Zero Separation (42 page)

“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.”

Donovan silently urged Ian to drive faster. He could feel his patience begin to chaff and dwindle. Lauren could be in trouble. It was as if a small voice inside of him was screaming at them to hurry.

“Oh, shit.” Ian slowed quickly and maneuvered the Toyota around a large branch that had fallen across the road. “The wind is getting a bit dodgy up here on the hill.”

Donovan could see they were gaining elevation as they drove west. It was growing even darker to the southeast. The bulging gray clouds looked close enough to touch as rain hurtled out of the sky with a vengeance. Since they'd left the airport, Donovan hadn't seen a single sign of life: houses and businesses were boarded up; there'd been no other traffic on the road. Donovan rubbed his temples. That he was searching the island for Lauren seemed somehow abstract, and yet at the same time, his pulse raced with both anticipation and fear.

They came around a sharp turn, Ian slowing the Landcruiser as the tires skidded and slipped on the soaked pavement. He straightened the Toyota and continued up the hill.

“Ian! Go back!” Donovan twisted in his seat. He wasn't sure what he'd seen, but something had registered.

“What was it?” Ian brought the Toyota to a stop. He shifted into reverse, switched on the emergency flashers and carefully began to back up.

“Right here. Stop the car. See those two trees? They're broken in the wrong direction against the storm.”

Donovan jumped out into the stinging rain. He ran as fast as he could to the edge of the pavement. Seconds later, he could see the rear end of a white sedan at the bottom of the culvert. It was lying on its roof, the metal along the side dented and scraped. Without hesitation, he jumped down the muddy ravine. He slid, arms outstretched, trying to keep his balance on the slick ground. His momentum quickly carried him down to the wrecked Mercedes. Donovan was unable to stop his forward motion. He twisted and went down hard as he slammed into the fender. Oblivious to the pain, he pulled himself up on his knees and staggered forward to get to the passenger compartment. As he neared the front door he saw a hand—it was the slender shape of a woman's. There was also a bracelet—a handmade, braided gold original. Donovan had bought the bracelet for Lauren in London. Terrified, Donovan grabbed her wrist as he sank to mid-calf in a watery quagmire. He pulled the limp arm, but found he couldn't move her out of the car. A frantic inspection told him that she was wedged in by the wreckage. Terror welled up in his throat as he caught a glimpse of auburn hair floating in the muddy water.

“Oh God. Lauren, hang on!” Donovan couldn't erase the image of his own mother's hand as she slipped beneath the water for the last time. He'd been frozen, unable to help her—the same paralysis threatened to seize him at the sight of Lauren.

“Donovan! Catch!” Ian yelled from the top of the hill. He threw down a wire cable from the Toyota's bumper mounted winch.