Seconds to Midnight

by Philip Donlay

  “What in the hell are you doing here?” William yelled above the steady whine of the idling engines.

  “We only have a few minutes. We think the incoming Russian Tupolev has a bomb aboard—there’s a chance it’s nuclear. As soon as Stephanie and Abigail get here, we need to leave,” Donovan said as two armed men closed in on them.

  “They’ve already left to drive into town,” William said, his eyes becoming frantic.

  “I think my low pass managed to turn them around.”

  “Keep your hands where I can see them! I’m Special Agent Robertson, and I need you to step away from the Ambassador.”

  “Wayne, it’s okay,” William said. “This is Donovan Nash. He has information about a credible threat. The Russians might be flying in a bomb.”

  “Nuclear?” Robertson asked.

  “There is a high probability. I need you to allow me to fly the Ambassador out of here, as well as all the other people we can,” Donovan said as he saw the Gulfstream that had brought Stephanie and Abigail from Europe flash its taxi lights, followed by their right engine spooling up in preparation for departure.

  “Donovan,” Montero yelled as she came rushing down the steps. “Michael explained to the other Gulfstream crew what was happening, and they’re going to follow us out of here. Get as many people as you can into their airplane. We’re leaving in four minutes.”

  “Is that Veronica Montero?” Robertson asked.

  “Yes,” William said. “And I suggest we all do as she says.”

  “Move those cars, split these people up,” Robertson radioed his men and then turned to Donovan. “How many people can you take?”

  “As many as I need to,” Donovan said. “But I need your help finding my family. They’re in a maroon SUV. They have to be close. They just landed and got off the other Gulfstream, but they’re headed back this way.”

  “I remember them,” Robertson said and started talking into his radio.

  “I should have let them stay here at the airport,” William said, lowering his head. “But Stephanie was exhausted, and I figured Abigail would be bored to death waiting for me, so I sent them to the hotel. Oh, dear God.”

  Donovan watched as Robertson and his men worked quickly. Montero joined the fray, the cars were moved, and eleven people split and ran toward the other Gulfstream.

  “Three minutes!” Montero yelled as she ran toward the Eco-Watch jet and followed William up the stairs of the Galileo along with seven others.

  The other Gulfstream had started its second engine and closed the door. The pilot flashed the taxi lights again, indicating that he was ready to roll. Donovan stood aside and motioned for Robertson to go ahead and board the Galileo.

  “We have them!” Robertson called out as he put his hand to his earpiece. “They’ll be here in thirty seconds!”

  A rush of relief left Donovan’s body as he hurried to the foot of the steps. “Michael, they’re coming!”

  “We have room for maybe five more at the most,” Montero said. “I’ve got Sofya on the jump seat. I’ll sit with her once we go, but all of the other seats are taken and people are going to be crowded on the floor.”

  Donovan caught a flash of motion in his peripheral vision, and found an official car careening around a hangar, lights flashing, and the maroon SUV in close pursuit. Both the car and the SUV screeched to a stop just outside the wingtip, and everyone piled out and ran toward the Gulfstream.

  “Donovan, including the driver of the SUV, and the security agent who escorted them, there’s seven people,” Montero said. “I’m not sure everyone will fit.”

  “Daddy!” Abigail cried out as Stephanie hurried toward the stairs with Reggie close behind.

  Donovan hugged his daughter. “I love you, sweetheart, go with Stephanie, Daddy has to fly.”

  “Go!” Robertson yelled as he herded the driver of the SUV, as well as his colleague, the woman who was driving the Secret Service car, up the stairs.

  When they’d all squeezed in and Montero had closed the door, Donovan slid into his seat. That’s when he discovered that Robertson had not boarded the Gulfstream. Looking out the window, he saw that Robertson had climbed into his vehicle and was swinging around to escort the two Gulfstream jets out to the runway.

  Donovan released the brakes, and the Galileo began to roll as he fastened his harness. The instant he was strapped in, he pushed up the throttles and the Gulfstream powered down the taxiway faster than he’d ever taxied in his life. Robertson led the way. He kept his lights flashing, raced ahead, and turned two official airport cars off the taxiway so the jets had a clear path to the runway. Robertson finally pulled aside and let the Galileo race past him, and in the process, Robertson offered a solemn salute.

  “Michael, where’s the Tupolev?” Donovan asked as he returned the salute.

  “He just turned a five-mile final,” Michael said. “He’ll be here in less than three minutes. The checklist is done, we’re ready to roll. Which runway are we using?”

  “I want to get as far away from the Tupolev as possible,” Donovan said as he slowed just enough to round a corner. “How much runway do I have from this intersection?”

  “Enough, hit it!”

  Donovan pushed the throttles forward, and as the Gulfstream accelerated, he stole a glance to the west and spotted the lights from the Tupolev. The Galileo reached takeoff speed, and Donovan pulled back on the controls. The jet lifted free from the ground, and he called for Michael to raise the gear and then the flaps. He lowered the nose and leveled off at five hundred feet to let the Gulfstream accelerate.

  “Montero,” Donovan said. “Have everyone in back close the window shades and shut their eyes. If that thing goes off, it’ll be bright.”

  Donovan turned to Michael. “Did the other Gulfstream make it?”

  “Yes, they’re behind us, low and to the right.”

  Donovan focused on the instrument panel and felt the airplane rumble as the Galileo thundered low across the nearly flat ground, the volcanic rocks blurring as they streaked past. Donovan had no idea how far was going to be far enough. Each agonizing tick of the clock offered a tantalizing glimmer of hope that they might escape. Moments later the world went completely white as the unearthly brightness from the nuclear detonation flooded the Galileo’s cockpit.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  LAUREN THOUGHT SHE might be sick, but she kept pacing back and forth behind the people working at their consoles. What was done was done. Nikolai would only tell her that there was confirmation that her message had been successfully relayed to the Eco-Watch jet via an American submarine. There was no other information. All Lauren knew was that Donovan had received the message that William, Stephanie, and Abigail were in Iceland, and there was a possible nuclear threat. She had no doubt that he and Michael had immediately turned for Iceland and that they’d be on the ground at Keflavik by now.

  Her throat tightened again, and she fought the fear that built in her stomach. Would Donovan get to them in time, or had she sent her husband to be killed along with their daughter? The thought brought tears to Lauren’s eyes, and she was almost glad she couldn’t see the hands of the clock moving toward the Tupolev’s estimated touchdown. With no satellite data, there was no real-time information, nothing to alert Lauren to what was happening, and if the worst took place, she would have no immediate knowledge as to who survived. All she could do was wait. She wiped her eyes and found Nikolai hanging up a phone and starting across the room toward her.

  “Dr. McKenna,” Nikolai said as he neared. “I need you to come with me.”

  “Where are we going?” Lauren asked.

  “Not here.” Nikolai held out an arm inviting Lauren toward the hallway.

  They walked and Lauren felt even more isolated. At least in the control room there was the constant murmur of voices and the clicking of keyboards, normal actions. She felt like she’d know if something happened by the activity level, or maybe even facial expressions. Now she had nothing.
They pushed through heavy metal doors, past a guard, then around a corner to an elevator. Nikolai grasped her upper arm as he pushed the button. The door opened slowly.

  “I’ve spoken to Moscow,” Nikolai said once inside the empty car. Pushing an unmarked button, he continued, “I spoke directly with the President. He knows of your efforts.”

  “What does that mean? What’s happening?” Lauren asked.

  “He didn’t share his thoughts, but if you’ll pardon a term from the height of the cold war, I think it’s possible we could be only seconds to midnight.”

  Lauren understood. Nikolai had referenced the doomsday clock—a hypothetical representation of how close the world was to global Armageddon. In her lifetime she’d seen as few as three minutes, and as many as sixteen.

  “Seconds?” Lauren asked. “What’s happening? Where’s Kristof?”

  “He’s waiting for you.”

  “That’s it?” Lauren said as the elevator doors opened and she found two armed guards waiting for her. She stepped out, turned, and stared at Nikolai angrily.

  “Our countries may soon be at war. I hope not, but it’s best for both of us if you are not in this building,” Nikolai said and respectfully shook Lauren’s hand. “Until next time.”

  Lauren was escorted to a point where a door buzzed and she was led out and deposited on the sidewalk. It was daylight, a dreary, rainy day, and the traffic noise seemed harsh after the quiet hum of the control room.

  “I see they kicked you out as well,” Kristof said as he walked toward her.

  Lauren stopped and then opened the piece of paper that Nikolai had passed to her when they shook hands:

  Confirmed nuclear detonation in Iceland

  “What is it?” Kristof said as he moved closer.

  “A nuclear bomb went off in Iceland. I have to get to the American embassy.” Lauren fought her tears to look beyond Kristof, trying to get her bearings.

  “Oh, dear God,” Kristof said after he glanced at the paper in her hand. He lowered his head as the full gravity of the words seemed to come to him in stages. He staggered as if wounded and reached out for Lauren and hugged her, seemingly as much for him as for her.

  “Which way?” Lauren asked between the sobs that shook her body. “I have to get there so I can find out what—”

  “It’s this way.” Kristof wiped the tears that had formed in his own eyes and held her arm tightly. As they began to walk, other pedestrians moved and swerved to get around them.

  “I found Donovan,” Lauren said. “He was flying to Europe, and I was able to get a message to him to fly to Iceland. He had eleven minutes to get in and out. Oh, God, what was I thinking? Kristof, I may have killed my husband and daughter; I may have killed them all.”

  “You’re the most analytical and levelheaded person I’ve ever met. Don’t unravel yet, you still have work to do.”

  “What work?” Lauren asked as she fought to collect herself. As she did, she knew Kristof was right, the day was far from over.

  “What are you going to tell the people at the embassy? It’ll be the CIA, I assume?” Kristof asked. “You know I can’t go in there to be with you.”

  “I know. Did Nikolai take you up on your offer?” Lauren wiped her eyes as she remembered Kristof’s bargaining chip to get them into the Russian embassy.

  “Yes,” Kristof said as he kissed Lauren on both cheeks, then pointed up the block. “The American embassy is across the street; the entrance is around the corner. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find Marta. One more thing—know that if I had eleven minutes to risk it all, Donovan Nash is the man I’d want making the most of that time.”

  Lauren nodded against a rush of new tears as she said good-bye, crossed the street, and continued walking. Kristof was right, his words kept echoing in her head, and she held on to them fiercely. She dabbed her tears, squared her shoulders, and with singular determination, she approached the embassy, and went up to the first uniformed United States Marine she saw. “I’m Dr. Lauren McKenna. I need to talk to the senior CIA specialist on duty.”

  The Marine keyed the microphone on his radio. “She’s here.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  DONOVAN RECOILED AGAINST the bright spots dancing in his vision, blinking and shaking his head as he escaped the imprint from the flash. He gripped the controls even harder as the Galileo approached the coast. His electronic flight instruments and radios flickered twice and then blinked out. Donovan had no choice but to do this by feel. He spotted a yellow lighthouse and knew they were close to where the ground abruptly dropped off and met the wild water of the North Atlantic.

  The instant the land fell away beneath him, Donovan yanked back on the throttles and turned hard, putting them into a sixty-degree bank. He flew the Gulfstream down toward the water, leveling off, and moving in as close to the bluff as he dared. Below them a mixture of black sand and breaking surf seemed to reach up for the Galileo’s belly.

  Above and to his left, at the top of the cliff, he saw the billowing debris that marked the leading edge of the shock wave expanding out into the air above them. The Galileo rocked and shuddered as it collided with the violent outer edge of the bomb-induced turbulence. Donovan heard screams from the back as he battled to keep the aircraft level. He held their position like a surfer riding inside a massive curl. Donovan knew they’d all die instantly if he flew into the pressure wave overhead. He couldn’t afford even one small mistake. Ahead and to their right, he could see the effects of the blast wave as it caved downward and whipped the ocean into a white-capped frenzy. He and Michael both watched as the powerful surge pushed out to sea, where it finally faded from view.

  With the initial shock wave past them, Donovan added power, raised the nose of the Galileo, and began to climb. As they roared above the terrain, he spotted the unmistakable shape of the mushroom cloud billowing up from where the airport used to be. He thought of Agent Robertson, and the first stab of grief overcame all his adrenaline. He scanned the sky and then turned to Michael. “Where’s the other Gulfstream? I don’t see them.”

  Michael turned, and after a moment, a sigh of relief escaped him. “Unbelievable. I’m not sure how, but they’re still back there. We should buy those guys a case of whiskey, and then we should all sit down and nobody leaves until every drop is gone. You know, if we’re not in prison for all of the laws we’ve broken over the last few days.”

  “Deal,” Donovan said, happy for Michael’s humor. A flicker caught his eye as one of his primary instrument displays lit up and began running through its initial start sequence, followed by a second tube and then the radio panel.

  “The electromagnetic pulse knocked most of the stuff offline,” Michael said as he began resetting frequencies. “Who knew it would come back?”

  “Eco-Watch Gulfstream, are you there?”

  Michael picked up the microphone. “Affirmative.”

  “We’re still with you, and we can’t thank you chaps enough for what you did back there. Hell of a thing. There’s a very thankful group of passengers aboard, not to mention the crew. We don’t have enough fuel to go off island, so we’re going to land at an airport north of the glacier.”

  “We copy,” Michael replied. “We’re headed to Ireland or Scotland.”

  “Earlier we gave our card to Ms. VanGelder. Next time you’re in London, give us a ring—the drinks are on us.”

  “You bet. Eco-Watch out.” Michael stowed the microphone and turned to Donovan. “Where are we going?”

  “I like your idea about Scotland, but first let’s find out if anyone’s hurt. Can you take the airplane for a minute?”

  “Sure.” Michael took the controls and adjusted the power and the trim as the Galileo continued to climb.

  Donovan turned in his seat and found Sofya sitting wide-eyed in the jump seat, her cheeks streaked with recent tears. He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. He couldn’t imagine what she must be thinking, what anyone in the back was thinking. Mo
ntero was already up in the aisle, and he could hear her asking about injuries. Donovan heard William’s baritone, and once Montero moved further aft, he spotted his oldest and dearest friend. Abigail was on his lap and they were holding hands.

  “She’s adorable,” Sofya said. “I’m glad you were able to save her.”

  Donovan turned his attention to Sofya. “We saved her. None of this could have happened if it weren’t for you.”

  “What happens now?” she asked.

  “Whatever it is, you’re with us. Every promise we made to you, we’ll keep,” Donovan said. “If I were you, I’d let Montero take the lead for a while. She’s good at what she does, and she’ll get you to the people she trusts. She’ll give you the time to figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life.”

  Montero stepped past the people and worked her way back toward the cockpit. “Okay, we’ve got a total of sixteen people on board. I have no idea who some of them are, but there are no injuries. Reggie is with us, calming some of the more anxious passengers.”

  “I’ve never met the man, but I know he’s one of Abigail’s favorites. Ask him to come up and say hello when he can.”

  “I’ll do that,” Montero replied. “Meantime, the one question everyone is asking is: Where are we going?”

  “Michael and I are thinking Scotland?”

  Michael looked up from the data he’d entered into the FMS. “All the systems have come back online, autopilot included. We’ve got the fuel, so if they don’t mind being cramped up in back, we can land in Edinburgh in an hour and a half.”

  “Run that past William,” Donovan told Montero. “For the moment, we’re headed to Edinburgh.”

  Montero left and seconds later she returned. “I think you need to check with the guys out there.”

  Donovan turned and found a Typhoon fighter in close formation, positioned just off the left wing. “Michael, do you have a fighter on your side?”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t see anyone. What do you see, and what are they flying?”