“Donovan!” Buck jostled his arm. “Quit thinking so hard, you’re going to hurt yourself.”
Donovan’s face felt flush. When he opened his eyes, the images started to recede, but the physical effects lingered. He looked to his left and found a puzzled expression fixed on Buck’s face. “What? What did you say?”
“I think the bad guys walked into the clearing and started shooting. Any other scenario puts the shell casings closer to where the victims were killed. The question is, why?”
“The question is…where was Stephanie?” Donovan let his words drift off as a thought came to him. Here he was, standing in a clearing looking downhill at one of the most beautiful lakes he’d ever seen. Stephanie would have been shooting images like crazy. Donovan turned and studied the terrain up the mountain from where they stood. “I’ll bet she was up there. If Rick and Oliver had just begun, then so had she. The first place she’d go would be to the high side of the clearing. She’d want to frame the pictures against the backdrop of the lake. I doubt if she was helping them dig. I’m going up there.”
“Let’s go look,” Buck agreed. Gesturing for Donovan to lead the way, Buck brought up the rear, the machine gun balanced firmly in both hands.
Donovan moved carefully so that he didn’t miss anything. If Stephanie had walked in this direction, there might still be tracks. He took a quick glance behind him and saw that Buck was doing the same thing, studying the ground as they walked. Silently, they made their way upward. Far in the distance, Donovan could just make out the faint sound of the helicopter, beating rotors reached his ears then just as quickly faded away. Donovan thought about how quiet it was, as if there was a complete absence of life around them. That’s what’s happening, Donovan thought, the birds and animals are gone, as if they somehow sense an impending eruption.
“Over here,” Buck’s voice broke the silence. “I found some tracks.”
Looking down at the dirt, Donovan could see the impressions. It looked as if someone had stood in one place, and then moved from side to side. Exactly what a photographer would do to frame the shot. Beyond was a series of different marks in the soil.
Buck scanned the area, then pointed. “She squatted to get a different angle. See how the impressions are deeper at the balls of her feet? Different center of gravity. See these marks? They’re hers, backing up while she tried to stay low. You were right, she was up here when the shooting started. Stephanie was trying to escape into the trees.”
“She didn’t get very far.” Donovan could now clearly picture the events. “There’s another set of boot prints coming out of the trees. Someone came up behind her.”
“The bad guys rushed into the clearing and started shooting. Stephanie was up here, and I’m guessing she was trying to back out of the clearing into the trees. When they did spot her, they didn’t kill her like the others, they took her. Seems she was the target all along.”
Donovan slumped, deflated. He was standing in the very spot Stephanie had been taken. If Buck was correct, she’d watched the murder of three men and then been taken prisoner. Donovan tried to take a deep calming breath, but couldn’t. He looked out over the lake, toward the towns he knew were located on the distant shore. Was she close? Had she heard the sound of the helicopter as they’d flown over earlier? Did she hope it was someone coming to rescue her—had her hopes been dashed when the helicopter didn’t land, but, instead, droned on into the sky?
“Let’s look around some more,” Buck said. “We’ve got some time before Janie comes back for us.”
Donovan turned toward Buck and then hesitated, not really understanding why. It was as if something was out of place. A momentary flash of color had registered, and his subconscious itched at him to stop and go back. Slowly, so as not to disturb the process, Donovan retraced his thoughts and actions, not at all sure what he’d noticed. His eyes darted from one footprint to another, seeing only the dirt and matted-down plants. He moved closer and knelt to get a different angle. He spotted a red object, hidden in the curl formed by the leaf of a plant as it grew out from the stalk. Donovan crouched and carefully reached out, as if it might vanish if he made one errant move.
“What are you doing?” Buck had stopped, turning toward Donovan. “Did you find something?”
Donovan pulled the memory card off the leaf and held it up for Buck to see. “This has got to be Stephanie’s. She’s clever, I’m guessing she somehow managed to leave it behind on purpose.”
“We’ll know soon enough.” Buck slid his daypack from his shoulder and from a pocket pulled out a compact camera. He removed his memory card and slid in the one they’d just found. Donovan moved in close so they could both see.
The first exposures were of the lake, followed by shots of the boat. It had been a cloudy day so the volcanoes weren’t visible. Casual shots of both Rick and Oliver as they set out to hike up the mountain, she standing between them, her hair pulled back, a green jacket and khaki field pants. A floppy hat with the bill turned up revealed a smile on her face. There was no fear in her eyes. Buck kept cycling through the images and then slowed as they both recognized the clearing. The next half-dozen pictures were of the two USGS men as they began to set up their equipment.
The next shot was taken through a fairly long lens, but the stark terror was plainly evident on the young girl’s face pictured in the photo. Donovan cringed as the image sent involuntary chills down to the small of his back. The next image was of three armed men dressed as soldiers.
“They’re not soldiers,” Buck said. “The uniforms don’t match, there are no insignias, and they’re approaching the clearing all wrong. These men have never been in anyone’s army.”
“I see that, but we agree the men are chasing the girl?”
“Yeah,” Buck replied and went through the next few images. There were three different pictures of the soldiers. Stephanie had gotten a clear shot of each man’s face.
The next photos began with an explosion of blood as the USGS guard was shot and killed. The next one showed the taller of the USGS men standing in front of the girl, followed by him falling backward, two holes in his shirt where the bullets had penetrated his chest. By the time Stephanie captured an image of the remaining scientist, he had already been shot and was in a heap on the ground. The final image was of the girl standing alone, surrounded by the three bodies. Both of her hands covered her mouth in what must have been abject disbelief. Even on the camera’s small screen, Donovan could see her expression of horror, mixed with all-encompassing fear. He wanted to look away, but didn’t; he could feel the white-hot heat of revenge as it spread from the flush of his face and ran his entire body.
Buck lowered the camera. “I was wrong. The kidnapping hadn’t been planned, it was a spontaneous accident.”
Donovan felt an odd vibration through the soles of his feet that quickly turned into a distinct tremor as the ground moved beneath them. Buck snapped his head uphill as several sharp reports sounded from up the mountain. The shock waves ripped past them in seconds then echoed through the hills. The trees around them shook. Dislodged by the earthquake, a small avalanche of rocks, some the size of bowling balls, rolled out into the clearing—then it ended.
A moment later, Donovan smelled the strong odor of sulfur.
“Run!” Buck yelled as he put his hand over his nose and mouth.
Donovan took off down the hill. Each breath he took seemed to sear his throat and lungs. His eyes watered and he had trouble seeing the path.
“Janie!” Buck yelled into the radio. “An earthquake opened a vent, there’s poison gas. We’re moving downhill as fast as we can. Hurry!”
Donovan was light-headed and felt like he was going to be sick to his stomach. Another earthquake shook the ground. He lost his balance and was about to go down when a strong hand gripped him under the arm and steadied him.
“Keep moving!” Buck yelled as they pounded down the dirt trail.
Donovan wanted to reply, but each breath of toxic
air burned and hurt. The light-headedness was getting worse. His head was spinning. He blinked wildly to try to clear the tears so he could see. He had no idea how long he could keep running. The earth rumbled beneath him and seemed to be getting louder. Donovan felt disoriented, oddly detached from the events going on around him. With Buck urging him on, he kept putting one foot in front of the other, his entire field of vision was focused three feet in front of him, trying not to fall.
They burst into a small clearing, and Buck tackled Donovan from behind, bringing him to the ground. Donovan hit hard, gasping for air. He rolled onto his back as the big Bell 412 roared into the clearing only inches above them. Janie locked the helicopter into a motionless hover. Through tear-filled eyes, Donovan could see Cesar motion them into the open door.
Donovan swayed as he tried to stand. Buck once again clutched him under the arm and pushed him up to where Cesar could use both hands to pull him into the cabin. Buck was next and, once they were aboard, Janie pivoted the helicopter and accelerated away from the mountain.
“Lie still,” Lillian ordered as she knelt over him. “Open your eyes if you can.”
Donovan did as he was told. The feeling of fresh air going into his lungs was the sweetest thing he’d ever experienced. He relished the feeling of cool water hitting his face, flushing out his tortured eyes. He could finally see well enough to take in the fact that Malcolm was doing the same to Buck. He felt his head clear and the dizziness ebb.
“You’ll be fine in a few hours,” Lillian said.
“What happened?” Donovan asked, his voice dry and raspy.
“An earthquake opened a large vent in the crust and released a toxic mixture of gases. I can still smell the sulfur on your clothes, so we know there was sulfur dioxide. There was probably hydrogen sulfide, carbon dioxide, and any number of other elements. Most of them are extremely toxic in high concentrations. You were lucky we were close.”
Donovan nodded and closed his eyes. He thought of the little girl. The lost expression on her face as she’d witnessed the savagery of the men who’d captured her. They were the same men who’d taken Stephanie.
CHAPTER NINE
Lauren sat in her Land Rover outside Signature Flight Support at Dulles airport. The late summer sun was low on the horizon and cast an orange glow on the buildings. A text message had alerted Lauren to the fact that the chartered jet she was waiting for had landed. Up ahead, the glass doors opened, and a dark-headed, attractive, athletic-looking woman in dark glasses strode out into the sunlight. Veronica Montero, former FBI special agent, had arrived.
Lauren knew a great deal about Montero from reading confidential files. Montero was a natural blonde, looked thirty, but was in reality pushing forty. She’d never married, and until recently, had been a career FBI agent. Highly decorated for her work bringing down a terrorist cell, she’d retired, partly because of her injuries at the hands of one of the terrorists, but mostly because her public exposure had ended her days as a field agent. Through benefactors, she’d been given the money to expand a series of women’s shelters in Southern Florida where she could work outside the public eye. She was an expert shot and a martial arts instructor, and unless some miraculous transformation had occurred in the last eighteen months, Montero had an attitude, a temper, and could be trusted to resort to violence if provoked.
Montero also knew Donovan’s secret. She’d uncovered the truth during an investigation she’d led in Florida. Upon learning about his past, her first instinct had been to blackmail him, but her subsequent actions had been to save his life and help bury his secret. If nothing else, former FBI Special Agent Montero was an intelligent, complex woman, with resources and a moral compass that, for the most part, pointed north. Lauren steered the SUV to intercept her guest, wondering if she were even remotely doing the right thing.
As Lauren pulled to the curb, Montero removed her sunglasses, slid them on top of her head, leaned down, and the two women locked eyes. They were well aware of each other, and though they’d only met in person once, briefly, they’d significantly altered each other’s life. Montero opened the backseat passenger door, placed her roller bag on the floor, and then closed the door. Without a word, she looked up and down the line of cars around them and then slid into the front seat of the SUV.
“Did you have a good flight?” Lauren asked, not at all certain what Montero’s mood would be.
“Yes, it was good, thank you for that. I was able to work and we’ve already received some information from a friend of mine at FBI headquarters.” Montero slid her sunglasses back into place. “I was able to get an update from Guatemala, as well as some archived files. I think you might be right about a reoccurring pattern.”
“I’ve done some digging as well.” Lauren put the SUV in gear, checked her mirrors and swung out from the curb. “We need to sit down and talk in private where we can compare notes.”
“Any place in mind?” Montero asked as she put on her seat belt.
“My house,” Lauren said, before she’d really thought it through. Technically, it was their house, and even though she’d been gone a year, these last three months with him gone made it feel more like her place than Donovan’s. “I’m assuming you know that Donovan and I are separated?”
“I knew that—Donovan and I do stay in touch—though I haven’t talked to him since he went to Montana. I guess that makes it three months or more since we last spoke.”
Lauren hadn’t known the two of them had stayed in touch and hesitated, then reminded herself this was the exact reason she’d called Montero, so she didn’t have to filter each and every action and comment. As she drove, she caught Montero looking at her, assessing her.
“You’re what I expected—for the most part you look like a suburban housewife,” Montero said. “I know you’ve read a file or two on me, and that you know a great deal about who I am. Since I was asking for files from the FBI, I asked for yours.”
Lauren smiled at the fact that Montero was on her game. Lauren had expected no less. “And?”
“You’re far from a suburban anything. You’re part scientist, part vigilante, on any given day you’re without a doubt the smartest person in the room, and you carry a Glock. You attract men, yet intimidate them with your looks and your brain, and for the very same reasons, you don’t have many women friends. You’ve authored the solutions to national emergencies, and yet you deflect the credit elsewhere. I was particularly interested in a recent report, the one about France and Alaska. It was heavily redacted, but thanks to already having heard most of the story from Donovan, I was able to read between the lines. You and Eco-Watch pulled off some amazing things, yet you broke the law and were in considerable trouble with both the FBI and the CIA, weren’t you? If you’re separated from Donovan, and I’m not here to judge, why do you keep working on his behalf?”
“Being separated doesn’t mean I don’t love him.”
“What does it mean?” Montero asked.
“Do we have a conflict of interest? Do you have an agenda I need to know about?” Lauren asked, acting on impulse. “Have you slept with him?”
“You are direct, aren’t you? The simple answer is ‘no.’ Look, I know without a doubt why I’m here. I made Donovan a promise. Your motivation seems a little less clear. I’m just trying to understand your level of commitment and where it comes from.”
“I’m trying to help my husband and save Stephanie. The by-product of those two actions might save my marriage. So, yes, I’m pretty committed.”
“Are you prepared to use your weapon?”
Lauren glanced down at her purse wedged into the console between them. Her Glock was within easy reach. Montero was pushing buttons, the former FBI agent’s way to try to gain an advantage. She’d seen this behavior before in highly aggressive people. If nothing else, Montero was straight to the point. She understood a little more about why her husband trusted this woman. “I think we both know the answer to that question.”
“I’m
not trying to create barriers,” Montero said. “I know all you think we’re doing is research, but history says it’s never that simple with you. If this turns into a fight, can I rely on you?”
Lauren swung into the driveway, opened the garage door, pulled in, and then made no move to exit the Range Rover. “Yes, you can count on me to answer force with force. Now, I have a question for you. You’ve been talking with my husband more than I have. What’s your assessment of his mental state?”
“This is just my opinion, but I’ll tell you what I told him. When his past intrudes, it pulls him back and he relives his perceived mistakes. He’s caught in some kind of loop, and, in my opinion, until he gets some kind of absolution for those perceived sins, they’ll eventually unravel him, and he won’t make it back.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Lauren opened the door and led the way into the house. She called out to let Aimee, the babysitter, know she was home. The sound of running feet told her Abigail was coming at full steam. The four-year-old blew around the corner, curly hair streaming behind her. She was clutching a sheet of paper.
“Mommy! Aimee and I drew pictures!”
“Slow down, young lady.” Lauren leaned down and caught her excited daughter around the waist and swung her up into her arms. “I thought we talked about running inside the house?”
“But, Mommy, I needed to show you my picture.”
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