Deadly Echoes (29 page)

Michael had canceled their clearance with air traffic control the second they were below eighteen thousand feet. They were now at twelve thousand feet between Valdez and the Yale Glacier. The
da Vinci
rocked from the turbulence generated by the nearby high terrain, and Lauren tightened her seat belt. Michael's plan was to drop below the highest peaks and weave their way to Prince William Sound below Elmendorf's radar. Ahead of them stretched an ice field that seemed to go forever.

The range of her radar had been decreased by their loss in altitude and also by the terrain that blocked the line of sight to the northern portion of the sound. The poor weather made for very little boat traffic in the sound. The only targets she'd picked up so far were the heat signature from the Coast Guard ship speeding south. Beyond were the heat signatures of a half dozen ships and she'd locked onto the two she assumed were the escort tugs. One was burning. The flames clearly visible on her monitor, leaping from what was left of the bridge. The other generated very little heat and seemed to be adrift. There was no sign of the
North Star.

Lauren checked the time. A little less than forty minutes had passed since they'd turned around. She did the math. Even at the tanker's maximum speed of seventeen knots, it couldn't have traveled more than thirteen or fourteen miles. Unless Garrick had already somehow scuttled it, in which case, all they were looking for was a forty-two-million-gallon oil slick.

She'd added Air Force tactical frequencies to the others she'd been monitoring and heard no alarming chatter out of Elmendorf, but the Coast Guard frequency had been busy. There'd been several transmissions between Coast Guard Command Center Anchorage and the Coast Guard cutters
Long Island
and
Mustang.
They'd both been ordered to investigate. They were one-hundred-ten-foot Island-class cutters, no capability for a helicopter, but each had a top speed of nearly thirty knots. She hadn't been able to ascertain either ship's actual position, and nothing that size was showing up on her equipment. She'd also heard some communications about an Alaskan State Police helicopter departing Anchorage. Again, she had no firm grasp of the timelines involved, but people were alarmed, and in turn, making things happen.

“In less than five minutes, we'll be out of the mountains, and you'll have a better view.” Michael reported from the cockpit.

“Michael, can you take us down Unakwik Inlet? I saw a momentary flash of something generating heat down there. We should check it out.” Lauren immediately felt Michael roll the
da Vinci
into a steep turn to the right. She checked the moving map display; they were now headed directly toward the Meares Glacier. It would require another sharp turn where the glacier ended and Prince William Sound began, but it would allow them to fly the length of Unakwik Inlet.

Lauren kept her attention focused on the screen. Dead ahead was the precipice where the Meares Glacier met the sea. It was little over a mile wide at its terminus and three hundred feet tall. Lauren was in awe of the magnitude of the glacier. Below, in the turquoise-colored water were thousand of chunks of ice that had calved from the face. Some were no larger than a basketball, others the size of
a house. Michael banked the
da Vinci
to the left until they were flying down the center of the inlet. The fjord was fifteen miles long and two miles wide. Michael was flying just below the ragged edges of the overcast, but his vision was in no way encumbered since the
da Vinci
was equipped with all the latest enhanced-vision systems. Michael could fly the Gulfstream as if it were a sunny day.

A small heat source blinked into view dead ahead. It was blocked by the surrounding terrain, so Lauren only had a small indistinct picture. As they ate up the miles, the shape began forming on her screen. Seconds later, she could make out what looked like an angled edge, followed by a massive bow wave and a huge anchor. The
North Star
was angling toward the entrance into Unakwik Inlet.

“Michael, do you see it?” Lauren zoomed in on the bridge, knowing that the high-resolution camera captured everything. She panned back and forth and then backed off and had just enough time to shoot the entire deck before the
da Vinci
ripped past the ship. Lauren was pressed into her seat as Michael pulled at least two Gs bringing the Gulfstream back around for another look. Lauren hit redial on the satellite phone as she played back the frames she'd just taken. Six stories above the deck, the bridge superstructure towered above the ship. The detail was remarkable. She could see the windshield wipers moving back and forth, the spinning radar antenna, and each individual section of railing. In one of the dozens of windows that stretched the entire one-hundred-fifty-foot width of the
North Star,
Lauren stopped the video. Standing close to the glass, holding a pair of binoculars was a familiar face. Nikolett Kovarik.

Michael was leveling out the wings of the
da Vinci
and coming up behind the supertanker. Lauren switched her screen back to real time just as Donovan answered the phone.

“Did you find it?” Donovan asked.

“The
North Star
is steaming full speed toward Unakwik Inlet.”

“Janie! Unakwik Inlet. How far?” Donovan snapped.

Janie glanced down to the chart on her knee and immediately banked the helicopter to the north. “We'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“We're fifteen minutes away,” Donovan told Lauren. “How much time do we have?”

“They're doing sixteen knots. They'll reach the very end of the inlet in fifty-six minutes,” Lauren replied. “I saw Nikolett on the bridge—they're aboard.”

“Full speed? I can't believe they'd do this—the devastation will be catastrophic. Alert the Coast Guard, tell them everything, and then call me back.”

Donovan severed the connection, still reeling from the enormity of what Garrick had accomplished. “That was Lauren. They've found the
North Star,
and it's steaming toward Unakwik Inlet. She confirmed that Nikolett Kovarik is on the bridge, so we can dispense with any pleasantries or hesitation about boarding the vessel.”

“Once we're on the deck, it's roughly four hundred feet from the helipad to the first external gangway that leads up to the bridge,” Buck explained. “Jason, you're going to take the outside route, no chance of getting lost. I'm going to take the inside route.”

“Guys, I know I'm just driving this thing, but can I throw something out there?” Janie offered. “We've got some lines stowed in the back. I land on ships all the time. If there's a flat spot you like, I'll hover over it, and you can rappel down far closer to the
bridge than four hundred feet. The top of the bridge might even be an option, and they'd never see it coming.”

“That's brilliant, Janie,” Buck said. “It's your call. Jason, get the lines ready.”

When Donovan's phone rang again, he answered immediately.

“We've got problems,” Lauren said. “The Coast Guard ordered us to leave the area. They've closed Prince William Sound. Every vessel has been ordered to stay in port or anchor at the nearest suitable refuge and await further instructions. I'm pretty sure fighters are being scrambled as we speak as are state law enforcement personnel. In the Coast Guard's eyes this is a full-blown terrorist attack, and we're in the middle of it. Maybe even the cause.”

“Does anyone have the slightest chance of reaching the
North Star
before we do?”

“No,” Lauren replied. “There's a Special Emergency Response Team being scrambled via helicopter out of Anchorage, I don't have an ETA, and I don't see them yet on my equipment.”

“Okay. If fighters show up, do what they ask. Your flight data recorders will prove your innocence. How far out are we?”

“Seven minutes.”

“Keep talking,” Donovan urged. Buck pointed out front, and Donovan leaned over to catch his first glimpse of the
North Star.
Through a momentary snow squall, the distinctive blue hull with all white above decks distinguished it as one of the Constellation-class tankers. It looked impossible for a huge ship to be in such a narrow channel, but the tanker plowed through six-foot waves like they weren't there.

Buck leaned in toward Janie and pointed toward the tanker. “See that very top platform, the one with the radar antenna spinning on top?”

“Yeah, sure.” Janie nodded. “Is that where you want off?”

“If I made it so that the antenna wasn't turning, could you hover while we go down a line to the platform? It would save precious minutes.”

“No worries. How about if I come in low and behind, use the exhaust stack of the ship to block any view of us. When we're right on them, I'll climb fast and put you right next to the platform. They might hear us, but they won't know where we are.”

“If you can do that, you'll be my hero. We'll be out fast, you break it off, and get out of automatic weapons range and wait. You're our ride off if we can't stop the damn thing.”

“Will do.”

“Hand me one of those lines,” Buck said, reaching back to Jason.

From his seat behind Buck, Donovan spotted the platform that Buck had pointed out. The tallest point on the
North Star
was a three-legged raised platform with two radar antennas spinning on top. The entire structure rose ten or twelve feet above and slightly aft of the main bridge and the platform itself was large enough to accommodate both Buck and Jason. From this angle, Donovan could see that there was a stairway that led down from the platform, to a hatch that looked as if it would connect to the bridge. The obstacles were the two spinning radar arrays. Buck made a knot every three feet or so in the line to assist with the descent. Donovan could smell the diesel exhaust from the ship as they dropped down to wave-top level.

Buck and Jason tied off the lines to the seat belt harness. They worked quickly with the certain knowledge that in minutes they'd be out the door onto the ship.

“You ready?” Janie asked, as the stern of the tanker loomed large. They were tucked in close; no one from the bridge could possibly see them. “When I climb, I'm going to offset to the left of the platform so you'll both be going out the doors on the right side of the helicopter.”

“Okay to open the doors?” Buck said and waited until Janie gave him a nod.

Donovan felt the icy blast of cold air rush into the cabin. He did his best to ignore the churning sea that boiled out from behind
the massive vessel. Instead, he watched as Buck removed his headphones and put in his tactical earbuds. He put one foot out into the slipstream to brace himself on the flight step. Jason followed suit from the rear door. They both had their weapons ready.

Buck gave Janie a nod.

Janie pulled hard on the collective, and the 407 clawed upward, just missed the flagpole on the fantail, and streaked upward toward the platform. She matched the exact speed of the ship while guiding the helicopter into position with the right skid only feet from the spinning radar array. Janie held the helicopter rock steady. Buck leveled his twelve-gauge shotgun and fired four quick shells into the motor assemblies. The antennas quickly ground to a stop, and once they were no longer spinning, what remained was a platform large enough for two men.

Buck and Jason swung off the skids and rappeled down to the platform. Once they were clear, Janie banked the helicopter hard to the left and fell away from the ship in a plunge toward the water that made Donovan reach out and brace himself. She leveled out just above the waves and sped to a position well off the starboard amidships. She climbed up to two hundred feet and hovered. Janie handed Donovan a handheld tactical radio so he could listen in on Buck and Jason's transmissions. He, in turn, relayed what was happening to Lauren on the
da Vinci.

“We've reached the bridge, negative resistance. Everyone's gone,” Buck reported. “All the controls have been sabotaged, everything's been gutted, nothing's responding.”

“We've got new problems,” Lauren said in a rush. “There's a helicopter inbound at your ten o'clock position and less than a mile. Popped up out of nowhere and is heading for the ship. I've identified it as a commercial version of the Huey, a 212, white with gray stripes, the registration number is taped over, and I don't see any other markings. There are two pilots and at least one more in the back. The side doors are open and it looks as if they have machine guns. I've got people coming out of a hatch onto the main deck of
the
North Star.
I count seven of them, and it looks like they're in a hurry. They're headed for the helipad.”

“Buck,” Donovan relayed, “armed chopper inbound. Bad guys are on the deck headed for the helipad.”

“Damn it! I see them,” Buck replied. “They're standing on a million barrels of oil. We can't shoot them. And we'll never catch them.”

“Forget about them. Can you stop the ship?” Donovan asked.

“Not from the bridge. Jason and I are headed down to the engine room. Maybe we can get control from there. Keep me posted.”

“Buck. Get down!” Donovan yelled as an automatic weapon aboard the helicopter began to fire at the tanker. He and Janie sat helpless as bullets raked the bridge, peppering the entire glass enclosure.

Janie banked the nimble 407 to a point in space where they were out of the line of fire, but still had a view of the deck.

“Buck, are you still there?” Donovan transmitted.

“I'm here. Jason's down. He's beyond help. Keep your distance. I'm headed down to the engine room.”

“The other helicopter has touched down,” Lauren reported. “I can see faces. One of them is Erica.”

Donovan pulled out a set of binoculars, panned and focused, until he had a view of the helicopter now on the deck, its rotor still turning. Garrick was climbing aboard, Nikolett a few feet behind him. Donovan located Erica, her hands bound behind her back. From behind, a man prodded her with a machine gun to move faster. Donovan watched with intensity as Erica glanced up in the direction of the
da Vinci,
then turned and looked over her shoulder, as if staring directly at him. An instant later, she stopped and snapped her head back into the face of the man trailing her. He reeled from the blow. Erica kicked him in the crotch, turned, and sprinted for the edge of the deck. Just before she jumped off the ship, a plume of red mist billowed from her back. Off balance, Erica twisted sideways as she went over the side. They were hovering
on the opposite side of the ship, but Donovan found Nikolett, arm raised and a pistol in her hand. She looked directly toward the helicopter and gave him a mock salute before turning away.