Category Five (5 page)

“Donovan.” The radio burst to life. “It's Michael. How much longer? I'm getting ready to start the engines. It's getting pretty bad. If you're going home with me you'd better get here quick.”

“Damn it!” Donovan kept his eyes on the road. “Tell him we're almost there.”

Lauren keyed the radio. “Michael. It's Lauren. Donovan says we're almost there.”

“Lauren!” Michael's surprise could be heard over the frequency. “We've got the Gulfstream's weather-radar pointed at the storm. There are some big thunderstorms coming in fast. Tell Donovan if we don't take off in the next ten minutes we may be stuck here.”

“We understand.” As Lauren looked at Donovan, she could see the color had left his face. She turned her attention out the windshield and knew why. The narrow bridge was nearly covered with angry water. She remembered his reoccurring nightmares, how he'd wake up trembling and gasping in the darkness. She recalled the horrible events he'd endured as a boy. He'd finally told her about the gigantic waves, the boat that had sunk. Before he was rescued, Donovan was adrift in a typhoon for almost two days. He hadn't gone into much detail, but she had no doubt that he'd been horribly traumatized by the ordeal. And now, right in front of them, was his worst nightmare.

Donovan slammed on the brakes and they skidded to a stop.

Lauren could see a vein in his neck pounding wildly. He lowered his head and fought to breathe. “I can drive if you want.” Lauren's heart went out to him. She reached across and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Give me a second.” Donovan squeezed his eyes shut as if trying to blot out the images in his head.

“Take your time.” Lauren slid her hand down and put it inside his. She squeezed it, trying to give him strength. “I know how hard this is. If we miss the plane it's okay. It's not your fault. We can go back and ride out the storm in Hamilton.” Lauren was surprised to feel a hint of pleasure at the thought of being marooned in Bermuda with him.

“Donovan! Where are you? It's time,” Michael reported. “I've got to get this plane out of here!”

“What shall I tell him?” Lauren fingered the transmit button.

Donovan pulled his seat belt tighter, his voice full of uncertainty. “Tell him to taxi out. We'll try to get there before he leaves.”

Lauren repeated the instructions. She saw Donovan's blue eyes narrow at the wave-tossed road. He put both hands on the wheel and gunned the engine. The Landcruiser leapt toward the narrow bridge. She held on as the Toyota hit the first wave. Silently, she urged Donovan onward as he battled the effects of the wind and water. He made the necessary corrections instantaneously. Water crashed and exploded over the road. The sound of the roaring waves filled the interior of the vehicle. Lauren could see the death-grip he had on the steering wheel; his heaving chest told her he was hyperventilating. She knew he was caught somewhere between this bridge, and a raging ocean over thirty years ago. Images of a fourteen-year-old boy and a sinking boat filled her head. She felt helpless to do anything for him as the car plowed into the turbid water, hesitated, then shot forward as it broke free.

“We're going to make it!” Lauren shouted the encouragement. She could see his legs shudder and shake from the strain. Without thinking, she keyed the microphone on the radio.

“Michael! We're crossing the bridge. Are you still there?”

“I'm taxiing out to the end of runway 12. We haven't got any time left. The radar shows nothing but solid red echoes…the worst of the thunderstorms will be here in minutes. We have to be airborne before then.”

Lauren felt Donovan put his foot down hard on the accelerator. The Toyota groaned as a wave slammed into the side and threatened to fish-tail them. She knew it wouldn't take much to fling them over the low railing. Lauren had nearly drowned once today—she prayed it wouldn't happen twice. The wheel jerked in Donovan's hands as another wall of water broke over the Landcruiser. They were driving blind, the frantic windshield wipers momentarily useless. She felt an impact, and heard the sound of screeching metal as the Toyota sideswiped the railing.

“I can see the end!” Lauren called out above the roar of the wind and waves. “Keep going. We're almost across!”

Donovan guided the Toyota as straight as he could. In a rush of inertia the Landcruiser shrugged off the last wave and burst into the clear.

“We made it!” Lauren shouted in triumph. “There's still time.”

Donovan shifted out of low gear and mashed the gas pedal. They careened around a corner, his foot touching the brake to keep the speeding Landcruiser on the road.

Through a gap in a line of buildings, Lauren caught sight of the Gulfstream as it moved away. “I see them!”

“Get down, Lauren. We're not stopping!” Donovan pointed the Toyota at the chain link fence.

She slid down in her seat and braced herself. He gripped the wheel and winced as they plowed into the gate. The Landcruiser jumped and bucked as it mowed down the metal. The windshield
cracked but held. Lauren raised her head and saw that a half mile down the deserted airport the Gulfstream had taken the runway. The water behind the jet was whipped into a frenzy as Michael increased the thrust on the
da Vinci
.

“TELL HIM WE'RE HERE!” Donovan shouted.

Lauren already had the radio to her mouth. “MICHAEL! WE'RE COMING UP FAST ON YOUR RIGHT. WAIT!”

In an instant, Lauren saw the plume behind the airplane vanish as Michael pulled the power back.

“LET'S MOVE IT, FOLKS,” Michael urged over the radio.

Donovan spun the Toyota around the wind-buffeted plane. He slammed on the brakes and switched off the ignition.

As Lauren gathered her computer, someone was already lowering the stairs on the jet. Donovan reached across the seat to help, then they both jumped from the Toyota and ran for the plane. Moments later, winded and soaked, they were inside the
da Vinci
.

“I've got the door!” Nicolas yelled and stepped aside so Donovan could take his rightful place up in the cockpit.

Donovan nodded and quickly made his way forward. He burst onto the flight deck. He expected an irreverent remark from Michael, or at least something sarcastic, but what he found was a look of concern mixed with relief.

“You okay?” Michael asked.

“Yeah. Thanks for waiting.” Donovan strapped in and adjusted his seat. He heard Nicolas secure the cabin door behind him. The light on the panel winked out. They were ready to go.

“I want full left aileron,” Michael ordered. “This could get interesting.”

Donovan did as instructed. His eyes swept the instrument panel. The six large CRT screens glowed brightly. The weather radar showed a solid line of red and yellow precipitation echoes directly off the end of the runway. The airspeed indicator was jumping back and forth, meaning the wind was pushing almost
sixty knots. Donovan's confidence in Michael was total. A former Naval aviator, Michael was a natural pilot, probably the best he'd ever seen.

“I'm ready when you are.”

“Here we go.” Michael stood on the brakes and pushed the two throttles up to the stops. Behind them, mounted high on the aft fuselage, the two Rolls Royce Tay engines spooled up and strained against the airframe. When they reached maximum thrust, Michael released the brakes. The
da Vinci
leapt forward into the fury of the approaching hurricane.

“80 KNOTS!” Donovan called out. He could feel Michael countering the cross-wind, the powerful windshield wipers battling the deluge of rain as they picked up speed.

“OH, SHIT!” Michael cried out.

Donovan stiffened. Dead ahead, blown by the storm, three 55-gallon drums were being rolled and tumbled across the runway. Donovan sat helpless. There was no way they were going to miss them.

“I've got it!” Michael grabbed the controls and hauled back.

“We're only at 100 knots!” Donovan shouted. He knew they needed another 30 knots to get airborne. He tensed and waited for the sensation of the landing gear crashing into the barrels. He could see Michael battle the controls as he yanked the Gulfstream off the ground. The jet responded as it shuddered into the sky. Donovan knew they couldn't have missed the barrels by more than a few inches. In a heartbeat, the momentary lift was depleted and the
da Vinci
thudded heavily back onto the pavement. Michael released the back-pressure on the controls and struggled to keep the airplane on the runway as they continued to accelerate.

“V1.” Donovan called out the takeoff safety speed. “Rotate!”

Once again, Michael pulled back on the controls. This time the Gulfstream broke free of the earth and clawed steeply into the turbulent sky.

“Gear up.” Michael held on as the airplane slugged its way through the low clouds. “We can't go straight ahead. I've got to start a turn to the northeast.”

Thrown around in the small cockpit by massive jolts of turbulence, Donovan forced his hand to the gear lever. The rain was deafening as it vaporized on the nose of the jet. He could see Michael trying to counter the heavy wind shear as the airplane climbed into the conflicting rivers of air. Up and down drafts tossed them savagely in the sky. Donovan watched as huge sheets of static electricity blew from the airframe. He took a quick look out the side window. The wing of the G-IV was flexing up and down as they plowed through the storm.

“Should I be talking to anyone?” Donovan turned to Michael, the microphone in his right hand.

“Maybe the man who built these things.” Michael said between clenched teeth.

Donovan kept his eyes glued to the instruments. Michael had the Gulfstream banked hard, turning as fast as he could. The worst of the weather was quickly falling away behind them. The turbulence began to let up as well as the rain.

“Bermuda said to contact New York Oceanic directly,” Michael explained. “The frequency is already set. Surprisingly, seems like we're the only airplane in the area. Go figure.”

Donovan made eye contact with Michael, happy the sarcasm had returned. A look of guarded triumph was etched on Michael's face. Donovan knew he and Michael felt the same sense of relief. Unspoken words passed between the two close friends. They both knew they'd avoided disaster by only inches. Later, over drinks, Donovan knew they'd laugh at how close it had been, toast their continued good luck, then add this to their list of harrowing flights. Donovan gave Michael a nod that he understood their shared thoughts. Then he raised the microphone and called Air Traffic Control.

“New York. Eco-Watch 02 is airborne off of Bermuda. We're climbing on course, out of twelve thousand feet going to flight level 230.”

“Roger Eco-Watch 02. You're the only airplane in my airspace. You're cleared to climb to flight level 410. In fact, you're cleared direct to Dulles. Report level at 410.”

Donovan read back the clearance, then sat back in his seat. Michael had the
da Vinci
climbing like a rocket. The powerful jet hurtled upward toward the promise of clear sky above the hurricane. He thought of Ian. He hoped the brave driver had made it to the hospital. He wondered about the severed brake line and the two dead men. But most of all, his thoughts were fixed thirty feet behind him…on Lauren.

T
he sleek Gulfstream burst free from the last tendrils of the storm into the stark blue sky at 35,000 feet. As far as Donovan could see, a carpet of white clouds marked the upper reaches of hurricane Helena.

“Gotta love that sight,” Michael remarked as he slid on his dark glasses. He adjusted the auto-pilot's rate of climb. All the aircraft systems were working perfectly.

“Yeah, feels good,” Donovan said absently, his attention focused on the time remaining until they touched down back at Dulles.

“Why don't you send Nicolas up? I'm thinking you might like to dry off.” Michael looked at Donovan over the top of his sunglasses. “Then…I don't know. You could go back and visit with our passengers or something?”

“I'm fine.” Donovan stopped what he was doing and looked across the cockpit. “So she's back there. Nothing's changed.”

“Nothing except you,” Michael challenged. “I saw the expression on your face when you charged out of here to go find her. I hardly think you'd have gone off like you did if it had been Dr. Simmons who was missing.”

Donovan knew Michael was right. But at this very moment he had no idea what he felt. Seeing Lauren had affected him on so many levels. He wasn't sure if he was elated, angry, or simply frustrated that it all might mean nothing at all. He'd saved her, and that remained the most important aspect of the day. The fact she'd nearly died was like a bad dream he couldn't shake. He thought of the brake line—and couldn't help but wonder if the accident had somehow been orchestrated. And if so, by whom? But there weren't any answers here in the cockpit. Michael was right. He needed to get up and go to the back. He unfastened his harness.

“I'm going.”

“It's about time,” Michael said, without looking up.

“I'll be back in a little while,” Donovan replied, defensively.

“I hope not. For over a year you've wanted nothing more than to talk to Lauren. This is your chance; now go. Send Nicolas up. He deserves a little time in the cockpit. Talk to her. She's more important than your sitting there on your ass playing copilot.”

“You better be right. If not, I'll be back shortly, and we can discuss your poor judgment all the way back to Dulles.” Donovan slipped out of his seat and quietly left the cockpit. He made his way down the narrow aisle and paused to survey the interior. Instead of a luxurious corporate layout with plush seats and a stateroom, the Eco-Watch jet was a flying scientific platform. The austere cabin had four research stations on each side of the aisle. In the rear of the jet were the racks that housed the computers and data collection equipment. The beauty of the aircraft was that, within a short time, different probes and sensors could be installed, set up, and run. The
da Vinci
was the perfect airborne platform for the host of scientific endeavors in which Eco-Watch was involved. Back at Dulles, the
Spirit of Galileo
, a sister ship, sat in the hangar, undergoing a hurried conversion to support a high-altitude research mission. Each year, different universities and other worthy groups were given access to the aircraft. It was
Donovan's ongoing vision that one day there might be a global fleet of Eco-Watch aircraft. But despite Eco-Watch's deep-pocketed supporters, each Gulfstream cost almost fifty million dollars. He would have to be patient, which wasn't his strong suit.