Deadly Echoes (13 page)

“I remember a sound too, but it wasn't me,” Stephanie replied. “The next thing I heard was you.”

“Where did this sound come from?” Henri demanded.

Stephanie shrugged and gestured toward the door to the ladies' room. “I was in there. It could have come from anywhere.”

“I'll check out back.” Philippe led with his pistol, eased down the corridor, and pushed through a door that led outside.

Henri got on his phone and called the school. He spoke briefly with Giselle and made sure Abigail was safe.

Philippe came back in and declared the alleyway clear of threats.

“Let's go out that way,” Henri said. “We'll work our way toward the school and see if we're being followed. It was probably nothing, but let's not take any chances.”

Lauren nodded her approval, and as they came out the door and joined the avenue, she glanced to where the Peugeot had been parked and found nothing but an empty space along the curb.

Donovan awoke the instant he heard someone call his name. He looked around and found that for the second night in a row he'd fallen asleep fully dressed, but at least this time he was lying on a bed instead of sitting in a chair. He swung his feet to the floor and rubbed his eyes.

Moments later, the door inched open and Erica stuck her head inside. “Oh, good, you're finally up.”

“Yeah.” Donovan mumbled and picked up his phone, wanting to forget about Lauren and their short conversation last night. He moved the forty-five to the side and realized he'd slept far later than he'd intended, and that his phone was still set to silent mode. He quickly thumbed through the unanswered calls and new texts and he recognized all but one. He opened it and found a single row of numbers and letters:

50410586N127581276W

“I've been up for a little while.” Erica picked up the Colt. “I watched television and searched the web. There's no mention of what happened last night, nothing. How can that be? How could the media not cover a double shooting? Where did you get the forty-five?”

The string of numbers was perplexing, and he didn't recognize who'd sent him the text. Still groggy from sleep and distracted by Erica's insistence on talking, it took him longer to grasp the message than it should have. “Damn it!” He checked the time of the message and saw he'd received it shortly after he'd watched the newest video, right about the time he started ignoring his phone.
He jumped up, flew past Erica, and ran down the stairs toward the study.

“What are you doing?” Erica followed and stationed herself behind him to peer over his shoulder. “You didn't answer my question, where did you get the gun?”

“I borrowed it from the man who owns the house. Listen, a series of numbers and letters was left on my phone. I think Garrick sent it last night.” Donovan Googled the word
coordinates
and clicked on the website he wanted. He split up the single line and retyped them as latitude and longitude, then pressed enter. A globe came into view and spun to show the Northern Hemisphere. It began to zoom in, borders appeared, and Donovan felt a rush of excitement as the exact spot on the globe was pinpointed. The location was on the north end of Vancouver Island, British Columbia. The area was heavily forested with swaths of open fields from clear-cutting, the exposed ground like a raw wound where the trees had been cut and hauled away. A few mining roads twisted like ribbons through the hills, there were no towns close, just a vast wilderness. Donovan zoomed in, but the image became distorted. Frustrated with the lack of clarity, he pulled up a different website. He typed in a password and began to sift through raw satellite images. NASA provided the access and Eco-Watch used the information for geophysical modeling. When he located Vancouver Island, he once again zoomed in on the coordinates. This time he was able to draw down until he had a crisp image of the exposed mining road closest to the coordinates.

“What are you looking for?” Erica asked.

“Tracks in the dirt.” Donovan used the tip of a pen to show her what he was seeing. “This image was taken over a month ago. Look at the indentations in the soil. These wide tracks are most certainly from the heavy logging trucks, but they look old and washed out. These narrower tracks look altogether different.”

“A car or a small truck?”

“The tires are too narrow.” Donovan traced the length of road with the pen. “They begin here and end over here, multiple times.
I think we're looking at an improvised landing strip. Someone has been flying in and out, which is my guess as to how the poachers operate. These clear-cut areas would be a great place to bait the bears into the open.”

“Is that how Garrick got there?”

Donovan turned his head and found her much closer than he expected and she was no less beautiful in the morning than she'd been last night. “I have no idea, but it's how we're getting there.”

“And why would we do that?”

“Because that's where a pit full of dead poachers can be found.”

“Are you kidding?” She leaned over him. “There's nothing out there besides that one little logging road. Plus, how are we getting into Canada? My passport is no doubt flagged; I'd never make it out of the airport. Just call the FBI, give them the coordinates, they'll call the Mounties and it's done.”

“We need to get there first,” Donovan took a closer look at the road and surrounding terrain. He judged the landing strip to be no more than two thousand feet long and about ten feet wide.

When he pulled up the aviation weather information for Vancouver Island, his hopes sunk. The entire area was covered by low clouds. He read the real-time reports from Port Hardy, the nearest airport, and found that the ceiling was below four hundred feet and the visibility less than a mile in fog and light rain. He read the forecast, which called for a clearing trend to begin in ten to twelve hours, followed by another front moving in that promised more low ceilings and marginal visibility. He clicked on the satellite image and could see the distinct striations in the swirling mass of moisture over the Pacific Northwest. Off the west coast of Vancouver Island was the gap in the clouds the forecast models described. He put the image into motion and glanced at his watch. He wouldn't get there as fast as he'd like, but he could conceivably be there when the weather cleared in twelve hours.

They both heard a door open and shut somewhere in the house and Donovan took the pistol from Erica and held it low. He relaxed when he heard William call out to ask if anyone was home.

“We're in here!” Donovan turned to Erica and spoke quietly. “William is in the loop about everything that happened last night except the part where we killed two people. Not a word.”

Erica nodded.

When Donovan introduced Erica, William was gracious as always. After pleasantries, Donovan brought William up to speed and showed him where the coordinates led.

“Have you spoken to Michael?” William asked. “Do we know how soon the Gulfstream can fly?”

“I haven't, but maybe we need to forgo the Eco-Watch jet for this one.”

“I think you're right.” William said as he slid his phone from his pocket.

“Who are you calling?” Donovan asked.

“There are several options. Leave it to me. How soon do you want to leave and where do you want to land?”

“I keep telling you,” Erica said, “customs will run my name, and the police will be waiting for me anywhere we land.”

“Who said we're stopping at customs?” Donovan replied. “See if we can make our departure for noon. Erica and I have an errand to run. Set everything up to arrive at Bellingham, Washington.”

“Got it,” William said with a nod. “In some of John's papers, I found that he owns a Gulfstream IV as well as the Falcon 900 that Beverly used to get to Hawaii. He leases both of them back to the firm. Shall I see if the Gulfstream is free to run you up there, or do you want to charter?”

“How about you call Gulfstream and see what they can do for us? Have them book something for us so we can leave Eco-Watch entirely out of the equation.”

“I like that.”

“I almost forgot,” Donovan said. “Something I've been meaning to ask you. Was John's computer on when we arrived yesterday, or did you use a password?”

“No, it was up and running, why?”

“Did you find that odd? That John would leave for Australia and leave his computer on.”

“I assumed Beverly uses the office and in her haste to leave she left it on.”

“Did you check the browser history?”

“It had been deleted.”

“So someone erased the history, but left it on?” Donovan was beginning to get a bad feeling. “Does that strike anyone else as strange?”

“You think someone was here?” William asked. “Then erased the history?”

“Check the print queue,” Erica offered. “See if anything's listed there that shouldn't be.”

“I don't know what that means,” Donovan said and moved his hands off the keyboard as Erica leaned in and maneuvered the mouse until she found what she was looking for.

“There you go,” she said. “It's a log of everything that's been printed. There's the date and time.”

Donovan scrolled down and instantly knew that someone had been in the house using the computer. He began clicking on each document, sending it to the printer. Donovan pulled out the first sheet, and after studying it briefly, realized he was looking at a contact list. The next four pages were more of the same. On the fifth page were his name, address, and phone numbers, along with his date of birth as well as Lauren and Abigail's. Three pages later came all of William's information as well as Stephanie's.

“Garrick was here. He accessed Beverly's address book. It's how he knew about Lauren and Abigail.” Donovan handed the last sheet to William. “He also knows about you and Stephanie.”

The whir of the printer announced that there were more pages coming, and as the next sheet hit the tray, Donovan felt a lurch in the pit of his stomach. They were photographs. Like most people, Beverly and John kept all of their photographs stored on their computer's hard drive. There were wedding pictures of Donovan and
Lauren, followed by images of Stephanie and William. The last image that landed in the tray was a recent photo of Lauren and Abigail taken in Europe. Abigail was wearing a new dress she'd told him all about, there was no mistaking the glass structure in the background. The photo was taken in Paris in front of the Louvre.

Donovan turned to William. “Garrick knows where they are.”

“I don't want to know how you extracted the information,” Lauren said to Fredrick. He'd called to update her on the two men they'd picked up earlier and persuaded to talk. “Besides, what makes you think any of it's true?”

“Despite your aversion to whatever methods we may have used, I promise they were effective. These guys aren't trained operatives, they're thugs. The men today had photos of you, Abigail, and Stephanie. In the car we found a Taser, rope, and rohypnol.”

“The date-rape drug?” Lauren felt an involuntary shiver at the thought of being abducted. “They were going to kidnap us?”

“We also found a video camera.”

Lauren knew exactly what the two men were trying to accomplish. Her revulsion turned into anger. This was Garrick Pearce's doing. He intended to send a video to Donovan—payback for what Garrick thought Donovan had done to Meredith. It was both simple and brutal. Lauren would never again underestimate the threat that Garrick Peace represented.

“We're not sure of anything at this point,” Fredrick replied. “It could have been a kidnapping-for-ransom scheme, or a straight-up murder, captured on video to send a message.”

“What does that mean?” Lauren asked.

“We've eliminated the immediate threat, but I have real concerns about your friends from Mossad. They should have detected this threat at the same time we did. Has there been any fallout at your end about the diversion you created today?”

“None. Henri is worried though.”

“He should be. I want you to give some thought to leaving Paris. There's a safe house in England you could use while we sort this out.”

“I'll think about it,” Lauren already knew that if she left Paris it wouldn't be to a CIA safe house in England. She'd vanish where no one could find her. She remembered all too clearly what Donovan had said to her about the two men waiting for Erica Covington. As Lauren compared the two scenarios, something seemed off. Erica wasn't tied to Robert Huntington or Meredith Barnes. If anything, Erica was nothing more than a loose end in Garrick Pearce's bigger plan. Someone to kill, not kidnap. Donovan had inferred that Garrick hadn't been the one who tried to grab Erica, which if true, meant that there was another group involved, and it could very well be Mossad in connection with the German clinic. In Lauren's mind, when you don't know who to trust, you trust no one.

“I'll keep you posted as things develop,” Fredrick said. “You do the same.”

“Sure.” Lauren ended the call and looked at Stephanie. “The guys Fredrick picked up were going to kidnap us. They had drugs, rope, and a video camera. Donovan told me who's behind this. I want to know everything you remember about Garrick Pearce.”

“Oh shit,” Stephanie stiffened as she heard the name.

“He's not in prison anymore. According to Donovan, the clinic in Germany is where he had his eyesight restored, where he met Erica Covington. You knew him, right?”

“Oh, yeah, I knew him. Meredith was involved with him for a year or so. He was tall, handsome, and charismatic. English, from up north of London, Luton, I believe, came from some money, had made a small name for himself as a documentary filmmaker. I think he and Meredith met during the taping of one of her television shows. They had an on-again off-again relationship. When Robert came along the relationship was at a low point. Everyone could see the end coming except Garrick.”