SPEED
THE DAWN
Also by Philip Donlay
The Donovan Nash Novels
Seconds to Midnight
Pegasus Down
Aftershock
Deadly Echoes
Zero Separation
Code Black
Category Five
SPEED
THE DAWN
A DONOVAN NASH NOVEL
PHILIP DONLAY
Copyright © 2018 Philip Donlay
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, businesses, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 978-1-60809-230-7
Published in the United States of America by Oceanview Publishing Sarasota, Florida
www.oceanviewpub.com
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
For my son, Patrick
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
FIRST AND FOREMOST, I want to offer my deepest gratitude to all of the brave first responders everywhere—the few among us who run toward the danger instead of away.
I want to extend my profound thanks to my family and longtime friends. You always help keep me pointed in the right direction. To my parents, Cliff and Janet; as well as to my brother, Chris; and son, Patrick—thank you. To Bo Lewis, Kerry Leep, Scott Erickson, Pamela Sue Martin, Nancy Gilson, Brian Bellmont, Phil High, and Mike Orindgreff: You’ve all played a bigger part in the completion of this book than you’ll ever know.
I’d also like to thank my agent, Kimberley Cameron, and her team of talented professionals. Then, of course, there are the people who shed light on subjects well beyond my expertise. Dr. Philip Sidell and his entire staff, thanks for being there for me. And, as always, Dr. D. P. Lyle, you’re the best. Jason Forthofer, Dr. Richard Blomberg, Thomas Humann, Victoria Dilliott, Samantha Fischer, Jeff Frye, David Ivester, Maddee James, Pat Frovarp, and Vicki Harlander: You are all amazing, and I’m the first to admit that I couldn’t do what I do without your efforts. To Oceanview Publishing, the people who turn my words into books—I am forever thankful.
And finally, heartfelt thanks go out to all of my thousands of brothers and sisters around the world, who, like me, battle Ankylosing Spondylitis and the associated nightmares that come with this fearsome disease. You inspire me each and every day to keep fighting and move forward.
SPEED
THE DAWN
CHAPTER ONE
DR. LAUREN MCKENNA looked up from her tablet as an intense white light shot past the window of the Gulfstream. Lauren squinted as another burning object fragmented under the tremendous forces of high speed and friction, creating hundreds, if not thousands, of small separate hazards racing downward.
The noise came all at once, like a sudden hailstorm. Instantly, hundreds of small pinholes opened in the ceiling. Lauren gripped the seat as the Gulfstream shuddered. She turned away from the window to shield her eyes from the brightness. In the aisle toward the cockpit, her friend Montero spilled coffee as she went to the floor. Lauren looked beyond Montero. Someone in the cockpit cried out in pain. Rick, the first officer, was recoiling in his seat as if he’d been shot. Lauren’s ears popped, and from somewhere above her, she heard air rushing from the cabin. She felt the first sharp sting of terror claw at her self-control.
Lauren glanced at the screen mounted on the bulkhead. The Gulfstream was descending out of thirty-five-thousand feet, seventy-five miles east of their destination of Monterey, California. Outside the large oval window, another bright white light fell from above. Spots from the harsh light danced in her vision. She followed the meteors all the way to the ground, expecting them to vaporize well before they struck the earth, but the shockwaves expanded outward as they impacted the desert below. Stunned, Lauren watched more glowing debris slam into the ground, and when she looked upward, there were more clusters entering the atmosphere high above them.
This meteor shower was happening faster than Lauren could process. Disbelief turned into fear as more glowing meteors continued to rain down out of the late afternoon sky, careening earthward.
Lauren threw off her seat belt and raced for the cockpit. The pressure leaks sounded louder. Her anxiety escalated as she wondered why the oxygen masks hadn’t dropped. She reached Montero, scared that her friend had been hit. “Montero, are you okay?”
“What in the hell happened?” Montero reached out to Lauren for support as she pulled herself to her feet.
“Are you two okay?” Michael Ross called out from the cockpit. He took a quick glance over his shoulder. “Hang on,” he said. “We’re going to make an emergency descent.”
“What can we do?” Lauren asked. “Do we need masks?”
“No, the hull has been breached, but it’s a slow decompression. I’ll have us down below ten thousand feet before we need the masks.”
Strapped into the right seat, Rick thrashed against his injuries. He grimaced in pain and pulled his arms tightly around his midsection. Blood soaked his shirt and one leg of his trousers. He looked up at Lauren, tried to speak, but what came out sounded more like a strenuous groan. “What happened to us?”
“A meteor shower,” Lauren said as she heard the engines change pitch as Michael maneuvered the damaged Gulfstream into an even steeper descent.
“Lauren, you and Montero go back and sit down,” Michael said. “This could get rough. When you’re back there, I need both of you to assess any damage to the plane. Come back once we’re level and bring the first-aid kit for Rick.”
Montero stepped aft, peering out the front cabin window, then turned to Lauren. “Tell Michael, both wings are leaking fuel.”
“We’re leaking fuel,” Lauren said.
“I heard, now get strapped in,” Michael said.
Lauren used her hands to steady herself as she followed Montero to the rear of the plane where they buckled themselves tightly in their seats.
Montero was right about the fuel. When Lauren looked out her window, she saw tiny streams of mist billowing off the upper surface of the wing. Jet fuel was vaporizing as it escaped the tanks. Ahead of them, the sky was aglow as dozens of huge clusters streaked toward the ground. To her surprise and confusion, contrails crisscrossed the horizon. She spotted different trajectories in play, debris falling at different rates and directions, as if some sort of cosmic chaos had been unleashed. Of all the meteor reentries she’d studied, she’d never seen or read about anything like this.
A deafening boom filled the cabin. Lauren flinched, her ears popped, and she felt the reverberation from the explosion in her chest. She frantically searched out the window, looking for any sign the Gulfstream was coming apart around them. Streaking across the sky well above them was an object far larger than all the others. Burning debris was falling away as it hurtled beyond the haze and clouds that marked the horizon. A flash of pure white light momentarily filled the sky and then it was gone, leaving only a vast contrail across the heavens.
Montero gripped the armrest of her seat. “Lauren, what was that? What’s happening to us? Was that sound from the airplane?”
“It was the sonic boom from a big meteor, which just passed over the top of us and hit somewhere far to the west.”
“How far?” Montero asked.
“I couldn’t tell. The meteor vanished into the haze. I’m hoping it hit wel
l out to sea. The second Michael levels off, we’re going up front to help Rick. Could you tell what happened to him—where he was hit?”
“I was standing at the galley, talking to both of them when there was that awful noise. Dozens of holes appeared in the roof like we’d been hit by a twelve gauge. All I saw was that Rick got hit in the back, near the right shoulder,” Montero said. “There may be more.”
“With the speed those objects were traveling, whatever hit him most likely went straight through,” Lauren said. “We’ll have to work fast to try to stop the bleeding.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Montero said, the hard expression in her eyes marking her determination. “I’ll grab the medical kit and be ready. You’re the better doctor.”
Lauren felt Michael begin to flatten out the descent. She unbuckled her seat belt and ran forward with Montero trailing. Reaching the cockpit, she touched Michael’s shoulder. “We’re still leaking fuel out of both wings, not a big leak, just a bunch of small ones,” she said. As she spoke, she saw that most of the instrument displays had gone dark.
“It’s okay,” Michael said. “We have enough fuel to get on the ground.”
Lauren reached for Rick’s wrist and felt for a pulse. He was strapped into his seat, chin resting on his chest. Mercifully, he’d lost consciousness. She looked up and studied the holes in the ceiling of the airplane. It didn’t take much to imagine the fragments, no larger than a BB, traveling at thousands of miles per hour punching through the aluminum skin of the Gulfstream. Lauren leaned over to find Rick’s wounds and heard the distinct crackle of electrical wires shorting above her. The acrid smell of burnt insulation quickly filled the air, and a dozen circuit breakers popped, followed seconds later by several more. A loud bell sounded, and Lauren saw red warning lights on the instrument panel. Michael gripped the controls tightly as he began to react to this new emergency. She knew enough to understand that the bell meant there was a fire in one of the engines. Michael’s hands flew around the cockpit as he silenced the warning bell and began the process of shutting down the engine. Once the procedure was finished, he fired the first of two fire extinguishers.
When Lauren found the entry wound on Rick’s shoulder, she began feeling for the exit wound.
The red light stayed on, and Michael pushed the button to release the second fire bottle and waited.
In the confines of the cramped cockpit, Lauren located the larger exit wound. Alarmed at the amount of blood soaking Rick’s shirt, she clamped her hand over the wound, hoping to staunch the flow.
When she looked over to Michael, his eyes were glued to the instrument panel. The red light remained on. They were still burning.
CHAPTER TWO
DONOVAN NASH LEANED against the railing of a second-story balcony at the Monterey Bay Aquarium and took in the beauty. It was first time he’d been alone all day. He inhaled the marine air and listened to the gentle crash of the waves as he gazed out at the Pacific Ocean. In all of his travels, the Monterey Peninsula, and Pebble Beach in particular, had been one of his favorite places, so much so he once lived here. He’d been gone for twenty-five years, though some of the memories had never dulled. He sifted through his distant past, and pictured, as he always did, the ways his world had once crumbled around him. Pebble Beach wasn’t far from where he stood, and it marked the place where everything came apart. As he pictured his former home, the man he used to be, he was powerless to hold off the flood of memories.
He was born Robert Huntington III, heir to the family oil business. His idyllic childhood ended when he was fourteen years old, when his parents died in a boating disaster, a sinking that spared only Robert. His godfather was a family friend, William VanGelder, and under William’s tutelage, Robert began the task of education and refinement that would prepare him for his destiny. On his twenty-first birthday he inherited billions, becoming one of the ten richest men in the world, and he took the helm of Huntington Oil. He worked hard, and played even harder. Robert was a charismatic mix of JFK Jr. and Howard Hughes. His ever-expanding world eventually brought him face-to-face with the wildly famous environmentalist Meredith Barnes, and the unlikely pair fell in love.
The evening Meredith said yes and put on his engagement ring was easily the best moment of Robert’s life. Six weeks later, Meredith was dead. She’d been kidnapped and shot, and Robert was the target of the investigation. Though quickly cleared of any wrongdoing, he was vilified. The world believed he’d used his money and influence to escape punishment for his crime. His business enemies used the resulting media frenzy to cripple him, his integrity, his work, and his entire life began to unravel. As Robert recoiled, he felt helpless, wounded like never before. Initially, he left California and flew to Virginia to stay at an old family estate that few knew existed. But eventually, he returned to Monterey and took refuge in the Pebble Beach house he had shared with Meredith. His grief and despair slowly devoured him. William discovered him lying in his mansion, unshaven, grieving the death of Meredith, caught in a vicious cycle of endless sorrow, drinking, and taking pills.
William had asked him if he’d thought about ending his life. Without hesitating, Robert admitted that he had. In a matter of weeks, William laid out the plans for Robert’s death, and together they orchestrated the plane crash that killed Robert Huntington. Around the world, people cheered the death of the man they considered a billionaire murderer. Rumors swirled about Robert’s guilt in killing Meredith. It didn’t take long for conspiracy theorists to paint Robert as the cause of any death that may have given Huntington Oil more power. It was an undeserved label forever connected to Robert Huntington.
He’d always remember the crisp fall day, months later, in the Swiss Alps when he first stepped into the sunshine as Donovan Nash. Thanks to William’s efforts, his wealth still intact, Donovan was sober, twenty pounds lighter, and with his appearance surgically altered, he boarded a private jet and flew to London to start his life over. In retrospect, his biggest surprise was that he and William had managed to maintain the deception. Other than the two of them, only eight other people in the world knew that Robert Huntington had never died.
As the images faded, his thoughts shifted to the present. He was having a birthday in a few days, turning fifty-three. He was in good shape, and his wife, Lauren, told him he could easily pass for a man in his forties. Despite a little more gray hair, he contemplated being another year older, and decided he was content, and for the moment at least, he wouldn’t change a thing, back then or today. He and Lauren were happily married and were parents of a remarkable seven-year-old daughter, Abigail. Donovan often explained to others that his daughter was a highly inquisitive wild child, a perfect mixture of her parents. Like her mother, Abigail was intelligent, and it never took her long to solve a puzzle or understand the nuances of a new game. She was also fearless, regardless of the activity, be it riding horses, catching snakes and frogs at the farm, climbing trees, or going flying with her dad. Abigail had a constant thirst for knowledge and adventure, and she read constantly. Though perhaps his daughter’s greatest achievement was turning Donovan into her coconspirator. She was Daddy’s little girl, and at times, Donovan inwardly cringed at the thought of Abigail becoming a teenager.
The latest Eco-Watch ship, the Howard Buckley, cruised majestically just outside the harbor. With its sleek design and clean lines, this magnificent ship was one of Donovan’s proudest achievements. Members of the Monterey Bay Aquarium’s Board of Directors had just finished touring the ship. Tomorrow would mark the official launch of the joint venture between Eco-Watch and the Monterey Bay Aquarium. The collaboration put the state-of-the-art Buckley into the hands of some of the world’s leading oceanographers.
Fifteen years ago, Donovan had first envisioned Eco-Watch. From those early dreams, he’d created a reality that far surpassed his expectations. As Director of Operations, he’d presided over the activities that made Eco-Watch the world’s premier private environmental research organization,
operating two highly modified Gulfstream jets, multiple helicopters, and three oceangoing science ships. With a nearly unlimited budget, he’d assembled the best minds in the industry to work on the planet’s most pressing environmental problems. Eco-Watch’s mission statement was simple. Streamline the time it took ideas to reach the field and be tested. Private meant no red tape, and that was Eco-Watch’s specialty.
A wistful smile came to Donovan’s face. The new ship, the Howard “Buck” Buckley, was named after a friend and colleague whose untimely death had hit everyone at Eco-Watch hard. The ship was Donovan’s way to try and give back to the former Navy SEAL who had done so much for not only Eco-Watch, but for the extended Eco-Watch family. Donovan missed Buck intensely. He’d been more than a friend, more like a part of the family. Lauren and Abigail loved him, as did most everyone else he encountered. As an employee, Donovan missed Buck’s quiet, determined attitude and the infectious energy he shared with everyone he met.
The Buckley represented the culmination of years of planning and building. The ship was designed around the latest cutting-edge technology in marine research. Ice capable, the research vessel was just over four hundred feet long. In addition to a crew of thirty, the Buckley was outfitted to carry sixty scientists for two months with a range of nineteen thousand miles, and could easily make headway against ice up to a meter thick. With climate change undeniably under way, the first changes in Earth’s ecosystems were taking place in the polar oceans, and the Buckley would be the ship that would take the scientists to the front lines.
Donovan glanced around the vacant landing, then at his watch. It was a little after five p.m. and the aquarium was closing. He briefly wondered where Shannon had gone. The last he’d seen, she was with the chef in charge of tomorrow evening’s reception dinner. She was somewhere close, as she knew as well as he did that they needed to leave shortly to get to the airport to rendezvous with William VanGelder, the chairman of the board of Eco-Watch, and Donovan’s oldest and closest friend. William had spent the afternoon playing golf at Cyprus Point with one of Eco-Watch’s largest donors and would meet up with Donovan and Shannon to greet the inbound Eco-Watch Gulfstream. Once everyone arrived, they would all be helicoptered out to the Buckley.
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