“I was coming back,” Donovan said as they ran toward the helicopter. “Could you have taken all of them out?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe.”
When they reached the cabin of the helicopter, Donovan lifted the frozen clothes inside. Jesse was working to wrap the emergency blanket more tightly around Rick. Sofya climbed in to help, and Donovan closed the door and ran toward the cockpit.
Donovan processed his history involving helicopters. He’d hated them most of his adult life. Not that he avoided them, he just hated the things. With over ten thousand hours as a fixed wing pilot, there was very little about flying helicopters that translated to flying an airplane. Eco-Watch had owned and operated helicopters for years, mainly operating off of their oceangoing ships. Donovan had tolerated the flights he’d been forced to take with open disdain. Then one night over drinks, Janie Kinkaid, one of Eco-Watch’s helicopter pilots, had issued a challenge. She’d called him out on his aversion to helicopters. Much bar-talk had ensued as the night continued, until Donovan accepted her challenge and they made a wager. The next afternoon, he found himself at the controls of one of Eco-Watch’s Bell 412s. Janie was patient and helpful, though flying the machine was difficult and unnatural. Although Donovan did manage to safely take off and land and thus satisfy the challenge—he walked away still hating helicopters.
Donovan opened the cockpit door, found the quick release for the harness, and rolled the dead pilot out onto the snow. He brushed the shattered Plexiglas off the seat, climbed up, and settled behind the controls. He was well aware of Janie’s glaring absence as he strapped in and adjusted the seat. Nevertheless, he reached down toward his knee and gripped the collective. It was the control that doubled as the throttle to both engines and also controlled the vertical component. No airplane had such a setup. Donovan clicked the setting that commanded the computer to spool up the engines from ground idle to flight mode. Above him the rotor began to spin faster, the engines built up speed and reached a steady whine. Donovan placed his feet on the pedals, which were used to keep the nose pointed in the direction they were flying. Between his legs was the cyclic control, or the stick, as Donovan called it, much to Janie’s exasperation. It was the one aspect of flying a helicopter that might have evolved from an airplane.
Donovan searched for and found the instrument that Janie had told him always dictated if the thing would fly or not. The rotor speed gauge was in the green. Donovan put his cold, numb right hand on the rubber grip, took a deep breath, and pulled up on the collective.
The lightly loaded 212 lifted quickly off the ice. Donovan over-controlled, and the helicopter immediately began to descend and wobble. He pulled again, this time more carefully, and at the same time, he eased forward on the stick, and the 212, twenty feet above the lake, began to slowly drift forward.
Donovan’s eyes were locked on the trees ahead. He added more pressure to the collective and used a combination of tension and fear to coax the helicopter higher. Hot air flooded the interior, yet the frigid wind pouring in from the shattered window was hugely distracting. Nothing felt natural, and Donovan reminded himself to keep forward pressure on the stick, that the helicopter would fly one hundred and forty knots if he let it. Donovan flew the oscillating 212 up and over the trees before he relaxed, and then by trial and error, managed to get the helicopter to fly straight and level. He made a slight turn in each direction, and then made a small climb followed by a descent in an effort to get a feel for the machine. Up ahead, across the ice and snow, he spotted the cabin. Thankfully, the Twin Otter was gone. He had the lake to himself for landing. His right hand was white and still partially numb. He was pretty sure the lack of blood flow was partly a result of the death grip he had on the controls.
Fixed on the smudge of smoke rising from the distant chimney, Donovan lowered the nose and began a gentle descent. The speed increased, and he, once again, over-controlled and was forced to react. His muscles tightened as he eased off of the collective. The helicopter dropped, and he raised the nose. They slowed, but were still a hundred yards from shore. As Donovan worked to nudge the 212 in the direction he wanted, he flew low enough to kick up a massive cloud of snow from the lake, which obscured his view and blew in through the broken window, dusting his legs.
Blinded, Donovan pushed the stick forward and the helicopter lurched. He accelerated out of the self-created snowstorm only to find the trees dangerously close. He stepped on the right pedal and eased the stick in the same direction, and the 212 thundered around in a sweeping turn to the right. Donovan slowly dropped the collective and raised the nose as the helicopter slowed and he began another approach. As the 212 came around, Donovan again caught sight of the trees, and fought the stick and collective until he had the machine traveling forward just above the lake, the storm of blowing snow behind them. The trees were visible straight ahead, and looming larger. He pulled back on the stick and dropped the collective. The second he did so, he knew he’d been too quick. The skids hit hard and he was pushed down in his seat. He dumped the collective and brought the engines back to idle.
Sliding forward with the remaining momentum, the 212’s skids bounced through the drifts until the helicopter came to a stop not far from the shore. Donovan released his grip on the controls and with a sense of relief found the helicopter was sitting stationary on the ice, engines at idle, rotor spinning lazily—which was exactly how they’d started.
The rear door slid open, and Donovan twisted in his seat as Jesse jumped to the ground. The heat inside the helicopter had helped dramatically, and Jesse eased Rick, now dressed in Jesse’s snowmobile suit, feetfirst to the ground. Rick draped his arm around Jesse’s shoulder. In the same moment, they both shot Donovan a guarded glance that left no doubt that both men were eternally thankful to still be alive. They knew full well that Donovan was in no way an actual helicopter pilot.
“Have you got this?” Donovan yelled through the broken window.
“Yes. Why? What are you doing?” Jesse yelled, starting to shiver, wearing only his long underwear.
Sofya jumped down and slammed the helicopter’s cabin door closed. She took Rick’s other arm, put it across her shoulder, and slid in to support him. She looked at Donovan. “What’s going on?”
“I’m taking this thing back to where we found it. I’ll be back with the snowmobile and the equipment. Hopefully I’m back before the Twin Otter. Not a word about the helicopter to the charter pilots.”
Jesse nodded his understanding, and with Rick sandwiched between them, he and Sofya made it up the hill and into the cabin.
Donovan took two quick breaths to steady himself. He put his left hand on the collective, flipped the switch, the engines spooled up from ground idle, and the rotor blades whipped through the air as they accelerated. A quick check of the rotor rpm, and Donovan once again lifted the 212 into the air. He used the torque from the tail rotor to rotate the helicopter a hundred and eighty degrees, and then nudged the stick forward. The helicopter wavered and pitched up and down slightly as Donovan gained altitude and flew out across the frozen lake. Safely airborne for the moment, he relaxed, and was surprised to find that despite the frigid north, he was sweating underneath his snowmobile suit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
TREVOR WAS STILL wearing night-vision goggles when he called from the cockpit, “We’ve got company.” The whine from the engines had just died and the rotor had nearly stopped spinning. “Someone walking this way.”
Lauren had no way to see what was happening. She was sitting in the back of the helicopter between the two men they’d kidnapped. Marta, gun in one hand, put her other hand on the lever that would open the door.
“Wait. He’s waving,” Trevor said. “I can see what looks like a shotgun in one hand and a dog on a leash in the other.”
“What kind of dog?” Marta asked.
“A German Shepherd,” Trevor said. “Use the flashlight fastened to the bulkhead. Figure out if this guy is a threat or
not.”
Marta snatched the flashlight from its bracket. She leaned into the door latch and slid it open. Shining the light as an extension of her gun barrel, she illuminated the man and recognized him as he shielded his eyes. “Henryk!”
Lauren turned her head against the cold air rushing into the cabin. She released her seat belt, jumped down to the ground, and followed Marta into the hangar. She found the older man hugging Marta, and the German Shepherd wagging his tail as if waiting for his turn.
“Lauren,” Marta said as she waved her closer. “This is Henryk. He and Dad go way back. Henryk, this is Lauren, one of my dear friends. And this is Baca. You’re a good boy, Baca. Sit.”
Marta knelt and hugged Baca as Lauren and Henryk shook hands. Lauren could tell from the firm grip and calloused fingers that Henryk was strong and wiry. He had a tall lanky frame, pleasant open features topped with thick gray hair, but his best feature were his intelligent blue eyes.
“I figured it was you that took the helicopter earlier,” Henryk said. “I was only a few miles down the road helping my son with his tractor. I wish you’d have called. Where’s Kristof?”
“He wasn’t feeling well. He sends his best. It’s just the three of us. Trevor is in the helicopter. We should probably go help him.”
“I’m assuming Tomasz brought you up to date?” Henryk said as he waved his hand and Baca immediately laid down, his nose between his front paws.
“No,” Marta said. “The building in town was raided, and Tomasz was beaten. He’s in the hospital. Two of the men responsible are in the helicopter.”
“The man from Prague?” Henryk asked.
“Gone.”
“You got two of them? Good work.” Henryk pursed his lips and shook his head in anger at the news. “Let’s drag them inside where we can do this properly.”
“We need information,” Marta said. “Not revenge.”
“Okay. Revenge can wait.” Henryk’s blue eyes narrowed into dark slits. “Sometimes it’s better that way.”
They pushed through the door that led back outside and found Trevor in the passenger compartment with a flashlight.
“Trevor,” Marta called. “What are you doing?”
“Working,” Trevor said as he jumped down to the ground and handed Marta three cell phones and two wallets. “I tie-wrapped both guys around the wrists and ankles, then I searched them. The smaller guy had two phones. This one is different than the other two, so I thought it might be Tomasz’s.”
Marta handed Lauren the phones.
“Trevor, I’m Henryk.” The older man held out his hand. “Do you need any help getting those men inside?”
“It’s nice to meet you, Henryk. Kristof spoke highly of you,” Trevor said as they shook hands. “I think we’re good. I want to leave them in the helicopter for now. They’re strapped in nice and tight and aren’t going anywhere.”
“As long as they can’t escape,” Marta said, “let them lie in the back of the helicopter and think about what’s going to happen to them.”
“What else can I do for you, then?” Henryk asked.
“Do you have any fuel?” Trevor gestured at the Dauphin. “I’d like to top off the tanks on this thing so we’re in a position to leave in a hurry if we need to.”
“I’ll bring the truck around,” Henryk said, and whistled for Baca to follow as he hurried into the shadows.
“Marta,” Trevor said. “You do what you need to do, but keep in mind the police are probably looking for us.”
“Got it,” Lauren said as she broke the first phone’s security code and began pushing buttons until she found the call log. She held the screen so Marta could see. “Isn’t that your number?”
“How did you get in so fast?” Trevor asked. “I looked, and they were all locked.”
“It’s a little trick Montero learned from the FBI. Depending on the model, if you push certain buttons at the same time, the code resets. Okay, there’s a video here. It starts with a man in a chair.” Lauren waited for Marta and Trevor to gather around, then she hit play.
“Who gave you the order to kidnap Anna, the woman from Interpol?”
“That’s Tomasz’s voice,” Marta said in rush. “In the chair is the man we brought from Prague.”
“I already told you, we didn’t know she was Interpol. Tatiana Reznik told us to bring the woman, Anna, to her.”
“Stop,” Marta said. “I know of Tatiana Reznik. She’s involved with gambling, drugs, and prostitution in the Czech Republic and other countries as well. She’s probably in her late fifties, maybe even early sixties. Her methods are ruthless—she’s a true throwback to the former communist rulers.”
Lauren hit play. The rest of the recording cemented the fact that Tatiana Reznik was behind the murder. Lauren turned to Marta. “I know the security tape didn’t show much, but what time was it taken?”
“Almost three hours before we arrived. Why?”
“The guys in the helicopter,” Trevor said. “We have their phones and hopefully a list of who they called after they beat and no doubt interrogated Tomasz.”
“Exactly,” Lauren said. “What we need to know is what Tomasz gave up, and more importantly, who was given that information? I’ll start trying to mesh the incoming and outgoing call logs from all three phones.”
Henryk pulled up in a truck with a fuel tank fixed to the bed, and Trevor turned to talk to him. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
As Trevor and Henryk spoke, Marta climbed back into the helicopter. Lauren started to walk to the hangar and the promise of warmth to get started on her task. Once inside, she went to what passed for an office, which reeked of ancient coffee and cigarettes. She shed her coat, sat down at a small desk, and began working on the next phone.
Twenty minutes later, she had a list of the called and received phone numbers, the times, and the names or initials associated with each number. Marta and Trevor had given her space to work as they waited together. Lauren grabbed her coat and let herself out of the office and realized how nice it was to once again breathe fresh air. She rounded a corner, came to a door, and looked through the dirty window only to find Marta pressed against a wall, locked in a passionate embrace with Trevor. Without hesitation, Lauren opened the door and breezed into the room. Trevor, startled, jumped backwards, and dropped his arms to his side. Marta turned away and used her hands to quickly smooth her hair.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Lauren said as she waved her sheet of paper. “I have the information we need. I think we need to get airborne.”
“All right then.” Trevor hurried to open the door that would lead them out to the hangar.
“Trevor, you don’t mind flying us around for a little bit, do you?” Lauren asked. “It shouldn’t take us long to get our answers.”
“Where is it we’re going?” Marta said before her eyes flew wide open as she realized what Lauren was saying. “That’ll be effective.”
“I think we have effective covered,” Lauren said. “I’m concerned about how fast we can get this done.”
“On my end, five minutes, and we’ll be airborne,” Trevor said as he opened the cockpit door.
“I’ll go tell Henryk what we’re doing,” Marta said. “Don’t start without me.”
Lauren opened the door to the Dauphin’s cabin. In the dim lights from the cockpit she could see both men. The larger of the two looked up with wide-eyed apprehension. The other turned his head as Lauren stepped aboard. Above them, the first engine turned over, and Lauren could feel the helicopter vibrate as both the main and tail rotors began to spin.
Marta stepped in the cabin and slid the door shut behind her. She slid on a headset, said something to Trevor, and then replaced it on the hook. From under her coat, she drew a sizable knife, the curved blade gleaming in what little light there was in the cabin. As the second engine spooled up, the man on the floor began to struggle against his bonds. His breath came in panicked gasps, and Marta placed her boot against his neck to pe
rsuade him to be still.
Lauren watched as Trevor slid on the night-vision goggles, and as soon as he adjusted to the different light level, the helicopter lifted free of the ground, thundering upward in the night sky. She felt the first of several turns before they seemed to level off.
Marta pulled out a Czech passport, opening it to show the man on the floor that it was his. “Do you speak English?”
“Yes,” he said.
“I won’t bother myself learning your name. When I speak to you, you’ll know it. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Where is Tatiana Reznik?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
Marta knelt and placed the edge of her knife against the skin just under his earlobe. She pressed the blade with just enough force for him to feel the first sting.
“I don’t know who she is!” His eyes bulged in their sockets.
Marta stood and went to the smaller man. “Viktor, I will remember your name. I’m sure you speak English as well; am I correct?”
“Yes,” Viktor said.
“Viktor, I asked your friend a question, and he didn’t answer. I’m going to ask you the same question. Where can I find Tatiana Reznik?”
Viktor shook his head. “I don’t know her.”
“Oh, but you do. You beat our friend Tomasz and waited at the hospital for his friends to show up, and here we are.” Marta stepped away and raised her voice so both men could hear her. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, then your friend is going to die. You have ten seconds, and then I’m going to throw him out of this helicopter.”
Lauren popped the latch and slid the door open. Viktor’s expression turned into a mixture of confusion and surprise. The man on the floor began to scream in a language that Lauren didn’t understand. With a tilt of her head, Marta gave Lauren the signal. Lauren moved to the center of the cabin, sat on the floor, and used both feet to push the horrified man closer to the blackness beyond.
“Tatiana is in Berlin,” Viktor cried out, helpless as his friend slid nearer the edge. “She owns a club there, it’s called Adrenaline. Now please, stop!”
Seconds to Midnight Page 17
