Aftershock: A Donovan Nash Novel (A Donovan Nash Thriller) (26 page)

“What else? Give me something I can use,” Lauren said.

“Listen to this, I have a friend at the NSA. He ran Eva’s image. Initially, they got hundreds of possible hits, but were able to quickly pinpoint which one was her. My friend saw my name attached to the case, and contacted me because some of the hits originated from the missing or exploited children domain. It’s not a hundred percent certain, but the girl flagged because of similar facial structure to a missing child years ago. She was fifteen at the time and kidnapped in Costa Rica. The name of the child is Daniela Angela Rocha.”

It only took Lauren a second to recognize the name. “Are you telling me this could be the girl who was kidnapped and missing the same time as Meredith?”

“Yeah, and her mother’s name was Angela Eva Rocha. Seems like the name Eva and angels are a serious theme within the family.”

“Who else knows about this?” Lauren asked.

“For now, just you and I,” Montero replied. “Though, when the FBI analysts sift through the data, they’ll find it sooner or later.”

“Okay. We need to capitalize on our head start.” Lauren’s
thoughts raced through the possibilities and implications. “What about the missing girl, Marie? Have you been able to find her mother in California?”

“Yes, she’s in the Bay Area. I have a friend, a former FBI agent who’s now a private investigator, making contact with her this morning.”

“You need to be there,” Lauren said. “You need to ask this woman everything you can about Eva, and about Hector Vargas.”

“I’m glad you agree. We were just about to leave for the airport,” Montero replied.

“We, as in you and Abigail?” Lauren was caught off guard by the news and wasn’t sure how she felt.

“At this point, I’d rather Abigail be in the hands of a professional, rather than babysat by your mother,” Montero explained. “I promise, I’ll protect her with my life. Besides, she thinks it’s a great adventure.”

“She would,” Lauren sighed. “Let me talk to her.”

“Hi, Mommy,” Abigail said. “I’m going for an airplane ride to California. I’m going to see the ocean and maybe a whale.”

“Are you going to have fun and be a good girl?”

“Uh huh,” Abigail replied.

“I think I have something!” John called out. “It’s a small plane. It might be them.”

“Where?” Buck was instantly at John’s side.

“Mommy has to go now,” Lauren said. “I love you, sweetie, have fun. Can you hand the phone back to Ms. Montero?”

“She’s all smiles,” Montero said as she came back on the line.

“Okay. Keep me posted. I have to go, and please, be safe.”

“I promise.”

Lauren slid the phone back into its cradle and joined William as they crowded close to the
Scimitar
console.

“It’s them! I can just make out the floats.” John pointed first to the infrared screen, then at a map of Guatemala. “They’ve turned west—toward the volcano.”

“I knew it!” Buck rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
“Relay the information to Janie. Find out how long until she arrives at the lake.”

“I just talked with her. She can’t fly direct to the lake due to the poor visibility. She’s going to try to work her way around and try to approach from the south.”

“Does she know about the latest USGS information regarding the volcano?” Buck asked.

“Yes, sir, she does.”

“Tell her to keep us updated,” Buck said. “Now, how long until Eva and Donovan arrive at the lake?”

John did the calculations. “The Cessna will be at the eastern edge of the lake in four minutes.”

Buck leaned over and shouted toward the cockpit. “Michael! We have them! They’re headed for the lake at the base of Atitlán. How fast can you get us there?”

“Ten minutes,” Michael called out over his shoulder.

Lauren felt the Gulfstream surge beneath her feet as Michael pushed up the throttles. They were now thundering through the morning sky toward the distant lake.

Buck clenched his jaw and his eyes darted around the interior of the
Galileo
. “Lauren, I’m going to need your help.”

She nodded. Though she had no idea what he was going to do, she held on dearly to the slender thread of confidence he’d shown.

Donovan could finally pick out the glimmer of the lake. They’d barely made it through the mountain pass. The clouds had lifted enough for their pilot to make a brief radio call. Donovan couldn’t figure out why, despite the improved weather conditions, the sky had grown darker. He wondered if there were thunderstorms building—that the billowing moisture had obscured the sun.

They were still flying over the narrow road that ran from Guatemala City to the lake. If Donovan remembered correctly, this route would take them directly over the small village of Panajachel, which sat on the north shore of Lake Atitlán. Once over the water, they could land anywhere along the rugged shore, or perhaps the transfer might take place out on the water in a boat, far from any prying eyes. Whatever the case, he was on his own. He wondered at what point they might think to frisk him for a weapon. Would he have a window to kill the kidnappers before they could harm Stephanie?

Donovan watched the pilot, trying to get a feel for where he was looking, hoping for a clue as to where they were going to land and how soon. Between the hills to the south, Donovan could now clearly see the lake. The wind was out of the north—the calm, unruffled water gave way to a light chop several hundred yards from the shore. The pilot, too, was looking at the water, and with one hand, reduced the power and started a wide descending turn toward the lake.

Donovan knew the closer they came with the money, the
more anxious the kidnappers would become. The proximity of the three million dollars was the most dangerous part of the equation. Donovan looked at the pilot as they descended closer to the water. They sailed over the rock-strewn shoreline and banked again. They were now parallel to the shore only a hundred feet above the calm water. The pilot reached out and pulled the lever that lowered the flaps. As he did so, his cotton jacket opened just enough to reveal a gun. Donovan spotted the varnished wooden handle of a pistol tucked up under the pilot’s left arm and felt the muscles in his legs tense. If he was putting down flaps, they were about to land.

Donovan scanned the lake. There weren’t any boats for at least a mile in any direction. Structures haphazardly dotted the hillsides, ranging from shacks to larger buildings that might be houses, or even small hotels. Donovan spotted a few wooden docks that stretched out into the lake. He also saw some places without docks, where boats were simply pulled ashore.

Up ahead, just off the nose of the plane, Donovan caught a flash of light. When it winked again, the pilot reacted. He pulled back on the throttle and lowered the remaining flaps. They eased down the last fifty feet, and with a rumble that filled the small cabin, the floats kissed the water and they were down. Donovan took a measured breath as they turned and drifted toward the wooden dock where the signal originated.

When the pilot reached across his body to pop open his window, Donovan thought for a moment that the gun was going to appear in the pilot’s hand. He glanced back at Eva. She was staring out at the shore, her eyes searching. He wondered if she recognized where they were.

Using the wind and the momentum from the plane, the pilot cut the engine, and they drifted on a line to intersect the long wooden dock. Donovan could only see one man waiting for them. He had a bandana covering his face, an automatic rifle in his hands. Beyond the uneven dock there were stairs that led up the hill to a concrete building. The grass and shrubs were
overgrown, and the once-white paint was faded and peeling. The glass in the windows had been broken, and part of the roof had collapsed. The place looked like it had been abandoned a long time ago.

The pilot pushed hard on the rudder and slowly the plane pivoted to the right. He opened his door and slipped out onto the aluminum float. Moments before they would have hit the dock, the pilot jumped onto the pier and put both hands on the wing strut of the Cessna, using all his weight to slow the plane. They bumped the pilings gently, and the pilot quickly went to work tying off the plane. Donovan could see that the other man had stood back, watching. He used the barrel of his gun to motion them out of the plane.

As Donovan unfastened his seat belt, he could hear Eva doing the same thing. He scooted across the pilot’s seat toward the open door. He tried to control his breathing. Stephanie must be in the dilapidated building up the hill. They’d only sent one guard down to meet the plane, one who didn’t seem particularly alert. Donovan calculated the angles. If he could get close to the man with the machine gun, he could take him out with a silent blow to the head with the Sig. He could then draw down on the pilot and disarm him. With these two incapacitated, he and Eva could make their way up the hill unopposed. His senses took in every detail around him as he waited for the moment to attack.

The plane was rocking back and forth from the waves they’d created upon landing. He needed to be firmly on the dock before he made his move. In the distance he could hear a dull roar that seemed to be coming from the clouds themselves; it sounded like distant thunder, but didn’t have the rolling ebbs and flows that came from a storm. The rumble was nearly continuous. As Donovan stepped down to the dock, he felt a strange vibration rise up from the wood. The air smelled of gasoline and rotted fish, as well as the unmistakable odor of sulfur. Now he understood. The low reverberation was coming from the volcano—no doubt spewing ash and gas unseen above the clouds.

Donovan turned to help Eva from the plane. Once she was planted on the wooden planks, he was going to make his move. With his eyes, he motioned for her to be ready. She was within easy striking distance to incapacitate the pilot who was unloading the cases of money. The man with the machine gun had momentarily diverted his attention from them, his eyes following the cases filled with cash.

Donovan separated himself from Eva at the same time he reached behind his back for his Sig. The guard was still fixated on the money as Donovan felt the full weight of the weapon in his hand and he raised it like a club. A roar filled his ears, and he felt as if he’d been slammed in the back. Another roar and he dropped his gun and watched as it clattered away. He went down hard, his face hitting the rough planks of the dock. He couldn’t draw a breath as two more gunshots rang out. Darkness began to inch in from the edges of his vision. Footsteps rushed past, but nothing really mattered as he closed his eyes and gave in to the nothingness.

“Oh, dear God,” Lauren’s anguished cry echoed through the cabin of the
Galileo
. She slumped against Buck and felt as if all her energy had just been sucked out of her. “We’re too late.”

“No!” William said and turned away, the color rushing from his face.

Lauren’s eyes filled with tears. The ghostly off-white infrared image had shown with perfect clarity the two white flashes of heat that came from Eva’s outstretched arm. She’d shot Donovan twice in the back, and he’d crumpled face down on the dock. Without any hesitation, Eva then smoothly turned and shot the other two men, their lifeless bodies falling into the water.

“Michael!” Buck shouted toward the cockpit. “Flash the cabin lights thirty seconds before we’re over the coordinates. Make sure we’re depressurized, and slow down as much as possible.”

“He’s dead.” Lauren felt her whole body shudder as Buck guided her to a seat. He lowered her gently.

“No, he’s not,” Buck answered softly, yet with conviction. “She shot him, but I think she shot him to save his life. In a firefight, no one is going to shoot someone who’s already been shot and appears dead. Donovan’s wearing a bulletproof vest—she knew that. She’s got something else in mind.”

Lauren nodded her understanding as Buck hurriedly unzipped the satchel the military had delivered. He pulled out a parachute, gloves, and a set of goggles. In less than a minute he’d
strapped on the chute, secured his automatic weapon, and was ready to jump from the Gulfstream.

“I’ll be down there shortly,” Buck said to reassure her. “Just keep watching through the
Scimitar
.”

Her ears popped from a sudden pressure change.

Buck pulled out a small radio and brought it to his mouth. “Michael, can you hear me?” Buck hesitated, and then nodded as his transmission was returned. “I’m moving into position.”

Lauren followed as Buck rechecked his gear and knelt in the baggage compartment. The fact that her ears had already popped told her that Michael had fully depressurized the plane.

“It’s going to get loud. When Michael flashes the lights, I want you to slap me on the shoulder.”

“Can you do me a favor?” Lauren asked. “I think you’re right. Eva has an agenda, and we need to know what it is—keep her alive.”

“That’s up to her.” Buck adjusted his goggles.

“Her biggest enemy is going to be Donovan. Don’t let him kill her, please.”

Buck nodded, then swung the lever and slid the baggage door upward on its tracks.

Lauren winced at both the noise and the swirling wind that poured into the opening. Racing past below them were the waves from the lake. Buck crouched like an athlete. As Michael flashed the lights, Lauren slapped Buck’s shoulder, and he was gone.

Lauren pushed the door down and locked it, before rushing forward to watch events unfold over John’s shoulder. On the screen, all she could see was a small dot, then a part of the image seemed to separate and pull apart—becoming two distinct sections until silently, a canopy formed before her eyes. Buck’s chute had opened and he was hanging from the nearly invisible lines, swaying gently back and forth. John banked the
Scimitar
to give them a different perspective. He zoomed in until they could see Buck’s arms and legs. He adjusted the image, and it took Lauren a moment to understand what she was seeing. Buck was
spiraling down in a tight arc, collapsing part of the chute to lose altitude in a hurry. His maneuvering looked as if he was out of control, until he flared and gently touched down on the narrow wooden dock.