Zero Separation (40 page)

“Hey there,” Montero smiled as she drew closer. “I like the new plane. It's beautiful.”

Donovan thought perhaps it was the first genuine smile he'd seen since he met her. She'd recovered physically, they both had, but he wondered how she was healing emotionally? At least on the surface she seemed more relaxed, more at peace. Donovan discovered that he was genuinely glad to see her. She'd turned down his money, and made him a promise that she'd kept even when faced with death. In his world that made her a rare creature. He had no memory of her making the phone call that night—but she'd done it, and it spoke volumes about the integrity of her character.

Donovan opened his arms and they hugged, no words were spoken. They were forever linked together by that rare combination of being the sole survivors of a crisis that took the lives of others. They held each other for what seemed like a long time.

“I've missed you. Are you okay?” Montero whispered as she pulled away, still smiling.

“I'm good. I'm done with physical therapy, all the parts seem to work the way they did before, more or less. I pulled in a favor or two and the FAA should make their final evaluation any day now and return me to flight status. I'm anxious to start working again now that the new airplane is finally here.”

“Well, you look good,” Montero said.

“What's the latest out of Washington?” Donovan asked. “Is
there anything new about Strauss, who may or may not have been helping him?”

“All I've heard is that a general in the Israeli Defense Force was killed in a car accident and a senior member of the Knesset was found dead in his home—apparent heart attack. The FBI isn't coming out and saying anything definitive, but the inside buzz is that the two men were being looked at as the possible puppet masters behind a very deranged Nathan Strauss. It's possible their deaths weren't as accidental as they appear.”

“The less the world knows about what really happened, the better.”

“I agree,” Montero sighed. “I spoke with Michael a few days ago. He sounded good.”

“I put him in charge of Eco-Watch while I was laid up. As I always knew he would, he did a great job. I think having something to focus on helped him recover from his injuries. We were all pretty beat up there for a while.”

“I was sorry to hear about you and Lauren. I know that must be difficult.”

Donovan nodded and looked away. He usually hated to talk about his private life, but with Montero the question somehow felt less intrusive, the wound less exposed. The fact that she knew his secrets made it easier.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I wasn't trying to pry.”

“I know you weren't. She and I talk, it's not over. I messed up a bunch of things and they won't be fixed overnight. She's not wrong in how she feels, and I need to figure out how to make some changes. We both do. It seems we can't live together, and we can't live apart. It's complicated, so for now we've both agreed that it's an evolving situation, and neither one of us wants to do anything permanent. She and Abigail are in Europe. Abigail and I video chat all the time, but I miss her. I miss them both.”

“I can't begin to tell you how much you've been on my mind the last few weeks. I finally went and saw the documentary.”

“I figured you would. What did you think?”

“I know it's wildly popular, and you must hate that it's not going away anytime soon, but to be honest I thought I was going to be physically sick in the theatre. Knowing the truth, I felt so ashamed that I'd threatened to expose you, especially after you saved my life. I ended up in tears, and ultimately walked out of the theatre.”

“I know the feeling,” Donovan replied.

“You know,” Montero looked down at the floor then back up at him. “We've talked about some of my boundary issues. How I tend to take things into my own hands to make them right.”

Donovan nodded, unsure where she was going with this.

“After I'd seen the movie, I was down in Florida and I pulled the file on the theft of the Bristol Technologies Gulfstream and Michael's shooting. No big deal, the file's closed, case solved, so I took the liberty of pulling the partial fingerprints lifted from the flashlight and the flashlight itself may have been misplaced as were some irrelevant mug shots. No one will stumble onto that evidence again. Your secret is safe.”

“Thank you,” Donovan replied. “How about you, how are you doing?”

“Better.” Montero shrugged. “I'm about finished being Washington's puppet. I'm finally changing assignments.”

“Good for you. Is that what brings you here?”

“Sort of. I had a few loose ends to clean up before my resignation becomes final.”

“You're quitting?” Donovan said, genuinely surprised. “I thought you loved working for the FBI. What are you going to do?”

“It's not like I can do undercover work anymore. Whatever I did, I'd be stuck behind a desk, and that's not really what I signed up for,” Montero said. Then her smile turned curious.

“What's that look about?” Donovan asked. “Are you looking for a job?”

“No. Not at all. My attorney contacted me a week or so ago and it seems that an anonymous donor made a very large gift to a
woman's shelter in Miami that I've been involved with for several years. It was enough of a donation that we can finally expand to other areas of Florida that need our help. The board of directors believes that I can use my newfound visibility to continue to raise funds. They've asked me to be the new executive director, and I've accepted. You don't know anything about the donation, do you? Was it you?”

“No, it wasn't me.”

“Was it Mr. VanGelder?”

“I doubt it. He would have said something.”

“Donovan,” she whispered, “it was five million dollars.”

“Good for you. I promise it wasn't me. I'm happy for you. You'll do great.” Donovan knew for a fact that the money came from three private individuals. Two of the benefactors lived with their families in Washington, D.C., and had close ties with Tel Aviv. The third donor, and the person who'd orchestrated the entire bequest, had been Lauren, with the help of Aaron Keller. It was agreed that the money was a way to thank the woman whose actions helped save a great many lives.

“So, are you free for dinner?” Montero asked. “I know a great place downtown in the old historic district.”

“It's getting late.” Donovan said, resisting. “I'd have to stop at the hotel to clean up and change.”

“I need to do the same thing,” Montero replied. “Fortunately, we're booked at the same hotel.”

“How did you find out where I'm staying?” Donovan realized the uselessness of the question the moment he said the words.

“I'm still a federal agent, at least for the next month.” Montero smiled. “Don't underestimate me, and don't argue with me. I'm taking you to dinner and that's final. In fact, I already made us a reservation.”

“You're taking me?”

“My treat. I don't know when I'll see you again.” Montero slid her hand under his left wrist and brought his hand up to the light. She gently turned it over to see the wounds on either side. She cradled
it, palm up, and lightly touched the skin where the screwdriver had left its permanent mark.

“The other scars are worse,” Donovan said.

“Even before that night, you were the most scarred man I've ever met,” Montero replied. “But this particular one has my name on it—the first of three times you saved my life.”

“Three?”

“The first time was when you kept Strauss from stabbing me with the screwdriver. The second was when you carried me out of the burning plane,” Montero continued quietly, almost reverentially. “The final and most important time was the fact that I would never have survived losing Alec without you. So, yes, I owe you my life three times over and this small scar is what you have to remember me by. Every time you see this, know that I'll always be there for you—no matter what.”

Donovan nodded his head in a silent thank you. Her declaration of unending loyalty touched him deeply and he was at a loss for words.

Montero leaned in and kissed him gently, smiled, then slipped her hand inside his and together they walked toward the exit.

If you enjoyed
Zero Separation,
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By
Philip Donlay

An excerpt from
Category Five
follows this page.

T
orrential rain whipped by gale force winds lashed at the vehicle. Driven sideways, the deluge pelted the car with sharp, staccato bursts. From the passenger's seat, Dr. Lauren McKenna could feel her apprehension rise. The last reports she'd received indicated that the storm was nearing Category Two strength. Sustained winds of at least 96 mph would be spinning around the deepening low pressure area. The picturesque island of Bermuda lay directly in the hurricane's path, and time was running out for a smooth departure back to the States.

As she always did, she imagined the storm as it appeared from a satellite. The view from space was always the most breathtaking. She loved the concentric swirls of clouds, the symmetry that finally formed the small eye in the center of the cyclone. In all of her years of tracking hurricanes, she'd never ceased to marvel at nature's largest destructive force.

She was soaked. Her thin cotton blouse clung to her skin and water trickled down her bare legs from waterlogged shorts. Her auburn hair was plastered to her neck. She felt half-naked and more than a little self-conscious. Earlier, she'd caught their driver,
Peter, eyeing her, and she'd wanted to cover up. But now, as the storm grew worse, his attention never left the road in front of them. The narrow ribbon of asphalt was visible for only a second after each pass of the wipers. Leaves and branches tumbled across the rain-drenched road, then vanished. She hoped the other car had made it safely to the airport; she'd sent it ahead to get the Air Force plane to wait for her.

Lauren looked anxiously at her watch. It was only ten in the morning, yet the darkness of the storm made it feel like evening. They were cutting it close. If the winds from the hurricane reached a certain level, the plane would leave without them. She'd been warned in her briefing: the Air Force was adamant about not risking damage to one of its aircraft. But the installation of her equipment, then making sure everything was operational, had taken far longer than she'd planned. Her precious experiment was now on a U.S. Navy destroyer headed to intercept the eye of the hurricane. Part of her wanted to be on board when
Jonah
was deployed, but the Defense Intelligence Agency had vetoed that plan. She'd been ordered back to Washington to begin phase two of the operation.

If everything went as planned,
Jonah's
Doppler imaging would open up a new dimension in understanding the inner workings of a hurricane. Lauren's primary job within the DIA was to oversee the monitoring and tracking of weather patterns on a global basis. Any meteorological events that could impact military operations were carefully analyzed. From there, her department would disseminate the information to the Pentagon for use all over the world. Eleven days ago, Lauren had begun to run some highly advanced computer simulations on what was then still an unnamed tropical disturbance. Using information on sea temperature, winds aloft, and a dozen other variables, her results had been startling. Lauren's computer models predicted that hurricane Helena, as it was now named, possessed the ability to develop into what could only be described as a super-hurricane.

It had been a year of drastic weather extremes across North America, from record heat and drought in the southeast, to violent thunderstorms that ripped across Canada and the northern United States. Massive squall lines had spawned an unprecedented number of tornadoes—huge F-5 twisters had strewn a trail of death and destruction in Minnesota, Michigan, and southern Canada, places where tornadoes rarely formed. For the last six months, Lauren had been studying this transformation in the usual weather patterns. To her, it was clear a major climatic shift was well underway, and if she were right about Helena, the worst was yet to come. Lauren knew she was now caught in a mad race to get off Bermuda before the full force of the storm stranded her on the tiny island.

“How much longer until we get to the airport?” Lauren had to raise her voice to be heard above the howling wind.

“Maybe fifteen minutes…maybe more.” Peter replied nervously. He didn't look at her. The Mercedes swayed as each burst of wind shook the car, threatening to spin it off the pavement.

Lauren turned to look at her colleague in the back seat. Victor Krueger's eyes were filled with alarm, his face ashen. Both hands were balled up into fists and he leaned against the car door as if ill. He nodded and tried to say something, but his thin features produced only a grimace. Despite her own rising concerns, Lauren smiled to try to encourage him. She had fifteen years' more experience with hurricanes than Victor did. A recent graduate from the Earth Science program at MIT and a new addition to the DIA, Victor was a bright young man full of energy and eagerness. But right this moment she knew he was terrified. He'd become deeply concerned hours ago, as the first angry bands of the storm began to come ashore. Lauren had seen it before—intelligent, rational people, when faced with a hurricane, yielded to something deep within them. Lauren thought of it as an almost primitive, reptilian urge to flee from a great threat. Whatever it was, Victor was in its clutches.

A vicious gust tore at the car. Lauren could feel the tires begin to slide on the saturated road. Just as quickly, Peter slowed and straightened the vehicle, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Without thinking, Lauren reached down and pulled her seat belt a fraction tighter. Out the side window she could see palm trees as they danced and bent as the force of the storm whipped them into a frenzy. Just beyond, she caught a glimpse of the ocean. The heavy gray clouds blended with the water, making them appear as one. Only the raging whitecaps differentiated sea from sky.