Seconds to Midnight

by Philip Donlay

  “Nice to know she’s on our side,” Michael said. “And what if the Galileo has been sabotaged? What’s our plan then? If Sofya is left to unravel on her own, is that better or worse?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, too,” Montero said. “If the Galileo has been compromised, then we’ll be running, and I think we’re then forced to put Sofya’s recovery on hold and do whatever it takes to get out of Canada and back to the States. I think Michael has a point—there’s an optimum window for Sofya, and sooner might be better. Let’s hope the Galileo is okay.”

  “There are a couple other points we need to keep in mind,” Donovan said. “The Twin Otter and the Beaver both have Emergency Locator Transmitters. Someone is eventually going to hear the ELT signals and investigate. We also need to assume that there’s someone waiting for this helicopter to arrive back in Thompson. We need to get out of Canada as soon as possible and let someone else deal with this mess.”

  “How much trouble are we really in?” Michael asked Montero.

  “From a strictly law enforcement standpoint, plenty,” Montero said. “The key to deflecting and minimizing our issues is to uncover the root cause of everything, going all the way back to when you two nearly collided with the Boeing. If we can present the Royal Canadian Mounted Police with valid reasons for doing what we did, namely self-defense, then maybe we can walk away. Doubtful, but that’s the best scenario.”

  Michael looked at his watch, and then down at the instrument panel. “We’ll know soon enough. The Churchill airport is dead ahead.”

  “Is there a control tower we have to talk to?” Donovan asked.

  “No tower,” Michael said. “It’s dark. No one is expecting us. I say we just fly in like we own the place.”

  “I agree. Michael, the second we land, you take Montero and check out the Galileo,” Donovan said. “I’m going to keep the helicopter running. If someone has disabled the Gulfstream, as fast as we can, we pump some fuel into this thing and get out of here.”

  “Got it,” Michael said.

  Donovan spotted lights dead ahead. He put his hands on the controls, memorizing the position of the switches for the landing lights. “Michael, turn off the autopilot. Montero, everyone in town is going to hear us arrive. If someone is waiting for us, it’ll happen quickly.”

  “The airport is twelve o’clock and two miles,” Michael said. “Do you have it in sight?”

  Donovan spotted the green and white flash from the airport’s rotating beacon. “I have it. I’m going to set us down right next to the hangar where we left the Galileo.”

  “Power of positive thinking,” Michael said. “I like it.”

  Donovan silently thanked Michael for the sarcasm-wrapped challenge. As they neared the field, he slowed the helicopter, used his thumb to switch on the landing lights, and started a descent. He was fixed on his spot, and made slight corrections until the skids touched lightly on the ramp. He exhaled a long-held breath, but his relief was cut short by the sound of Montero’s voice.

  “Michael, let’s go!” Montero pulled her door open and jumped from the helicopter, her Glock in her right hand, and Michael followed.

  Donovan sat in the 212—his hands positioned on the controls—and waited.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  THEY WERE PARKED just outside of a hotel in the small town of Brody. Marta had rattled off a password from memory, and Lauren understood that Marta had probably piggybacked this signal before. Her laptop cycled through its security protocols, and Lauren discovered she had several messages. Even though the signal was strong, the Internet was slow. After what felt like forever, her e-mail finally opened. Lauren immediately searched for any messages from Montero or Donovan, and when she didn’t find one, she clicked on the message sent by Reggie.

  L-

  We’ve lost track of Kristof, though there are no signs of him being taken, so we’re in the dark. I’ve enlisted everyone within my immediate reach to search the city. I’m left with the distinct possibility that someone may have breached our security and taken him. That said, as promised, I reached out to the American embassy, and though William VanGelder is currently unavailable, he issued instructions to immediately fly everyone affected to Iceland, where they will be absorbed into his own protection detail. This is easily accomplished, and arrangements are already in the works. If it’s any solace, Iceland is a daunting fortress. We will continue to search for Kristof.

  —R

  “Damn it!” Lauren said under her breath as she dashed off a reply explaining that Kristof had indeed bolted, and that he was with them. Lauren hit send, and waited for confirmation that her message was on its way. She cringed when she pictured Abigail telling Grandpa William that she rode a horse faster than bullets, and she reached the obvious conclusion that William would be less than happy with them all.

  “What is it?” Marta asked as she used her phone to pull up her own e-mail.

  “A message from Reggie—it seems that your dad left without telling anyone.”

  “Welcome to my world.” Marta shook her head with familiar resignation. “I suppose Reggie is frantic?”

  “Of course he is.” Lauren saw that her e-mail was finally on its way. “To the point where he reached out to William, and Stephanie and Abigail are being whisked off to Iceland to join him under his diplomatic protection.”

  “Ouch.” Marta lowered her hands into her lap. “Though now at least we know where William is, and Iceland isn’t a bad place to hide.”

  “That’s exactly what Reggie said.” Lauren continued scanning her list of incoming e-mails until she found one from Calvin.

  Strongly recommend refuge at nearest US embassy. We’ll fly you back to the United States and sort out the charges against you from here. Calvin

  Lauren didn’t reply and returned to the list of messages. There was nothing else that required her attention. Out of curiosity, she logged into a website that would give her the latest raw data from NASA’s Solar Dynamics Observatory. She scanned the data and was staggered by what she read. Calvin had told her about the geomagnetic storm in progress, as well as the large coronal mass ejection, but the initial estimate of strength and duration had been incorrect. NOAA’s space weather prediction models had crashed. Information coming from space-based satellites was unreliable and erratic. The French, British, and Russians had already lost communication satellites to the bombardment of charged particles hurtling in from the sun at millions of miles per hour. Without the sophisticated instrumentation to measure the outflow from the sun, as well as the computer models to crunch the data, she feared that the astrophysicists were now only guessing about this storm. As Lauren reached the end of the report, she did the math, then deciding she’d made a mistake, she did it again. To her dismay, the numbers were the same. The coming solar radiation was three times the strength of any storm ever recorded.

  “Close your laptop,” Marta said in a rush as headlights reflected off of her mirror and illuminated her eyes.

  Lauren snapped the lid closed and sank in her seat, unsure what to expect.

  A dark sedan drove past them, and Marta pretended as if she were talking on her phone. The car continued slowly up the street, and then made a right turn. The instant the sedan was out of sight, Marta threw their car into gear, and with the headlights still switched off, she made a U-turn, and then an immediate right and accelerated.

  “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know, but the make and model matched the type used by ABW.”

  “Poland’s internal security,” Lauren said. “What would they be doing here?”

  “I’m not sure it was them,” Marta said as she switched on the headlights and pulled out on the main road that would take them in the general direction of the safe house. “Though, if they’re here, it’s because of you. The authorities know you arrived via private jet into Wroclaw. They’re also investigating the assault and kidnapping at the University Hospital.”

  “Great.”

&nbs
p; “The bad news is someone probably photographed the helicopter,” Marta said as she kept checking her rearview mirror for anyone following. “We’re safe for the moment, but the only way out of Poland is via that helicopter, so when we leave, we need to be ready to abandon it as soon as we land.”

  “I had an e-mail from Calvin. He said to surrender myself at the closest embassy. Maybe he’s right?”

  “Perhaps, but I don’t think that’s your play quite yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the first thing they’re going to do is pressure you about your activities and want to know who was with you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  DONOVAN WATCHED AS Michael came out of the hangar and gave Donovan the all-clear signal. Relieved, he began to shut down the helicopter’s engines. Once again, his impatience won out over the checklist, and he pulled the firewall shutoffs and switched off the battery. He bundled up and was the last one to run from the helicopter to the warmth of the hangar where Michael and Montero waited.

  “The Galileo looks fine,” Michael said.

  “Mr. Nash,” Russell called out. “You’re not who I expected.”

  “Russell,” Donovan said warmly. “I was hoping you’d be here. Thanks for taking such good care of our jet—turns out we’ve attracted some unwanted attention.”

  “People here in town been talking,” Russell said. “Some say you’re hunting gold, others say you already found it. It doesn’t take much whispering to get people to thinking. Though you can trust me, no one has been anywhere near your Gulfstream.”

  “Can you please assure everyone in town that we’re scientists?” Montero said. “Wait, do you think the charter operator in Thompson thought we’d found gold? Is that reason enough to show up and start shooting?”

  “It can be,” Russell said. “Can I ask what happened to the Twin Otter, and my snowmobile?”

  “The Otter had a problem, and though your snowmobile is fine, it won’t be coming back anytime soon, so I owe you ten thousand dollars,” Donovan said. “We also need the Gulfstream fueled, add that to the bill.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Russell said as if processing what he’d just heard. “So I shouldn’t be expecting the Twin Otter?”

  “They had mechanical problems. The Twin Otter is the operator’s problem now,” Michael said. “Russell, is there any way I can make a long-distance call? I need to file a flight plan.”

  “There’s a landline on the desk in my office that’s been working most of the day. Help yourself.” Russell slipped his hat back on his head. “I’ll go bring the tug around, and we’ll get your airplane pulled outside and fueled.”

  “Donovan,” Jesse said as Russell hurried toward the door. “I can’t go with you. After diving as deep as I did today, and as fast as I came up to help Rick, I need to stay on the ground for a few days.”

  “How are you feeling?” Donovan had forgotten about the threat of Jesse getting the bends. “I’m serious, because if you don’t feel good, we’ll forget Europe and fly you to the nearest decompression chamber.”

  “I’m fine, thank you, but flying in a pressurized plane is out of the question.”

  “Where is the nearest decompression chamber?” Montero asked.

  “Winnipeg,” Jesse said. “But I’m fine, really.”

  Rick pounded down the stairs of the Galileo and hurried toward the group. “All the systems check out.” He motioned over his shoulder to the Gulfstream. “She’s good to go.”

  “Jesse needs to stay behind,” Donovan said. “But I don’t want to leave him alone.”

  “Unless you need me to help fly,” Rick said, “I’ll stay.”

  “Montero, what do you think?” Donovan said.

  “I like the buddy system,” she responded. “I say we ask Russell about chartering an unpressurized plane to fly you two as far as Winnipeg. Jesse, that way you’re close to the chamber if you develop any symptoms.”

  Outside, the sound of a diesel engine drew close and stopped just outside the main hangar doors. Russell let himself in the side entrance and immediately walked toward the group. “Let me know when you’re ready, and we’ll open the hangar doors.”

  “Russell,” Montero called out. “We have a small problem. We think you might be able to help. We want to get Jesse and Rick to Winnipeg in an unpressurized plane. Jesse’s been on a couple of deep dives, and we think it would make sense for him to get checked out. Can we charter something from you and get him to Winnipeg?”

  “Once you’re gone, I’ve got a Cessna that I use for charter,” Russell said. “I can have the two of them in Winnipeg inside three hours. You’re being smart. We had a guy here last summer, a scientist, who was diving out in the bay and got the bends. He kept trying to explain his symptoms away as something else—until he collapsed. He about didn’t make it out of here alive.”

  “We agree,” Donovan said. “And I appreciate all of your help with everything, especially with the safety of my people.”

  “We all look out for each other up here.” Russell pulled his hat snug. “It’s how we survive.”

  “I’ll go file a flight plan,” Michael said.

  “Michael.” Donovan grabbed his arm before Michael could walk off. “File the flight plan to Glasgow or Edinburgh. We’ll divert to London once we’re on the other side of the Atlantic. I don’t want to attract a crowd.”

  “I like that plan, but I’ll need Sofya’s passport,” Michael said.

  “It’s on the plane. I’ll go get it,” Donovan said as the huge metal doors parted and began to move apart. The wheels screeched and chirped against the cold metal rails, the shrill sounds echoing in the cavernous hangar.

  As Donovan approached the Galileo, he heard a separate high-pitched scream and it sounded human. He broke out in a full run for the stairs as the scream reached a crescendo. When he got to the aircraft, he took the steps two at a time and swung down the aisle into the cabin. He found Sofya in a chair, bent over at the waist, her entire body trembling as she shrieked. On the floor was a camera. In the dim light, Donovan recognized the photo on the screen as the man that had been thrown from the Boeing.

  “Sofya, I’m here,” Donovan whispered as he moved in and wrapped his arms around her. She turned and clutched him around the neck. He rocked her back and forth, whispering, “We’ll get through this, I promise.”

  Montero arrived next. She took in the scene before turning to warn the others off, as if deciding that Sofya had what she needed for the moment. Donovan could feel Sofya’s body rock with silent sobs as Montero picked up the camera, shut it off, and put it back in her bag.

  “I’m here as well,” Montero said, placing her hand on Sofya’s head. “What can we do? Tell us what would help you feel better.”

  “We can’t help you unless you talk to us,” Donovan added, but his effort to pull away was met with resistance. Outside he heard and then felt the tug hook up to the nose gear of the Galileo, signaling that Russell was ready to pull them outside.

  “Sofya,” Montero said. “Donovan needs to help get the Galileo ready to fly so he can get us away from this place. I’ll sit with you as long as it takes, and Donovan will come back again once we’re out of here. Would that be okay?”

  Donovan heard the main cabin door close and seconds later, the Galileo began to move forward. Through the window he could see Rick standing at the wingtip, helping Russell ease the Gulfstream out into the darkness. Idling near the perimeter was a fuel truck.

  “Sofya,” Montero said. “Please talk to us. You know we care about you. Can you at least tell us what the man in the photo means to you? I promise you’re not in danger. You’ve already seen how far we’ll go to protect you.”

  Sofya sniffed as she pulled away from Donovan’s shoulder. She released her hold on his neck, her breathing ragged and shallow. She quickly put her hands over her face, and in that second, Donovan saw in her eyes a lifetime of pain and anguish.

  “Here,” Montero said as she held o
ut a handful of tissues. “Deep, regular breathing, Sofya. Try to find a safe place in your mind. None of this is your fault; you’re a victim, not a criminal. Do you understand what I’m saying? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Donovan furrowed his brow at Montero’s words. In truth, the exact opposite might be the reality. As if reading his expression, Montero shot him a confident look that told him she knew what she was doing.

  “They made me,” Sofya blurted without warning, her voice sounding ragged and unsteady.

  “Can you tell us who made you?” Montero asked. “What do you remember?”

  Sofya squeezed her eyes shut, as if experiencing actual physical pain at the question. She tried to speak and then shook her head as more tears streamed from her eyes, and she buried her face in her hands.

  Donovan felt the Galileo come to a stop. The main cabin door opened, and Rick, who had helped get the Gulfstream out of the hangar, rushed up the steps and slipped unobtrusively into the cockpit. Rick ran several checklists and started the Galileo’s auxiliary power unit to provide not only electricity, but heat, in an effort to help Michael and Donovan get the Gulfstream airborne quicker. Donovan felt a rush of mixed emotions. Once they fueled, they’d be free to leave, and the prospect of leaving Canada was galvanizing. The most powerful motivation was the prospect of seeing Lauren and Abigail, yet at the thought of family, Donovan knew that William’s words still lingered, and the reunion with his mentor was still hovering out there somewhere.

  As Donovan stood to leave, Sofya reached out, clutched his hand, and looked up at him. “They’re still going to try to kill all of us.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “THE LIGHT IN the shed is off,” Marta said as she wheeled onto the property and parked the car. “I wonder what that means.”

  Lauren followed Marta into the house where Dmitri was still secured to the chair, his head slumped to the side. Kristof sat across the table from him, arms folded across his chest, red eyes amplifying the exhaustion carved on his face. Henryk and Trevor stood at the stove as Trevor poured hot coffee into three different cups.