Aftershock: A Donovan Nash Novel (A Donovan Nash Thriller)

by Philip Donlay

  “What about the girl who was kidnapped several days ago, any more on her situation?” Buck asked.

  “They said it’s a local matter,” William replied. “End of subject. What I was told is that we need to get the Scimitar into the air. The people studying this eruption have precious little information about the mountain and the people who may be in danger. I think our project may provide exactly what they need. Also, if the kidnappers are still in that area, and I believe they are, we may be able to spot something. I’m certain they haven’t calculated a drone into their operation parameters.”

  “I agree,” Buck said. “My feeling is Stephanie isn’t far from where she was taken. I know in the Middle East, when we took hostages—I guess I should call them POWs—we never wanted to move them very far if we didn’t have to.”

  “Sounds like we each have jobs to do,” William said. “The overriding message I walked away with today is that the people we’re up against are brutal. We in turn shouldn’t hesitate to play by their rules; do whatever we need to do and deal with the consequences later. And Buck, whatever you do, don’t forget your primary job, which is to protect the people of Eco-Watch.”

  “Yes, sir,” Buck replied. “I understand completely.”

  “Thank you,” William replied. “Now, if you’d be kind enough to give me a moment to speak with Donovan privately.”

  Donovan waited patiently as Buck excused himself. Once he was gone, he looked at William expectantly.

  “I can see it in your eyes,” William said with a soft, yet authoritative tone.

  “What is it you think you see?” Donovan asked. “And is it anything I don’t see in yours?”

  “I don’t think you see bloodlust in my eyes,” William replied. “In yours, I see a desperation that I haven’t seen for over twenty years. I noticed it the second we stepped off the airplane. The feel of this place set you off, didn’t it? It’s something I’d hoped I’d never see you experience again. And now that you’re here, I’m worried.”

  Donovan wished he had something to say to refute William’s words, but every denial he gave would sound like the lie it was. William had known him his entire life and missed little.

  “Good,” William said. “At least you’re not going to deny it. I’ve seen you grow from a boy into a man, a process that hasn’t been easy. I’ve also seen you since you met Lauren and started a new life as a husband and father. Despite all the problems the two of you have, you’re still as happy as I’ve ever seen you, but the changes in the last two days are—worrisome. You know I love you as if you were my own son, and right now I’d like nothing better than for you to go home. I can’t stand the thought of losing either Stephanie or you. To lose both of you would be immeasurable.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Donovan stated. “Since you know me so well, I’d like to remind you that the one thing I don’t do—it’s something you’ve instilled in me since I was a teenager—I don’t run from something just because it’s difficult. I’ll get through this, and right now we both have bigger things to worry about than my mood.”

  “Go home,” William urged, his voice barely a whisper.

  “You, of all people, should understand why I’m not leaving. I can’t believe you’d even ask.”

  “Go home to your wife,” William insisted.

  “Meredith understands!” Donovan responded with far more force than he intended, and the moment the words escaped his lips, he realized what he’d said. Thoughts about Meredith had somehow merged with Lauren’s, and two women were blurred. His subconscious swirled with guilt and confusion, his emotions sparked by his anger.

  “I rest my case,” William said.

  As William walked back out to his embassy-supplied Mercedes, Donovan watched and thought of all the valid reasons William wanted him out of Guatemala. There was only one reason to stay, which was Stephanie, and that was enough.

  “Donovan! The chopper’s ready,” Buck called out from the ramp. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Donovan found Janie and Eric already in the cockpit. A short, muscular soldier wearing a beret smiled broadly as he waited for them at the door. Donovan thought the 412 looked like a minivan with rotors. It was far bigger than the helicopter it had replaced.

  “Janie says the weather at the volcano is good right now, but thunderstorms will start building soon,” Buck said as they neared the helicopter. “The man in uniform is Cesar. He’s a flight mechanic with lots of experience operating the external hoist. A friend of mine recommended him from back when the CIA was down here running joint anti-drug operations with the Guatemalan army.”

  Donovan shook hands with Cesar as he stepped up onto the skid and into the cabin. He went forward, said hello to Eric and Janie, then took a minute to scan the instrument panel. The inside of the helicopter smelled like a new car, everything clean and pristine. As with any piece of Eco-Watch equipment, no expense had been spared. Both Janie and Eric looked and acted at home as they began starting engines.

  Malcolm and Lillian boarded and chose their seats. Malcolm sat next to the door, his wife in a middle seat; Donovan settled into a seat by the opposite door. Malcolm and Lillian were instantly busy. From their duffel bag came an array of cameras, printouts, notepads, and markers. Malcolm handed Donovan a pair of expensive binoculars. He thanked him and looped the strap around his neck. Through a narrow gap between the front seats, Donovan had a partial view of the instrument panel. He watched Janie’s deft movements as her hands moved swiftly from one task to another. Donovan recognized a comfortable pilot when he saw one, and, even though he disliked helicopters, he relaxed a little at the thought of Janie at the controls.

  The main rotor sliced through the air above them, and then accelerated. Cesar stood out on the ramp, giving the helicopter one last look before flashing Janie a thumbs up and running and jumping aboard. He sat in a small chair facing Lillian, buckled in, and pointed up to the headsets hanging above them.

  Donovan slid his headset on and swung the boom microphone into position. “Hello? Testing.”

  Moments later, everyone in the helicopter was plugged in and communicating free from the noise of the rotor. The 412 lifted off, hovered briefly, then Janie pivoted the helicopter smartly to the west, and they surged forward across the airfield.

  Donovan automatically tightened his harness. This was the unnatural part about helicopters—the lack of a proper takeoff roll. Below him, Donovan was able to survey the airport. To his left, across the runway, was the main terminal, its assortment of familiar commercial jets clustered together. To his right, and of far more interest, were the other planes—some flyable, others, obvious derelicts. There were ancient DC-3s sitting abandoned in the long grass. A Boeing 727 and a DC-8 sat on a separate ramp, the equipment nearby told him he was looking at the air cargo facility. Scattered amongst the hangars were a slew of smaller wrecked planes. There was one section of the tarmac where the planes were parked in organized rows; these were the planes that might actually fly. There were the usual, small twin-engine Piper and Beechcraft models, plus a couple of older corporate jets, and some other single-engine propeller types. Off to the side were two high-winged Cessna 185 amphibians, the floats allowing them to land on water or land. Both were painted in the same yellow, orange, and red color scheme. Donovan tagged them as sightseeing planes.

  The airport flashed beneath them, and then there was nothing below them but Guatemala City. As far as Donovan could see were houses and buildings stacked upon one another. Power lines crisscrossed from one block to the next. Smoke drifted from chimneys scattered between satellite dishes. Narrow, unorganized roads snaked through brightly painted concrete structures. The further they flew, the more the poverty became evident. Fragile, makeshift shacks perched on hillsides, livestock fed in the ditches, and smoke-belching buses inched though it all in the morning traffic. The thought that Stephanie could be down there terrified him, because if she were, he knew they’d never find her.
/>   “Mr. Nash?” Lillian touched his arm.

  Donovan glanced over, thankful that she’d drawn his attention to the inside of the helicopter. She handed him a clipboard; attached were sheets with numerous images of the volcano, and most looked like they were taken from a satellite.

  “We just received these this morning,” Lillian said as she leaned over.

  Donovan nodded as if he understood what the complicated data meant.

  Lillian used the tip of her pen as a pointer and began to explain. “As you can see, this first image is from NASA’s Terra satellite. It uses a complicated algorithm to seek out high-temperature heat sources, or hot spots, if you will. These are usually an indication of lava working its way toward the surface. The interesting thing about this image is that the hot spot on Mt. Atitlán is growing in intensity at an alarming rate, actually. It’s extraordinary.”

  Donovan glanced up to see if Buck was reacting to this information. He knew the former SEAL was listening and should be just as interested as he was in these new developments.

  Buck turned. “How long before it could erupt?”

  “Days, weeks, months, or maybe never.” Lillian shrugged. She took the clipboard from Donovan, flipped through several pages, then handed it back to him. “This is also from the Terra satellite, only this format measures changes in the surface itself. It looks down at the ground from different angles, and then creates a digital 3-D image of the mountain. Any major surface deformation becomes obvious. Like this right here, tells us that there has been a meter increase in the bulge on the side of Atitlán in the last thirty-six hours.”

  “Is that a lot?” Donovan didn’t doubt for a moment what Lillian was telling him, the evidence was clearly visible on the image, he just didn’t have any point of reference.

  “We volcanologists get excited about seeing a twenty-centimeter rise over the span of two years. For perspective, the bulge on the north flank of Mt. St. Helens was growing at a rate of five feet per day just before it exploded. So, to answer your question, Mr. Nash, yes, it’s a lot.”

  Donovan felt his ears pop as the helicopter climbed. The terrain below had changed; the sprawling city had given way to scrub trees and mountains. He scanned the horizon. With the sun behind him, he was met with an incredible vista of the mountain range that traversed the southern third of Guatemala. To the south was Pacaya; a wisp of steam blew from the cone at the volcano’s summit. Farther away he could pick out Agua and Fuego. They rose to over 11,000 feet above sea level and towered high above them. Donovan felt a chill not related to the dropping temperature. The volcanoes were a sharp reminder of the energy that lay beneath the earth. He couldn’t ignore feeling small and insignificant against nature’s fury.

  The helicopter thudded along as Janie followed the main road that led the one hundred miles from Guatemala City to Lake Atitlán. The road gave her a constant reference and kept them clear of the hills; it would also be about the only suitable place to land if they had mechanical problems.

  “There they are.” Buck’s voice filled Donovan’s headset. Buck turned and pointed out the front windscreen.

  Donovan stretched until he could finally see. Lying in a shadow of clouds were the distinct cones of all three volcanoes bordering the south side of Lake Atitlán. Mt. Tollimán, San Pedro and Atitlán. The lake’s cobalt-blue water glistened in the morning light. As they sped closer, Donovan used the binoculars to make out some of the details. The clouds that shadowed the peaks weren’t clouds at all, he discovered, but a plume of ash venting from Mt. Atitlán.

  “Isn’t it amazing!” Lillian said.

  Donovan could see the exhilaration on her face and he began to understand what motivated these people.

  “The lake is the remnant of a huge volcanic eruption, a gigantic crater that filled up with water,” Malcolm said, looking up from adjusting his camera. “We’re talking a mega eruption that would make Mt. St. Helens look like a polite after-dinner burp. St. Helens released two cubic kilometers of rock and ash. It’s estimated that the explosion here, some eighty-five thousand years ago, released over one hundred eighty cubic kilometers of debris.”

  Donovan raised the binoculars. Despite the vibration from the helicopter, he was able to pick out the small white dots that represented the villages that lined the lakeshore. As he scanned south along the shore, the ground took on a different pallor, the vivid greens and whites faded and blended into sections obscured by sections of gray. Donovan studied the shift in colors and realized he was looking at the ashfall from the earlier eruptions.

  Janie was flying low and fast as they passed over the eastern shore of the lake. Below, the shoreline was steep and rocky. At first glance, the placid water seemed devoid of any boats, but as Donovan’s eyes swept the water he spotted the telltale wakes from two small vessels. The lake was virtually deserted.

  “Where are we going first?” Donovan asked, not sure who might answer.

  “We’re going to where Stephanie was taken,” Buck replied. “Janie will drop you and me off, and then Malcolm and Lillian can make their observations. When they’re finished, they’ll swing back and pick us up for the trip back.”

  Donovan straightened up in his seat and focused on the distant shore. The lake itself was probably eleven miles across at this angle. The closer they got to the far shore, the bigger and more ominous the volcano looked.

  “I won’t be able to land in the clearing you want to visit,” Janie’s voice filled Donovan’s headphones. “It’s too steep, but I will be able to hover close to the ground not far away, and you can jump.”

  “What about when you come back to get us?” Donovan asked.

  “Several hundred yards downhill is another clearing that might allow me to hover just above the ground,” Janie replied. “Otherwise, we’ll use the hoist.”

  Cesar smiled and pointed to the harness that was coiled on the floor—it was attached to the thin cable of the rescue hoist.

  Janie flew the helicopter in a wide circle and began to slow. Buck pointed out the left side and called out to Donovan. “That’s the village of Santiago Atitlán. They came over on a boat from across the lake, and put to shore down there and started up the mountain.”

  Donovan watched as Janie slowed the helicopter and guided it closer to the trees. He was stunned by how sharply the terrain rose above them. The volcano dwarfed both man and machine. After what seemed like forever, there was a small break in the canopy of trees. Janie brought the craft smoothly into a hover and at the same time inched the 412 closer to the ground. The rotor wash whipped the trees bordering the clearing into a frenzy.

  “Let’s go!” Buck yelled back toward Donovan after he removed his headset.

  Donovan unfastened his harness, handed his own headset to Cesar, and stepped closer to the door. He let Buck go first. Donovan guessed the distance at only four to five feet. Once Buck moved out of the way, Donovan too stepped free of the helicopter and hit the soft earth. The buffeting from the 412’s main rotor was enormous. Overhead, Janie pulled away from them, electing to dive down the hillside and pick up speed as she headed out over the water. The whine of the engines and the drumbeat sound of the helicopter quickly vanished until the air was strangely still. Donovan was unprepared for the ominous feeling generated by standing on the side of an active volcano. Far above them, the steam and ash drifted away and posed no immediate threat, but the potential of what could happen made him uneasy.

  “Follow me,” Buck said as he moved quickly toward the nearest group of trees. “Stay down. I want to wait here for a moment and make sure our arrival hasn’t drawn any unwanted visitors.”

  Donovan knelt next to Buck. “I can’t believe it’s so quiet, there’s no noise from anything.”

  “I noticed,” Buck whispered in return as he set his pack down and unzipped the main compartment. “That’s what bothers me, it’s unusual. We’ll wait here and watch what happens. We have a portable radio, and Janie’s monitoring the frequency. So stay close.
If we need to get out in a hurry, she’ll be here as fast as she can.”

  Donovan watched as Buck pulled a compact automatic weapon from the pack, quickly checked it over, then slung it over his shoulder. Donovan quietly jacked a shell into the chamber of his Sig.

  Buck glanced at Donovan’s weapon but said nothing. He slowly turned side to side as he listened intently for any sounds that might indicate they had company. “I think we’re good. Let’s have a look around. Stay where I can see you, and unless I tell you specifically to shoot, leave the gunplay to me.”

  Donovan stood up and joined Buck and they made their way through the cornfield. A fine coating of ash dusted most of the leaves, but the deposits here weren’t nearly as severe as he’d seen earlier through the binoculars. It didn’t take Buck long to find where the three men had been killed. The plants surrounding the area had been trampled flat by the boots of the searchers who’d discovered the bodies.

  “This is the place.” Buck turned and looked toward the west. “You can still see where the ground soaked up the blood. From what I understand, the bodies were found partially buried amongst the trees down below us. The spent 7.62mm shell casings were over there. The USGS team had just started digging this hole for their seismic equipment when the people who shot them arrived.”

  “They’re scientists, so they wouldn’t immediately run if they saw someone on the footpath. Plus, they had an armed guard.”

  “The initial investigation didn’t find any other shell casings,” Buck added. “They must have taken the guard completely by surprise because he didn’t get off a single shot.”

  “But why would they come out of nowhere and just start shooting? It doesn’t make any sense. Especially if they’re kidnappers, they’d want to neutralize the guard, but keep the others alive.” Donovan tried to stay focused, but the thoughts of Meredith came rushing at him with astonishing clarity. He tried to shut it out, but in his mind’s eye, he was back in Costa Rica. Meredith was next to him in the back of their hired car. A vehicle blocked the road. The dark-clad figure had dashed out of the shadows, the windows of the car shattered, the doors flung open. Their driver died instantly in a hail of gunfire. A rifle butt was slammed into Donovan’s face as Meredith was physically dragged from the car, screaming for help. The echo of her screams was all he could hear as his world faded and he lost consciousness—it was the last time he ever saw her alive.