Zero Separation (4 page)

“Forget tomorrow's flight for a minute.” Michael pulled his hood up over his head and shot Donovan a questioning look. “You might want to think about calling Lauren before it gets too late.”

“I know.” Donovan nodded. “Thanks for listening earlier, I appreciate that.”

“You've listened to me complain about Susan over the years. Take my advice and call her, talk to her. Listen to her. Trust me, in my twenty years of experience, war with your wife sucks—women are better at it than we are and usually win.”

Donovan allowed a brief smile to flash across his face. Michael did have a point. He climbed the stairs back inside the Gulfstream just as an explosive peal of thunder ripped loose and echoed across the ramp. He winced at each successive report of thunder; each one seeming louder and closer than the one before. As the front pushed closer, the concussive waves from the almost constant thunder resonated deep within his chest. It stirred a primitive response as old as man itself and Donovan felt the flesh on his arms rise in response.

Another flash of lightning lit up the ramp. The fluorescent fixtures illuminating the ramp and distant buildings flickered once, stayed on for another second, and then went out completely, plunging the entire facility into darkness. The only light came from the taxiway and runway lights that were on a backup generator.

Donovan pulled his phone from his pocket and sat down heavily at one of the science stations, switched it on, and waited for it to power up. When he checked to see if he had any messages, his heart sank a little when he realized Lauren hadn't called. His thumb hovered over the button that would ring his house. He hesitated, Michael's advice echoing in his head, and then he pressed it.

“Hello,” Lauren answered on the second ring.

“Hi there. I didn't call at a bad time, did I?”

“No, I was just getting ready for bed.”

“How's Abigail?”

“She's fine. She went down hours ago. I trust your flight was uneventful.”

“Not exactly. We couldn't get into West Palm Beach, so we diverted to Boca Raton.”

“I saw the cold front moving through Florida. I'm glad you're safe. Are you going to call it a night?”

“Yeah, we took a lightning strike coming in, so we need to get that looked at before we go anywhere.” Donovan was about to tell her more, when through the window, momentarily illuminated by a flash of lightning, a man raced past. An instant later it was dark again, and Donovan was puzzled by what he'd just seen. As the
image crystallized in his mind, he decided it must be one of the lineman helping Michael put chocks under the tires to keep the
da Vinci
in place with the coming storms.

“Are you still there?”

“Yeah, sorry, I'm here.” Donovan got up out of his seat and peered out into the darkness. Small drops of water dotted the acrylic window making it difficult to see anything clearly. Next to them sat a blue-and-white Gulfstream V. It looked buttoned up, the doors were closed and it was completely dark inside, obviously parked for the evening. Another flash of lightning lit up the ramp. In the millisecond of near daylight, Donovan caught sight of two men toe to toe near the tail of the
da Vinci
. One of them was Michael, and he seemed to be struggling against the other.

“What the—” Donovan spun and hurried toward the door.

“What's going on?” Lauren asked.

“I'm not sure yet. I have to go. I'll call you back!” Donovan pocketed his phone, snatched a black metal flashlight, and took the airstairs three at a time, landing heavily on the wet tarmac. In a crouch, he ducked low under the wing and ran as fast as he could. As he rounded the main landing gear, he searched the darkness, finding only a dark shape lying on the concrete. Donovan recognized the windbreaker and just as quickly caught the unmistakable odor of burnt gunpowder. A second later, someone hit him from behind just below the ear.

The impact dropped him to his knees, and Donovan made a wild swing behind him with his flashlight and connected with something solid. He lunged forward and tried to turn and look at his attacker when another blow connected and he crashed to the ground, his head striking the concrete. The last thing he was aware of before he slipped into the darkness was something warm trickling down the side of his face.

Donovan heard the thunder explode and reverberate all around him. Fat raindrops hit his exposed skin. Reality began to seep into his consciousness, his thoughts forming slowly. He knew something horrible had happened before he could actually fix on the events. Another crack of thunder jolted him, and he opened his eyes and blinked against the pouring rain. His eyes darted under the tail of the
da Vinci
. All he could see was a blue windbreaker and short-cropped blond hair—Michael.

He raised himself up on his knees and found his flashlight. He switched it on, the beam cutting through the darkness. Donovan stood and fought off the dizziness that threatened to put him back down. He wavered unsteadily, lurching forward, staggering toward his friend. All the air seemed to leave Donovan's lungs as he knelt. The small puddles of water near Michael's head were stained crimson.

Behind him he heard the sound of running feet splash through the puddles. Donovan turned and found one of the linemen approaching; he was short, a little on the heavy side. He wore a yellow rain suit that covered him head to toe. One look told him this wasn't the man he'd seen from the window of the
da Vinci
.

“What happened?”

“Call 911!” Donovan yelled.

“Oh Jesus.” The lineman immediately began talking into his two-way radio.

In the harsh brightness from the flashlight Donovan could see that Michael's skin was slack and colorless and the entire left side of his head was matted with blood. With shaking hands he put two
fingers on Michael's neck and found a weak pulse. He remembered the earlier smell of spent gunpowder and imagined the worst. His sense of helplessness added to his fear as the distant warble from emergency sirens ebbed and flowed in the fury of the storm.

The rain fell heavier and the wind began to whip and gust. In the distance, Donovan heard the unmistakable sound of a jet taking off. A distinctive blue-and-white Gulfstream, lights fully ablaze, raced down the runway. Donovan glanced at the empty spot next to the
da Vinci
. The departing Gulfstream was the same one he'd noticed earlier. Plumes of water erupted behind the jet until it lifted off, raised its landing gear, and made a sweeping turn to the east, climbing away into the night.

Beside him, Michael lay bleeding, maybe dying. Donovan cursed his inability to reach his friend in time, and was powerless to do anything but vow retribution. He found growing strength in the declaration, it was something white hot and tangible, and, most importantly, it held his fear at bay.

In the midst of the howling storm, he saw more people running in his direction, a gate being opened. Palm trees danced in a wild frenzy as the wind from the thunderstorms hit full force. Sirens wailed in the night and Donovan imagined they were a part of him—some primal thing inside him that was screaming at the universe and warning all who could hear that he'd make whoever did this pay.

Lauren stared at the phone. She expected him to call her back within minutes and when that didn't happen, she finally padded into the kitchen and put some water on to boil. She made her tea and slowly walked back toward the study and the movie. He'd obviously hidden it from her, but she wasn't sure why, or how long he'd had it, or even how he'd gotten it. The fact that he'd kept it from her was disturbing, though Lauren began to wonder if she hadn't stumbled on the root cause of his recent behavior. How damaging had it been for her husband to see Meredith again, hear her voice, and relive her death?

Lauren sat back down in front of the computer, but didn't restart the movie. Already she knew the film was riddled with errors and vindictive half-truths. If there was a conspiracy, Robert wasn't behind it. He'd loved Meredith deeply. Robert had asked Meredith to marry him, and the two were planning a life together when she was killed. They'd decided to wait until after the summit to make the formal announcement.

All those years ago he'd orchestrated his death and left everyone behind. After months of reconstructive surgery in Europe, he'd started his life over as Donovan Nash. The fact that Robert hadn't died was a secret that Lauren had sworn to take to her grave. She wondered what impact this documentary had had on her husband. If she had to guess, he'd had this disk for weeks, about the time he began sleeping poorly, his nights plagued with either bad dreams or outright nightmares. It was if he were being nocturnally consumed by grief or rage—or both. She'd asked him to see a doctor and he'd refused. He took a flight physical every six months to
maintain his pilot's license and, according to him, he was fine. But Lauren knew he wasn't, and the end result was that she felt shut out—even more so after what she'd found.

If this documentary was the underlying cause of what was upsetting him, then he wasn't drifting away from her, he was wounded. How could he not be damaged by the power of the images and the memories they invoked. She knew he loved her, that wasn't the problem. Lauren exhaled slowly and was about to restart the movie when the phone rang. She saw it was Donovan and felt a sense of relief as she answered.

“It's me,” Donovan said. “Sorry I couldn't call you back until now.”

From the tremor in his voice Lauren knew something was wrong. “What happened? What's going on?”

“It's Michael,” Donovan's voice wavered. “He's been shot.”

“Oh my God.” Lauren felt flushed, tears starting to form.

“The police think—” Donovan's words came out haltingly. “We—Michael—may have stumbled into the middle of an airplane theft.”

“Someone stole an airplane? Who does that?” Lauren forced herself up out of the chair and made her way back upstairs. Donovan was clearing his throat and she knew he was buying some time, collecting himself. She thought back to their earlier conversation. “When we were talking, you saw something. Did you see what happened?”

“I saw Michael struggling with someone. Before I could get to him, I was hit from behind.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I'm fine, the paramedics checked me out.”

“Where are you now? Where's Michael?”

“They took him to the Boca Raton Community Hospital. I'm still with the police at the scene. They're telling me I have to go to the station and make a formal statement before I can go to the hospital. It may be a while before I know anything more.”

“This is awful. Did they at least catch the people responsible?” Lauren knew her husband's past, his demons, and his tight-knit friendship with Michael were all working against him right now. Her husband's past was littered with the bodies of loved ones who'd died despite his best efforts to save them. His guilt and remorse at the best of times were enough to smother him. It had taken years to rebuild his world, and Michael and his family were the closest friends Donovan had ever had. Lauren had no idea what might happen to her husband if Michael didn't make it—especially if Donovan blamed himself.

“No, they got away. As far as we know, Michael is the only one who saw them.”

“Have you talked to either Susan or William?” Lauren asked, her emotions in check for the moment as she allowed her pragmatic side to click into gear, trying to think of everything that needed to be done and then prioritizing each task. She thought of her dear friend Susan, Michael's wife, as well as their two boys, Patrick and Billy. They lived ten minutes away and Lauren wanted to get over there as quickly as she could. They also needed to find William VanGelder, Donovan's mentor and business partner. He needed to be brought into the loop as soon as possible.

“Not yet. We need to get Susan and the boys down here.” He paused. “Michael's in bad shape, Lauren. He might not—”

“Honey, calm down and let's do this one step at a time. You need to call Susan now. Tell her I'll be over there as fast as I can, but she's going to want to hear about this from you. I'll call William. He and I can start on the travel arrangements.”

“I needed to call you first.” She could hear him exhale slowly. “Susan was my next call.”

“Hang in there. Talk to Susan—I love you and I'll call you when I know something, you do the same.”

“I love you, too,” Donovan said.

Lauren hung up and raced upstairs while she speed-dialed William. She felt the urgency of the situation build as it rang.
Opening her closet, she threw an overnight bag on the bed and began pulling clothes out of her dresser when, to her great relief, William finally answered.

“William, it's Lauren. I'm sorry about the hour, but I have bad news.” She took a breath and steadied herself. “Donovan just called. Michael's been shot. He's alive, but we don't know anything beyond that.”

“Oh, no.” William's voice trailed off. “I know they left today. Remind me where they went?”

“They're in Boca Raton, Florida. Donovan is talking to Susan right now, and I'm on my way over there as soon as I'm off the phone with you.”

“Okay. I'm assuming we need a chartered jet to carry the six of us?”

“Yes.” Lauren always marveled at how intuitive the elder statesman could be. He'd already assumed she and Abigail were going.

“I thought so. How did Donovan sound?”

“Not great. All he alluded to was that he didn't get to Michael in time and that we needed to hurry.”

“Oh God, anything but that. How did all of this happen?”

Lauren relayed what little Donovan had passed along to her. Given the circumstances it was no surprise he seemed as concerned about Donovan's state of mind as she was. William had been a part of her husband's life since he was a child. He had become Donovan's guardian after Donovan's parents were killed. The two of them were as close as father and son and William was certainly a calming influence, not only to Donovan, but to her as well.