Category Five (33 page)

“I promise,” came Donovan's emotion-filled reply. “I can't believe…When did you…I wish you'd have told me.”

“Lauren told me earlier,” Michael continued. “I thought you should know. Sorry to force the issue, but I thought it was important. The other thing is, at last report, Abigail and Lauren's mother were stranded at the Newark airport. Hopefully they're gone by now…but they need to be out of there.”

“Lauren. Thank you for telling me. We'll see her later. Together,” Donovan said, his voice stronger. “I promise you I'll make sure they're safe.”

“Really?” Lauren sniffed, her eyes filling with tears and her body shuddering under the emotions she felt.

“I'm thrilled, Lauren. I really am.”

Lauren tried to wipe her eyes. A reluctant smile came to her face as she silently thanked Michael.

“Michael.” Donovan spoke to his friend. “I have to get to the back and make sure everything is ready when we arrive. You need to do the same. We're going to want you to ditch as close to the northwestern quadrant of the eye as you can. It'll buy us some time.”

“I understand.”

“You'll hear from us again as we enter the eye. Take care of Lauren for me.”

“You can count on it.”

T
hanks, guys.” As Donovan handed the microphone back to Hays, he ignored the questioning looks on the pilot's faces. “I'm headed down below.”

“After the drop,” Hays said before Donovan left, “we're going to have to hightail it out of here.”

“Will you be in contact with the B-1?”

Hays shook his head. “No, not directly, but there's an AWACS aircraft moving into position about 200 miles from here. They're going to monitor the explosion. They're working the B-1. We'll forward the information from Dr. McKenna through them.”

“Perfect. I'll be back.” Donovan hurried out of the cockpit. The news that he had a daughter filled him with both joy and dread. If he couldn't protect Meredith, how could he hope to protect his daughter—especially as he was about to once again become Robert Huntington? Donovan carefully gathered his fragmented emotions and tried to redirect them into purpose.

With a new determination, he raced to join the others in back. The
Atlantic Star
was still strapped tightly to the cargo floor. Nylon webbing was now pulled tightly around the gleaming white pressure vessel. As he rounded the cylindrical hull, he found the others. They were all staring at him.

“What? Is there a problem?”

“We heard,” Erin spoke first. “Buck was testing his radio. We heard what was said from the Eco-Watch plane.”

“Forget about it.” Donovan wanted everyone focused on the coming job. “It'll be fine; nothing's changed. Now explain to me exactly how this is going to be a soft landing.”

“I was just about to explain what I've done.” Taylor tested one of the wire-taut restraining straps with his gloved hand. “The webbing will distribute the stress of the chute opening all along the vessel's superstructure. Mr. Graff has assured me the hull can easily withstand the strain.”

“What about getting rid of all this mess once they're in the water?” Donovan followed Taylor to the rear of the submarine.

“That's the beauty of my design.” Taylor strutted to a different section of the sub. “I've rigged the webbing to the pallet. It all gathers on top and connects in two places. Here at the bow, and again at the stern. All Buck has to do is cut the lines, and the weight of the pallet should pull everything under the water. We're counting that the chute will fall off to one side when it deflates. This should eliminate any of the parasail's lines fowling the sub.”

“Brilliant.” Donovan turned to Buck, who had donned a wetsuit and harness. His mask was propped up on his forehead; his flippers lay next to him. “How does all of this set with you?”

“I'm good to go. My only concern is an accurate drop in relation to the people in the water.”

“You leave that to me.” Taylor patted the side of the C-17. “With this plane and the GPADS system—I could park this sub in your garage from eight miles up.”

“Where's Graff?” Donovan looked around.

“He's in the sub,” Erin offered. “He's running pre-dive checklists.”

“Okay then.” Donovan glanced at his watch. “So once we know they're in the water, we open the rear door, cut these straps holding the sub to the floor, and away you go?”

“Something like that,” Taylor replied. “Once we're in position, I'll cut all but two restraints. It'll make the last little bit go smoother.”

“How do you get the sub out the door?” Erin asked.

“Right here,” Taylor pointed. “Three, twenty-eight foot extraction chutes. We open them up and they deploy in the air behind the C-17. The drag pulls the sub out on the rollers. It's a set of physics that won't be denied.”

Donovan heard the sound of a chime, at the same instant the roar from the four engines began to subside. He knew Hays must be slowing for their descent into the eye.

“Show time,” Donovan said. He wanted to say something specific to Buck, but words to express his gratitude and hope
wouldn't come. He looked on as the SEAL slipped a flotation device over his head and cinched up the straps.

“Buck. Good luck down there.” Donovan tried to be encouraging, but both men knew the extreme nature of the job.

Buck checked his range of motion with the life preserver secured. “SEALs don't need luck—we make our own. Don't worry. I'll do everything I can to get them all in the sub safely.”

“Thanks.”

Buck pulled a sheathed knife from his duffel bag. He inspected the blade in the light. “Make sure your man down there knows what to do. If the ditching somehow goes wrong—there's no use dropping the sub. It's all on him right now. He does his part, I'll do mine.”

“Is there any way I can talk to the
Galileo
from here?” Donovan asked.

“Yeah, sure.” Buck handed Donovan a small hand-held VHF radio. “It should be fully charged; the frequency is already set. It's how we accidentally heard the earlier exchange you had with your lady friend.”

Donovan switched on the volume and adjusted the squelch. “Michael, you ready?”

“Almost.” Michael's reply was almost instantaneous, though the signal was scratchy. “I'm as close to the eye wall as I can get.”

“We just came over the top and have started our descent. Say your altitude.” Donovan paused. “Captain Hays. Are you on the frequency too?”

“We're right here,” Hays replied from the cockpit.

“Good. Michael, I'm sorry. Say your altitude again?”

“We're down to 500 feet. I've been looking at the waves.”

“And?” Donovan had only a vague idea of what the surface conditions might be.

“They're huge, but without any wind, they're mostly flat on top. They're big enough to set the Gulfstream down on the back
side of a swell. They're rolling at a long enough interval that we should have a fairly smooth time of it for at least twenty seconds after we touch down.”

Donovan nodded. Michael had everything under control. “Is everyone in back ready to go?”

“As far as I know. We've already pulled one of the emergency hatches and both emergency rafts have been readied.”

“I understand. Is Lauren going to be in front, or in the back when you ditch?”

“She's going to be up here with me. Randy is still out of it and I'm going to need some help.”

“Mr. Nash, I think you should join us on the flight deck,” Hays transmitted. “We can see the Gulfstream and I've just been given word the B-1 bomber is fifty-one minutes out. We need to start.”

“I copy,” Michael replied. “I'm starting down.”

“Once I free these straps we're going to open the doors.” Taylor explained as he stepped away from one he'd just released. “Ms. Walker, you'd better go with Mr. Nash to the cockpit.”

“Go!” Buck urged.

Donovan ran past the sub and headed for the cockpit. Erin followed close behind. Donovan climbed the ladder and burst onto the flight deck. They were getting lower. A quick glance at the altimeter told him they were leaving 5,000 feet.

“Where are they?” Donovan moved behind Hays. He felt Erin squeeze in to get a look also.

“Eleven o'clock low,” Jacobs said, pointing. “They're in a left turn.”

“Michael. We see you.” Donovan was momentarily stunned by the sight of the white Gulfstream against the giant blue-green waves. Not half a mile away sat the swirling, spinning edge of the hurricane. “We're getting into position. Are you ready?”

“We're ready,” Lauren answered. “Michael says we're starting now. I love you, Donovan.”

Donovan felt a longing at the sound of her words. He couldn't imagine what must be running through her mind.

“We're slowing to 150 knots,” Hays said. “That's the speed we need to drop the sub. The rear door is open and Taylor says we're good to go. Everyone keep an eye out for the rafts once they're down.”

Donovan keyed his microphone. “I love you too.” He stood mesmerized as the Gulfstream settled lower and lower toward the ocean. A massive wave built beneath Michael's plane. Donovan's body tensed as it appeared the surging water would swat the
Galileo
from the sky. At the last second, the Gulfstream nosed higher and, in a blur of metal impacting water, the airplane vanished in an explosion of white spray.

“They're down!” Hays shouted.

Donovan didn't dare take a breath. As if in slow motion, the Gulfstream emerged from the eruption of water and staggered along just inches above the ocean. It slowed and settled once again into the back of the wave, finally enveloped by a plume of water. Donovan could just make out the tail of the
Galileo
as it whipped around violently, then stopped. Though it looked horrible from above, Donovan knew Michael had just done a brilliant job.

“LOOK OUT!” Erin screamed beside him.

“Oh, God!” Hays slammed all four throttles to the stops.

Donovan looked up. Directly in front of them was
Jonah
. All eyes had been glued to the surface of the water. Somehow, he'd forgotten about the one aerial hazard that existed. Donovan's fingers dug into the seat back as the C-17 responded and accelerated. Hays fought the massive forces working on his airplane. The balloon raced closer and filled the windshield. Erin screamed once more and wrapped her arms around Donovan.

“Hang on,” Hays yelled. He abruptly yanked the controls and the C-17 pitched up into a violent climb toward the circle of blue sky above.

Donovan fought the G-forces and waited for the impact, the engines howling in his ears.
Jonah
flashed past them on the left and was gone. Holding tight, Donovan came off the floor as Hays tried to regain control from the evasive maneuver. In an instant of recognition, Donovan saw they were headed into the eye wall. Nothing Hays could do could keep them from entering the full fury of Helena.

Donovan felt Erin's grip on him loosen. In horror, he looked down as she was being pulled toward the precipice that led to the cargo floor below. In one swift motion, he tried to grab her as she broke free—his fingers finding hers. Her terrified eyes told him that he didn't have a firm grip; she was slipping from his grasp. Donovan catapulted himself toward her, sliding an arm around Erin just before she vanished over the ledge. With his free hand he made a desperate stab to reach the railing. Erin screamed as Donovan managed to hook his free arm around the cold steel. The C-17 banked hard; Erin teetered over the drop-off. Donovan strained as she kicked her legs in space trying to get a foothold. With a desperate surge of energy, Donovan pulled her from the ledge and gathered her in his arms. He locked his arm around the railing and held her tightly as the C-17 staggered through the sky and penetrated Helena's eye wall.

L
auren screamed as the Gulfstream slammed into the dark swell, whipping her body around and throwing it heavily against her harness, the water impacting the windshield and cascading with a deafening roar.

“Michael!” She looked over, horrified to see him slumped in his seat, a smear of blood running from his nose. She threw off her harness and reached out to him. He'd made her assume the crash position and she'd held on tight as they'd hit the water. But Michael had no such luxury…she was sure his head had been flung forward by the furious deceleration. He moaned as she tilted his head toward her.

“Michael! Wake up!” she pleaded. “We've got to get out of here!”

“What?” Michael gurgled. “Where are…”

“We're in the water.” Lauren braced herself as the Gulfstream tilted and was swept down the side of a wave. She heard the ominous sound of creaking metal. “Please Michael…please get up!”

Michael raised one hand and felt his face. He winced at the pain.

Out the windshield, Lauren could see another wave bearing down on them. She didn't have any idea how long the Gulfstream
would stay afloat. Michael hadn't thought it would last very long. She held on tight as the helpless airplane was lifted by the water and crashed hard to one side. A wash of seawater pushed in the cockpit and sloshed above her ankles. Lauren scooped up two handfuls and flung the salty water in Michael's face.

“Oh Christ!” Michael cried out in pain, and cupped his face in his hands.

“I'm sorry, Michael.” Lauren released his seat belt and tried to hold him upright. She hooked her arm under his and began pulling him toward their only escape from the sinking plane.

“I'm up.” Michael fought his vertigo as he came to his feet. He lurched to the side as another wave slammed into the plane.

“We don't have much time.” Lauren pointed out the window at the rolling ocean. “They're bigger and coming at quicker intervals than I expected.”