Seconds to Midnight

by Philip Donlay

  “We have a problem,” Montero said. “I just picked up a black Suburban about eight cars behind us. They’re keeping up with us, not trying to catch us, just following.”

  Donovan was watching them in the side mirror when Montero braked hard to avoid a white Mercedes sedan that pulled out right in front of them. Montero swerved and then passed it. In the rear seat of the Mercedes, Donovan caught sight of a man watching them intently just as he spotted what looked like the twin barrels of a sawed-off shotgun. Before Donovan could shout a warning, Montero cut across traffic, turned hard, and then accelerated.

  “The guy in the back of that car has a shotgun,” Donovan said. “The photo from the hospital parking lot—a white Mercedes was blocking the plate of the Suburban.”

  “We need to gain the advantage. I’d really like to talk to these guys,” Montero said, once again changing lanes.

  Donovan watched as, behind them, the Mercedes held steady and the SUV hung a little further back, clearly content to watch and follow. The sun had finally set, and now, in the headlights, Donovan could see that it was starting to snow.

  “Call Michael and tell him to leave without us,” Montero said.

  Donovan kept his eyes on the two trailing vehicles as he speed-dialed Michael. “Michael, it’s me. Where are you?”

  “We have a problem. Dr. Samuels wouldn’t answer his phone, so we called security, and when they finally opened his room, they found him gagged and taped to a chair. It’s bad,” Michael said, his voice strained and hushed. “He’s been tortured but he’s still alive.”

  “What about Dr. Yates?” Donovan asked.

  “He’s fine,” Michael said. “He’s staying behind to go with Dr. Samuels to the hospital. He said he’d tell the police nothing about Canada. Jesse is on the phone arranging round-the-clock private security for them both. We’re leaving for the airport shortly. Where are you?”

  “We’re not coming. We’ve had some complications of our own. We’re being tailed and we’ve elected not to bring them your way.”

  “I understand. Where are you going?”

  “It’s a moment-by-moment itinerary,” Donovan said. “We still need you to fly up and collect as much information as you can about where the Boeing went down. Call me when you’re ready to taxi out for takeoff.”

  “You got it,” Michael replied. “You know, I’ve been thinking about everything that’s gone down since we landed, and I don’t see how any of this happens unless we were followed from the moment we arrived in Minneapolis. Otherwise there’s no other explanation.”

  “That’s exactly what we think happened. Montero’s Interpol contact, Anna, was found murdered. She knew the details of what took place in Canada, she had the pictures, everything. They had a several-hour head start to get their people into position. We were outplayed, badly. You better get airborne.”

  “Donovan, this situation sucks, you be careful. I’ll call you when we’re starting engines.”

  “Will do.” Donovan ended the call as the illuminated skyline of downtown Minneapolis became visible through the falling snow. With a glance in the mirror, he discovered the Mercedes accelerating, quickly closing the distance.

  “The Mercedes is coming fast.” Donovan rested his finger on the button that would power down the window and allow him to open fire.

  “I see him,” Montero said as she accelerated to match his speed and keep their distance from the powerful Mercedes. “We’re almost to the highway.”

  Donovan kept an eye on the rearview mirror as Montero glanced over her left shoulder, yanked the wheel, and crossed over two lanes amid the angry honking of horns. She tucked against a retaining wall and pressed the gas pedal. They roared into a tunnel, the overhead lights casting an orange glow against the concrete. A road sign advertised multiple exits.

  “Shit,” Montero whispered as her eyes locked on the mirror.

  Donovan, too, saw the white Mercedes round the corner behind them.

  “I want to lose this guy,” Montero called out. “We need a major misdirection.”

  Donovan braced himself as Montero made the exit onto Washington, which fed them off the highway and into the north side of downtown Minneapolis. The rental car’s tires screeched as she accelerated and then turned hard.

  Montero made two more right turns. Dead ahead, Donovan saw they had two choices, 394 West, or 94 West. An instant later in the mirror, he caught sight of the speeding Mercedes as it overshot the turn and vanished. Montero took the 94 West ramp and pushed the sedan as hard as she could. Donovan once again spotted the Mercedes as the driver recklessly backed into the intersection in an effort to follow. An instant later, the cab of an eighteen-wheeler sailed into view and smashed into the Mercedes, spinning it sideways, pushing it over the curb, and then crushing it against the brick wall of a twenty-story building. Through the curtain of now densely falling snow, Donovan caught the flash and glow of what could only be a post-crash fire.

  “Did you see that?” Montero said.

  Donovan felt his phone ringing. A quick glance confirmed the caller. “Michael, are you ready to go?”

  “We have our clearance, but it started snowing pretty heavily, and we’re going to have to shut down and de-ice. Where are you?”

  “We’re traveling west out of town. Call me when you’re airborne.” Donovan ended the call and noticed that the snow was starting to stick to the pavement.

  “Uh-oh,” Montero said as her eyes darted from the mirror to Donovan. “The black Suburban is still back there.”

  Donovan looked in the side mirror and spotted the SUV at the same time a red dot from a laser sight bounced through the interior of the rental car.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE MIRROR ON Donovan’s side of the car exploded and was swept away in the car’s slipstream, leaving only a shattered stub. Montero, in the fast lane, pushed their speed toward eighty. Donovan felt and heard the steady hum from the rubber tires on the concrete change pitch as they hydroplaned over the accumulating snow. Montero pushed the rental faster.

  The two vehicles were jockeying for position. Every now and then, the red dot swept across the interior and then vanished. Donovan pictured the shooter, whose only option was to stick the weapon outside the window into the freezing blast of air and try to hold it steady enough to get off an accurate shot. Almost impossible, except that the SUV was closing the distance.

  As they passed a truck, Montero swung into the right-hand lane to block the SUV’s line of sight. Her eyes were locked on the road. Donovan glanced at the speedometer: ninety miles per hour. He sensed the rear-end getting a little light, but Montero kept them tracking straight ahead.

  “What happens if we get off the highway?” Donovan asked. “Could we lose them on the back roads?”

  “No,” she answered. “Too much snow on the roads. The Suburban may have four-wheel drive. We’ll lose our advantage completely. We have to stay on the Interstate as long as we can.”

  Donovan’s phone rang. It was Michael.

  “Donovan, we’re airborne, just climbing through ten thousand feet, heading north.”

  “They found us and they’re shooting. We need your help.”

  “Where are you?”

  “We’re on Interstate 94, headed northwest. We just passed a town named Rogers.”

  “I’m on it,” Michael said. “Here’s Jesse.”

  “I’m here, Mr. Nash,” Jesse said.

  Donovan let a small grin come to his face. When Michael Ross swung into action, there would be results. In the background, Donovan could hear Michael reel off a series of instructions to Rick. The next thing Donovan heard was Michael transmitting an urgent call to Minneapolis departure control. Reporting they had a baggage door warning light and needed to descend and turn toward St. Cloud airport.

  “I don’t know how much you can hear, Mr. Nash,” Jesse said. “We’re turning and descending. Michael says we’re headed in your direction. We need to know which car is yours.”

&n
bsp; “We’re in a white four-door sedan, going ninety miles per hour. We’re being followed by a black Chevy Suburban. We just went past the exit for a town named Albertville. Monticello is next.”

  “Michael is flying via the heads-up display infrared interface. He’s says we’re coming up fast behind you,” Jesse said. “Michael wants you to flash your bright lights twice.”

  Donovan relayed the instructions to Montero. Cycling the lights heightened their ability to see how hard it was snowing.

  “We have you in sight,” Jesse announced triumphantly. “Mr. Nash, Michael says to stay in your lane, and try to increase the distance between you and the SUV. We’re going dark.”

  Donovan heard Michael telling Rick to turn off all the external lights as well as the altitude reporting connected to the transponder. No one would know the Gulfstream’s altitude except Michael. He’d be flying using the infrared imaging of the Galileo to turn the nighttime blizzard into a sharp black-and-white image.

  “Donovan, it’s Michael. Hey, I just came over the top of you guys. I saw two occupants in the front seat of the SUV, but I also caught another heat source. In the very back, there’s someone lying on their side, as if they were tied up and thrown in the rear door.”

  “The woman?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “If you don’t stop the people shooting at us, or at least slow them down, then it won’t matter who it is.”

  “Got it,” Michael replied. “Tell Montero to go faster and not to flinch.”

  “What’s going to happen?” Montero asked.

  “Focus on the road. The Galileo is running without lights and Michael is going to come in low and fast. He’ll illuminate all the lights at the last second, and it should be enough to scare the crap out of the guys in the SUV. He said not to flinch.”

  Montero didn’t say a word, just pushed the car faster.

  Donovan strained to see in the darkness. They and the SUV were the only vehicles speeding down this section of the Interstate. The darkened Galileo, visible for only an instant in the headlights of the rental car, passed less than twenty feet above them, and as it did, all of the high-intensity lights came on at once and lit up the SUV. The roar from the twin jet engines penetrated through Donovan’s entire body, and Montero flinched and ducked, but held the steering wheel steady as they blew through the snow thrown up by the Gulfstream’s wake.

  Donovan snapped around to watch out the back. Michael had the Gulfstream down on the deck. The Galileo’s brilliant lights no doubt giving the driver of the SUV the impression of an impending head-on collision. Then the Gulfstream pulled up steeply and vanished into the blizzard. The SUV momentarily disappeared in the swirling snow from the Galileo’s turbulence, and when Donovan spotted it again, it was starting to slide sideways.

  The Suburban jerked to the right. The driver tried to correct and began to lose it the other way. Donovan held his breath as the SUV threatened to roll, but the driver caught it, and the vehicle spun completely around before tipping up on two wheels, going over, and landing on the driver’s side. In a shower of sparks, the Suburban rotated until the headlights careened off into the darkness as the heavy vehicle finally came to a stop in the ditch.

  “Stop, go back!” Donovan yelled.

  “Why in the hell would we do that?” Montero said, while at the same time, easing off the gas.

  “The Galileo’s infrared,” Donovan said as he found his gloves. “Michael saw what might be the woman lying in the back of the SUV.”

  Montero slowed, did a skidding U-turn, and raced down the shoulder toward the SUV. As they drew closer, Donovan could see either smoke or steam billowing from under the hood. Montero pulled over and aimed the sedan’s headlights at the scene. She lit up the emergency flashers, pulled her Glock, and jumped out the door. Donovan was right beside her as they surrounded the SUV. Both men were still inside the car amidst deflated airbags and shattered safety glass. They were unconscious, or worse.

  Donovan raced to the shattered rear window and looked inside. In the lights from their rental he could see her. It was the woman, with tie-wraps around her ankles and wrists. He yanked on the handle, but the rear door wouldn’t move. Without hesitating, Donovan went headfirst into the rear compartment and crawled to her. He grabbed her under the arms and pulled her toward the opening where Montero waited.

  “Hurry, cars are coming.”

  Donovan jumped to the ground and eased the woman out. He was about to gather her in his arms when she kicked out with both legs and caught him in the shoulder, then she threw a wild head butt toward Montero. Donovan staggered sideways as Montero slammed the barrel of her Glock under the girl’s chin and used her other hand to punch her hard in the solar plexus. The blow took the fight out of her, and with her hands and feet still bound, Donovan lifted her in his arms. They ran as fast as they could to the rental. Montero held the rear door open, and Donovan eased the woman inside. Then, sliding the seat belt through the tie-wrap on her wrists, he snapped it into place. Montero climbed behind the wheel and killed the lights. Donovan piled in on the passenger side and slammed the door as Montero spun the car around and sped off. Grabbing his phone, Donovan did a quick check to confirm he was still connected to the Galileo.

  “Jesse?”

  “No, it’s Michael. Is everyone okay?”

  “Yeah, we’re good. We have her.”

  “The Galileo is full of fuel,” Michael said. “We’re too heavy to land. What’s the plan?”

  Donovan thought for a moment and then turned to Montero. “They can’t land. Are we good without them until tomorrow?”

  “Ask him if they’re going to the lake,” Montero said.

  “Yes,” Michael said. “We’ll do as much reconnaissance as possible and then land somewhere safe.”

  “Works for me,” Montero said. “We’ve got a lot to do between now and tomorrow morning, anyway.”

  “Fly safe,” Donovan said to Michael. “Let us know where you spend the night. And, Michael—thanks.”

  “No problem. Just try and stay out of trouble until I get back.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “CAN YOU HEAR me?” Donovan said as he clicked on the dome light and leaned into the backseat. He brushed the hair from the woman’s face, but made no effort to free her. The woman, who had been nothing but a wild card from the start, was awake, and no doubt angry. He had no idea what to expect. “Who are you? Can you tell me your name?”

  “You’re him,” she said as she focused on his face in the dim light.

  “Where do you remember me from?”

  “The hospital.”

  “Do you know where you are?” Montero asked.

  The woman acted like she was going to answer, but no words came. She lowered her head as if thinking, but produced nothing more than a look of complete confusion. To Donovan, she said, “Those men, they took me and drugged me. Are they gone?”

  “Yes,” Donovan said. “Do you know who they were?”

  “No.”

  “What questions did they ask you?” Donovan asked. “Did they tell you anything?”

  “They asked me how many people were on the airplane. They kept asking me about Eco-Watch.”

  “Was it one of them who hit me?”

  “No, I hit you. I thought you were a threat.”

  “Oni govoryat po-russki?” Montero asked in Russian.

  “Da ya russkiy.”

  “What was that?” Donovan asked.

  “I asked if the men spoke to her in Russian. She replied yes, and said that she’s Russian.” Montero paused until she made eye contact with the woman in the mirror. “Yest’ li u vas russkoye imya?”

  “Sofya,” she said with a nod and a tiny smile of victory.

  “Sofya? My name is Donovan, and this is Montero. We just rescued you, so you understand we’re not going to hurt you.”

  “The hospital—why was I there? What happened to me?”

  “You were in a plane crash. D
o you remember?”

  Her eyes filled with fear and confusion, “I don’t understand what you’re telling me. How can any of this be happening? Where are we?”

  Donovan saw an emergency vehicle speeding in the opposite direction, lights flashing. He glanced at Montero. “How long are we going to be safe in this car?”

  “Not much longer. St. Cloud is up ahead; I thought we’d find some new wheels there.”

  “Are we not safe? You told me those men were gone. Are we still in danger?”

  Donovan could see the alarm in her eyes. “None of us have been safe since we landed in Minneapolis and I took you to the hospital. The further we travel, the safer we’ll be.”

  “Donovan, use your GPS and help me navigate to the airport,” Montero interrupted. “And call ahead to see if you can rent us a car.”

  Donovan turned his back on Sofya and found a rental car at the general aviation terminal in St. Cloud. The rest of the drive went by in silence as he and Montero navigated to the airport through the snow.

  When they reached the airport, Montero said, “Go ahead, I’ll drop you off. No reason for anyone but you to go inside.”

  Donovan stepped through the accumulating snow and into the warmth of St. Cloud Aviation. Handing over his alternate identification and credit card, he explained to the young woman behind the counter that he’d be returning the vehicle in a week. He selected a Lincoln Navigator, and as she filled out the paperwork, Donovan remembered that he still had a rental car sitting in the Methodist Hospital parking lot in Minneapolis. He’d take care of that tomorrow.

  “Space four is out the door and to your right, along the fence.”

  Donovan thanked her and hurried back out into the cold. He started the Lincoln and cranked up the heat, using the windshield wipers to push the snow from the windshield. He found a brush in the backseat and cleared the side and back windows of snow, then slid behind the wheel and drove across the lot to where Montero and Sofya waited. He jumped out and draped his coat around Sofya. He saw that Montero had freed her ankles, but her wrists remained bound. He escorted Sofya to the Navigator. Montero lagged behind, loaded her bag into the back, and then climbed into the front passenger seat. As before, Donovan latched the seat belt through the zip tie securing Sofya’s wrists before climbing behind the wheel.