Deadly Echoes (10 page)

He caught sight of her as she emerged from a row of cars. She was wearing jeans, brown boots, and a leather jacket. Her blond hair was longer than in her picture, and she'd tied it back in a pony-tail. As she neared, he saw the same features he'd seen in the photo. It was her. She was no more than five foot six and on the slender side. She had a black canvas bag looped over her shoulder. Her left hand gripped the bag's strap, her other hand was buried deep in the jacket's pocket. He reached across and threw open the passenger side door. She leaned down and looked at him.

“I have a gun,” she said.

“So do I, now get in. We're not safe here.”

“Prove to me who you are,” Erica said.

Donovan handed her his passport.

She glanced back and forth from the document to his face, then wordlessly tossed her bag on the floor and slid into the seat next to him and handed back his passport. Donovan saw that she was even more attractive than her picture. Despite her obvious stress, she had an effortless beauty that was amplified by vivid blue eyes. Even her facial expression, as wary and nervous as she was, had serious wattage.

“Buckle up.” Donovan locked eyes with her as he wedged the Sig beneath his seat then came up and showed her his hands were empty. She reached behind her and pulled the seat belt strap across
her chest. The second he heard it click into place, they rocketed out of the parking lot, through a yellow light, and onto the I-5 ramp headed south. He merged into traffic and then eased into the inside lane while memorizing every car he passed. Once he was confident there were no police in sight, he swung into the carpool lane, put his foot into it, and they roared southward at 120 mph.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Nowhere yet,” Donovan replied. “We're safe for the moment. I think we should cruise around for a bit and once we compare stories, we'll know what to do next.”

“Are we being followed?” Erica asked.

“I don't think so.” Donovan rechecked the rearview mirror and then glanced over at her. She was looking at him, her hand still in her coat pocket.

“I lived in Germany, the autobahn was very fast. You're a good driver.”

Up ahead was an exit that would spill them out in Mission Viejo. Donovan swung to the right and took the ramp at high speed. They slowed and maneuvered the 911 among the sedate suburban drivers. “Why did you call me?”

“You're in charge of Eco-Watch. I watch the news, so I know what these people are doing to you. I've heard your name before, but I had no idea who you were.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“I know who's trying to kill you. He wants to kill me too. I'm alone in all of this and you seem to have—resources.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“Not so fast. I need some assurances you won't just cut me loose afterward, or simply turn me over to the police. You had no hesitation about coming to find me, so I can only imagine you know something about me. If you won't tell me, then our conversation is over.”

Donovan was impressed with her resolve. She was scared, but she was also smart and tough, and she knew he needed her far
more than she needed him. Donovan noticed she'd yet to take her hand out of her jacket pocket. “Have you decided if you're going to shoot me or not?”

“I'll let you know. What is it you think you know about me?”

“There are some people who have promised that they're going to destroy Eco-Watch. They've already killed friends of mine. A photograph of an unknown woman led back to a medical clinic in Dusseldorf. From that information I uncovered this.”

Erica took the phone from him and as she scrolled through the report Lauren had forwarded, he watched as tears formed, finally spilling from her eyes, and rolling down her cheeks. She handed the phone back, covered her eyes, lowered her head, and silently sobbed.

Donovan made a right turn down a side street, went up a hill, and pulled into the parking lot of a dental office. He backed into a spot away from the overhead lights where he could survey the entire parking lot and then switched off the car. He powered down his window and waited for her to calm herself.

She sniffed and then wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. She fished in her pocket for a tissue and dabbed away the rest. “I'm sorry,” she said her voice barely above a whisper.

“Take your time,” Donovan said. “You've been on the run for a long time. I know that you're the only survivor of a massacre in Germany. I know you did off-the-books medical work at the clinic and that you're probably a prime suspect in the murders or someone's loose end. I'm not going to tell anyone about you. I promise you're safe.”

“Where did that information come from? I saw the name Lauren, who's she?”

“Lauren is my wife. She's in Europe. The information most likely came from the CIA.”

“I'll never be safe,” she said her voice still thick from crying. “From the moment I heard about what happened in Dusseldorf, I knew it was only a matter of time before everything started to unravel. I'm a dead woman.”

“Who's trying to kill you, and how do they connect to the people threatening me?”

“I'll get to that, but if at any point I think you're lying, I won't hesitate to shoot you. Do I have your word that we're in this together?”

“Yes, you have my word. Now, how do you know what's happening to me?”

“I was standing in the room when he vowed to kill you.”

“He gave us a fake name and identification, as did she. It wasn't until near the end that Karl, the doctor at the clinic, found out who he'd been treating. The woman's name is Nikolett Kovarik. Dr. Drescher heard from friends in the Czech Republic that she was an assassin for hire; Hungarian, he thought. The man was an escaped prisoner from Brazil. His name is Garrick Pearce. He was imprisoned over fifteen years ago for—”

“Oh, no,” Donovan whispered, cutting her off midsentence.

“What is it? You know him?”

“I do.” Donovan nodded. “In the late eighties he formed the One Earth Society, the leader of a militant group of eco-terrorists who fashioned themselves as warriors championing the causes of the book
One Earth.
Have you ever heard of it?”

“By Meredith Barnes, of course. Who hasn't?”

“The story goes that Garrick and Meredith Barnes were more than friends once, but she eventually distanced herself from both Garrick and his group.”

“Did you know Meredith?”

“No, I only knew Garrick.” Donovan said, careful with what he revealed. “Meredith publically denounced Garrick's tactics when his acts of protest turned violent. Instead of a peaceful revolution to save the planet, Garrick was using bombs and guns, sabotage and blackmail.”

“What happened to him?”

“Garrick tried to destroy a mining operation in Brazil after it was determined that the chemical runoff was polluting a huge section
of the region's water table. Garrick's raid set off an explosion that killed seven of his own team and fifteen mine employees, most of them local Brazilian workers. During the botched raid on the mining operation, Garrick was blinded and captured. He stood trial and was convicted of murder and sent to some hellhole of a prison for life, and as far as I knew that's where he still was.”

“He's not in Brazil anymore,” Erica said. “He's out. His eyesight is restored, and he hates you with a rage I've never seen one person have for another.”

“I don't doubt that.”

“Why?”

Donovan had no intention of explaining that Garrick's rage was personal, that Garrick had been the man in Meredith's life when Robert Huntington had arrived on the scene. Meredith had made the decision that her relationship with Garrick had run its course, but Garrick never saw it that way. He blamed Robert for stealing Meredith and then later blamed Robert for killing Meredith. Garrick was the most vocal of his critics, calling for the deaths of not only Robert but of all of the executives of Huntington Oil. He urged those who loved Meredith to bomb Huntington Oil refineries, ships, and pipelines. Do anything possible to cripple the company and oust its murderous owner. All of that came to an immediate end after Robert Huntington staged his death, and then five years later, ever the eco-terrorist, Garrick ended up in a prison cell in Brazil.

“Why does he want you dead?”

Donovan let go of his memories and quickly came up with a lie that would hopefully placate Erica. “I was part of his circle once myself. But I went another direction long before he became so militant. When he was imprisoned, he reached out to me for help, and I didn't answer. I'm sure he hates me for that. Garrick was always a troubled man with a deep-seated hatred for those he feels have wronged him.”

“That's an understatement.”

“You said you were there when he vowed to kill me. What happened?”

“It was months ago, before his surgery, so he was still sightless. He liked to listen to the radio, had it on all day, said he hated the silence. One day I was in the room and he was listening to the BBC. It was after the terrorist attack in Washington D.C., last fall. There was a brief segment when you were released from the hospital. You said very little to the reporter, I can't even remember what you said, but it was enough for Garrick to fly into a rage. I clearly remember him ranting that you'd died when your plane crashed. He was livid you were still alive. He kept ranting that
He
was alive. I ended up sedating him, but that was the day I heard him swear to hunt you down and destroy you.”

Donovan tried to remain passive. There had in fact been two plane crashes. One was twenty years ago. The other was last summer. He hadn't died in either one. What frightened Donovan was that Garrick had recognized Robert Huntington's voice after all of these years. He wondered if being blind had played a part in the process.

“Did the accident alter Garrick's voice?”

“His vocal cords were damaged after inhaling fumes from the same chemicals that blinded him,” Erica replied. “He can talk, just not very loud, and he has a permanent rasp.”

“I saw pictures the FBI took of these people leaving Hawaii. None of the men looked like Garrick. He was tall, with a hawklike nose and prominent chin. Was his face altered?”

“If it was, he didn't have the work done at the clinic. As far as I know, he should look exactly the same. There's some scarring around his eyes from the acid that blinded him, and he has a great deal of difficulty blinking. The only other difference from when you knew him is that he won't be able to move his eyeballs in the sockets due to the ocular muscle damage. He's like an owl, in that he has to rotate his head to change his field of vision.”

“Okay, then he wasn't in those FBI pictures. I would have recognized him, which means we have no idea where he is right now.”

Erica shook her head and then looked away.

Donovan suspected there was something else coming.

“There's one other part of the story you should know. But I don't want it to change our agreement.”

“Let's hear it.”

“Do I have your word?”

“No, Erica, you don't. I won't agree to something you've obviously withheld. If what you tell me is a deal breaker, then we go our separate ways. I will, however, promise to reward you for what you've told me already—enough to get you on your way to where you can hide again. As soon as Garrick and Nikolett are dealt with, you'll be free.”

“No I won't. I'll always have to hide.”

“Who else would be trying to kill you if not Garrick?”

“There were two doctors at the clinic. Viktor…Dr. Viktor Klasen, an ophthalmologist, and his business partner Dr. Drescher, who specialized in plastic surgery. We were a research facility for Dr. Klasen's work using stem cells for optical nerve regeneration.”

“If you were just a research facility, how did you end up treating Garrick Pearce?”

“There was another facet to the clinic. There would be calls, mainly through Dr. Drescher. We'd treat people off the books, and every once in a while, we'd alter someone's appearance.”

“How were these people referred?” Donovan asked.

“I'm not sure, though I did overhear a heated conversation between Dr. Drescher and someone from Tel Aviv.”

“Tel Aviv?” Donovan interrupted. “As in Mossad?”

“That was my assumption, though Viktor would never confirm my suspicions.”

“What made you finally leave Germany?”

“I was having an affair with Dr. Klasen. He finally admitted to me that he would never leave his wife, though he'd told me a hundred times he didn't love her and wanted to be with me. I was devastated, I felt betrayed, and I made some angry, mindless comments. Dr. Drescher threatened me, promised to destroy my
career if I ruined Viktor's marriage, or divulged anything I knew about the clinic. He scared me badly.”

“But they're both dead now.”

“When I left, I made a file to protect myself. I used Viktor's password and made copies of every patient's record. Each separate procedure, every before-and-after picture, names and dates, payment trails. I have in my possession every incriminating detail about their operation. Besides Garrick and Nikolett, there are exactly seventeen men and five women who have every reason to want me dead.”

“I need to know,” Erica asked. “Are we still working together?”

“Yeah.” Donovan fired up the Porsche. “Let's go back to Laguna Beach. We can check you into a hotel. You'll be safe until we can figure out something longer term.”

“I'm not sharing a hotel room with you, and I'm definitely not sitting in some strange hotel that takes cash and fake names. I've been invisible since I came back to the States seven months ago. I lived for three months on a boat in the Pacific Northwest; I bummed around Oregon and Northern California before coming to Orange County. I'm safe where I've been staying. Just get back on the San Diego Freeway.”