Deadly Echoes (33 page)

“Wait,” Donovan stopped Lauren from following Martinson. “We need to talk.”

“Why?” Lauren yanked her arm away. “So we can coordinate the rest of the lies we're going to tell? Maybe sometime you can fill me in on you leaping from a helicopter to an abandoned ship. Did that involve a woman as well?”

“It's about Captain Flemming. I know him. He was on the advisory board that oversaw the design of the Constellation class ships. We worked together for months. I can't afford to run into him. He could recognize my voice. We need to go with Janie.”

“The deceptions to protect the lies just keep coming, don't they? You get to lie from here on out. I'm done.” As Lauren headed back to the bridge, she felt as if she were being squeezed in a vise, and everyone around her was taking turns tightening the screws.

Everyone was clustered around the chart table studying a set of photographs when Lauren and Donovan entered the bridge.

“The pictures the divers took aren't definitive,” Davis said to Gunnison. “One set of architects insist the hull shouldn't rupture at low tide. Another group of marine engineers says, yes, it will. They're telling us to hurry up and offload as much of the forward oil as we can and then to pull the tanker off at high tide. They say we'll have a spill, but a smaller one and we can maintain full containment.”

“Maybe,” Gunnison replied. “What if pulling the ship off the reef puts us in danger of capsizing the ship and leaking all of its oil?”

“This is a nightmare.” Davis rubbed the whisker stubble on his face. “The risk of either one of us being wrong is the kiss of death for Prince William Sound and the oil business. Lawyers are already on jets—it's a goddamn mess. No one wants to stick their neck out—they're the only two solutions we have and they both suck.”

“You're wrong,” Lauren said as all eyes turned toward her. “There's another solution.”

“I'd like you to meet my wife,” Donovan said. “Dr. Lauren McKenna.”

“With all due respect, Dr. McKenna,” Gunnison replied. “We have a combined eighty years of marine experience and there are no other options.”

“Hang on a minute,” Buck said as he stopped studying the photographs. “Dr. McKenna has a Ph.D. from MIT and she consults for the Defense Intelligence Agency. I can promise you she's the
smartest person in this room. I, for one, want to hear what she has to say.”

“Go on, then.” Gunnison replied.

“We create a higher tide and float the ship off the reef, gently. More or less.”

“Ma'am, only the good Lord can do that,” Gunnison said.

“At the north end of Unakwik Inlet is the Meares Glacier. If we can coax a large enough section of the ice to calve into the bay, we'll in effect create a controlled tsunami that will lift the hull free and sweep the ship out into deeper water.”

“How would we do that exactly?” Davis asked. “Blow up the glacier?”

“Yes,” Lauren replied. “We'd do a little math first, and use some precision detonation, but yeah, in the end, we'd blow up enough of the glacier to make our wave.”

Everyone except Donovan and Buck paused and looked at each other, as if waiting for someone to say she was crazy. No one did.

“Has something like this ever been done before?” Davis asked.

“Of course not, not intentionally anyway,” Lauren replied. “Show me a chart that covers this area of Prince William Sound.”

Buck selected the correct chart and laid it on top of the schematics of the ship.

“Right here, Miners Lake,” Lauren pointed. “It's all of, what, twelve miles away? This was the epicenter of the 1964 Alaskan earthquake that was measured at 9.2 on the Richter scale, the second strongest in recorded history. I can promise you that there was a hell of a wave that day, it killed people in Oregon and California. That inherent instability in the surrounding ground works in our favor. The Meares Glacier, which is up here, thanks to its proximity to the fault line, is riddled with fissures and crevices. Getting the explosives in the right position should be easy. If any of you have ever seen an explosion in an open-pit mine, they place precision charges into the ground, and then when it's detonated the blast drops a measured slice of the mountain into rubble. Same principle, except what we're doing is displacing water, which in turn has no
place to go in the narrow fjord except out to sea, which is where we want it to go.”

“Can you create a big enough wave?” Donovan asked, as he slowly moved toward the pile of glass where the photograph lay. He kept his eyes out the window as if he were picturing the wave Lauren was describing.

“I flew over the glacier earlier this morning. It's what, maybe two fifty, three hundred feet tall at the face?”

“Yeah, that's about right,” Captain Hughes replied.

“Big chunks calve off all the time,” Lauren continued. “We know from history that the 1958 Lituya Bay tsunami in Southeast Alaska created a seventeen-hundred-foot wave after forty million cubic yards of earth slid into the water. We don't want that big of a wave. We want one roughly twenty-five times smaller. At its edge, the Meares Glacier drops off into one hundred and eighty feet of water, that's plenty of depth to get the kind of displacement needed.”

“The biggest risk comes if the wave isn't big enough and it moves the ship without lifting it up,” Buck said. “You'll push it along the reef and, without a doubt, rupture the inner hull.”

“Then, gentlemen,” Lauren said, “I suggest you make a big enough wave so that doesn't happen.”

“We'd like you to oversee this operation, if we decide to do it, that is,” Gunnison said.

While all eyes were on Lauren, Donovan reached down, picked up the photograph, palmed it, and smoothly slipped it into his jacket pocket. When he looked up again, he was relieved to find that his move had gone unnoticed.

“I'm more of a theoretical scientist.” Lauren held up her hands as if to slow Gunnison down. “You need real-world experts to make this happen. I might suggest, though, that you start the process immediately; you can always decide later whether or not to push the button.”

“I agree,” Gunnison said emphatically. “I'm calling the CEO of Selkirk Mining. He should have the experts we need, as well as the
explosives. Dr. McKenna, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, could you theorize where this wave is going once it's floated this ship off the reef? I think some folks are going to want to know the answer to that question.”

“Sure,” Lauren replied. “But I'm going to need a bigger map.”

As people hurried off in different directions, Donovan went to his wife and whispered in her ear, “You're a genius. I'll send Janie back for you and Buck, but I need to get off this ship, get back to Anchorage, and start running damage control for Eco-Watch.”

“Do whatever you need to do,” Lauren said. When she turned, anger flashed in her eyes.

Donovan resisted trying to reason with her. She was furious with him and anything he said was only going to make things worse. There was no fixing anything at this point. He was a hostage to his past, and that past had once again dictated his actions. Donovan glanced around the bridge. Buck was here, so Lauren was safe. Everyone was occupied for the moment, and he used the opportunity to quietly slip away.

The Bell 407 lifted off the
North Star
just as the Coast Guard HH-60 with Captain Flemming arrived on the scene. Janie flew low and fast toward Anchorage. Donovan picked up one of the charts, pretending to study its features as he slipped the photograph from his pocket and used the chart to hide it from Janie. The image was faded and washed out; it showed Meredith standing just outside the door of a Gulfstream. She was wearing an evening dress, her hair was up, and she was waving. He recognized the airplane as one of the fleet of Huntington Oil corporate jets. There was nothing in the background that gave him the slightest hint to when or where the picture had been taken. He turned it over. Whatever had been written had been smudged to the point where he couldn't make it out. Donovan had no idea what message Garrick had intended. He took another long look, and the only thing he noticed the second time was the faint image of someone in the left seat, waving good-bye as well. Closer inspection and he recognized himself, but then he often flew Meredith and himself to different functions so this could have been any one of dozens of trips they made together. He slipped the photo back into his pocket and closed his eyes to think. When he opened them, he discovered they were descending to land.

“Mr. Nash,” Janie said when she noticed he was awake. “I'm going to refuel to be ready to fly back out, unless you have other instructions for me.”

“Take a break, you've earned it, but stay close,” Donovan replied. “At some point Lauren and Buck will need to be flown off the ship.”

Janie hovered briefly and then eased the helicopter down next to a hangar; inside Donovan spotted the
da Vinci.
He waited for her to shut down the helicopter.

“Janie, what you did today was remarkable in every sense of the word. I may not know much about helicopters, but I know a good pilot when I see one, and you're one of the best. I'll fly with you anytime. Thank you.”

“I appreciate that, sir, I'm just glad to have helped.”

Donovan popped the door and stepped out of the 407 onto the concrete ramp. He gave Janie a quick salute and then walked to the
da Vinci,
happy to see that an external power cart had been connected to the airplane. He unlocked the main cabin door and stood to the side as the stairs extended. He ducked under the wing, briefly checked the electrical panel on the power cart, and then pushed a button that started the unit. The hum of electricity was matched by a green light.

He climbed the steps, stopped at the top, and turned back to face the ramp as Meredith had in the latest photo. He tried to imagine where they were and why the fond farewell. Her hair, the dress. He pulled out the picture and the answer hit him. There, on her left hand was the engagement ring. They'd been with William. They'd flown out to Washington, D.C., to tell him in person they were engaged. It was William they were waving good-bye to. Garrick had eliminated the date and time on the photo to make Donovan once again relive his time with Meredith. The warning that came with the realization nearly made Donovan sick to his stomach. He powered up his phone and waited impatiently.

He was just about to make the call when his phone rang. William—exactly who he needed to reach.

“Hello, Robert,” Garrick said.

Donovan's entire body went rigid. There was only one way Garrick could be calling from William's phone. “Leave him alone. I'll do whatever you want.”

“What I want is for you to come to me. Just you. If you call the police, William dies. I'll also leave behind a jump drive I've
assembled that explains Robert Huntington's entire life story. I was very careful not to leave out anything. Don't come in the Eco-Watch jet, that'll draw too much attention. You've got six hours.”

Donovan had no idea if Stephanie and Abigail were prisoners as well and he didn't dare ask. “I may have to catch a commercial flight which will take me more than six hours.”

“I'd get a little more creative than that, Robert. Charter a plane, steal one. I don't really care, but you only have six hours. I'm a busy man.”

“Where are you?”

“Call once you arrive in Los Angeles, and I'll tell you.”

“How do I know he's still alive?”

“You don't. You're on the clock. Good-bye, Robert.”

Donovan immediately dialed Stephanie. She picked up on the first ring.

“Oh, Donovan, thank God it's you.”

Donovan thought she sounded out of breath or scared. “I'm here. What's happening? Is Abigail with you? Are you somewhere safe?”

“We're both safe, I think. We were in town when William called. He said he'd just gotten a warning from Erica that Garrick was on his way to Southern California. He told me to run, get Abigail somewhere safe, and not to talk to anyone but you or Lauren. We were on the phone when I heard shouting and what sounded like gunshots, and then the phone went dead.”

“How long ago?” Donovan closed his eyes and tried not to imagine the worst.

“Twenty minutes. Abigail and I were at a frozen yogurt place she loves.”

“You take care of Abigail. Don't tell anyone where you are. I'm on my way to Los Angeles. Tell Abigail her mom and dad love her dearly and we'll see her soon.”

“Please help Uncle William.”

“You know I'll do everything in my power. I promise.”

Donovan ended the call and was nearly overwhelmed with a
mixture of grief and rage. William was being held hostage and his daughter and Stephanie had missed being captured only by Erica's warning. From the bottom of the stairs, he heard an unfamiliar female voice call out and ask if anyone was aboard. He hurried into the baggage compartment and found Erica's satchel and the small pistol inside. He checked that there was a bullet in the chamber and then walked quietly to the main cabin door and peeked around the corner. At the bottom of the airstair was an attractive woman who looked vaguely familiar. She wasn't particularly tall, maybe five foot five, but she was compact and very well put together with blond hair, big eyes, and brilliant smile. Dressed stylishly, she looked up and smiled up at him.

“Excuse me, do you work for Eco-Watch?”

“Who wants to know?” Donovan replied, unsure where he'd seen her before and how she'd wandered unescorted into the hangar.

“My name is Amanda Sullivan, I'm with Global Media Partners. I'd like to ask you some questions.”

Hearing her name brought it all together. She was a well-known journalist, an investigative reporter with a Pulitzer for her coverage in Haiti after the devastating earthquake. Global Media Partners was one of the largest communications conglomerates in the world. Print, television, radio, GMP was everywhere. “Ms. Sullivan, how did you get past security?”