She was younger than in the photograph Donovan had found on the Kaiyo Maru #7. She was maybe fourteen or fifteen, standing on the deck of a boat, her hair was short, and she wasn’t smiling. Donovan did everything he could to remain passive. “I don’t know her either.”

  Both Michael and Buck shook their heads as the picture of Meredith completed the circle. Hudson slipped it back into his pocket then opened the folder and began to arrange the black-and-white 8 x 10s on a table. “Okay, here are the surveillance photos. We’ve already got a vague ID on one of them through Interpol, but I want all of you to take a long, hard look.”

  Donovan, still reeling from the newest image of Meredith, leaned over the grainy images and saw that the first picture was of four men. The tallest, who was the only one even remotely facing the lens, was wearing dark glasses. He had longish dark hair combed straight back until it touched his shoulders. Two of the men were turned away from the camera so Donovan skipped them and studied the fourth person. He was clean shaven and had longish curly dark hair. He too, wore dark glasses.

  Donovan glanced at the next several shots finding nothing of significance. He skipped to the photographs taken in Orange County. Donovan counted an extra passenger, a woman with short, spiky hair, though her face was blocked. The man with long curly hair was with Beverly, and it appeared he was helping her into the car, but Donovan could easily imagine he was strong-arming her just before he pulled the trigger.

  “We sent these out to all of our allies, and Interpol immediately informed us the taller, long-haired man is a person of interest in several murders in Europe.”

  “The woman?” Donovan asked. “When did she enter the mix?”

  “We’re not sure,” Hudson replied.

  “Were you able to track any of them after they left the airport?” Buck asked.

  “We went to the Stratton home and found no signs of illegal entry. I’m afraid we’ve lost them for now. But I can assure you all levels of law enforcement on the West Coast are on the lookout for these guys.”

  “Did anyone think to pull up the flight plan information on the Stratton Partners Falcon 900?” Michael asked. “I mean, in terms of the number of people on board each leg of the flight? Was there a bad guy or girl with her on the leg from Kauai to Honolulu, or did they all board her airplane on Oahu?”

  “That’s a good point,” William added. “If Beverly was hijacked from Kauai, it would explain everything.”

  “I’ll get with the FAA, and you’ll have that answer the moment I do.”

  “I’m the executor of the Stratton Estate. There are arrangements to make,” William said. “I’ll be heading to Los Angeles.”

  “We’re all going. I want t
o be wheels-up as soon as possible,” Donovan added.

  “I understand.” Hudson nodded. “I’ll call ahead and have someone from the bureau meet you. They’ll act as your FBI liaison while you’re in California. If there’s more information to share, you’ll have it when you land.”

  “Thank you,” Donovan said, turning to Michael. “How soon can we be airborne?”

  “One hour.”

  “Thank you.” William set his cup down as if to signify that the meeting was over.

  Moments later the room had emptied except for Donovan and William.

  “Did you recognize anyone in those pictures?” William asked.

  “No, did you?”

  “No. What connection could these people have with you and Meredith’s past? We’re up against people who are making this personal, and we have no clue who they are. What happens when the FBI figures out who she is? What happens when they start leaving pictures of you and Meredith? We need to figure out if those pictures are part of the public domain or someone’s collection.”

  “He called again last night.”

  “And you’re just now telling me this?”

  “It’s the same guy, his voice isn’t normal. It’s altered somehow or damaged. So if it’s someone I know, I’d never recognize him. He said that it’s payback time. He referenced Meredith for the first time, so it’s clear she’s the common link.”

  “What if we ask for some third-party help on this one?” William stroked his chin.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “We’ve got Buck, Michael, and the FBI watching our every move. Our hands are a little tied right now. We’re slinking around behind our own people’s backs. I say we enlist Lauren. She can dig for information. If these people have European backgrounds, maybe she could use her Mossad connections, or her contacts in Washington D.C. Besides, she’s got a vested interest in all of this.”

  “No. It’s my baggage that drove her off in the first place. Let’s not call her up and dump even more in her lap.”