Deadly Echoes (39 page)

“She died saving William and me,” Donovan said. He then severed the connection and any possibility that his white-hot rage would cause him to say something he'd regret. He didn't know what was causing him the most pain, the fact that Erica was gone, or the continued deterioration of his marriage. Everything he'd done had been an act of preservation, trying to save his wife and family, their future, as well as his past. Lauren had just done the same thing with her threat against Erica. How had he and Lauren become so far apart, when they really wanted the same things?

“Are you okay?” Hudson said as he approached. “We're ready to take your statement.”

“I'll survive.” Donovan replied with an empty shrug, though the temptation to give in to the staggering pain of Erica's death pulled at him hard.

“You know, I've read your file, I watched the video of you in Alaska, and that's the one thing I know for sure about you. More than anyone I've ever met, you always seem to find a way to survive.”

Donovan parked the car. He'd long since switched off his cell phone, tired of it ringing. Two weeks had passed since the
North Star
had been refloated and the oil offloaded. Good weather allowed the tanker to be escorted to a dry dock facility in Portland, Oregon, where it would be repaired. All Donovan could seem to do was mourn Erica.

Amanda Sullivan had used her interviews with Donovan, as well as the exclusive footage he'd provided, to leverage herself into the voice of everything surrounding Garrick Pearce and his actions. With her journalist integrity and her exclusive access to Eco-Watch's video, she became Eco-Watch's biggest champion. Amanda had done an exceptional job keeping Donovan out of the limelight, instead, highlighting Eco-Watch, the organization. She produced a comprehensive exposé for television that aired on primetime's most prestigious and long-running news show. The installment was the most watched in the show's twenty-two-year history. The top-five news publications had featured Eco-Watch on the cover, as did nearly every other publication.

The effect had been immediate. Talk of Senate investigations evaporated as did the protests and threats. Any suspected wrongdoing on the part of Eco-Watch had been dispelled by Amanda's in-depth reporting and the visual evidence. Financial donations into Eco-Watch had tripled, and many of the foundations that had been longtime contributors had written letters of intent to continue their support. The media couldn't get enough of the man-made tsunami, which did exactly what it was designed to do; it swept the
North Star
off the reef. No oil was spilled. Because of the combined
efforts of everyone involved, not a single life was lost as the wave pushed out into Prince William Sound and dissipated.

In going through Garrick's briefcase, Donovan found an envelope with a dozen more pictures of Meredith. Some were found in the public domain and had been easy to identify. In one she was holding a Geiger counter, an unidentified reactor-cooling tower serving as the backdrop. There was another of Meredith standing on a pier in the Japanese harbor of Shimonoseki, home to Japan's whaling fleet. One photo was easy for Donovan to identify: The headquarters of Newton-Boyce Industries located outside Denver, Colorado. The parent company of the mining operation that Garrick attacked in Brazil that led to his imprisonment. The remaining pictures told Donovan that Garrick may have had nine more targets in mind had he not been stopped.

In death, Garrick Pearce had become the face of extremism gone wrong. The public was outraged and condemned all who used violence against others in the name of the environment. Millions of dollars had been donated from people all over the world to assist the victims' families, and the vigilante attacks around the world slowly ceased. With Nikolett Kovarik dead, the FBI, CIA, as well as Interpol, had been able to close the books on dozens of her crimes. By tracing Garrick's movements since the Brazilian prison escape, many of the former prisoners had been recaptured and deported back to Brazil.

As promised, Hudson had forwarded the FBI's findings on Erica's movements from the hospital in Anchorage to the shootout in California. Donovan still couldn't fathom how she found the strength to do what she did. Despite her gunshot wound, injured ribs, and near drowning, once the doctor had stitched her up, she used the chaos of the emergency room to lift a woman's credit cards and cash, plus her driver's license. They were close in age, both were blond—it was enough. She called William to warn him, then using a public computer, she booked a round-trip ticket from Anchorage to Los Angeles. She found a cab, bought some clothes, changed, and went to the Anchorage airport and boarded the flight.
A flight attendant told authorities that Erica slept for the entire trip to Los Angeles. Once on the ground in California, she rented a car and drove straight to the Stratton house. The gun she used to kill Nikolett was one she'd taken from a dead bodyguard. Donovan knew the rest. Each time he thought of her journey, he relived her dedication to her promise and missed her even more.

Buck and Janie were both expected to recover fully from their injuries. Buck was in Virginia, resting at home. Donovan provided round-the-clock care so that he could rehab at the pace the former SEAL demanded. Janie had become an instant celebrity for her exceptional flying skills in the face of the monstrous wave. She'd gladly taken the first-class ticket Eco-Watch provided to recuperate from her concussion and broken elbow at home in Australia. William had fully recovered from his ordeal at the hands of Garrick and Nikolett. Donovan knew better than anyone the elder statesman was far tougher than he looked.

Lauren and Abigail were in Washington, staying at the house in Centreville; Lauren's only condition: that he
not
be there. From what William had passed on, her debriefing with the CIA and Department of Justice hadn't been going well. Lauren had made some powerful people very unhappy with her decision to withhold information regarding Erica Covington. There was also the death of the CIA agent in Paris as well her continued involvement with Mossad. Donovan had no problem grasping the fact that he was to blame for Lauren's current situation. As the hearings intensified, he'd finally swung into action, and using influential inside sources, he brokered a backroom deal with the CIA on Lauren's behalf. In return for a full pardon and reinstatement of all of her previous rights and privileges, Donovan provided the CIA with the password that Erica had given him,
Neptun Drezack:
German for Neptune Trident. Lauren in turn, handed over the files, and in that instant, her problems vanished.

Donovan gave a great deal of thought to what Garrick had told him about the people responsible for the attack on Erica and her friends in Southern California. It was Donovan's belief that
Mossad had learned Erica was alive and had taken steps to eliminate her. Donovan felt no remorse in the fact that he and Erica had killed two of the men sent to kidnap her. In his mind, turning over the files from the clinic served as payback for Mossad's actions.

He Skyped with Abigail almost every day and, thankfully, his daughter seemed to bounce back to normal. He and Lauren had yet to discuss all of the events that had transpired. They agreed there would come a day, but the fact they were still talking was enough for Donovan. In his mind it wasn't over until someone quit.

Eco-Watch had not only survived, it had flourished, which made it easy for Donovan to leave Michael in charge and take an indefinite leave of absence. He'd packed a bag, chartered a jet, and flown to Missoula, Montana, where he rented a car, drove south, and spent a few days surveying the area. He leased a comfortable, furnished, log cabin on the West Fork of the Bitterroot River. It was time to take a much-needed break. Once the paperwork on the cabin was complete, he'd flown to Seattle, rented another car, and returned to Anacortes to take care of one last detail.

He'd completed the arrangements several days ago, and as he sat in the car at the marina, he was flooded with memories of Erica. He'd driven past the sporting goods store, the restaurant where they'd had dinner. This was the last place he'd seen her truly happy, maybe the only time he'd ever seen her when she wasn't scared and on the run.

He glanced at his watch. It was time. He opened the car door and from the trunk, he retrieved a duffel bag and his overnight bag and started for the dock.

“You're not an easy man to find,” a voice called out.

Donovan instantly recognized the voice, but couldn't believe his ears. He turned, and walking toward him was Stephanie VanGelder. He could see her smile, the happiness in her eyes as she neared. He set his things down and they hugged.

“I didn't know anyone was looking for me.” Donovan said as his elation at seeing her became clouded with suspicion. “How did you find me? Or maybe the better question is why did you find me?”

“William and Lauren are both worried. Lauren finally filled me in on everything that happened from the time you met Erica in California, until the moment you hung up on her after killing Garrick.”

“Lauren told you
her
version of everything, and how in the hell does Lauren know I'm here?”

“She knows the different names you have at your disposal, and from that, it was easy to follow the money trail from Montana to Seattle, and then here. I volunteered to fly out. She's worried about you and she's so sorry about what she said regarding Erica.”

“I'm over it,” Donovan shrugged. “That was a difficult day for everyone.”

“I saw you, hell the entire world saw you save Erica from drowning. Hanging from a helicopter over the ocean, two things I happen to know you hate. From that act alone, I can only guess what she meant to you.”

“I'm fine.”

“You're like an older brother to me. I've known you long enough to know you're hurting. I'm here as someone who loves you and is worried about you. Why in the world are you at a marina? You hate boats.”

“Erica didn't.” Donovan said and gestured to the duffel bag. “I have her ashes. She didn't have any family, so I made all the arrangements. There's a boat waiting.”

“Oh, Donovan, I didn't know. I'm sorry.”

Donovan hadn't realized until he'd said Erica's name aloud how hard this was going to be. Of all the people in the world, perhaps Stephanie was exactly the person he needed right now. He didn't have to hide anything from her.

“Would you care for some company?” She asked, as if she'd sensed his sudden vulnerability.

“A friend might be nice.”

“What's the plan?”

“We're going to Friday Harbor to pick up a priest. Then we're sailing out into Haro Strait for a small ceremony at sunset and
spread her ashes into the sea. After that, we drop the priest back off at Friday Harbor, and as we cruise back here, we're going to have dinner. I'm going to crack the seal on a very expensive bottle of single cask whisky. After that I have no real plans.”

“The crew knows all about this?”

“Yeah, they're a local husband and wife. He's the captain and she's the first mate and chef.”

“Here we are,” Donovan said as he pointed to a boat moored at the end of the dock.

“Really?” Stephanie said when she saw the size of the yacht. “It's huge.”

“It's a long story, part of Erica's story.” Donovan whispered. “She and I stole a boat from this very harbor the night we snuck into Canada. It was the night she told me that she was most at peace when she was sailing these waters. She loved the mix of the salt air and pine trees, the presence of all of the wildlife, from the whales to the smallest sea birds. She admitted that in another life she may have been a mariner. She said she hoped one day to spend all of her time up here. It was maybe the one and only time I ever saw her truly happy. Anyway, when I inquired about chartering, everything seemed small and unworthy, so in the end, I bought the biggest boat for sale in the area. It's a fifty-five-foot Nordhavn. I named it
Erica's Dream,
I wanted her sendoff to be perfect.”

The captain and his wife greeted them, introductions were made and they cast off the boat and got underway. They followed the same route from the harbor as he and Erica had done that dark night. In the daylight there were other boats, gulls wheeling in the perfect blue sky. In the updraft created by the Cap Santé peak, he caught sight of a bald eagle riding the wind. Across the bay was the Huntington tanker,
Hercules.
She rode at anchor, waiting to offload her cargo of Alaskan crude oil. He and Stephanie climbed up to the flying bridge, sipping coffee, sitting together on the sofa. Donovan felt the familiar trepidation as the deck swayed beneath his feet in the mild swells, but somehow having sailed these waters with Erica it wasn't as acute as usual. He silently gave her the credit.

“You seem surprisingly positive. Are you really okay?” Stephanie asked.

“Not really,” Donovan stopped and found her eyes with his own. “The hardest people to lose are the ones you feel like you could have saved. I should have been better prepared for someone like Garrick; too many died because I was complacent. I'm the only one who understands all the distant and sometimes deadly echoes from the past that can intersect and collide with the present. I should have been informed the minute Garrick escaped from prison and been in a position to deal with him. Instead, he killed a lot of innocent people and nearly destroyed everything I've built while I tried to catch up to him. Erica and a great many others died because of my shortsightedness.”

“Garrick killed those people, not you, and in terms of Erica, how could you have known she was headed to California?”

“When I pulled her out of Prince William Sound, I could see the burns on her skin where she'd been tortured. I should have stopped to consider everything she would have told Garrick and what it could have meant.”