Zero Separation

by Philip Donlay

  CHAPTER TWO

  Donovan Nash looked at his watch, then out at the low gray clouds that swept over the Bermuda airport. The rain was racing sideways in billowing sheets. He swore under his breath…they were late. He’d been pacing back and forth in the lobby of Operations. He paused to look out the window. Thirty yards out on the tarmac sat the aircraft he’d just landed. It was the last airplane on the empty desolate field. The highly modified Gulfstream IV SP glistened in the rain—bold blue and gray stripes ran the length of the white fuselage, then swept up the tail, ending with the “Eco-Watch” name proudly emblazoned around the symbol of the globe. On the nose, Spirit of da Vinci was neatly printed below the cockpit. Funded by a private foundation, Eco-Watch was one of the premier, nonprofit scientific groups in the world. In the eight years since its inception, Eco-Watch had grown from humble beginnings to become one of the leading research organizations in existence. Both of Eco-Watch’s specialty aircraft were easily booked two years in advance. The primary focus was hurricane and typhoon study, meteorological events that presented the greatest threat to the world’s population. But the overall mission statement was to study any atmospheric condition, from polar weather formations, to holes in the ozone layer, to El Niño. Whatever science needed to find, Eco-Watch would find a way to make it possible.

  A few hours ago, Donovan had gotten a frantic call. A key group of scientists were stranded on Bermuda. The Air Force jet that had been scheduled to make the pickup had mechanical problems and canceled. The fact that the call had come from the Pentagon had been unusual, but the government was just one of the many organizations that contracted Eco-Watch’s services. During the Atlantic hurricane season, Eco-Watch was on constant alert and often flew missions to support the hurricane hunter flights operated by the Air force. Just as well, thought Donovan as he studied the sky. The storm had picked up strength in the last hour or so; he doubted the Air Force would have stuck around this long.

  Donovan chose to operate under the title of Director of Aircraft Operations—very few people knew that he’d founded Eco-Watch. It took him out of the spotlight and gave him far more freedom than he’d have had otherwise. The last thing he ever wanted to do was get stuck behind a desk. Plain and simple, he loved to fly and did so at every opportunity. As one of the frontline pilots, he enjoyed a camaraderie and closeness with his people he’d never have sitting in an office. He looked at his watch again, then at the water streaming off the roof. These people were cutting it close. Donovan had more leeway than the military, so there was still time left before the full force of Helena was forecast to hit Bermuda.

  The plate glass rattled and a low howl resonated above the sound of the rain. Donovan shifted his gaze to his reflection. He’d just turned forty-five years old, though he knew he was still as lean and muscular as he was ten years ago. Genetics had been kind to him. He stood six-foot two, yet had to do very little to maintain his ideal weight. But the other subtle changes hadn’t escaped him. The lines around his blue eyes were getting more pronounced, as was the gray that had begun to appear at his temples. His strong angular features seemed to have softened. Most men approaching middle age might groan inwardly at the changes, but Donovan welcomed them. Anything that distanced him from the past was welcome.

  “They’re here. They’re coming through the gate now,” a voice called across the room from behind the counter. “They’ll drive right out to the plane.”

  “Thanks.” Donovan breathed a sigh of relief. They could be airborne in fifteen minutes, home to Eco-Watch’s hangar at Dulles airport in Washington within two hours. He started for the door, then stopped.

  “Hey. What’s the wind right now?”

  The station manager looked at the instruments. “It’s showing 030 degrees at 25 knots, gusting to 40. I guess I don’t need to tell you the barometer is dropping fast.”

  Donovan smiled. “I think I figured that part out already. Good luck and thanks for all your help.” It was no use to try to stay dry. Donovan bolted out of the office and with his head down against the stinging rain, ran toward the waiting jet.

  A cream-colored Toyota Landcruiser pulled onto the ramp, then slowed. They’d been told to expect a military airplane, and Donovan guessed the driver must be unsure of where to go. He waved it toward the Gulfstream. The headlights flashed in acknowledgment, and the four-wheel drive Toyota quickly covered the distance to the waiting Eco-Watch jet.

  The doors of the Landcruiser burst open, and a large man eased himself down to the ground. Donovan dispensed with any formalities and headed to the rear of the vehicle. He was certain they’d have luggage and equipment and he wanted to get everything loaded as fast as possible. The occupant quickly joined him there.

  “I’m Dr. Carl Simmons.” The huge man extended a beefy hand. “We were expecting an Air Force jet.”

  “I’m Captain Nash.” Donovan shook Simmons’ hand. Simmons was a hulk of a man, huge jowls hiding any inkling that he had a neck. His small eyes looked out of scale on his massive face. Donovan wasn’t used to looking up at very many people, but Simmons towered a good four inches above him. “Change of plans. Get on board and I’ll start bringing the luggage up.”

  “The others aren’t here yet are they?” Dr. Simmons asked as he lifted two of the heaviest cases.

  “What others?” Donovan snapped his head toward Simmons. Any hope for a quick departure had vanished.

  “They’re in another car. I left before them to try to get here in time. We can’t leave without them.”

  “We will if I say so,” Donovan said, bristling at Simmons’s overbearing tone.

  “You are going to wait, aren’t you?” Dr. Simmons turned his head as a gust of wind and rain peppered them.

  Donovan nodded. “I’ll wait as long as I can. Now please, get on board while I stow this stuff.”

  With help from the driver, Donovan hoisted the last of the bags up into the rear cargo compartment. Once everything was aboard, Donovan turned to him.

  “Dr. Simmons said there was another car. Any idea how far behind they were?”

  “I shouldn’t think very far,” the driver shouted above the wind. “But conditions are getting worse. They should be here any time.”

  “Does the other car have a radio?”

  The driver shook his head.

  “Can you sit tight for a minute? If we get stranded, we might need your help.” Donovan could feel the first prickle that something wasn’t quite right, like a splinter lodged under his skin. It was a feeling he’d learned to never ignore.

  “They paid me for all day,” the driver replied. “I’ll wait in the car.”

  Donovan hurried to the stairs that led up into the Gulfstream. He took the steps two at a time, then ducked through the door into the airplane. He pulled the vinyl curtain back over the entrance to try to keep the rain out. Nicolas Kosta, a new Eco-Watch pilot who was along as part of his orientation, eagerly handed him a towel. Nicolas was a study in contrasts. Still in his late twenties, he sported a shaved head and black wire frame glasses. His wide brown eyes and thick eyebrows dominated his narrow face. One moment he seemed twenty-seven, the next he came across as being someone much older.

  “We ready to go?” Nicolas asked.

  Donovan shook his head. “There’s another car. It should be here any moment. Where’s Michael? Is he up front?”

  “Yes sir,” Nicolas reported. “Strapped in, ready to get us out of here.”

  Donovan nodded. Michael Ross was his closest friend, and a senior captain at Eco-Watch. He and Michael had flown together for years. Donovan knew him well enough to know he probably had a finger poised on the start button. Being caught on the ground with a hurricane sweeping in from the ocean was the last thing either of them wanted.

  “Nicolas.” Donovan saw the young man stiffen. He wished Nicolas would relax. He was a solid pilot and hard worker. He’d been through the grueling interview process and had the job. “Get Dr. Simmons settled. He seems a little wound up
. I’ll be in the cockpit. Be ready to leave on my signal.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Donovan pulled the towel around his neck and made his way through the narrow passageway to the cockpit. He felt the usual satisfaction at how well his hand-picked crew did their jobs. Eco-Watch, under Donovan’s guidance, was a tight-knit group of professionals, at times more of an extended family than a business. He had nearly forty people under his direct supervision, a mixture of pilots, mechanics, engineers, and support staff. Donovan prided himself on knowing each one as more than just an employee. He felt confident that Nicolas could handle things in the back, and that Michael would have everything prepared up front. He opened the door and was greeted by a rush of cool, conditioned air—a sharp contrast to the clinging oppressive atmosphere being pumped northward by the hurricane.

  Michael Ross looked up from the chart he was studying. Intelligent blue eyes stood out from a handsome tanned face. At thirty-seven years old, he possessed an irresistible combination of good looks and natural charm. His closely cropped blonde hair and muscular build made him appear as if he’d just stepped off of a Southern California beach.

  “About time. Are we finally ready to get the hell out of here?”

  “No. We’re waiting on one more group,” Donovan said. “They should be here shortly.”

  “Oh, perfect. They can’t all ride in the same car?”

  Donovan shrugged, then used the end of the towel to wipe his forehead.

  “You look a little damp. Is it raining outside or something?” Michael flashed a wry grin in Donovan’s direction.

  “A little drizzle. Nothing too bad.” Donovan matched his friend’s tone. Michael’s sarcasm was legendary, and as constant as the rising sun. Donovan’s trained eyes darted around the cockpit. He could see Michael had everything ready to go. The driving storm buffeted the airplane and sheets of rain blurred the view out the Gulfstream’s windows.

  “What’s the wind doing now?” Donovan asked, a crease forming on his forehead as he felt the heavy Gulfstream shudder in the gale.

  “Let me check.” Michael picked up the microphone. “Bermuda tower. This is Eco-Watch 02. Say the wind, please.”

  “Wind is 030 degrees at 25 knots with peak gusts to 43 knots.”

  “Roger, we copy.” Michael looked up at Donovan. “It’s increased a little from when we landed. But nothing too bad yet. The tower told me that if the wind reached sixty knots they’d have to evacuate the cab and we’d be on our own.”

  “Hopefully, we’ll be long gone before it gets that strong.”

  “How long we going to give the other car? I’d sure hate to be sitting here when Helena rolls in from the Atlantic.”

  “Captain?”

  Donovan turned at the sound of the voice. He found Dr. Simmons inching his bulk forward.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m starting to get worried. I would have thought they’d have been here by now. Dr. McKenna was deeply concerned about making this flight before the storm stranded us. All the work we’ve done here needs to be monitored from Washington.”

  “Dr. Lauren McKenna?” Donovan felt the air rush from his lungs; his stomach lurched as if he’d just been punched. His face flushed and chills rose from the flesh of his arms.

  “Well, yes. She’s the project manager,” Simmons explained.

  Donovan tried to collect himself. Dr. Simmons’ worried expression cut through him like a knife.

  “Give me the portable VHF radio.”

  “What are you doing?” Michael eyed him warily as he reached for the small hand-held aviation transmitter and gave it to him.

  “I’m going to find her,” Donovan said, quietly. He ignored the look of concern etched on Michael’s face.

  “I’ll try to stay in contact with you on 122.8.” Donovan checked that the radio’s battery was fully charged. “If the wind gets anywhere close to fifty knots you and Nicolas get the da Vinci out of Bermuda. I’ll ride the storm out here.” Donovan knew his friend was getting ready to try to talk him out of this.

  “Are you sure?”

  Donovan’s eyes met Michael’s. “That’s an order.”

  They both knew Donovan’s painful history with Lauren McKenna. Michael had been with him through the difficult weeks after she’d left—his friend had stayed close, tried to help however he could. It was something Donovan would always be thankful for. It’d been over a year since she’d gone—but in so many ways it seemed like only yesterday. His conflicted emotions gnawed at him. It was a familiar feeling.

  “I’ll be fine. Just don’t put the plane at risk.”

  “Donovan, I’m serious. Why don’t you let me go?” Michael started to get up out of the seat. “I’ll find her. You take care of these people.”

  Donovan shook his head. “Sorry, Michael. But I’m pulling rank on this one. Monitor 122.8. We’ll try to stay in touch.”

  Without waiting for a reply, or having to look again into Michael’s disapproving eyes, Donovan pushed past Dr. Simmons and bounded down the air-stairs to the waiting Landcruiser. Oblivious to the rain, he hurried to the passenger door and hoisted himself inside the Toyota.

  “Let’s go!” he snapped. “Back the way you came. We need to find the other car—and hurry. We’re running out of time.”

  Donovan buckled his seat belt as the driver nodded. The Toyota lurched forward and headed toward the gate that led out of the airport.

  “My name is Ian.” The driver said in a clipped British accent. He put out his hand as he braked hard and waited for the gate to open.

  “I’m Donovan.” He returned the firm handshake. Donovan felt a small measure of relief that Ian’s sense of urgency seemed to match his own. He saw the look of determination on his ebony face.

  “What kind of car are we looking for?” Donovan asked, quickly.

  “It’s a white Mercedes sedan.” The gate inched back just enough for them to pass and Ian gunned the Toyota through the narrow opening out onto the empty road. “It has a government seal painted on the side.”

  As they sped away from the airport, Donovan wasn’t sure what he dreaded most: that something terrible had happened to Lauren, or how he would feel when he was face to face with her.

  Donovan stiffened as they rounded a curve and Ian stepped hard on the gas pedal. Ahead of them was the causeway that stretched across Castle Harbour. He’d been over the bridge many times, but never when such big waves were breaking against the pylons. Geysers of water exploded into the air where they were ripped apart by the raging wind. Donovan could feel his leg muscles tighten at the sight. Each large swell dashed rhythmically against the concrete, leaving a frothy wake on the road itself. Ian held the Landcruiser steady as they plowed through the axle-deep water. Donovan felt his skin turn warm and clammy. He wanted to close his eyes as the water arched toward them and broke over the Landcruiser. Donovan held his breath. His heart palpitated in his chest—the pounding moving up through his neck and finally hammering at his temples, threatening to crush him as each wave reared up and splashed against the metal of the Toyota. He took his eyes from the waves and looked up at the clouds. Donovan tried to reason with his demons. In his mind the wild ocean had become a living, breathing entity—a forbidding creature that would, on a whim, turn deadly and murderous. From firsthand experience, Donovan knew what a cold, calculating killer it could be. Once upon a time, the sea had taken everything from him.

  Donovan sat frozen, unable to stop the barrage of memories. With vivid clarity, he could picture the sudden early morning storm: the deafening thunder and horizontal rain, mountainous waves that had built relentlessly, finally capsizing and smashing his family’s chartered schooner. He’d been fourteen years old, and in the chaos of the storm, he’d been thrown overboard, flung helplessly into the giant waves of the southern Pacific Ocean. It was the day he’d become an orphan.

  “Man, I’ve never seen the harbour looking quite like this.” Ian held the wheel steady as they pushed across the bridge. �
�I’d say she’s a bit riled up.”

  Water crashed into the side of the Toyota. Donovan tried to control his breathing. It was as if the sea were attempting to reach in and snatch him from the vehicle. He clenched his teeth, trying to convince himself the weight of the Landcruiser was stronger than the waves. Donovan knew that if he were somehow washed into the ocean it would surely kill him. The sea had been waiting over thirty years for a second chance.

  “Whoa.” Ian turned the Landcruiser hard into a big wave. The vehicle skidded on the blacktop.

  They were almost across. Donovan let out a breath of thanks as they once again crossed over onto solid land. It had been years since he’d been threatened by such close proximity to an angry ocean. He tried to blot out the image of how awful it would be if he were once again adrift in such a sea. Ian slowed as they veered right. Donovan noticed a sign; they’d just turned onto Blue Hole road. He thought of the return trip he’d have to endure to get back to the plane and wished desperately that there were another way to the airport.

  “You really going to fly in this?” Ian peered up at the tumbling mass of clouds racing past just above the terrain.

  “It’s not that bad.” Donovan swallowed hard. Flying was far easier than what he’d just gone through. Trying to recover from crossing the causeway, Donovan pulled the portable radio from his belt and switched it on. He waited a moment until the numbers were visible on the display. He verified it was set to 122.8, then held it to his mouth.

  “Eco-Watch 02 this is Donovan. Radio check.”

  “Loud and clear.” Michael’s voice came through the small speaker.

  “Roger. I’ll keep the frequency open. If you need to get out of here let me know.”

  “So far so good. Just find them and get back.”

  “Will do.” Donovan couldn’t miss the note of concern in Michael’s voice. He turned to Ian.

  “Is there any chance they would have taken another route?”

  “Haven’t driven in Bermuda very often, have you? There’s usually only one way to get anywhere. I know the driver; Peter’s an old pub mate of mine. I can guarantee you he came this way.”