Deadly Echoes (16 page)

“Yeah, I'm just trying to piece this together. Can you describe this woman?”

“Mid-thirties, she's on the slender side and attractive. She has jet-black, short, spiky hair and is good with a gun.”

“Would you recognize her again if you saw her?”

“Absolutely.”

“You're about forty-five minutes out from London. Can you tell me what your plans are from there? I'm really hesitant to drop you off when we don't seem to know who the players are in all of this.”

“I'm good, Buck, I promise. We'll be in London for about ten minutes, and then we'll be gone. I promise I'll be in touch, and thanks for your help, your guys saved the day.”

“That's what we do,” Buck replied. “Tell me where you're headed, or at least take Reggie with you. He's a good guy.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Lauren stroked Abigail's hair, wondering what kind of trauma had been inflicted on her daughter today. “I don't want anyone to know where we're going, especially
after what just happened. I'd also prefer that Donovan hear about today's events from me. Can you promise me that much?”

“Not that I want to be the one to explain why his wife and daughter were in a firefight in Paris, but at the moment I can't tell your husband anything,” Buck replied. “He's disappeared, and no one knows where he went.”

Lauren processed the possibilities. “If you talk to him, don't tell him we've spoken. I'll fill him in on everything later.”

“You're putting me in a really bad position here.”

“Good-bye, Buck.” Lauren handed the phone back to Reggie.

“The pilot needs a destination, ma'am?” Reggie said as he stowed the phone in his jumpsuit.

“Farnborough Airport, southwest of central London. Land at the TAG aviation facility. We have a jet standing by.”

Reggie relayed the information to the cockpit and then smiled at Abigail and presented her with a cherry-red lollipop. Abigail took it from him without even a glance at her mother for permission. Lauren knew her daughter had been terrified. They all had, and if a lollipop made it better, then bless Reggie for his foresight. She'd try and call Donovan once they were safely on the jet, though if he'd gone underground, it was because he'd ditched everyone to go after Garrick. It also meant that he'd more than likely taken that Erica woman with him.

Donovan had no words of comfort. Erica was right. Something they'd done had led the assassins to this apartment, and there was nothing he could say to ease her torment. He knew from experience that the initial shock would be intense, but short lived. His concern was to make sure she didn't lose it altogether. He needed her to stay with him. If the police or the FBI got to her, then he'd lose any advantage he had over Garrick. Later, her real grief would begin, the guilt-fueled despair that he knew all too well. When the entire universe would place the blame squarely at her feet, and she'd know in her heart it was hers.

He felt Erica's frame shudder and felt his own sadness try to push to the surface. His wasn't the same as hers, some of it was old, some was new, but it was his and it was always hovering. He pushed it down and began to look around the room. The killers had done a professional job. Everything that had been searched went on the floor. Once everything was on the floor, they'd finished. “We can't stay here much longer.”

She nodded and sniffed.

He pulled away from her, stepped around the bodies, picked up a box of tissues, and handed them to her. “If you want, I can do this.”

“It'll go quicker if we both work,” Erica replied, her voice raw from the tears.

Together they filled a medium-size duffel bag. She was silent, but fresh tears trickled down her face as she worked. She cleared out her bathroom last, and while she was in there Donovan heard a few sobs escape. When she emerged she was wearing different
clothes. She slung the duffel over her shoulder and nodded that she was ready.

“Are you sure you have everything?”

“Yeah, I should be good.”

“What about your mail?”

“There is none. No credit cards, no bills, no mail.”

Donovan picked up the duffel bag and followed her out of the apartment. He closed the door and when he looked up, Erica was already halfway to the stairs. He hurried to catch her, and once they burst out into the fresh air they took a direct route back to the BMW. He breathed a small sigh of relief as they drove away from her apartment complex.

“This is awful,” Erica said, using a tissue to wipe her nose. “How long do you think it'll be until they're found?”

“Not long,” Donovan replied. “Assuming they both have jobs, someone will start looking for them soon.”

“I keep thinking about what you said last night. That it could be someone besides Garrick that tried to kidnap me. From what I've seen today, I think you're right. Garrick isn't even in California, and he isn't cleaning up after himself. He and his people are leaving bodies strewn everywhere. Whoever did this was organized and methodical—professional. For God's sake, they erased an entire crime scene. I saw how Jill and David were killed, I know enough about medical trauma to recognize a small-caliber bullet wound to the back of the head. Has Garrick showed anyone that kind of mercy?”

Donovan remained silent. She was getting angry, which was good. He hoped she'd get the first wave out of her system before they reached the airport.

“Let me see if I have this straight. There are two sets of bad guys here, right? There are the ones we're hunting, Garrick, and his little band of savage tree-hugging eco-terrorists. Right?”

“Yes,” Donovan said.

“Then there's a different group hunting only me—an unknown
group of professional killers, possibly sanctioned by the government who used the medical services of my former employer.”

“I know it doesn't seem like it, but we have the advantage.”

Erica turned her head and leveled a murderous glare at Donovan. “This all goes back to you somehow. You started digging, and now people are trying to kill me. I shot a man yesterday. My friend and her boyfriend have been murdered, and somehow from all of that, you seem to think we have some kind of tactical advantage? I don't know who you are, or where you come from, but from what I've seen so far, this is a goddamned disaster.”

Erica took a breath to say something, and then all of the wind seemed to rush from her body. Her lips quivered and tears flooded her eyes. She tried one more time to speak, but all that escaped was a low, guttural sound, so wounded, so vulnerable.

For the rest of the drive, Erica turned away from him and quietly cried. He pulled into the parking lot of Signature Flight Support, switched off the ignition, and turned to face her. “When you initially called Eco-Watch, how many people did you give your name to?”

Erica looked up at Donovan as she thought about what he'd just asked. “Two. The man I talked with initially and then again when I spoke to Peggy, your administrative assistant.”

“What phone did you call from?”

“My cell. Don't worry, it's not in my name.”

“That's only part of the problem,” Donovan said as he put the pieces together. “I think someone has bugged Eco-Watch's phones. You gave your number and your first name.”

“Oh, my God, are you saying someone traced the call I made to Eco-Watch?”

“I don't think they could do that, but with the number, if they assumed you were in Southern California, they could have triangulated your later calls. Which is how they found you, or found me, we can only guess at this point. You told me they waited until
you put your key in the lock before they tried to grab you. They knew the vicinity, not the exact address.”

“They came back and waited?” Erica said shaking her head in disbelief.

Donovan nodded and dialed his phone. “Buck, it's Donovan. Listen, I think we have a problem at headquarters. I think someone has tapped into the phones and is recording our calls. Is this anything you know about?”

“It's nothing I authorized. I'll make some calls and get the place swept for any kind of electronic surveillance.”

“I want it done fast and discreet.”

“Anything else?”

“That's it for now. Call me the second you know anything.” Donovan ended the call, then slid his pistol into his briefcase, along with Erica's phone.

“There's got to be another element to this,” Erica said. “How could they react so fast to my call to Eco-Watch? All I left was a first name and a phone number. I mean, who has that kind of manpower besides a government?”

Donovan had asked himself the same question, and the answer he kept coming up with was Mossad. The CIA, if they were involved, would have used less lethal tactics. Or would they? Donovan had to admit that both entities were distinct possibilities.

“I'm right, aren't I?” Erica said. “I'm being hunted by a government, most likely Mossad.”

Donovan nodded and then stepped out of the BMW. He walked around and opened her door. “At least for now, we're both off the grid. No one can find us, and maybe my people will have some answers.”

They walked into the VIP lounge. She'd quit crying, but there was no hiding the fact she was upset. She stuck close to Donovan as he told the flight desk who he was. They paged his flight crew, who retrieved their luggage and escorted them to the waiting airplane. Donovan wasn't surprised that the charter arranged through
Gulfstream was in fact a Gulfstream 650, the newest model in the storied Gulfstream family.

As they reached the top of the stairs, he allowed Erica to go ahead of him and select a seat. He stopped in the galley, introduced himself to the flight attendant, and explained that they'd like to be left alone. If they needed anything, he'd let her know. Donovan sat across the aisle from Erica. The interior of the Gulfstream was as plush as any he'd ever seen. A sophisticated mix of fabrics, leather, and exotic woods blended with state-of-the-art electronics and a full-blown in-flight entertainment system. It was a stark contrast to the wire bundles and aluminum equipment racks of the
da Vinci,
but despite the creature comforts in the cabin, as always, he wished he were up front flying. Donovan was rarely a passenger and admittedly not a good one, but he tried to relax as the G-650 lifted off and climbed out over the ocean. As Donovan looked out at the sprawling city, he couldn't help but whisper a good-bye to all of the memories he and Meredith had left behind.

Erica had curled up in her seat. From her slow, rhythmic breathing, Donovan guessed that she'd fallen asleep, the perfect defense mechanism for what she'd been through. They'd been aloft for nearly an hour and a half before Erica stirred. She shifted positions and fell back into a sound sleep. Donovan wondered about her state of mind when she woke up. Would she have found the resolve to continue what they'd started? Or would the horrific events have immobilized her?

He slipped the pictures of Meredith from his briefcase and started with the one he'd taken from the bridge of the
Kaiyo Maru #7.
He stared at her face, her eyes, and her smile. The smile he'd loved, the one he'd seen first thing in the morning when he'd leaned over to kiss her good morning, the one that would vanish forever when she was murdered. He glanced at Erica and it registered that in the vulnerability of sleep, she and Meredith shared some of the same radiance, some of the same subtle and not so subtle energies.

Donovan forced himself to study the overexposed background. Was a timeline being established by each picture? The first photo had been found on the
Triton,
and Meredith had been in her early teens. She was standing on the deck of a boat. As memories came flooding in, Donovan was startled by their clarity. Could this be a game of geography to Garrick? Was he baiting Donovan to figure it out while forcing him to relive the past?

He remembered Meredith telling him about a fishing trip her dad had taken her on when they were on a family vacation. She said the water was choppy and some of the passengers became seasick. She hated the trip. When a fish was boated, the deckhands clubbed them to death before throwing them into buckets. Meredith had cried for each of the dead fish. The picture aboard the
Triton
had been taken on a family trip to Hawaii.

The second photo was taken later, when Meredith was in college. He'd been so busy looking at her that he'd failed to take in the entire picture. Where was she? What was she doing? The photo was taken in bright sunlight, and many of the details were washed out. He squinted and held the photo at different focal points until a vague shape that he thought was a simple cloud on a white background began to look like something else, like a mountain, like a big mountain.

Between sophomore and junior year, she'd taken a summer job in Washington State. The mountain could easily be Mount Baker or Mount Rainer. She worked with the Department of Fisheries to help count migrating salmon. She said it was boring work, and sad as the salmon spawned and died. The stench of dead fish permeated the entire river, and this in turn drew the bears. The bears were the link, and if Donovan was right, the coordinates would take him to a photo that would tell him where Garrick planned to strike next.

When Erica moved in her seat trying to get comfortable, Donovan slipped Meredith's pictures in his briefcase. When he looked over at Erica her eyes were open and she was watching him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better,” Erica replied, her voice thick with sleep. She stretched
both arms and let out a groan, then brushed her hair away from her eyes. “Where are we?”

“We're almost there. We're just about to start our descent.”

Erica stood and smoothed the wrinkles in her clothes. “I'm going to the restroom, I'll be back.”

“You want anything to drink?” Donovan asked.