Erica stole a glance forward and then looked at Donovan and whispered, “Holy shit.” Then she turned back to watch for their pursuers.
Donovan slowed the Cessna as much as he dared. They passed over a boatyard, the masts of the sailboats reaching up dangerously into their flight path. When they crossed over a parking lot, Donovan saw people look up and point. They flew over a fence, a collection of construction trailers, and the moment the wheels were over dirt, Donovan flared the Cessna and the main tires kissed the ground.
The landing area was rougher than it looked, and Erica let out a small scream as the 185 lurched and bounced. Donovan stood on the brakes, the noise deafening as the entire airframe shook. The chain-link fence at the end of the lot was coming up fast.
Donovan knew they weren’t going to stop before they reached the fence. His thigh burned in protest as he used all his strength on the brake pedals. He made a decision; he released the brake pressure from the left side and held his breath as the Cessna instantly pivoted to the right. The left main gear strut hit the ditch first and took the brunt of the impact. Like a fifteen-foot scythe, the wing tip sliced into the fence, ripping it to shreds as the entire left side of the plane slammed into the water-filled culvert creating a huge geyser. The Cessna’s left side windows shattered and snapped inward, spewing water and debris into the cabin as they came to a halt. Still spinning, the propeller threw huge clods of mud into the sky before the bent props finally ground to a halt.
As fast as he could, Donovan cut the fuel to the engine, turned off the battery switch, threw off his harness, and reached over to release Erica’s harness. “Go!”
Erica threw open her door, grabbed their things, and with Donovan right behind her, climbed out of the wrecked airplane. The smell of gasoline from the Cessna’s ruptured fuel tanks filled the air.
They both jumped into the ditch. Donovan took the duffel from her and pulled her by the arm up the embankment. They climbed over what remained of the fence and began to run. Off to his left, people began to erupt from an office building and move toward them.
“Run! It’s going to blow!” Donovan yelled, and waved them away. Immediately, their would-be rescuers turned and fled back into the building.
Breathing heavily, Donovan rounded the corner. The rented Cherokee was dead ahead. He pulled out the keys, pushed the button that unlocked the doors, and he and Erica jumped inside. He started the engine, threw it into drive, and sped away. A quick glance in the rearview mirror told him they weren’t being followed—yet.
“We have to get off this island! One roadblock and it’s over.”
“We can’t make a mad dash for the bridge. We need to drive normal, blend in with traffic. We bought ourselves some time. Hopefully, it’ll take a few minutes for the authorities to respond.”
“You’re bleeding,” Erica said, pointing at his hand.
He felt the pain in his left shoulder for the first time and reached with his right hand to probe for the source of the blood. He winced and pulled his bloody fingers away. “There’s something stuck in there. I’m not dying, it’ll have to wait.”
“Look back at the harbor,” Erica said.
Donovan glanced in the mirror to find a plume of dirty black smoke, emanating from where they’d left the Cessna. The Border Patrol helicopter orbited, now joined by a red-and-white Coast Guard HH-65.
“How did you know it was going to burn? You saved those people.”
“I didn’t,” Donovan said. “I didn’t want a bunch of people to get a good look at us. I yelled the first thing I thought of that would make them scatter.”
“Do you know where you’re going?”
“Yeah. Up ahead, we make a left turn and take Highway 20 off the island. Once we’re over the bridge, we can go anywhere we want.”
“Uh-oh.” Erica pointed up ahead.
Donovan spotted the patrol car going the opposite direction, toward town and moving fast, every light flashing. Using all of his patience and self-control, Donovan kept the Cherokee at the speed limit. They breezed through two green lights until he could see the twin concrete arches that marked the bridge off the island. No roadblocks yet. As they drew closer, on the opposite span, two police cruisers appeared, lights flashing, but they weren’t going very fast.
“Oh, shit,” Erica said as the two patrol cars slowed and pulled into the median.
Donovan was already in the slow lane. There was a truck ahead of them, a Volvo station wagon in the inside lane, and a quarter mile behind was a panel van. “Quick, take off your hat, I doubt if they’re looking for a couple.”
They passed both troopers at 55 mph and started across the bridge. In his rearview mirror Donovan saw the highway patrol cruisers swing out onto the pavement to block traffic.
“We were the last car off the island. Holy shit! I can’t believe we pulled that off,” Erica said as they headed east.
“We’re not free yet. Look at the map, see if there’s a way to get to Seattle other than on the interstate.”
Erica found the rental car map under the visor. “Yeah, there is. Just up here on the right is a turnoff. It looks like if we follow it to Route Nine, it’ll eventually take us south into Seattle.”
“Perfect. Now I need you to do one more thing. Find your phone.”
While Erica dug in her bag, Donovan reflected on her actions today, her fearless navigation, and her complete trust in his abilities. He couldn’t help but feel a swelling of admiration at how poised she’d been.
“What? Why are you looking at me that way?” Erica asked, phone in hand.
“Thanks for all the help back there.”
Erica leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. “We’re a team. Now, who am I calling?”
“Michael Ross, he’s the one flying us to Alaska.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Lauren heard the familiar sound of the landing gear being lowered. The earlier conversation she and Michael had been having in California had been interrupted by a call from Erica Covington. Donovan was driving, but Erica relayed that they needed the da Vinci to pick them up in Seattle and fly them to Anchorage. Michael had called Gulfstream, and they’d recommended an experienced local freelance pilot, Scott West, to act as Michael’s copilot. On impulse, Lauren had insisted on going.
She closed the laptop she’d been buried in for the last hour and a half. There was nothing new out of Paris where the authorities were still searching for a dark-haired woman in connection with the department store shooting spree. Lauren read more about the killings in Vancouver. The police there were asking the public for information, and the Asian Pacific Community was outraged over the lack of progress in what some were calling a hate crime.
The most interesting news story was the one she’d just been reading. Breaking news out of Anacortes, Washington: a small, single-engine Cessna, the kind favored by bush pilots, had been stolen from Victoria International Airport in British Columbia, and after evading authorities, crash landed near downtown Anacortes. Lauren made a quick map check and discovered that Anacortes was a two-hour drive north of Seattle. The report had gone on to say that two people had fled the scene of the crash after warning witnesses of the danger of an explosion. The airplane did burn, which will hamper the investigation. Lauren had clicked through the photographs of the burnt and mangled airplane. There was absolutely nothing to connect Donovan to the story, but she knew in her heart this was her husband’s doing. Whatever Garrick’s ultimate goal, he was leaving nothing but chaos in his wake.
The view out the window of the da Vinci beyond the wingtip was opaque nothingness. This was the first time Lauren had been in the newest incarnation of the Spirit of da Vinci; it still smelled new. The added length from upgrading to the G500 from the older GIV, had been utilized to create a small VIP seating area forward of all of the science stations.
When they broke out of the clouds, Lauren spotted Lake Union, the Space Needle, and then downtown itself. She always thought the entire city looked w
ashed clean from all the rain.
Michael touched down smoothly, and once they slowed, he swung off the runway and taxied toward the ramp. Lauren checked her watch. It was three and a half hours since Donovan had called.
They pivoted into a parking spot, and Michael shut down the engines, jumped out of the cockpit, and opened the door. Lauren made no effort to get up. She knew this was a quick turn. A flight plan had already been filed, fuel would be loaded, and the food Michael had ordered would arrive. They’d be on their way to Alaska inside thirty minutes. When Lauren heard footsteps coming up the airstair, she braced herself for it to be Donovan. Instead, Erica Covington appeared.
“Oh, hello.” Erica seemed startled when she realized there was someone on the plane.
Donovan came up the stairs and stopped behind Erica, who stepped to the side so that he could go in front of her. Donovan leaned down and kissed Lauren on the cheek. “Michael just told me you were here. Erica, this is my wife, Lauren.”
“Hello,” Lauren said, not at all expecting such a casual attitude from Donovan and certainly not expecting Erica Covington to be much more beautiful than her picture.
Donovan turned to Erica. “There’s a spot in the back where two of the chairs fold down into a bed. Let’s take this show back there. I want to do this before we take off.”
Lauren found herself sitting alone in the small VIP section as Donovan went aft with Erica to where they could make a bed. She flung off her seat belt and followed.
“Help Erica with the shades,” Donovan told Lauren as he aligned two of the science station chairs and lowered their backs creating a narrow bunk. Not sure what was happening, Lauren nodded and lowered the shades on the trademark Gulfstream oval windows.
When it was clear no one could see inside, Erica helped Donovan with his jacket and shirt, revealing his blood-streaked arm.
“You’re hurt!” Lauren blurted out the obvious before she could stop herself. “What happened?”
“It feels like a piece of Plexiglas,” Erica said as she gingerly probed the wound.
Lauren looked at Donovan’s naked torso for the first time since he’d been hurt. Her eyes darted from the reddish scar on his wrist to the round bullet hole near his clavicle. She also noticed Erica didn’t so much as glance at the wounds. Lauren felt a white-hot flush of jealousy. Erica had seen them before.
“Sit here,” Erica told Donovan as she maneuvered the overhead swiveling light. She turned to Lauren. “Donovan said there was a first-aid kit onboard. Could you get it for me? And a flashlight would be helpful.”
Lauren nodded and turned away, infuriated to be reduced to fetching supplies. When Lauren returned, Erica unzipped the bag, found everything she would need, and spread it out in sequence. She snapped on latex gloves, took the flashlight, and examined the wound. “Once I pull this out, depending how deep it is, it’s going to bleed quite a bit. Your shirt is already ruined so we’ll use it to soak up the excess while I flush out the wound and suture it closed. Lauren, can you hold the shirt under here like this?”
Lauren did as instructed, not prepared for the effect the nearness to Donovan was having on her. She felt the familiar attraction to a man she’d shared a bed with for years, but there was also a foreignness she didn’t know how to process.
“We’re ready to roll. What the hell is going on back here?” Michael peered over Lauren’s shoulder.
Donovan lifted his head in Michael’s direction. “I’d appreciate it if we didn’t start moving quite yet.”
“Ten minutes,” Erica said, forceps poised in her gloved hand. She faced Donovan. “This might hurt. Are you ready?”
Donovan nodded and kept his eyes fixed on Erica.
Michael turned away and walked toward the cockpit. “Someone come and tell me when we can go.”
Lauren wasn’t squeamish, so when Erica pulled out the Plexiglas shard she didn’t flinch. The blood oozed down Donovan’s arm into the shirt. He simply closed his eyes as Erica probed the wound for any other debris. Satisfied, she applied antiseptic and expertly sutured the wound shut. Once she was finished, she applied gauze and securely taped it to his arm.
Once the bleeding stopped, Lauren carried the blood-soaked shirt forward, found a plastic bag in the galley, and took it back to collect all of the other trash.
“You should probably destroy those pants as well,” Lauren said. “There’s blood all down the side of them.”
“Erica, if you’re done being my doctor, would you mind giving my wife and me some privacy? You can tell Michael he’s free to depart.”
“Of course,” Erica quickly zipped up the first-aid kit and took it forward.
“Can you get my bag?” Donovan asked Lauren as he massaged his aching thigh.
Lauren unzipped his overnight bag and found a pair of folded khakis. She handed them over and helped steady her husband as he stood and changed clothes. The scar on his leg was bright red and larger than she ever imagined. She turned away, feeling a jab of guilt for leaving him with such severe wounds. She rummaged around and found him an undershirt and a button-down shirt. She helped him dress, then he asked her to help him arrange the chairs back the way they were.
Then Donovan sat and strapped himself in, motioning for Lauren to do the same. Lauren heard the airstair close and moments later the engines began their familiar hum, and they began taxiing out to the runway.
“Why are you here?” Donovan asked bluntly. “Where’s Abigail?”
“She’s fine. She didn’t want to come. She’s sick of airplanes and she wanted to stay in Laguna Beach with Stephanie and William. Buck assembled a small army of bodyguards to protect them, so I came alone.”
“Did you tell Abigail you were coming to see me?”
“No, I think that would have been confusing.”
“Yeah, probably,” Donovan replied as he thought of how much he missed his little girl. They sat in silence as the engines spooled up and the da Vinci rolled down the runway. The Gulfstream lifted off, quickly enveloped in the heavy, gray clouds.
“I have a question for you,” she said. “I saw the story out of Anacortes, the Cessna. Was that you?”
“Yes,” Donovan replied. “That’s how I hurt my arm. Now, finish answering my question. Why are you here?”
“I’m here because an assassin, Nikolett Kovarik, tried to kill me in Paris. Thanks to my bodyguards, the CIA, and Buck, we escaped, but my entire security detail was killed. I didn’t know where else to go.” Lauren took a measured breath, switching into DIA analyst mode, which allowed her to recount details in a completely unemotional manner. The horror of those few minutes still threatened to unravel her emotionally. “Garrick’s primary focus is you, but he seems to want me dead, I’m assuming to pay you back for the death of Meredith. He’s using Nikolett to hunt me down. Right now I’d prefer to be a moving target, somewhere away from Abigail.”
“Abigail was with you? How much did she see?” “Everything. I’ve never heard her scream like that before. She was terrified.”
Donovan closed his eyes as if trying to fight through the horrifying images of his little girl being caught in the middle of a fire-fight. “How is she doing?”
“I don’t know. After Paris, we spent twelve hours on a jet, traveling from London to Orange County. She woke up just as I was leaving, but she was happy to not have to get on another plane and thrilled to be with William. Maybe what she needs most right now is a protective male figure. I have no idea. Let’s just hope she’ll be okay.”
Donovan nodded his agreement. “When all of this is over, maybe I can spend some time with her.”
“I think that would be a good idea.”
“I’m happy you and Abigail are safe.”
“Why are we going to Alaska? What did the next picture tell you?”
“It was a picture of Meredith taken after the Alaskan pipeline ruptured.”
“So you think he’s targeting the pipeline?”
“I don’t know yet; I’ve be
en a little busy. But the pipeline is vulnerable, I’m just not sure what statement he’s trying to make.”
“Busy? Sleeping with Erica?”
“That discussion isn’t pertinent,” Donovan said. “For the moment, let’s focus on more important matters, like stopping Garrick.”
Lauren had her answer.
“Back up a minute. You think Nikolett is still looking for you?”
“I can only assume it’s part of Garrick’s twisted little game of retribution.”
“We know for the moment that she can’t find you,” Donovan said. “What if we leak that information?”
“Why?”
“We bring Nikolett to Alaska to find you, and she’ll lead us to Garrick.”
“I get that, but exactly what are you thinking?”
“We use the media. If the press doesn’t already know this airplane is headed to Anchorage, we tell them ourselves. Trust me, they’ll be there waiting when we land.”
“Aren’t you trying to sneak up on Garrick? Blasting into Anchorage with the Eco-Watch jet into a throng of reporters isn’t exactly subtle.”
“When we arrive, you’ll be the only one who gets off the plane. The main thing is to get your picture on television. That should get Garrick riled up and also get Nikolett on her way to Anchorage.”
“I think that could work.” Lauren nodded her approval. “Are you headed for the pipeline?”
“No. You are. The best way to keep an eye on the pipeline is in the da Vinci. With the new equipment, the color infrared-camera technology, and the synthetic-aperture radar, we can produce and record real-time full-motion video. It’s all the latest generation software and hardware.”
“I’m familiar with all the systems.”
“The da Vinci can traverse the entire eight hundred miles of the pipeline every two hours. We’ll spot Garrick without him even knowing. We’ll have the helicopter from the Pacific Titan on alert and ready to move.”
Deadly Echoes Page 18
