Seconds to Midnight Page 3

  “I think this could end up being nothing,” Montero said. “We’ll know more in a few hours, but in the meantime I say we play it safe. Lauren, I need to put you on alert. I’ve already initiated the appropriate protocols. An hour from now, a private jet will be in position at Innsbruck airport, and it will be placed on twenty-four-hour standby to take you out of Europe if needed. I’ve also left a message for our former SAS friends in London. I may bring them into the picture as the situation gels.”

  “You called Reggie?” Lauren asked. She and Donovan, as well as Montero, had sat down months ago and implemented a series of measured reactions to certain events that might threaten Eco-Watch or its people. Reggie was the man who led a highly capable group of former SAS soldiers that had been brought in from time to time to help with security. Lauren thought highly of them, and two in particular, Reggie and Trevor, she considered friends.

  “I can promise security here at the chalet,” Marta said. “Dad and I of course have considerable resources toward that end.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” Montero answered. “I’ll keep you both in the loop as best I can. Due to the communication problems from the solar storm, I haven’t been able to talk to Donovan directly. Our immediate issue is to try and identify the woman. Once that’s accomplished, we’ll know what to do.”

  “Thanks. Tell Donovan to call me when he can,” Lauren said.

  Marta severed the connection and leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temples. “Wow, that’s a lot to take in. Do you think Montero’s overreacting?”

  “No, I don’t,” Lauren said as her phone chimed, announcing that she had a new message. A glance told her it was from Donovan.

  “What?” Marta asked. “Is there something else?”

  “Yes, an e-mail from Donovan.”

  “Open it.”

  “It’s a video file from the Galileo’s onboard mainframe, recorded earlier today.” Lauren selected play, and the image of a Boeing 737 filled the screen. Viewed on her phone, it was too small to make out all the details. With Marta peering over her shoulder, they watched as the airliner jettisoned something unidentifiable and then moments later landed on a frozen lake. The camera zoomed in on a person rushing out of a smoke-filled over-wing exit, and then falling into the water as the Boeing broke through the ice. That was where the loop ended.

  “We have to watch that again on a bigger screen,” Marta said.

  Lauren nodded. She pieced together what she knew so far, and became more confused, a sensation she didn’t relish. What the loop didn’t show was Donovan and Michael landing the Galileo on the ice to save that woman—a woman who then warned Donovan of a threat to them and their families.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE SATELLITE PHONE buzzed in the cabin of the Galileo. Donovan had been expecting the call. He picked it up before the second ring and moved to the rear of the cabin, out of earshot from Samuels and Yates. “Montero, it’s me. What have you got?”

  “I don’t know much,” Montero said. “This woman has no name, no history at all. It’s believed she was abducted from Krakow, Poland, three years ago. A security camera witnessed the abduction, the kidnappers were never identified. A file was opened, and Interpol entered her picture into their database. This morning, facial recognition from your image tagged her as the woman from Krakow, the same woman who was classified as a person of interest in the death of a German diplomat a year ago.”

  “What about the fingerprints?” Donovan asked.

  “Her prints are not in anyone’s system.”

  “This seems so disconnected,” Donovan said. “Do we have any idea why she was aboard that jet?”

  “She’s only part of this mystery. There is no record of that 737’s existence, at least with a Saudi Arabian registration. There are no reports of a missing airplane, anywhere. At this point I don’t know what to think.”

  “What you’re telling me is that if we land and start telling people what we saw, it’ll be breaking news within the hour. The last thing I want to do is end up in the middle of an international spectacle that may or may not make all of us targets,” Donovan said. “I need more information about what we’re dealing with before I’m forced to sit down with the authorities and explain what happened.”

  “I’ve already spoken to Lauren and Marta. They’re up to speed. I’m hoping between my Interpol connection and Marta’s network, we can solve this fairly fast. Do you want me to alert William and Stephanie?”

  “Yes, William needs to be aware of this.” Donovan thought of William, his oldest friend and the man who raised him after Donovan’s parents died. As a senior member of the State Department, given the title of Diplomat-at-Large, William was in a unique position to advise him on this situation and perhaps even run some interference. Stephanie was William’s niece, like a sister to Donovan. As far as Donovan knew, Stephanie was home in England preparing for everyone’s arrival for New Year celebrations. Donovan assumed William was at his home in Washington.

  “The way I see it, you’ve got two options,” Montero said. “Divert to Winnipeg, tell them what happened, and you’ll probably be on your way home in a day or two, but the media exposure will be intense, and if there is a threat out there, they’ll know exactly where to find you. The other option is to land in Minneapolis as planned, and contact the FBI later, after we know more and can assess the threat. At least we’ll be on our side of the border. We can always admit to poor judgment, and we can use our connections to mitigate any legal fallout. If needed, you can pull William into the mix to help apply the correct amount of pressure in Washington to keep you and Eco-Watch out of trouble.”

  “I like that option. We land in Minneapolis and say nothing. I’ll see to this woman’s medical needs. But she issued her warning, and I want to know why. If Homeland Security, the FBI, and the Canadian authorities all get involved, it’ll end up a bureaucratic mess.”

  “A word of warning—don’t underestimate the woman,” Montero said. “After all, she could have been the one who brought down the Boeing.”

  “I understand.” Donovan recalled Michael’s identical warning and knew they were both right. For the moment though, he doubted that the woman lying on the floor of the Galileo posed much of a threat. “Here’s what I’m going to need inside the next hour. Pick a hospital in Minneapolis that will serve her medical needs, as well as our requirements for staying out of the spotlight—I’m thinking a nice, suburban hospital. Then we’ll need to create a credible story about why I’m bringing an unconscious woman to the emergency room instead of calling for an ambulance. She has no ID, no name. They’re going to ask questions—I need good answers that won’t set off alarms. The kind a former FBI agent knows about.”

  “Use the one story everyone in the emergency room hears all the time,” Montero said. “You’re a married, fifty-two-year-old businessman from Virginia. You’re in Minneapolis for a few days, you met an attractive woman, and the two of you hit it off. Tell them she was conscious in the car, but not feeling very well. You, being her concerned friend, brought her to the emergency room. Work out a brief, simple backstory you can repeat under stress. Tell the nurses she lost her purse. Make up a name for her, offer to pay the bills, and they’ll be bored with your story before you finish talking.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I’ll do some research, and once I find the right hospital, I’ll text you some geographical points to use, so it’ll all make sense to the staff. Memorize what I send, and then delete it all. You’ve ignored some threats in the past—and paid dearly,” Montero said. “I think this is the best move.”

  “I agree. I want you to charter a jet and get to Minneapolis as fast as you can. Wait. On second thought, stop in Norfolk first and pick up some equipment that will be waiting for you at the airport. It’ll be from Eco-Watch Marine. Bring everything to Minneapolis.”

  “The Atlantic Titan is out to sea, steaming towards Monserrat,” Montero said as a reminder. “Are you sure
what you need is going to be in port?”

  “Positive,” Donovan said and pictured the Atlantic Titan. She was one of two ocean-capable research vessels operated by Eco-Watch. A third was under construction, only months away from being launched. The equipment he had in mind would be in storage at Eco-Watch Marine headquarters. “Oh, and you’ll have an additional passenger from Norfolk to Minneapolis.”

  “Who else are you bringing into this?”

  “Jesse Burke; you remember him, right?”

  “Yes, and I recommended to you that his employment be reassessed,” Montero said. “Jesse Burke has problems, which make him unpredictable. It wasn’t me, but someone at Eco-Watch finally had the good sense to place Jesse on leave after he was arrested for another DUI.”

  “I’m the one who did that,” Donovan said. “But Jesse has useful skills. We’ll talk about all of this when you arrive. Send me the information you promised, as well as your ETA. I’m going to call Jesse, and I intend to give him one more chance. I’ll talk to you soon. Right now I have a crew to brief.”

  Donovan stowed the phone, stood, and stretched, ignoring Samuels’ and Yates’ questioning expressions as he walked past, motioning for them to follow him toward the cockpit.

  “What’s going on?” Michael asked as Donovan sat down in the jump seat.

  “Can everyone hear me?” Donovan asked. Surrounded by his crew to his left and the science team to his right, he only wanted to say this once. He was met with four solemn nods. “I have some information, and it’s not good. Bear with me while I try to explain. The woman in the back is a mystery, a Jane Doe possibly abducted three years ago. In some circles she’s thought to be a person of interest in a homicide a year ago. So, her warning could be real. I’m not willing to risk our lives, as well as the lives of our families, by turning this situation over to the Canadian authorities, or even the American authorities. In either case we immediately lose containment, and the last thing I want is for my people to become visible targets.”

  “I agree.” Samuels broke the silence. “What about the Boeing? Does it just stay hidden forever?”

  “It’s not going anywhere,” Donovan said. “This is what I need to happen. When we land, I’ll drive the woman to the hospital. The four of you act as if nothing has happened, and prepare the plane for the next mission north. Then go to the Marriott and get some sleep. I’ll continue to chase down the situation. If I have any information you need to know, I’ll call no earlier than six o’clock this evening.”

  “What if we don’t hear from you?” Michael asked.

  “Fly the scheduled mission. Do the job we’re here to do. Be sure to pass over the lake again and gather as much information as you can. Get images of the crash site and the area where we think the jettisoned object came down.”

  “But at some point, we will turn this over to the FAA or the FBI?” Yates asked.

  “Of course,” Donovan said. “Montero is on her way to Minneapolis, and once we know for sure we’re not targets, she’ll use her connections to orchestrate a very quiet handoff of information. At that point, the authorities will move in and take over.”

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t just turn everything over to the FBI when we land?” Samuels asked.

  “The time frame immediately points to us,” Donovan said. “It wouldn’t take the media very long to find out we were the only airplane in the area where the 737 went down. In fact, my guess is that CNN would have that information within hours and we become the targets we’re trying to avoid. What I’m hoping is with some answers in hand, days from now, those questions about Eco-Watch are far less pertinent. Ultimately, we need the woman to explain this threat. In the meantime, we need to keep her a secret. If there are no other questions, Rick, once her clothes are dry, check all of her pockets again for anything of interest. Look for labels, scars, tattoos, or any other mark that might help us identify her. Then get her dressed.

  “Rick,” Michael said. “Do what you need to do, but get her ready before we start our descent into Minneapolis. I’ll need you in the cockpit.”

  “Mr. Nash, what are you going to do?” Samuels asked.

  “I’ve got more phone calls to make.” Donovan grabbed his briefcase from the closet and excused himself once again, stepping over their mysterious survivor. When he reached the rear of the Gulfstream, he opened his directory, found Jesse Burke’s contact information, and dialed.

  “Jesse here, go.”

  “Mr. Burke,” Donovan said. “This is Donovan Nash.”

  “Mr. Nash,” Jesse said. “Yes, sir. I, uh, wasn’t expecting a call from you.”

  “Listen carefully. When you and I last spoke, I put you on leave for your second DUI in three years. Tell me honestly, what have you done with your time off ?”

  “I’ll be honest, sir. For the first week I drank, and in the ten weeks since, I haven’t had a drop. I run, I go to the gym, I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been in my life. I owe you, sir.”

  “Yes, you do,” Donovan said. “And I’m calling in that favor. I’m willing to take you off suspension effective immediately, but I need you to travel to Minneapolis.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll catch the next flight out.”

  “A chartered jet is being arranged. You’ll be flying from Norfolk to Minneapolis with Montero. She’ll be in touch with the details. Before you head to the airport, I need you to go to the Eco-Watch facility and put together some equipment for the trip.” Donovan rattled off what he wanted Jesse to secure.

  “I have it, sir,” Jesse said. “This will be ready to go as soon as possible.”

  “Are you comfortable using all of this equipment?”

  “I don’t see anything particularly dangerous on the list, but I do have a question. I heard that Ms. Montero wanted to fire me after I was arrested, but that you overruled her. Is that true? And if so, has her opinion changed?”

  “Looks like you’re about to find out. See you this afternoon.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “WHAT ARE YOU ladies doing?” Kristof stood in the doorway, cane in one hand, and a cell phone in the other. He looked thin, but handsome, in gray slacks, a black pullover, and a casual dinner jacket.

  “Come.” Marta gestured for him to sit at the table. “We’re looking at something from Donovan that I think will interest you.”

  Lauren marveled at the love, closeness, and genuine mutual respect that existed between Marta and her father. Marta had been born in Warsaw and raised by her single mother, who slowly deteriorated, eventually losing her battle with drug addiction. As a teenager, before her mother passed away, Marta learned that her father was a man called Archangel. Familiar with the stories behind the man, Marta made a desperate move. She’d found a picture of her and her mother taken years before. She gave the photograph to a criminal she knew who was rumored to have ties with Archangel. She had no idea how such a move might play out. One day while cleaning tables in a bar, the place suddenly cleared out, and Archangel himself walked in and introduced himself. After they talked, he asked for a saliva sample to run a DNA test. Archangel said he’d be in touch. He left her some money in an envelope and walked out.

  Ten days later he showed up again, and just like that, she went from living in a run-down apartment to a penthouse. Her indoctrination into a completely new world was rapid. Marta was sent to Cambridge, where she studied social and political sciences, as well as psychology. In the summers, Kristof took her to Scotland, where, under his watchful eyes, a former Mossad agent tutored his daughter until she mastered weaponry and tactics, martial arts, and poker. When Kristof became ill, Marta gradually took over the family business. Even though Archangel was now a twenty-seven-year-old woman, the name still carried the same frightening weight; only the voice running the organization had changed.

  “What’s Donovan up to now?” Kristof pulled out a chair and sat next to his daughter.

  “As you know, he’s studying the solar storm, flying scientists up near the Arctic Circle t
o collect data, all very routine for Eco-Watch—until this morning,” Marta said. “A private Boeing 737 nearly collided with them and eventually crash-landed on a frozen lake. Donovan managed to land on the ice and rescue the sole survivor.”

  “Sounds like something he’d do,” Kristof said. “With him, it’s never simple. What else?”

  “The survivor is a woman,” Marta continued. “As Donovan reached her, she warned him not to tell anyone about her, or everyone and their families will be killed. Then she lost consciousness.”

  “What else do we know?” Kristof asked.

  “Pictures.” Lauren slid the several pages of images they’d printed across the table toward Kristof. There was no text, nothing but the various angles that Donovan had shot of the woman.

  As Kristof picked up the first one, his eyes narrowed. He silently studied each page and then set them down.

  “Do you recognize her?” Marta asked. “Interpol says she’s a Jane Doe, possibly abducted from Krakow three years ago, and then a year ago was labeled a person of interest in the murder of a German diplomat.”

  Kristof carefully inspected each image one more time until he finally shook his head and slid the photos back to Lauren. “I don’t know this person. What do you know of the diplomat who was killed? Did it happen in Berlin?”

  “Yes,” Lauren said.

  “I think I remember the event,” Kristof said. “The victim, if I remember correctly, was driving home late at night. There was a car accident, a hit and run. His neck was broken. Forensics later determined that the force of the wreck wasn’t sufficient to inflict such an injury. There was traffic camera footage showing a woman reaching the man first. Authorities confirmed that she snapped his neck.”

  “We also have the video of the other plane taken from the Galileo’s optics array.” Marta slid her laptop toward her father.