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

by Philip Donlay

  When the pilot reached across his body to pop open his window, Donovan thought for a moment that the gun was going to appear in the pilot’s hand. He glanced back at Eva. She was staring out at the shore, her eyes searching. He wondered if she recognized where they were.

  Using the wind and the momentum from the plane, the pilot cut the engine, and they drifted on a line to intersect the long wooden dock. Donovan could only see one man waiting for them. He had a bandana covering his face, an automatic rifle in his hands. Beyond the uneven dock there were stairs that led up the hill to a concrete building. The grass and shrubs were overgrown, and the once-white paint was faded and peeling. The glass in the windows had been broken, and part of the roof had collapsed. The place looked like it had been abandoned a long time ago.

  The pilot pushed hard on the rudder and slowly the plane pivoted to the right. He opened his door and slipped out onto the aluminum float. Moments before they would have hit the dock, the pilot jumped onto the pier and put both hands on the wing strut of the Cessna, using all his weight to slow the plane. They bumped the pilings gently, and the pilot quickly went to work tying off the plane. Donovan could see that the other man had stood back, watching. He used the barrel of his gun to motion them out of the plane.

  As Donovan unfastened his seat belt, he could hear Eva doing the same thing. He scooted across the pilot’s seat toward the open door. He tried to control his breathing. Stephanie must be in the dilapidated building up the hill. They’d only sent one guard down to meet the plane, one who didn’t seem particularly alert. Donovan calculated the angles. If he could get close to the man with the machine gun, he could take him out with a silent blow to the head with the Sig. He could then draw down on the pilot and disarm him. With these two incapacitated, he and Eva could make their way up the hill unopposed. His senses took in every detail around him as he waited for the moment to attack.

  The plane was rocking back and forth from the waves they’d created upon landing. He needed to be firmly on the dock before he made his move. In the distance he could hear a dull roar that seemed to be coming from the clouds themselves; it sounded like distant thunder, but didn’t have the rolling ebbs and flows that came from a storm. The rumble was nearly continuous. As Donovan stepped down to the dock, he felt a strange vibration rise up from the wood. The air smelled of gasoline and rotted fish, as well as the unmistakable odor of sulfur. Now he understood. The low reverberation was coming from the volcano—no doubt spewing ash and gas unseen above the clouds.

  Donovan turned to help Eva from the plane. Once she was planted on the wooden planks, he was going to make his move. With his eyes, he motioned for her to be ready. She was within easy striking distance to incapacitate the pilot who was unloading the cases of money. The man with the machine gun had momentarily diverted his attention from them, his eyes following the cases filled with cash.

  Donovan separated himself from Eva at the same time he reached behind his back for his Sig. The guard was still fixated on the money as Donovan felt the full weight of the weapon in his hand and he raised it like a club. A roar filled his ears, and he felt as if he’d been slammed in the back. Another roar and he dropped his gun and watched as it clattered away. He went down hard, his face hitting the rough planks of the dock. He couldn’t draw a breath as two more gunshots rang out. Darkness began to inch in from the edges of his vision. Footsteps rushed past, but nothing really mattered as he closed his eyes and gave in to the nothingness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Oh, dear God,” Lauren’s anguished cry echoed through the cabin of the Galileo. She slumped against Buck and felt as if all her energy had just been sucked out of her. “We’re too late.”

  “No!” William said and turned away, the color rushing from his face.

  Lauren’s eyes filled with tears. The ghostly off-white infrared image had shown with perfect clarity the two white flashes of heat that came from Eva’s outstretched arm. She’d shot Donovan twice in the back, and he’d crumpled face down on the dock. Without any hesitation, Eva then smoothly turned and shot the other two men, their lifeless bodies falling into the water.

  “Michael!” Buck shouted toward the cockpit. “Flash the cabin lights thirty seconds before we’re over the coordinates. Make sure we’re depressurized, and slow down as much as possible.”

  “He’s dead.” Lauren felt her whole body shudder as Buck guided her to a seat. He lowered her gently.

  “No, he’s not,” Buck answered softly, yet with conviction. “She shot him, but I think she shot him to save his life. In a firefight, no one is going to shoot someone who’s already been shot and appears dead. Donovan’s wearing a bulletproof vest—she knew that. She’s got something else in mind.”

  Lauren nodded her understanding as Buck hurriedly unzipped the satchel the military had delivered. He pulled out a parachute, gloves, and a set of goggles. In less than a minute he’d strapped on the chute, secured his automatic weapon, and was ready to jump from the Gulfstream.

  “I’ll be down there shortly,” Buck said to reassure her. “Just keep watching through the Scimitar.”

  Her ears popped from a sudden pressure change.

  Buck pulled out a small radio and brought it to his mouth. “Michael, can you hear me?” Buck hesitated, and then nodded as his transmission was returned. “I’m moving into position.”

  Lauren followed as Buck rechecked his gear and knelt in the baggage compartment. The fact that her ears had already popped told her that Michael had fully depressurized the plane.

  “It’s going to get loud. When Michael flashes the lights, I want you to slap me on the shoulder.”

  “Can you do me a favor?” Lauren asked. “I think you’re right. Eva has an agenda, and we need to know what it is—keep her alive.”

  “That’s up to her.” Buck adjusted his goggles.

  “Her biggest enemy is going to be Donovan. Don’t let him kill her, please.”

  Buck nodded, then swung the lever and slid the baggage door upward on its tracks.

  Lauren winced at both the noise and the swirling wind that poured into the opening. Racing past below them were the waves from the lake. Buck crouched like an athlete. As Michael flashed the lights, Lauren slapped Buck’s shoulder, and he was gone.

  Lauren pushed the door down and locked it, before rushing forward to watch events unfold over John’s shoulder. On the screen, all she could see was a small dot, then a part of the image seemed to separate and pull apart—becoming two distinct sections until silently, a canopy formed before her eyes. Buck’s chute had opened and he was hanging from the nearly invisible lines, swaying gently back and forth. John banked the Scimitar to give them a different perspective. He zoomed in until they could see Buck’s arms and legs. He adjusted the image, and it took Lauren a moment to understand what she was seeing. Buck was spiraling down in a tight arc, collapsing part of the chute to lose altitude in a hurry. His maneuvering looked as if he was out of control, until he flared and gently touched down on the narrow wooden dock.

  Lauren put one hand over her mouth and waited—praying that Donovan wasn’t dead. William’s face was etched with equal parts concern and worry as they watched Buck slip from the parachute harness and gather in the billowing silk. He discarded the spent canopy in the water, brought his machine gun to his shoulder, and hurried to Donovan. Fresh tears filled Lauren’s eyes, and she held her breath as Buck rolled Donovan over onto his back and leaned in, the two white images blended into one.

  She tried to focus on the screen, the infrared lens didn’t give a true three-dimensional view of what was happening, and the wing of the Cessna tied to the dock momentarily blocked her view. John swung the Scimitar into a tight turn to reposition the cameras. With the new angle, she could see that Donovan was sitting up. When Buck held his thumb in the air to signal that Donovan was alive, Lauren couldn’t see much more through the tears that filled her eyes. Everything she’d learned from Montero came flooding past the shock of seein
g her husband gunned down. She had no idea what was going to happen in the next few minutes. Somewhere up the hill were Stephanie and Marie. As well as Eva—whoever she was.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Donovan gasped against the pain, trying to pull air into his lungs. He hadn’t opened his eyes, but he recognized Buck’s calm voice urging him to breathe. Strong arms had pulled him into a sitting position, and Donovan used his hands to steady himself. His lungs shrieked, and he coughed as the cool air made it all the way down. He blinked wordlessly at the pain that radiated across his back. When he opened his eyes, he could see the lake and the two bodies floating face down in the water. He groaned, managed to twist the other way, and found Buck leaning over him.

  “You’re all right,” Buck said, more command than statement.

  Donovan nodded, still uncertain what had happened, or how long he’d been out. “What happened?” he managed, fighting a wave of dizziness, trying to rise to his knees. The pain in his back nearly doubled him over.

  “Shake it off. The vest stopped the bullets.” Buck hooked an arm under Donovan’s and pulled him to his feet. “Eva shot you. She’s one of the bad guys.”

  “What?” Donovan wobbled slightly back and forth. The cobwebs were starting to clear, but each breath radiated a sharp jab from between his shoulder blades.

  “She’s been playing us the whole time,” Buck explained. “Lauren figured it out.”

  “Lauren? How did…?” Donovan tried to understand. He managed to grab another breath, and the pain was less this time.

  “I have to get up to the house,” Buck said, letting go of Donovan to see if he could stand on his own.

  Donovan read the urgency on Buck’s face and began to feel it himself. Buck held a machine gun equipped with a silencer. He saw the collapsed parachute in the water and understood at least on some level how Buck had arrived.

  “You need to come with me. They might circle back down,” Buck explained. “How do you feel? You just took the equivalent of two ninety-mile-per-hour fastballs right in the back. You’re going to live, but you took a beating.”

  Donovan reached down, picked up the Sig where he’d dropped it, and fell in step behind the former SEAL. Buck put the radio to his mouth and spoke quietly. The volume was turned down so Donovan could only hear a muffled reply.

  “All I want you to do is stay close to me. Understand? Let me do the shooting,” Buck whispered. “John says Eva went this way; he also says there’s someone up beyond those trees.”

  Each step radiated pain down Donovan’s spine, but he forced himself to keep pace with Buck. He scanned both the path and the foliage around the house. He listened carefully for anything above the soft sounds of their footsteps in the dirt. All he heard was the faint roar from the volcano, and he could feel the subtle, unnerving vibrations in the ground.

  Buck hesitated for a fraction of a second and then swept his gun around the trees that John had described. On the ground lay the third body Donovan had seen since they’d landed. This one had two bullet wounds in his chest and a look of surprise etched on his lifeless face.

  “She’s making quick work of her friends,” Buck whispered, then spoke into the radio. “John says it’s clear from here to the west side of the house. Follow me and stay low.”

  Donovan nodded and though his back ached, he did as he was told, his fear and adrenaline propelling him forward. They reached the house and pressed themselves against the cool wall of concrete. With his gun out in front of him, Buck threw himself through the open door, and Donovan followed. They were in what was left of the kitchen. The odor of gunpowder, burnt food, and the buzzing of flies greeted their sudden arrival. Donovan’s eyes jumped from the familiar cases of money sitting on the floor—to the body sprawled by the table. Buck kept the body in his sights as he went to the downed man, a pool of thick blood spreading out from beneath him. Donovan saw the knife in the dead man’s hand, and the trail of blood that led away from the kitchen.

  “I think Eva wants the money for herself,” Buck whispered. “I also think this guy may have cut her.”

  “Do you really think she did all this?” Donovan asked, matching Buck’s whisper.

  Buck nodded and put his finger to his lips as they picked their way across the littered floor toward the next room. To their left, up a narrow stairwell, Donovan could hear the sound of voices. The trail of blood told them that they needed to go upstairs. Buck gingerly put his weight on the first step, then placed his foot near the side, closest to the banister; it creaked ever so slightly.

  Donovan mimicked each move Buck made as they climbed. Three steps from the top, Buck stopped and crouched down as he peeked over the top—scanning the space above them before motioning for Donovan to follow. They both heard the murmur of voices coming from their left. Donovan tightened his grip on his pistol and waited for Buck to round the corner at the top of the metal banister. The voices came from just beyond the door at the end of the hall.

  Buck gestured Donovan off to the side, then reached down and gripped the doorknob. The telltale crimson drops on the floor told them what they needed to know—Eva had gone into this room. Every nerve ending in Donovan’s body was crackling with energy, his mouth was dry, he swallowed hard and waited.

  In one fluid motion, Buck put his shoulder to the door and pushed into the room, going low and left. Donovan followed him and stayed high and right. The room was darker than the hallway, a piece of burlap tacked up over the single window. The air was heavy from the smell of a recently fired weapon. To his left, just within his peripheral vision, Donovan saw a man seated in a steel chair with his head bowed, his hands hanging limply at his side. The wall behind him was splattered with his blood. He knew the man was dead.

  Donovan swung right, looking down the barrel of the Sig, and found Stephanie sitting upright on a filthy cot. Her blonde hair fell in tangles to her shoulders. Her eyes were covered with black fabric, her hands bound in front of her with a plastic tie-wrap. Kneeling over her was a woman. Eva snapped her head at the intrusion as her eyes flew wide in astonishment.

  Donovan saw the knife in Eva’s hand—and the blood. Donovan tightened the pressure on the smooth metal of the trigger; he knew Eva wore a bulletproof vest and he leveled his aim on the flesh above her collar, confident that at this range he couldn’t miss. He heard a scream, but tuned everything out, the words didn’t register. All he wanted was to save Stephanie. He squeezed the trigger until the gun bucked in his hand.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Lauren stood transfixed, her attention torn between the building that Donovan and Buck had entered and the billowing cloud from Atitlán that now filled the window of the Gulfstream. She was tuned into everything around her, and she watched as John maneuvered the Scimitar, keeping the infrared pinpointed on Donovan, and the synthetic aperture radar trained on the volcano. The mountain was spewing volumes of black ash into the air; the bright sunlight had nearly turned to dusk as the sun was obscured by tons of volcanic debris. She, along with William and Michael, were waiting for word from Buck. Lauren’s fists were clinched tight, her fingernails digging into her palms.

  The instant that Buck had leaped from the plane, Michael had banked the Galileo away from the volcano, and they’d accelerated away from the dangerous ash. Once they were a safe distance from the plume, Michael turned the airplane over to Craig, coming out of the cockpit to stand behind her. They were all waiting.

  “Call them,” Michael said, breaking the nearly unbearable silence.

  “Buck ordered me not to,” John stated. “He told me before they went into the house not to transmit under any circumstances. Normally, Special Forces guys are ‘wired up’ as they call it. All of the communications are silent, using earpieces and microphones. We didn’t have that kind of time. He only has the handheld radio; any transmission I make will be heard through the speaker and could give away their position, so all we can do is wait.”

  Michael leaned closer. “Do we have any idea wha
t’s going on in there?”

  John shook his head. “Only through the windows. The concrete is blocking any heat signatures from inside the building.”

  “What about Janie and the helicopter?” Lauren asked, as she felt her eyes start to burn from staring at the screen.

  “I just spoke to her,” Michael said. “She’s forced to go the long way around. She thinks she can be here inside half an hour—maybe.”

  “What was that?” Lauren pointed at the screen.

  “I missed it,” John said. “What did it look like?”

  “Some sort of whitish something?” Michael hesitated as he spoke. “It came from left to right. There it is again. Is it just a glitch in the transmission?”

  “Uh oh,” Lauren said under her breath. She immediately went to one of the large oval windows and looked south. The objects on the screen were white-hot debris raining down from the volcano. A fresh wave of boiling ash mushroomed skyward.

  “Oh God,” William said in a hushed tone as Michael bolted for the cockpit.

  Lauren gripped the back of John’s chair as Michael threw the Gulfstream into a steep bank and brought the engines up to full power, climbing to a point above the debris.

  Lauren absorbed every shred of data on the Scimitar control panel. Her eyes jumped from one screen to the other—the volcano was starting to expel huge chunks of thick orange lava. Each mass was flung free of the cone as it fell away into the cauldron of ash. On the infrared screen, Lauren watched the house. Tied up at the dock, she could see the Cessna’s wings rocking back and forth in a wide arc from the waves created by the initial shock wave. She glanced at William and discovered that his face had gone slack, as if he couldn’t quite grasp what he was seeing.

  “Call them!” Lauren urged again. “Buck’s radio can’t be any noisier than a volcano!”