Deadly Echoes

by Philip Donlay

  “He said it wasn’t him. According to him, it’s not my time. He wants me alive for the time being, and I believe him.” Donovan started the car. “He doesn’t know about you, and we need to keep it that way.”

  “Well, that narrows it down. If it’s not him, then it’s either your wife, the CIA, or Mossad.”

  “It’s not Lauren, but we can’t rule out the other two options, which makes this a far different game than if we were only hiding from Garrick. Take the battery out of your phone. We’ll get you another one tomorrow. We also need to get this car back where I found it. It’s not far.”

  Donovan pulled into the driveway and raised the garage door. He backed in and positioned the Porsche exactly where it had been. They took turns wiping down anything they might have touched.

  Erica grabbed her bag and surveyed the small collection of automobiles. “Do you live here?”

  “No, this is a friend’s place. Follow me.” Donovan shut the garage door. He called out for William as he headed for the study, but there was no answer.

  “Jesus,” Erica whispered as she took in the opulent surroundings.

  Donovan made sure she followed him into the study where he found a note on the desk. William had gone to the hotel for the night, but he expected a call no matter how late it was. Donovan touched the mouse and the thirty-two-inch monitor sprang to life. He made a mental note to ask William a computer question as he quickly typed in the web address that Garrick had given him.

  The image jumped badly and was out of focus, but Donovan could hear the distinct sound of someone breathing heavily. The focus sharpened, and he could see a heavyset man in his underwear running away from the camera. The scene was heavily forested. Periodically, the man would snap his neck around to gauge his distance from the person chasing him, and each time he did, the camera would get closer. The chase went on for maybe fifty yards before the man tripped and fell to his knees. He pitched forward, his shoulder slamming heavily into a tree trunk. Momentarily stunned, he shook his head and wobbled to his feet, his chest was heaving, steam rising from his overheated body. He took two steps toward the camera as if to attack, and the smooth, black barrel of a hunting rifle rose into the field of view. The image froze and another website address appeared. Donovan quickly typed and hit enter.

  After the redirect, he clicked to start the next video. The cornered man charged the camera just as the rifle roared and bucked, the bullet opened up the flesh just below the man’s left clavicle. There was a plume of misted blood, as the impact spun the man around, dropping him to his knees. The second shot was at nearly point-blank range and was aimed just above his ear. Donovan flinched as the man’s lifeless body fell to the ground.

  Wearing surgical gloves, two hands came into view, and an incision was made across the man’s stomach. The image of the intestines spilling out onto the ground was sickening, and moments later the blade had removed a round organ about the size of a plum. It was carefully placed in a plastic bag.

  “It’s his gallbladder,” Erica said.

  The camera zoomed away from the body to a wider view, and two men wearing masks and gloves each grabbed a leg. As they turned to drag the corpse, Donovan saw that Eco-Watch was printed in bold letters across the back of their blue jackets. The dead man was dragged a short distance before he was rolled down an embankment where he came to a stop next to three other naked bodies. Every one of the men had been disemboweled. The screen faded out leaving one simple statement.

  IT’S ESTIMATED THAT POACHERS SUCH AS THESE ACCOUNT FOR 50,000 BLACK BEAR DEATHS EACH YEAR FOR THE ASIAN MARKETS. ECO-WATCH WILL RELENTLESSLY HUNT THESE CRIMINALS UNTIL THE FORESTS ARE ONCE AGAIN SAFE FOR ALL OF NATURE’S CREATURES.

  “Did we just see that?” Erica said. “Oh, my God, that was awful.”

  “Yeah,” Donovan noticed the number of views was already climbing. “Now he’s making threats on my behalf.”

  Donovan’s phone rang, and he saw it was Lauren. He let it go to voice mail, he’d catch up with her later. When the phone continued to ring, Donovan switched it to silent mode.

  Erica pointed to the wet bar in the corner situated amongst the bookshelves. “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink. What can I get you?”

  “Crown Royal on the rocks.” Donovan watched as Erica shed her jacket and boots and set them near the leather sofa. She released the elastic band from her ponytail and then ran her fingers through her blond hair. In her stocking feet she padded to the bar and began rummaging around until she found two glasses. As she filled them with ice, he saw that her hands were shaking. She found the bottle she was looking for and poured them both four fingers of Canadian whisky. She brought Donovan his drink and held up her own for a toast.

  “What are we drinking to?” Donovan asked.

  “I’ve finally decided not to shoot you.” Erica touched her glass to his then took a drink, her eyes never leaving his.

  “That’s good to hear.” Donovan looked away and sipped at his, but instead of savoring the smooth burn, he realized for the first time how truly beautiful Erica was, and he also understood it had been a long time since he’d been alone with such a desirable woman. He took another pull from the whisky, larger this time.

  Erica reached out and put her hand on the side of his face, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  Donovan took in her closeness as she kissed him again. He kissed back, feeling her warm breath against his skin.

  She pulled away, cocked her head to one side, and studied him as she ran her fingers along his jaw line. “You’ve had work done. It’s very good. Who did the surgery?”

  Donovan was caught completely off guard, and he stepped back from her and turned away. His facial reconstruction had been done over twenty years earlier by a renowned doctor in Switzerland, who, like all Swiss, specialized in discretion. The multiple surgeries were the actual physical transformation from being Robert Huntington to becoming Donovan Nash. The doctor had been dead for years now, and as part of the agreement, Donovan had retained all of the medical files. No one had ever called him on it before. He knew she was asking out of professional curiosity, but he couldn’t afford to be drawn into this conversation.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “It was a long time ago.” Donovan shrugged, but deep down he found he was relieved. From the urgency of their kiss and the emotion of what they’d been through, he doubted they would have stopped. He was also aware that it was his hidden past and the lies that destroyed the moment, not any particular restraint on his part. “I was in an accident. I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “I didn’t mean to cross any boundaries.”

  “You didn’t. You surprised me on a couple of different levels, that’s all. I don’t like to think about what happened.” Donovan lowered his voice as he carefully worded the lie that would hopefully explain his reaction to her question. “Someone close to me died.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Erica started to say something but stopped, then turned and went to the bar. She freshened his drink. “Peace offering?”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  She spotted the remote control and turned on the large flat-screen television, switched it to CNN, and muted the sound. She moved around the desk and sat down, taking a big sip from her glass. “I was never sure if anyone at the clinic ever discovered I’d made copies. I never told a soul until tonight, and thirty minutes later someone shows up and tries to kidnap me. The only explanation is that your source triggered something. How exactly did you get that file on me? Someone knows about me because you went digging.”

  Donovan had already reached the same conclusion. If Garrick was the one who destroyed the clinic, and he knew Erica was alive, he’d simply kill her as he’d done with the other employees. If Lauren’s information had been leaked, either it was from her source, which was CIA, or Mossad had somehow intercepted it and tried to snatch Erica.

  “Are you listening to
me?” Erica snapped. “Who else knows I left the clinic before the murders?”

  “I’m not entirely certain.”

  Erica took another pull from her drink and closed her eyes.

  Donovan wordlessly watched the television until he was convinced that at least for the moment, Eco-Watch wasn’t the lead story on television. “I really should go make those calls now. I need to call my business partner and my wife.”

  Eyes still closed, Erica nodded.

  He walked away and dialed William’s cell phone. The elder statesman answered immediately.

  “I hope I didn’t wake you.” Donovan said.

  “No, I was waiting to hear from you, and then Peggy called and told me about the latest video. I trust you’re up to speed?”

  “Yeah, I got another call.”

  “Where are you? Did you find the girl?”

  “I’m back at John’s house. She’s with me, and there were—complications. Do you remember Garrick Pearce?”

  “Dear God, I thought he was rotting in a prison somewhere in South America where he belonged.”

  “He’s out, and he has his vision back. There’s also a woman, she might be the one the FBI and Interpol are trying to identify. Her name is Nikolett Kovarik.”

  “I’ll see what I can dig up on her.”

  “While you’re digging, can you find out if there are any open cases involving Erica Covington? The complications we ran into tonight may have been courtesy of Langley.”

  “That’s not good. You think the CIA used you and Lauren to find this woman?”

  “That’s what I want to know.”

  “I’ll make a few discreet inquiries,” William said. “I found a wire transfer that took place shortly after the Triton sailed from Hawaii. I followed the thread and it looks like whoever killed John and Beverly extorted ten million dollars in the process.”

  “Can the money be traced?”

  “No chance,” William replied. “It’s already bounced through half a dozen offshore accounts.”

  “Ten million is a lot of money to wage a personal war.” Donovan sighed. “Does John own any guns?”

  “Credenza, lower right-hand drawer, there’s a gun safe, the code is 8-7-6-2.”

  “Thanks,” Donovan replied.

  “Get some rest,” William said. “Be careful, and I’ll be over first thing in the morning. There’s work to be done.”

  “See you in the morning.”

  Donovan glanced across the room. Erica was leaning back in the soft leather desk chair with her feet up, and her eyes closed. Her hair had partially spilled over her forehead, and her cocktail was cradled in both hands resting on her stomach. He could see the glass slowly rise and fall with each breath as she slept. She looked both disheveled and angelic—a mix of chaos and flawlessness. He grabbed a blanket from the sofa, slipped the drink from her hands, and covered her.

  He quietly opened the drawer of the credenza, punched in the code and picked up the heavy, forty-five-caliber Colt. He checked the magazine and chamber, happy that it was fully loaded. Gun in hand, he grabbed his drink and went up the stairs and into one of the guest rooms. He closed the door, sat in a chair, and spent a few minutes finishing his drink, collecting himself before he dialed Lauren.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Lauren held Abigail’s hand as her energetic three-year-old pulled, then jumped up and down with excitement at the prospect of joining her friends at preschool. It was only a few hours, three times a week, but Lauren thought the structure was important, and her daughter was absorbing the French language at an astonishing rate.

  “Give Mommy and Aunt Stephanie a kiss good-bye,” Lauren said, kneeling to her daughter’s level.

  Abigail spun around, her blond locks bouncing wildly. She held Lauren’s face in her little hands and planted a kiss on Lauren’s cheek, and then on Stephanie’s. Lauren always hated these separations.

  Abigail pulled away, smiled, and waved. “Au revoir, Maman!”

  Lauren returned the wave, her heart breaking a little at how much her daughter looked like her father. Lauren wasn’t happy with Donovan, or at least she was unhappy with the events taking place in her husband’s life. She’d called him when he was on his way to meet with Erica Covington. He’d said he’d call her back and hadn’t. She’d called again when William had texted her about the newest video and still she hadn’t heard anything. Part of her was worried and another part was just plain damn mad. Donovan always seemed to push her away when he was in crisis. The issue was at the core of their problems, and he was doing it again.

  “Where shall we go?” Stephanie asked. “I don’t think I can eat after seeing that video, but I’d love some good old-fashioned American coffee. How about that place we saw yesterday, it’s not far. The Café Columbus? Maybe we can find a nice quiet table outside.”

  Lauren had been there many times, it would work nicely, and Henri approved of the layout. Lauren had almost quit noticing her bodyguards. Giselle stayed at the school keeping an eye on Abigail. Henri and Philippe were somewhere, roving, watching.

  It was early for the lunch crowd, and the café was nearly empty. Much to Stephanie’s delight, they were able to find a corner table outside on the patio. It was just the two of them and they both ordered coffee.

  “Donovan’s fine,” Stephanie said once they were alone. “He’ll call when he can. There’s the time difference, plus he’s jumping time zones like crazy. There’s got to be all kinds of fallout from this thing. Plus, he’s surrounded by Buck and Michael and the FBI.”

  “Donovan ditched everyone to go meet with Erica. For all I know, she was a trap.”

  “He’s fine. If it was a trap, he had a way out.”

  “How can you always be so confident when it comes to Donovan? Granted, he’s done some remarkable things, but he’s only human.”

  “I know he failed you. He knows it too, he has no defense for how badly he ignored and marginalized you. You have every right to feel hurt and betrayed, and I understand exactly why you left him. I get it. Donovan has enough demons for a roomful of people, and it was almost inevitable that his emotional house of cards was going to fall apart, but don’t let his current failure cloud your entire vision.”

  “You know him as a friend,” Lauren said, choosing her words carefully. “That allows for considerable more leeway in terms of his behavior. Donovan’s job description in my universe is husband—not friend. I’m well aware of Donovan’s baggage and how troubled he can be, and how the level of internal turmoil can vary from day to day. I know about Meredith, what she meant to him, it’s one of the things that makes him human, makes me love him. But until Donovan can trust me enough to be honest, and to feel safe in coming to me with any or all of his troubles, as he seems to have been able to do with her, then we’ll be at this impasse. I have no interest in being his wife if he chooses to treat me as if my place is on the sidelines. It’s as simple as that.”

  “I know.” Stephanie nodded her head in reluctant agreement. “You’re right. I hope he figures it out.”

  Lauren’s phone rang and Stephanie looked at her expectantly. She pulled it from her jacket pocket and saw that the call was from Donovan. “It’s him, would you please excuse me for a moment?”

  “I have to go to the restroom anyway.” Stephanie got up from the table and disappeared into the restaurant.

  “Hello,” Lauren answered.

  “Sorry it’s taken me so long to call back, but it’s been nothing but chaos here.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m back at John’s house, it’s late here. Where are you?”

  “I’m at a café with Stephanie. We just dropped Abigail off at preschool.”

  “She loves that place,” Donovan’s tone softened. “It’s all she talks about when we Skype.”

  “Did you meet with her?” Lauren abruptly changed the subject. “Did she have anything useful to tell you?”

  “Yeah, I know who’s doing all of this to us.”r />
  Lauren didn’t miss the fact that Donovan used the word us. She wondered if it referred to their marriage, or Eco-Watch.

  “Can you tell me on an open line?”

  “You’ve heard of him. He’s British and was involved with her before I was—always held a grudge.”

  Lauren instantly knew he was talking about Garrick Pearce. A recent documentary of Meredith Barnes had covered Meredith’s years before she met Robert Huntington. The film focused on Garrick, her former boyfriend turned militant environmentalist and the rift that developed when Meredith started dating Robert. From what Lauren remembered, Garrick was portrayed as volatile and impulsive. But he was supposed to be in a South American prison.

  “Do you know who I’m talking about?”

  “Yes, I thought he was somewhere south?”

  “So did I, but he’s not, and his stay in a German clinic restored his sight. You can’t breathe a word about this to anyone but Stephanie. She’ll remember him. Something else happened tonight that I don’t understand.”

  Lauren recognized his tone of voice and braced herself. When Donovan said he didn’t understand something, it usually meant he knew exactly what had happened and wasn’t happy.

  “Go on.”

  “After our meeting, I dropped her off and there were two men waiting. They tried to kidnap her.”

  “They failed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think the attempted kidnapping was connected to what’s happening to Eco-Watch?”

  “No.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “I think your search sparked some concern. It’s either Langley or Tel Aviv.”

  “Oh, God.” Lauren suddenly wondered if she’d been compromised. “Where is she now?”

  “I promised her a safe haven for her information.”

  “Of course, you did.” The words jumped out before Lauren could stop them. She felt the unexpected pang of jealousy reach out and blindside her. Donovan always saw the good in people, and while he wasn’t easily played, he could be naive at times.