“Lauren!” Stephanie screamed as she pushed open the rear door of the Jaguar. The sirens told Lauren the police were close. As she bolted for the Jaguar, a volley of gunshots peppered the front of the car. Lauren reached the car and through the open door handed Abigail to Stephanie. Once Abigail was safe, Lauren turned and fired. Nikolett was using a parked car as cover, Lauren’s first shot exploded the windshield. She squeezed the trigger and walked each round closer to the assassin. Nikolett hadn’t expected return fire from Lauren and dove frantically between two parked cars. The moment Nikolett took cover, Lauren lunged into the backseat of the Jaguar.
“Go!” Stephanie screamed, but the car remained where it was.
Lauren spotted the blood spatter. Giselle had been hit. Without hesitation, Lauren jumped out, fired three more shots in the direction of their pursuer, pushed Giselle out of the way, and slid behind the wheel. Lauren backed up the Jaguar, spun the wheel, put it in drive, and rocketed down a side street. At the first intersection she turned left to find chaos. People were spilling out of Le Bon Marché. She leaned on her horn and parted the angry crowd. When she reached rue de Sevres, the traffic light was red. Lauren had a window between cars and shot through the intersection, giving them a clear lane down the rue Saint-Placide. In her rearview mirror, Lauren saw a black Mercedes do the same exact thing and her momentary hope for escape vanished. Philippe’s Glock was wedged beneath her thigh and the leather seat. She spotted Giselle’s weapon on the floor of the passenger’s side—well out of reach.
Lauren steered around a car, barely missing a parked truck. With each opening in the traffic, she went faster. She reached for her cell phone and dialed a number she’d committed to memory. A man answered, but she could hardly hear him, with the intense background noise.
“Please tell me you’re close,” she said. “We’ll never make it to the primary extraction point. We’re headed to the emergency location.”
“Understand. We’ll be at the emergency egress point in seven minutes. We’re hearing some radio chatter that you’re not getting out clean. Confirm your situation and position.”
“We’re almost there, but we have company. This could get ugly.”
“Copy, we’ll be on site as fast as possible.”
Lauren disconnected the call.
“She’s still behind us!” Stephanie said as she snuck a look.
Lauren saw the Mercedes in the mirror. She could see that Abigail had buried her face into Stephanie’s shoulder and was screaming uncontrollably. Weaving in and out of slower traffic, ignoring the angry cursing and flashed gestures, each maneuver did nothing to put distance between her and the Mercedes. Nikolett was closing fast.
Lauren blew through a red light, jumped up over the curb, narrowly missing a light pole and two pedestrians. Amid a cacophony of blaring horns she made the right turn onto rue de Rennes. Their destination finally came into view—the fifty-six story Montparnasse Tower.
The Mercedes negotiated the corner Lauren had cut and was again catching up to them. She maneuvered the Jaguar wildly through a rotary, cut off a bus, and made a hard turn onto rue du Départ. The skyscraper was only a block away. Up ahead a light turned red, she swerved to the right to avoid a car, glanced off a retaining wall, and then wedged the Jaguar up a flight of steps that led up from street level to the main door of the Montparnasse Tower.
“Run for the doors!” Lauren yelled as Stephanie and Abigail bolted for the lobby. She stepped out of the car, turned, and waited. Bystanders had started to move closer until they saw a bloody woman holding a pistol climb from the car, then they scattered.
A private security guard rushed from the building, saw that Lauren was armed, hesitated and drew his weapon.
“Do you speak English?” Lauren shouted, pointing her gun safely at the ground.
“Yes, I speak English. Please put down your gun.”
“I’m being chased by an assassin. She’s in a black Mercedes. Please help me!”
Lauren saw Stephanie and Abigail reach the doors and make it inside the building. She turned at the squeal of tires just as Nikolett leapt from the Mercedes and fired her pistol. The shot was wide, but startled the security guard. He spoke frantically into his radio, motioning Lauren to run to the doors as he returned fire. Lauren raised Philippe’s Glock and fired once, it was her last bullet. Unarmed, she ran for the doors as more gunfire erupted.
Gasping for breath, Lauren, pushed through the first set of doors, stashed the gun in her purse, and pulled out her Defense Intelligence Agency credentials. She yanked the second door open, and to her left, she saw the express elevators to the top floor. Stephanie and Abigail must already be on their way up. Lauren turned to see two security guards running across the polished tile floor toward her. She held her credentials out at arm’s length. “Federal investigator! Your colleague is taking fire outside! He needs backup!”
The sound of gunfire confirmed her story, and the men turned their attention toward the main door. Lauren ran to the elevator and frantically pushed the button. She jumped as the main glass doors behind her exploded inward from a volley of bullets and both security guards went down on the tiled floor. Lauren turned and stood helpless as Nikolett stepped into the lobby. Their eyes met and the assassin started toward her.
Nikolett came at Lauren with no fear. Behind Lauren the elevator pinged. Seconds later, the doors opened, and a man Lauren had never met pulled her into the elevator, placed himself between her and Nikolett, and opened fire as Nikolett ducked behind a pillar in the lobby. Dozens of slugs peppered the marble facade, and as the elevator doors closed, he squeezed off a final volley of retreating gunfire to keep Nikolett from returning fire.
“Who in the hell are you?” Lauren asked, every nerve ending in her body shaking from adrenaline.
“Dr. McKenna, I’m Reggie. I’m former SAS and a friend of Buck’s. We spoke on the phone.”
Lauren nodded the moment she recognized his cockney accent.
“Are you hurt?” Reggie asked as he inserted a fresh magazine into his weapon.
Lauren shook her head as the elevator climbed the last few flights before easing to a halt.
The doors opened and Reggie hit the emergency stop button inside the elevator, then he stepped out, ignoring the bell.
“Three flights of stairs to go,” Reggie said. “Follow me.”
Lauren climbed the remaining three floors and burst outside onto the observation deck. It was flat and oval and painted with a faded white circle. Sitting in the center was an idling Sikorsky S-76 helicopter. Abigail, still in Stephanie’s arms, was in the back, her hands pressed over her ears.
As Lauren climbed inside, strong arms reached out to help. Within moments the door slammed shut, and the Sikorsky lifted off and banked north. Reggie helped Lauren get seated and buckled in next to Stephanie. Abigail moved to her mother’s lap, and Lauren held her tight.
“Honey, are you hurt?” Lauren asked. The only response was a silent shake of her head.
“Are you armed?” Reggie asked Lauren.
“In my bag.”
Reggie retrieved Lauren’s Glock then expertly disassembled the weapon. “We’ll dump this out over the English Channel.”
“Tell Buck thank you,” Lauren said.
Reggie pushed a button on a satellite phone and handed it to her. “Tell him yourself.”
“Hello,” Lauren said. She and Buck had talked at length the night before about the best way for them to get out of Paris.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” Buck replied without ceremony. “We’re on a secure line. Tell me everything that happened.”
Lauren covered one ear and held the phone tight against the other. She quickly explained events, leaving out none of the details. When she finished, the line was silent to the point she’d thought she’d lost the connection. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m just trying to piece this together. Can you describe this woman?”
“Mid-thirties, she’s
on the slender side and attractive. She has jet-black, short, spiky hair and is good with a gun.”
“Would you recognize her again if you saw her?”
“Absolutely.”
“You’re about forty-five minutes out from London. Can you tell me what your plans are from there? I’m really hesitant to drop you off when we don’t seem to know who the players are in all of this.”
“I’m good, Buck, I promise. We’ll be in London for about ten minutes, and then we’ll be gone. I promise I’ll be in touch, and thanks for your help, your guys saved the day.”
“That’s what we do,” Buck replied. “Tell me where you’re headed, or at least take Reggie with you. He’s a good guy.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” Lauren stroked Abigail’s hair, wondering what kind of trauma had been inflicted on her daughter today. “I don’t want anyone to know where we’re going, especially after what just happened. I’d also prefer that Donovan hear about today’s events from me. Can you promise me that much?”
“Not that I want to be the one to explain why his wife and daughter were in a firefight in Paris, but at the moment I can’t tell your husband anything,” Buck replied. “He’s disappeared, and no one knows where he went.”
Lauren processed the possibilities. “If you talk to him, don’t tell him we’ve spoken. I’ll fill him in on everything later.”
“You’re putting me in a really bad position here.”
“Good-bye, Buck.” Lauren handed the phone back to Reggie.
“The pilot needs a destination, ma’am?” Reggie said as he stowed the phone in his jumpsuit.
“Farnborough Airport, southwest of central London. Land at the TAG aviation facility. We have a jet standing by.”
Reggie relayed the information to the cockpit and then smiled at Abigail and presented her with a cherry-red lollipop. Abigail took it from him without even a glance at her mother for permission. Lauren knew her daughter had been terrified. They all had, and if a lollipop made it better, then bless Reggie for his foresight. She’d try and call Donovan once they were safely on the jet, though if he’d gone underground, it was because he’d ditched everyone to go after Garrick. It also meant that he’d more than likely taken that Erica woman with him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Donovan had no words of comfort. Erica was right. Something they’d done had led the assassins to this apartment, and there was nothing he could say to ease her torment. He knew from experience that the initial shock would be intense, but short lived. His concern was to make sure she didn’t lose it altogether. He needed her to stay with him. If the police or the FBI got to her, then he’d lose any advantage he had over Garrick. Later, her real grief would begin, the guilt-fueled despair that he knew all too well. When the entire universe would place the blame squarely at her feet, and she’d know in her heart it was hers.
He felt Erica’s frame shudder and felt his own sadness try to push to the surface. His wasn’t the same as hers, some of it was old, some was new, but it was his and it was always hovering. He pushed it down and began to look around the room. The killers had done a professional job. Everything that had been searched went on the floor. Once everything was on the floor, they’d finished. “We can’t stay here much longer.”
She nodded and sniffed.
He pulled away from her, stepped around the bodies, picked up a box of tissues, and handed them to her. “If you want, I can do this.”
“It’ll go quicker if we both work,” Erica replied, her voice raw from the tears.
Together they filled a medium-size duffel bag. She was silent, but fresh tears trickled down her face as she worked. She cleared out her bathroom last, and while she was in there Donovan heard a few sobs escape. When she emerged she was wearing different clothes. She slung the duffel over her shoulder and nodded that she was ready.
“Are you sure you have everything?”
“Yeah, I should be good.”
“What about your mail?”
“There is none. No credit cards, no bills, no mail.”
Donovan picked up the duffel bag and followed her out of the apartment. He closed the door and when he looked up, Erica was already halfway to the stairs. He hurried to catch her, and once they burst out into the fresh air they took a direct route back to the BMW. He breathed a small sigh of relief as they drove away from her apartment complex.
“This is awful,” Erica said, using a tissue to wipe her nose. “How long do you think it’ll be until they’re found?”
“Not long,” Donovan replied. “Assuming they both have jobs, someone will start looking for them soon.”
“I keep thinking about what you said last night. That it could be someone besides Garrick that tried to kidnap me. From what I’ve seen today, I think you’re right. Garrick isn’t even in California, and he isn’t cleaning up after himself. He and his people are leaving bodies strewn everywhere. Whoever did this was organized and methodical—professional. For God’s sake, they erased an entire crime scene. I saw how Jill and David were killed, I know enough about medical trauma to recognize a small-caliber bullet wound to the back of the head. Has Garrick showed anyone that kind of mercy?”
Donovan remained silent. She was getting angry, which was good. He hoped she’d get the first wave out of her system before they reached the airport.
“Let me see if I have this straight. There are two sets of bad guys here, right? There are the ones we’re hunting, Garrick, and his little band of savage tree-hugging eco-terrorists. Right?”
“Yes,” Donovan said.
“Then there’s a different group hunting only me—an unknown group of professional killers, possibly sanctioned by the government who used the medical services of my former employer.”
“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but we have the advantage.”
Erica turned her head and leveled a murderous glare at Donovan. “This all goes back to you somehow. You started digging, and now people are trying to kill me. I shot a man yesterday. My friend and her boyfriend have been murdered, and somehow from all of that, you seem to think we have some kind of tactical advantage? I don’t know who you are, or where you come from, but from what I’ve seen so far, this is a goddamned disaster.”
Erica took a breath to say something, and then all of the wind seemed to rush from her body. Her lips quivered and tears flooded her eyes. She tried one more time to speak, but all that escaped was a low, guttural sound, so wounded, so vulnerable.
For the rest of the drive, Erica turned away from him and quietly cried. He pulled into the parking lot of Signature Flight Support, switched off the ignition, and turned to face her. “When you initially called Eco-Watch, how many people did you give your name to?”
Erica looked up at Donovan as she thought about what he’d just asked. “Two. The man I talked with initially and then again when I spoke to Peggy, your administrative assistant.”
“What phone did you call from?”
“My cell. Don’t worry, it’s not in my name.”
“That’s only part of the problem,” Donovan said as he put the pieces together. “I think someone has bugged Eco-Watch’s phones. You gave your number and your first name.”
“Oh, my God, are you saying someone traced the call I made to Eco-Watch?”
“I don’t think they could do that, but with the number, if they assumed you were in Southern California, they could have triangulated your later calls. Which is how they found you, or found me, we can only guess at this point. You told me they waited until you put your key in the lock before they tried to grab you. They knew the vicinity, not the exact address.”
“They came back and waited?” Erica said shaking her head in disbelief.
Donovan nodded and dialed his phone. “Buck, it’s Donovan. Listen, I think we have a problem at headquarters. I think someone has tapped into the phones and is recording our calls. Is this anything you know about?”
“It’s nothing I authorized. I’ll make some calls an
d get the place swept for any kind of electronic surveillance.”
“I want it done fast and discreet.”
“Anything else?”
“That’s it for now. Call me the second you know anything.” Donovan ended the call, then slid his pistol into his briefcase, along with Erica’s phone.
“There’s got to be another element to this,” Erica said. “How could they react so fast to my call to Eco-Watch? All I left was a first name and a phone number. I mean, who has that kind of manpower besides a government?”
Donovan had asked himself the same question, and the answer he kept coming up with was Mossad. The CIA, if they were involved, would have used less lethal tactics. Or would they? Donovan had to admit that both entities were distinct possibilities.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Erica said. “I’m being hunted by a government, most likely Mossad.”
Donovan nodded and then stepped out of the BMW. He walked around and opened her door. “At least for now, we’re both off the grid. No one can find us, and maybe my people will have some answers.”
They walked into the VIP lounge. She’d quit crying, but there was no hiding the fact she was upset. She stuck close to Donovan as he told the flight desk who he was. They paged his flight crew, who retrieved their luggage and escorted them to the waiting airplane. Donovan wasn’t surprised that the charter arranged through Gulfstream was in fact a Gulfstream 650, the newest model in the storied Gulfstream family.
As they reached the top of the stairs, he allowed Erica to go ahead of him and select a seat. He stopped in the galley, introduced himself to the flight attendant, and explained that they’d like to be left alone. If they needed anything, he’d let her know. Donovan sat across the aisle from Erica. The interior of the Gulfstream was as plush as any he’d ever seen. A sophisticated mix of fabrics, leather, and exotic woods blended with state-of-the-art electronics and a full-blown in-flight entertainment system. It was a stark contrast to the wire bundles and aluminum equipment racks of the da Vinci, but despite the creature comforts in the cabin, as always, he wished he were up front flying. Donovan was rarely a passenger and admittedly not a good one, but he tried to relax as the G-650 lifted off and climbed out over the ocean. As Donovan looked out at the sprawling city, he couldn’t help but whisper a good-bye to all of the memories he and Meredith had left behind.
Deadly Echoes Page 12
