Category Five (2 page)

“HELP ME! I'M IN HERE!” Lauren screamed with relief. Barely ten feet away, she knew whoever was out there would be able to hear her cries.

“HELP ME. I'M TRAPPED!” Lauren couldn't understand why the person hadn't rushed to her. Was it Victor…Why didn't he respond?

“PLEASE HELP ME!” she cried out again. “VICTOR IS THAT YOU? Help me get out of here.”

She looked each way as far as she could, but the boots were nowhere to be seen. A feeling of doom seeped into her consciousness. She prayed that whoever it was would come back and pry her free of her prison. But after several agonizing minutes, all she could hear was the relentless howl of the storm.

“PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE!” Lauren's voice was shrill, on the edge of complete panic.

Rain pelted the ground around her. She felt utterly alone. Whoever had been outside the car had vanished. She threw
herself back and forth, trying to kick her legs, use them for leverage—anything to free herself. But she was stuck. Regardless of what she did, she remained trapped upside down in the wreckage of the car. Her throat tightened as she thought of Abigail. If she died, her daughter would be too young to have any memory of her. All of her hopes and dreams for Abigail's life would vanish. Desperate, Lauren knew she was on the verge of losing everything. She forced herself to take several deep breaths; she needed to try to calm down. If her scientific training had taught her anything, it was to try to stay objective and rational.

Lauren cocked her head as a different noise began to register. Her heart soared—it had to be someone coming to rescue her. She strained to look out the smashed window, the sound coming closer. A new and more pressing fear overwhelmed her as she discovered the source of the commotion. She did have company; water was beginning to flow toward her. The ground had soaked up all the rain it could, and now the runoff was cascading down to the bottom of the culvert. With her head only inches from the soil, Lauren knew it wouldn't take the water very long to pool and fill the space inside the car.

Lauren struggled once again to free herself, but each movement was met with resistance. Twisting and turning, she became angry. The thought of dying in the ugly brown water set her brain on fire. All of the things she wanted to accomplish flashed before her. The mistakes of the last two years reared their ugly head and pummeled her. She saw her daughter, those beautiful blue eyes full of warmth and love. They were the same eyes of Abigail's father, a man her little girl had never met. Lauren choked back a sob that threatened to completely unhinge her. The water splashed and gurgled as it picked up momentum. Seconds later it touched the top of her head. Lauren screamed against the wind and thrashed in vain at the forces holding her prisoner.

D
onovan Nash looked at his watch, then out at the low gray clouds that swept over the Bermuda airport. The rain was racing sideways in billowing sheets. He swore under his breath…they were late. He'd been pacing back and forth in the lobby of Operations. He paused to look out the window. Thirty yards out on the tarmac sat the aircraft he'd just landed. It was the last airplane on the empty desolate field. The highly modified Gulfstream IV SP glistened in the rain—bold blue and gray stripes ran the length of the white fuselage, then swept up the tail, ending with the “Eco-Watch” name proudly emblazoned around the symbol of the globe. On the nose,
Spirit of da Vinci
was neatly printed below the cockpit. Funded by a private foundation, Eco-Watch was one of the premier, nonprofit scientific groups in the world. In the eight years since its inception, Eco-Watch had grown from humble beginnings to become one of the leading research organizations in existence. Both of Eco-Watch's specialty aircraft were easily booked two years in advance. The primary focus was hurricane and typhoon study, meteorological events that presented the greatest threat to the world's population. But the
overall mission statement was to study any atmospheric condition, from polar weather formations, to holes in the ozone layer, to El Niño. Whatever science needed to find, Eco-Watch would find a way to make it possible.

A few hours ago, Donovan had gotten a frantic call. A key group of scientists were stranded on Bermuda. The Air Force jet that had been scheduled to make the pickup had mechanical problems and canceled. The fact that the call had come from the Pentagon had been unusual, but the government was just one of the many organizations that contracted Eco-Watch's services. During the Atlantic hurricane season, Eco-Watch was on constant alert and often flew missions to support the hurricane hunter flights operated by the Air force. Just as well, thought Donovan as he studied the sky. The storm had picked up strength in the last hour or so; he doubted the Air Force would have stuck around this long.

Donovan chose to operate under the title of Director of Aircraft Operations—very few people knew that he'd founded Eco-Watch. It took him out of the spotlight and gave him far more freedom than he'd have had otherwise. The last thing he ever wanted to do was get stuck behind a desk. Plain and simple, he loved to fly and did so at every opportunity. As one of the frontline pilots, he enjoyed a camaraderie and closeness with his people he'd never have sitting in an office. He looked at his watch again, then at the water streaming off the roof. These people were cutting it close. Donovan had more leeway than the military, so there was still time left before the full force of Helena was forecast to hit Bermuda.

The plate glass rattled and a low howl resonated above the sound of the rain. Donovan shifted his gaze to his reflection. He'd just turned forty-five years old, though he knew he was still as lean and muscular as he was ten years ago. Genetics had been kind to him. He stood six-foot two, yet had to do very little to
maintain his ideal weight. But the other subtle changes hadn't escaped him. The lines around his blue eyes were getting more pronounced, as was the gray that had begun to appear at his temples. His strong angular features seemed to have softened. Most men approaching middle age might groan inwardly at the changes, but Donovan welcomed them. Anything that distanced him from the past was welcome.

“They're here. They're coming through the gate now,” a voice called across the room from behind the counter. “They'll drive right out to the plane.”

“Thanks.” Donovan breathed a sigh of relief. They could be airborne in fifteen minutes, home to Eco-Watch's hangar at Dulles airport in Washington within two hours. He started for the door, then stopped.

“Hey. What's the wind right now?”

The station manager looked at the instruments. “It's showing 030 degrees at 25 knots, gusting to 40. I guess I don't need to tell you the barometer is dropping fast.”

Donovan smiled. “I think I figured that part out already. Good luck and thanks for all your help.” It was no use to try to stay dry. Donovan bolted out of the office and with his head down against the stinging rain, ran toward the waiting jet.

A cream-colored Toyota Landcruiser pulled onto the ramp, then slowed. They'd been told to expect a military airplane, and Donovan guessed the driver must be unsure of where to go. He waved it toward the Gulfstream. The headlights flashed in acknowledgment, and the four-wheel drive Toyota quickly covered the distance to the waiting Eco-Watch jet.

The doors of the Landcruiser burst open, and a large man eased himself down to the ground. Donovan dispensed with any formalities and headed to the rear of the vehicle. He was certain they'd have luggage and equipment and he wanted to get everything loaded as fast as possible. The occupant quickly joined him there.

“I'm Dr. Carl Simmons.” The huge man extended a beefy hand. “We were expecting an Air Force jet.”

“I'm Captain Nash.” Donovan shook Simmons' hand. Simmons was a hulk of a man, huge jowls hiding any inkling that he had a neck. His small eyes looked out of scale on his massive face. Donovan wasn't used to looking up at very many people, but Simmons towered a good four inches above him. “Change of plans. Get on board and I'll start bringing the luggage up.”

“The others aren't here yet are they?” Dr. Simmons asked as he lifted two of the heaviest cases.

“What others?” Donovan snapped his head toward Simmons. Any hope for a quick departure had vanished.

“They're in another car. I left before them to try to get here in time. We can't leave without them.”

“We will if I say so,” Donovan said, bristling at Simmons's overbearing tone.

“You are going to wait, aren't you?” Dr. Simmons turned his head as a gust of wind and rain peppered them.

Donovan nodded. “I'll wait as long as I can. Now please, get on board while I stow this stuff.”

With help from the driver, Donovan hoisted the last of the bags up into the rear cargo compartment. Once everything was aboard, Donovan turned to him.

“Dr. Simmons said there was another car. Any idea how far behind they were?”

“I shouldn't think very far,” the driver shouted above the wind. “But conditions are getting worse. They should be here any time.”

“Does the other car have a radio?”

The driver shook his head.

“Can you sit tight for a minute? If we get stranded, we might need your help.” Donovan could feel the first prickle that something wasn't quite right, like a splinter lodged under his skin. It was a feeling he'd learned to never ignore.

“They paid me for all day,” the driver replied. “I'll wait in the car.”

Donovan hurried to the stairs that led up into the Gulfstream. He took the steps two at a time, then ducked through the door into the airplane. He pulled the vinyl curtain back over the entrance to try to keep the rain out. Nicolas Kosta, a new Eco-Watch pilot who was along as part of his orientation, eagerly handed him a towel. Nicolas was a study in contrasts. Still in his late twenties, he sported a shaved head and black wire frame glasses. His wide brown eyes and thick eyebrows dominated his narrow face. One moment he seemed twenty-seven, the next he came across as being someone much older.

“We ready to go?” Nicolas asked.

Donovan shook his head. “There's another car. It should be here any moment. Where's Michael? Is he up front?”

“Yes sir,” Nicolas reported. “Strapped in, ready to get us out of here.”

Donovan nodded. Michael Ross was his closest friend, and a senior captain at Eco-Watch. He and Michael had flown together for years. Donovan knew him well enough to know he probably had a finger poised on the start button. Being caught on the ground with a hurricane sweeping in from the ocean was the last thing either of them wanted.

“Nicolas.” Donovan saw the young man stiffen. He wished Nicolas would relax. He was a solid pilot and hard worker. He'd been through the grueling interview process and had the job. “Get Dr. Simmons settled. He seems a little wound up. I'll be in the cockpit. Be ready to leave on my signal.”

“Yes sir.”

Donovan pulled the towel around his neck and made his way through the narrow passageway to the cockpit. He felt the usual satisfaction at how well his hand-picked crew did their jobs. Eco-Watch, under Donovan's guidance, was a tight-knit group of
professionals, at times more of an extended family than a business. He had nearly forty people under his direct supervision, a mixture of pilots, mechanics, engineers, and support staff. Donovan prided himself on knowing each one as more than just an employee. He felt confident that Nicolas could handle things in the back, and that Michael would have everything prepared up front. He opened the door and was greeted by a rush of cool, conditioned air—a sharp contrast to the clinging oppressive atmosphere being pumped northward by the hurricane.

Michael Ross looked up from the chart he was studying. Intelligent blue eyes stood out from a handsome tanned face. At thirty-seven years old, he possessed an irresistible combination of good looks and natural charm. His closely cropped blonde hair and muscular build made him appear as if he'd just stepped off of a Southern California beach.

“About time. Are we finally ready to get the hell out of here?”

“No. We're waiting on one more group,” Donovan said. “They should be here shortly.”

“Oh, perfect. They can't all ride in the same car?”

Donovan shrugged, then used the end of the towel to wipe his forehead.

“You look a little damp. Is it raining outside or something?” Michael flashed a wry grin in Donovan's direction.

“A little drizzle. Nothing too bad.” Donovan matched his friend's tone. Michael's sarcasm was legendary, and as constant as the rising sun. Donovan's trained eyes darted around the cockpit. He could see Michael had everything ready to go. The driving storm buffeted the airplane and sheets of rain blurred the view out the Gulfstream's windows.

“What's the wind doing now?” Donovan asked, a crease forming on his forehead as he felt the heavy Gulfstream shudder in the gale.

“Let me check.” Michael picked up the microphone. “Bermuda tower. This is Eco-Watch 02. Say the wind, please.”

“Wind is 030 degrees at 25 knots with peak gusts to 43 knots.”

“Roger, we copy.” Michael looked up at Donovan. “It's increased a little from when we landed. But nothing too bad yet. The tower told me that if the wind reached sixty knots they'd have to evacuate the cab and we'd be on our own.”

“Hopefully, we'll be long gone before it gets that strong.”

“How long we going to give the other car? I'd sure hate to be sitting here when Helena rolls in from the Atlantic.”

“Captain?”

Donovan turned at the sound of the voice. He found Dr. Simmons inching his bulk forward.

“Yes.”

“I'm starting to get worried. I would have thought they'd have been here by now. Dr. McKenna was deeply concerned about making this flight before the storm stranded us. All the work we've done here needs to be monitored from Washington.”