“Thank you,” Malcolm replied with genuine gratitude.
Donovan led the way as he and Buck headed out the door. As they burst from the hangar, Donovan saw that the Boeing was still on the tarmac. Buck took off running toward the jet. Standing helpless on the ramp, Donovan felt like he’d been punched. The ransom note pounded at him on different levels. Whatever small hope he held that she was in hiding had just vanished. Even if they gave in to the demands, there was every possibility she’d be killed anyway. Stephanie had been taken and the clock was ticking.
CHAPTER SIX
Lauren sat at the desk, moved the mouse, and the screen on the computer came to life. She deftly went through the steps until she found what she was looking for—in front of her was the Internet site history Donovan had looked at the night before. Lauren had no qualms about what she was doing; she’d been with him and was fully aware he was reflecting on his past. What made last night different from other nights was her presence as he battled his past. He obviously blamed himself for mistakes made, real or imagined, but what she had no idea was how wounded he’d been by the fact that the repercussions over Meredith’s death had come so swiftly.
She clicked the mouse and flinched as the first image filled the screen. It was a full-screen image of Robert Huntington. It was probably taken when he was in his mid-twenties, already at the helm of Huntington Oil, a private company that Robert had inherited at the age of twenty-one—an inheritance that had made him one of the ten richest men in the world.
The photo was before all the surgery. Nothing about it reminded her of her husband, except the eyes—they remained the same. Robert had always been a good-looking man, Lauren mused. He was often referred to as the billionaire playboy, dating starlets and other high-visibility women. A cross between a young Howard Hughes and John F. Kennedy Jr. For many women it was an intoxicating combination of looks and power.
Lauren scrolled down to the biography. Robert Huntington had lived a privileged life accorded to the ultra-wealthy. His grandfather had founded Huntington Oil and two generations later, it was one of the largest private petrochemical conglomerates in America. Robert had been orphaned at the age of fourteen by a boating accident that took his parents’ lives—while sparing his own. Robert Huntington attended both Dartmouth as well as Oxford universities. He’d been a collector of expensive automobiles, a three-handicap golfer, an avid fly fisherman, as well as an expert marksman in both skeet and wing shooting. Despite being gifted at many pursuits, his overriding passion had been flying, and he was recognized as an exceptional pilot. Upon graduating from Oxford with an advanced degree in international business strategies, he took his place at the helm of Huntington Oil.
A frown came over Lauren’s face. Why was Donovan looking at this? It was ancient history. Another click brought up a later picture of Robert, one taken near the end. Though not even thirty, he’d aged appreciatively, his features hardened and strained. Lauren scrolled down to discover Robert’s obituary. The article was from the New York Times. It detailed the known events leading to Robert Huntington’s death. He’d been flying his own plane from Reno, Nevada, to Monterey, California, when air traffic controllers lost radio contact with the flight. They tracked the plane as it flew far out over the Pacific Ocean before running out of fuel and plunging into the ocean. The embattled Robert Huntington was dead at the age of twenty-eight.
Lauren skipped to another page and found a picture of Meredith Barnes. Under the photo were bold letters proclaiming her murder at the hands of Robert Huntington. Lauren winced as she read the article, one of thousands that had surfaced after her death. Each piece had soundly condemned Robert Huntington as the instrument of Meredith’s murder. Her global message of environmental activism had been silenced at the hands of big oil. A horrific crime viewed as against not only Meredith—but the planet itself. The entire world mourned her, while at the same time convicted Robert in the court of public opinion. Lauren knew the rest by heart. Robert hadn’t died in the plane crash—he’d engineered his death and fled to Europe, where he’d undergone plastic surgery. Lauren had met him years later, when he was firmly entrenched in his new identity as Donovan Nash running Eco-Watch.
Lauren wondered what had compelled Donovan to come downstairs in the middle of the night to relive his past? What had he been feeling when he saw the man he used to be? Did he regret the change?
Lauren needed to know more. Not just about Donovan, but what was happening in Guatemala. Technically, she worked for the Defense Intelligence Agency, though her current title was analyst consultant, which didn’t allow her access to ongoing investigations. At one time, she was the lead climatologist with the DIA, her PhD in Earth Science from MIT had bolted her to the top of a special projects division. Her particular skills were in deciphering mass amounts of satellite data and forming weather models that could affect ongoing military operations. She’d resigned her full-time position, but she still put in ten to fifteen hours a week studying reports. Her DIA credentials would only get her so far into the government’s intelligence network, and the FBI was certainly out of reach.
She tried to think of anyone she knew at the Bureau, someone high enough on the food chain to keep her in the loop about Stephanie’s kidnapping. Her scientific mind began to process what little she knew. She drummed her fingers on the table as she processed the facts, and as she did, her frustration began to build. Her husband, Abigail’s father, was, in her opinion, riding the crest of a wave toward oblivion. Donovan had suffered devastating losses in his life. He’d been unable to do anything to save his parents as they both drowned in a boating accident. His fiancée, Meredith Barnes, kidnapped from his side and later murdered. As if that hadn’t been enough, there had been other people in his life he felt he should have been able to save. Lauren had heard most of their names over the years, in the dead of night, as her tormented husband murmured names in his sweat-drenched nightmares.
She glanced at the secure line that her boss, Calvin Reynolds, the deputy director at the Defense Intelligence Agency, had installed for her home use. It allowed her to freely discuss DIA business from home. She could easily picture Calvin sitting at his desk; even at this early hour he would already be working. She had the pull to be invited to the investigation, but with Donovan’s current mindset, she was hesitant. The more high-level investigators brought into the mix, the harder it was to operate within the lies about his past that she and Donovan had told over the years. She debated a minute longer and then discarded the entire idea, electing to leave Calvin and the DIA out of the picture for now. Which left her with one lingering thought—what if she asked for help from someone who operated outside official channels, someone who already knew the truth about Donovan’s past?
She glanced at the clock, surprised at how long she’d been sitting at the computer. Her coffee had grown cold. If she were going to make the phone call, she needed to do it quickly, before Abigail woke up and wanted breakfast. Lauren found the number and, without hesitation, dialed the phone. As it rang, she had no idea how the person on the other end was going to react. In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if who she were calling told her to go to hell.
“Hello.” A woman answered the phone.
“Is this Ms. Montero?”
“Yes.”
“This is Dr. Lauren McKenna. Are you free to talk?”
“What could you possibly want to talk to me about?”
“Donovan’s in trouble.”
“He’s been in trouble since I’ve known him. Why call me? Why now?”
“I need someone who knows the truth about him, about us, someone I don’t have to tiptoe around like I’m working in a minefield. I promise it’ll be worth your time. Money’s no object.”
“You don’t have any reason to like me, or trust me. I blackmailed you and your husband, and nearly got all three of us killed.”
“You’re right, I didn’t like you. I’m not sure I do now, but I do trust you. I know the depth of your comm
itment and your capabilities as a former FBI agent. They’re the reasons I made this call. I’m willing to put everything aside and work with you, for Donovan’s sake.”
“I believe you, this couldn’t have been an easy call to make. I don’t know how much your husband told you about what happened to us, but he saved my life. I made him a promise I’d always be there if he needed me. Keep your money, Dr. McKenna, it’s not what motivates me. I’m in—where do we start?”
“What do you know about Stephanie VanGelder?”
“She’s William’s niece, right? Other than that, I know very little.”
“She’s in Guatemala, and she’s been kidnapped.”
“Oh no. So, Donovan’s there now? In Guatemala?”
“Yes. He and Stephanie are like brother and sister. Donovan showed up in Virginia all ready to rush to Guatemala, swoop in and rescue Stephanie. William, thank God, talked him down and managed to cool him off.”
“Dr. McKenna, what is it you want me to do?”
“Please, call me Lauren. I know that one of the reasons you were able to uncover Donovan’s secret is that you were, and still are, a great admirer of Meredith Barnes, and by default, you know a great deal about Robert Huntington. You’re also a trained investigator, and one of six people in the world who know the truth about my husband. I want you to help me find the people who have Stephanie.”
“There should be an entire FBI ‘Fly Team’ on the ground by now. FBI agents involved with the rapid deployment teams handle logistics, and have hostage negotiators, crisis managers, evidence response teams. They’re very good at what they do. I ask you again, what is it you think I can do?”
“William, with his status in the State Department, waved off all help from the FBI. William, Buck, and Michael are all down there thinking they can do this alone. They’re operating in a completely reactive mode, waiting for the exchange. As far as I can tell, William is treating this as a business transaction.”
“I’m not sure that’s the best approach. Does he have the ransom money? Have there been any demands? Does he have proof of life?”
“That’s exactly why I need you,” Lauren said. “Yes, there’s money in Guatemala for the ransom. As far as your other questions, I have no idea.”
“Are you still connected with the DIA?”
“Yes, but I’m hesitant to use them directly. I have some indirect access, but nothing high-level.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Montero said. “The two of us trying to find specific kidnappers, in a third-world country without federal help, is like trying to find the Titanic while standing in Kansas.”
“I’m not saying we don’t have some assets,” Lauren replied. “We have an unlimited budget, and you still have connections in this town. You’re a decorated former FBI agent, and I’m a research analyst. If we can get access to the right files, we can be more than reactive. We can be proactive.”
“Where do we even start?”
“I’ll get an update from Donovan and William later tonight. I think I can also get Buck to keep me in the loop.”
“I’m a former FBI agent. Even when I was an active agent, the FBI didn’t always like the way I played. What makes you think they’ll even talk to me?”
“You brought down a terrorist cell bent on killing millions of Americans. You shot and killed the terrorist leader. The only person more famous than you in this town is the Navy SEAL who pulled the trigger on bin Laden. You need to embrace that celebrity.”
“We both know I didn’t pull that trigger,” Montero said.
“We can discuss that detail another time, but for now, the rest of the world believes differently. We both know you’re a master at getting what you want. Use whatever connections you have inside the FBI and learn what you can. I’ll dig up everything I can find through my channels, and we’ll sort it all out together.”
“You think these people have kidnapped before?”
“I believe so,” Lauren replied. “There are roughly three thousand kidnappings a year in Central America. Once we filter out the drug-related, the custody disputes, and the kidnappings of locals, the number drops precipitously. I think there’s a chance we can identify the group, maybe even the individual responsible. It’s what I do. I sift through mountains of data—it doesn’t matter if it’s meteorological or statistical, the methods are the same. We look for small anomalies, trends, repeating patterns, commonalities, and then make predictions on future behavior. Add to the equation your instincts as an investigator, and we can cover a great deal of ground. We just need better data.”
“How’s Donovan doing?” Montero asked. “Emotionally I mean, being in Central America and dealing with another kidnapping?”
“I don’t really know, but if I had to guess, not very well. Last night I found him on the computer, reliving his past. He was looking at pictures of Meredith and Robert Huntington, reading both of their obituaries. We’ve been apart, so I have no real fix on the depth of his guilt these days or his state of mind. I’m worried.”
“Worried enough to call me, I get it. I’m on my way. Once I arrive in Virginia, I’ll need a hotel and a rental car.”
“Where are you?”
“Boca Raton, Florida.”
“I’ll arrange a private jet, then text you the details. And, Veronica, I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
“I made Donovan a promise, and that’s something I don’t do lightly. Though I do have one more request.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t ever call me Veronica. It’s Ronnie, or Montero.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The State Department Boeing lifted off and Donovan watched as it climbed and banked to the north, the ransom note safely aboard. Behind him, two vehicles, a Mercedes and an SUV, pulled across the ramp and eased into the hangar. William and his security detail had arrived.
William read the crude note Buck had photographed, and then closed his eyes as if saddened by some great weight.
“Where did you get this?” William asked, after he’d collected his thoughts.
“Janie found it outside the hangar,” Buck said. “The airplane we flew in on was still on the ramp. I took the liberty of packaging the envelope together and sending it with them back to Washington. I just got off the phone, and the FBI has agreed to meet the airplane to collect the package. I was promised a preliminary report as soon as possible. I also spoke with the embassy here and managed to expand the security to cover all the USGS employees.”
“I see. The FBI makes sense. That was quick thinking on your part,” William said. “If we’re going to get any leads, it’ll most likely come from their laboratory, as opposed to here. Do we think the fingerprint is Stephanie’s? And, if so, was it really her blood?”
“It could be anyone’s. The bigger question was how the note was delivered—what made the kidnappers think the USGS is connected to you?” Donovan said. “And how did they know it was this hangar? There’s no name on the door, nothing to differentiate this from the other dozen-or-so structures that line this side of the airport.”
“Someone is watching the activity at the airport,” Buck said. “That’s the only explanation. We can’t trust anyone. I go back to what I said earlier, these are most likely professionals, not amateurs, and we know that at least one of them is in Guatemala City.”
“Do you think Stephanie is in Guatemala City as well?” William asked.
“To be honest, sir,” Buck shook his head. “She could be anywhere.”
“We’ve got less than three days to find her,” William said softly.
“Did you learn anything at the embassy?” Donovan needed to know they were making progress, that their collective brain trust would come across something, anything, that would send them down the correct path.
“Nothing encouraging, I’m afraid.” William shook his head. “I was briefed by the ambassador, who, along with his deputy chief of mission, explained that right now diplomatic relations with the Gu
atemalan government are far from ideal. The ongoing corruption, drug trafficking, and now all of this—hasn’t helped mend any fences. This entire country is experiencing a sharp increase in the number of crimes committed against foreigners. It’s an epidemic.”
“How many of those crimes were kidnappings?” Donovan asked, trying to shift the focus back to Stephanie. Donovan knew enough about the third world, as well as William’s sensibilities, to understand the elder statesmen’s anguish.
“Did you sense anything when you were talking to them?” Buck asked. “Is there some kind of organized gang at work here?”
“No. Gangs are certainly a problem, but they’re not well organized, though they tend to be well armed and extremely violent. In some of the cases, I was told the suspects wore partial police uniforms, which indicates certain elements of the police could be corrupt. In fact, it almost goes beyond simple corruption—into the realm of human rights violations. In Guatemala they have an abundance of weapons, governmental and judicial dysfunction, and an entrenched legacy of violence. The ambassador told me that there are more private police in Guatemala than actual police officers—because of the abuses.”
“If we can’t trust anyone local, are we going to be able to protect all of our people?” Donovan asked.
“Yes,” Buck said without hesitation. “And if I need to bring in some more people, I will.”
“Did you talk to anyone who might be able to help us?” Donovan asked William. If the entire country was corrupt, and they couldn’t trust anyone, they were going to have major problems finding Stephanie. “Do we have any leads at all?”
“I’m afraid we don’t,” William said quietly, angrily. “All I heard today was the usual diplomatic rhetoric. We’re outsiders, and whoever did this knows we’re here and that they have the upper hand. I’m afraid for now, we can only wait until another note arrives. Then we react.”
Aftershock: A Donovan Nash Novel (A Donovan Nash Thriller) Page 6
