Seconds to Midnight

by Philip Donlay

  Lauren walked past 347, slowed briefly, and heard nothing out of the ordinary. She continued to walk, but before she came to the end of the hallway, a uniformed guard sauntered around the corner toward her. He was a big man, his bottle of water was nearly invisible in his huge hand, his jowls oozed over his collar, and his thighs rubbed as he walked.

  He said something in Polish, and Lauren smiled as they passed. He continued down the hallway and eased into the chair outside room 347. Lauren continued walking, with no idea if Marta was inside the room or if she knew that the guard had returned. The moment she rounded the corner, she reached into her pocket for a scrap of paper.

  Then she spun, rounded the corner, and walked back to the guard. He looked up and kept his eyes on her as she held the scrap of paper, going from room to room as if lost. As she neared him, she smiled again, shrugged, and held out the paper as if asking for help.

  In the instant before he realized there was nothing written on the paper, Lauren, in a move Montero taught her, put her hand on his face, and with leverage generated from her core, she popped the back of his head against the wall. She coiled herself for another strike, but his arms dropped to his side, telling her he was out. She crossed his thick arms across his chest and then steadied him from falling from the chair. For the moment, he appeared to be asleep. When Lauren pushed inside, she found Marta going through the drawers in a small dresser. The room held two beds. One was empty; the other held a heavily bandaged man. He lay under the covers with a monitor, as well as IV bags, nearby.

  “What was the noise I heard?” Marta whispered.

  “The guard,” Lauren said. “I don’t know how long he’ll be out.”

  “Shit,” Marta said. “Tomasz is badly beaten. I don’t know if he’s been able to talk to anyone. I can’t find his phone.”

  Both women heard a new sound from the hallway before two men, guns drawn, pushed into the room. Lauren reached up as if adjusting one of the monitors and then turned and smiled.

  That single act slowed the men down long enough for Marta, whom they hadn’t seen, to spring into action. The first man took Marta’s boot to the face, dropped his gun, and collapsed into his comrade, throwing him off balance as they both crashed into the wall. Marta kicked the gun across the floor toward Lauren. Then she stepped forward, grabbed the second man’s gun, and with one hand pressed over his mouth, she bent his wrist back until something snapped. He was leaning against the wall in shock and pain when Marta slammed her knee into the side of his head. Then he was out.

  “Hurry, we need to lift both of these men onto the empty bed,” Lauren said as she peeled back the blanket and sheet. “Lay them side by side.”

  Marta and Lauren both strained to lift the first man up far enough for Marta to crouch and use her legs and shoulder to propel the man up onto the bed. Together, they wasted no time moving the second man. Lauren arranged the unconscious men’s arms and legs. Once the two men were positioned to her liking, Lauren stood back.

  “Now what?” Marta asked.

  Lauren took two pillows and tucked them between the two men on the bed. When she was finished, she threw the sheet and blanket back over them until all that showed was one head. She smoothed the pillows until they were contoured to look like one large body. Lauren found and released the bed brake and began to swing it away from the wall.

  Marta opened the door while pulling the bed. Together they eased it out into the hallway. Marta pulled out her radio and transmitted that they were on their way.

  They passed a woman and a man dressed in civilian clothes, and neither one paid any attention to Lauren and Marta.

  Over Marta’s shoulder, Lauren spotted the elevator, the doors opened, and someone stepped off and walked the other way. Lauren pushed faster and Marta caught the elevator and they rolled the bed into the car and pressed the button for the first floor. They waited several agonizing seconds for the door to finally shut.

  Lauren looked under the blanket to check the men. “They’re not going to wake up and cause a problem, are they?”

  “If they do, I’ll take care of them. Plus, we don’t have far to go. Once the elevator opens, we go to the right and follow the signs. The exit leading to the helipad will be marked.”

  Lauren took a deep breath as the doors opened, and they began rolling their prize down the tiled floor toward their destination. After the right turn, as promised, Lauren spotted the exit that signaled their destination. Marta pushed a red button and as the doors parted, they were met with bracing cold air and the sound of a helicopter. They hurried down the long sidewalk toward the helipad just as Trevor descended into view in the bright yellow Dauphin. He lowered the landing gear, slowed his descent, and touched down lightly.

  Marta unlatched the door and slid it back on its tracks. They maneuvered the bed until the side was flush with the helicopter. Buffeted by the rotor wash, Lauren threw back the covers. She and Marta quickly rolled both men from the bed until they dropped onto the floor of the helicopter. Lauren turned and spotted a uniformed security man trying to push past a group of onlookers gathering near the doors. Lauren shoved the bed away from the helicopter, jumped in after Marta, and latched the door. Trevor powered into the air, raised the wheels, shut off all the lights, and with one graceful pivot climbed away from the building and vanished in the darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “ARE YOU COMFORTABLE?” Donovan yelled above the roar of the snowmobile engine. As they’d packed the sled earlier, Donovan had asked Jesse if he could stack the bags to allow for two people to ride amongst the bags holding the diving equipment. He’d come up with a rearward facing arrangement that blocked most of the wind and snow. Jesse and Rick sat on the snowmobile itself, and Donovan was in the sled with Sofya. So far, she’d seemed normal, doing her best to help, staying focused on the task at hand.

  “Yes,” she said. “How much longer?”

  “Not long. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine, though I never had a chance to ask you what you found out here yesterday.”

  “We found some papers and a laptop, but nothing else really.” Donovan was ready for her questions; the last thing they wanted to do was upset her. Montero had told him this morning that the papers they’d recovered yesterday were still soggy and unreadable, and would stay that way until they were thoroughly dried. The solitary laptop computer and phone were still soaked, and with no way to charge the batteries, it might take a return to civilization to uncover the data stored within.

  “It’s really beautiful out here,” Sofya said. “I feel better today.”

  Donovan had no idea how anyone could feel better today. Wrapped in a sleeping bag, trying to stay asleep in the frigid cabin on an aged foam rubber pad on a wooden bunk, he’d had one of the worst nights he’d ever endured. The torture from the freezing bedroom was only surpassed by the bitter cold of the unheated outhouse. Whatever the day held, it had to be an improvement on last night.

  Rick slowed the snowmobile and brought them to a stop a safe distance from the red flag that Jesse had left to mark the edge of the hole they’d made the day before. Donovan climbed off the sled, then helped Sofya up. Using the chainsaw, Jesse made short work of the fresh ice. With four people working, the job of unloading and preparing for their dive went quickly. Jesse got into his dry suit first, before helping Donovan with his.

  Once ready, Donovan grabbed the last chunk of ice bobbing in the water and lifted it to the pile. Rick dropped the weighted tether line into the water, payed it out, and then secured it to the snowmobile. Jesse slipped into the water. Donovan followed, taking his first breath through the regulator, testing that it was working correctly. Below him, Jesse watched to make sure everything was okay, tucked, and began to swim down toward the plane.

  Donovan kicked after him, and they both arrived at the open main door. Like the day before, Jesse would go deep toward the tail section, while Donovan spent more time in the cockpit. Jesse pulled himself into the Boeing an
d swam down the main aisle. Donovan went in next, and after maneuvering past the older woman’s body, he pulled himself into the cockpit. He did his best to ignore the bodies of the crew. Instead, he was focused on finding any type of paper, a chart, a flight plan, anything that would tell him where this plane came from, and where it was headed. It wasn’t until he searched behind the seats that he found the airworthiness certificate as well as the registration. Using his flashlight, he read in English that the airplane belonged to CSB Enterprises. He cursed into his regulator. They were the same letters painted on the tail. The airplane was its own entity and offered absolutely no information as to its actual owner.

  Donovan began to search the copilot for a wallet or phone. He cut away the material of a back pocket and found a thin trifold wallet. Inside, he could see the edges of several plastic cards. He used the tip of his rubber glove to move the first card out far enough to understand it was a laminated identification of some kind, and he assumed the text was Russian. The second card was an American Express card with the words CSB Enterprises in raised letters. The name on the card was Vladimir Krishenko. Donovan secured the wallet in the mesh bag. Perhaps Montero could track the company through charges made on the card. He was about to search a narrow crew closet, when he caught sight of the tether line bouncing wildly just outside the cockpit. Looking up toward the surface, Donovan could see that Rick was pulling on the line and letting it drop, trying to get someone’s attention. Donovan pulled himself from the cockpit and spotted Jesse, who was on his way up as well. Donovan swam out of the Boeing and waited for Jesse to join him. They followed the line and reached the surface together.

  The first thing Donovan heard was the beating of rotor blades.

  “A helicopter,” Rick yelled. “They already flew over once, and they’re swinging back around.”

  Donovan spit out his regulator. “Were there any markings? Could you tell who they were?”

  “No, it’s a Bell 212, orange with black stripes.”

  Donovan felt helpless as the helicopter made a sweeping left turn and headed back toward them. He saw the side door slide back and a gun barrel jut from the opening. Without a word, Jesse vanished underwater.

  “Oh shit!” Rick saw the gun and immediately turned toward Sofya. The machine gun erupted and a barrage of bullets threw up explosions of snow all around them. Sofya dove for cover behind the snowmobile, and Rick was caught off balance in the open as the trail of bullet impacts kicked up more snow.

  As the gunner walked the stream of bullets toward Rick, Donovan reached up and grabbed Rick by the wrist, pulling him down into the frigid water just as the heavy slugs tore up the snow and ice where he’d been standing. Donovan found his regulator, took a breath, and pushed it toward a struggling Rick, who took a quick breath, then another, then relinquished it, and passed it back to Donovan.

  The helicopter swept overhead. The silhouette flashed over the opening above them and bullets exploded into the open water, the slugs darting from the surface, slowing rapidly, and then sinking. Donovan looked into Rick’s terrified face as he handed him the regulator. He could already see that the ice-cold water was slowing Rick’s motor functions. He calculated how fast he could get to his snowmobile suit and his Sig, but as he hung underwater, buddy breathing with Rick, his pistol seemed a million miles away.

  The noise below the ice changed. There was a repetitive thumping noise, followed by piercing snaps like the ice cracking. Then a deep vibration resonated from above. It took a moment for Donovan to realize that the helicopter had landed. He reached to take the regulator from Rick when a lift bag rushed past him rising toward the surface trailing a line that was tied to one of the AK-47 assault rifles. Another bag followed close behind, and inside the mesh container were magazines of ammunition.

  As fast as he could move, Donovan slipped out of his tank, draped it over Rick’s shoulder, and then looped the tether line around the tank as well, so Rick wouldn’t drift away. Donovan took one last breath. He placed the regulator in Rick’s mouth, relieved that Rick was still awake. Donovan shed his weight belt and floated upward. He snatched the rifle, and using his knife, separated the netting that allowed him to free a fully loaded magazine. Despite his cumbersome gloves, he was able to insert the magazine and pull the bolt, but he knew they would make it impossible to pull the trigger. Donovan used his knife to make a slice in the tip of his glove, then kicked toward the opening in the ice as hard as he could. He ignored the cold water that rushed down his arm as he continued holding his breath and raced the last few feet to the surface.

  He erupted from the hole in the ice and came down firmly on his elbows. He ripped off his mask, tilted the gun to drain the barrel of water, and then brought the AK-47 to his shoulder. He ignored the bitterly cold air that froze the stock to his cheek. Thirty yards away the 212 idled on the snow, and trudging toward him were two men in white snowsuits. Donovan, anchored by his elbows, squeezed the trigger on the AK-47. The first man crumpled. The second man, caught by surprise and with nowhere to run or hide, was an easy target. Donovan dropped him with one shot. Then he swung the barrel toward the pilot. With his finger solidly frozen to the steel trigger, Donovan held the sight steady and sent two bullets through the side window. The pilot slumped forward, held only by his harness.

  To his left, Donovan caught sight of another white-suited man as he stepped from behind the tent. The intruder had been out of Donovan’s view and had snuck up unobserved. He was bringing a small compact machine gun to his shoulder. Donovan was helpless as he tried to pivot the heavy AK-47 around in time. When he heard the first gunshot, he knew he was a dead man. Four quick shots followed, and the man in white dropped his gun and staggered backwards, splotches of blood forming on his chest. Sofya emerged from behind the snowmobile, holding Donovan’s Sig with both hands. She fired one last shot and the man dropped in a heap.

  “Sofya!” Donovan yelled above the whine of the helicopter’s engine.

  Covered in snow, she turned her head and then pointed the pistol straight at Donovan.

  “Sofya, it’s Donovan. Put the gun down.”

  She looked at him, and then at the weapon she held, and then back at him, seemingly unsure as to what had happened.

  “Sofya, hurry,” Donovan said. “I need you to help me save Rick.”

  The words finally seemed to reach her. She lowered the weapon to her side, shook it from her gloved hand, and dropped it into the snow.

  Donovan pulled the ice-cold AK-47 down into the lake to allow the warmer water to unfreeze his skin from the gun, and tossed the weapon up on the snow. He struggled to get his mask secured, took a deep breath, and submerged. Below him, in a maze of bubbles, he spotted Jesse with Rick in his arms, and he was bringing him up in a hurry. Donovan used his knife and freed the mesh bag holding the extra ammo and wrapped the cord around his wrist. He turned and kicked hard for the surface. He came up out of the water as far as he could and jabbed his knife into the ice to keep from sliding back into the water.

  Hands reached down under his arms and began pulling. Donovan kicked and twisted until he was out of the water. Sofya yanked off his flippers and helped him to his feet. Turning, he dropped the bag of ammunition, went down on one knee, and grabbed Rick just as Jesse pushed him up to the surface. Donovan struggled to hold him in place. His waterlogged snowmobile suit made him far too heavy to lift. Beside Rick, Jesse jettisoned both tanks, and with Sofya’s help, slithered up onto the ice like a seal. He dropped down next to Donovan, and together they pulled Rick’s exhausted body up on the ice.

  Rick turned on his side, vomited up water, and then curled up and began to shiver uncontrollably in the subzero air.

  Sofya jumped up. “I’ll get the survival blankets.”

  “Hang in there, Rick.” Donovan unzipped Rick’s snowmobile suit and began to free him from the sodden garment, while Jesse pulled away his gloves and boots. Sofya ripped the first blanket from its packaging and handed it to Jesse.

  �
��Sofya, how warm is the shelter?” Donovan asked.

  “It’s not,” she said. “We were trying to get the burner lit when we heard the helicopter.”

  “We have to get him to shore and build a fire,” Jesse said. “Or he’ll die. Jesus, we can’t do anything in these suits. Help me get out of this thing.”

  Jesse turned so Sofya could unzip his dry suit. She helped him take off the gloves and boots. Jesse stepped out and let the suit crumple in the snow. He grabbed his snowmobile suit, yanked it on, pulled on his boots and hat, then he got down and helped Donovan wrap the blanket completely underneath Rick.

  With Sofya’s help, Donovan shed his dive suit and scrambled against the cold to get changed. In a movement that Jesse didn’t see, Sofya slid Donovan’s Sig back into the snowmobile pocket where she’d found it earlier

  Jesse reached down, gripped Rick under his neck, and pulled him up and over his shoulder, and carried him to the snowmobile and placed him in the sled. Jesse jumped on the snowmobile, pressed the button, and the engine fired to life.

  “Hurry, get on,” Jesse yelled to both Donovan and Sofya. “It’s going to take us a while to build a fire, and I don’t know how long he has.”

  Donovan looked into Jesse’s fear-filled eyes as Rick shivered uncontrollably. He turned his attention toward the idling helicopter. “Forget building a fire onshore. Get him to the helicopter.”

  Jesse snapped his head over his shoulder in a questioning look.

  “There’s heat inside the helicopter, and the stove is going at the cabin. Go! We’re right behind you.”

  Jesse gunned the throttle and covered the distance in seconds.

  Donovan turned to a trembling Sofya. “Help me gather Rick’s clothes, he’ll need them.” Then he added, “When did you get my gun?”

  “When you pulled Rick into the water. I was all alone, and the helicopter was turning to land.”