Category Five (20 page)

“Excuse me.”

“Who are you?” Lauren challenged.

“I didn't mean to startle you. My name is Erin Walker. I'm a writer for The Washington Post. I wonder if I might have a few words with you?”

Lauren eyed the woman. She didn't appear threatening.

“Please,” Erin continued. “It will only take a few minutes of your time.”

“I don't have anything to say to you.” Lauren reached into her purse for her phone. She quickly scrolled down until she found the number for Calvin's direct line. She positioned her finger on the send button. If she needed help, Calvin would be her best hope.

“Oh, but I think you do.”

“Any inquiries from the press need to be approved through my office,” Lauren turned as if to dismiss the reporter.

“I'm not writing about the DIA,” Erin said quietly. “I'm writing about Donovan Nash.”

Lauren froze. How did this woman connect her to Donovan? How did she find out where she lived? She thought of Abigail inside the house. The last thing she wanted was for Donovan to read in the newspaper that he was a father. Lauren turned to face her questioner.

“I have no idea what it is you're after. But I only know Mr. Nash professionally.”

“Look,” Erin let out a breath. “I'm doing a story about Donovan Nash the person. Not the man behind Eco-Watch. I know you were involved with him. Now, I can write about the relationship with your help…or I can do it without. Your choice. But I'd think you'd want to make sure your voice was heard?”

Lauren's heart pounded in her chest. “I'm sorry, but you're wasting your time. I've never been involved with Mr. Nash. Now I'd appreciate it if you'd leave.”

“Are you sure that's the position you want to take?”

“There isn't any other position. You're chasing ghosts.”

“Interesting choice of words.”

Lauren had no idea what the woman's cryptic response meant.

“Here's my business card,” Erin continued. “I can't tell you everything I know right now. But in a few days when you read about Mr. Nash in the Post—you may want to call me. We can sit down and talk then.”

Lauren took the card, surprised at the confidence in the reporter's tone. She watched as the woman strode back to her car.

“I'll be expecting your call,” Erin called over her shoulder.

Lauren looked down at the card, then at her phone. She pushed the button, and moments later Calvin answered.

D
onovan eased the gearshift smoothly into second, then released the clutch on the speeding Porsche. The transmission whined and the low-slung sports car slowed magnificently. Feeling the warm wind through his hair, Donovan touched the gas pedal and moved with the car through the sharp corner. The stereo belted out the loud driving guitar of Jimi Hendrix. He gunned the engine, absorbed with the sheer power of the 5.5 liter, ten-cylinder motor. Finally, he tapped the brake and fishtailed the last thirty feet to the driveway of his estate. With a final flurry, he accelerated down the long driveway and finished with a tire squealing half turn to a stop. He switched off the ignition and noticed William's Jaguar parked near the garage.

Donovan pulled himself out of the car and hurried to the house to find William. He called out, but there wasn't any response. From the kitchen window, he spotted the immaculately dressed older man down near the cemetery. William's head was bowed, and in his hand was a large bouquet of flowers.

Donovan quietly walked out the back door and went to join his friend. It had been a long time since they'd both been here
together. It brought back the memories of his mother's funeral. Then his thoughts drifted to the day he'd asked William to help him cease being Robert Huntington. It somehow seemed fitting they were here together again, eighteen years later, as all of their work was crashing down around them.

Donovan approached, making sure he made enough noise to alert William of his presence, since he didn't want to startle him. William turned and looked as he came closer. Donovan could see tears in his eyes.

“I thought you'd be out here,” William said, his voice cracking with emotion. “It's been far too long since I came to pay my respects.”

“The flowers look nice.” Donovan could see that William had laid a bouquet on both his mother's and his father's graves.

“You know,” William mused out loud. “I remember the first time your father invited me out here. It was in the early ‘50s, ‘52 I think.”

“It must have been beautiful then. I'm afraid I haven't kept up Mom's gardens like she would have,” Donovan said, with a small measure of guilt. “She really knew how to brighten up a house.”

“Yes, she did.”

“We gave it a good go, didn't we?”

“I'm sorry I didn't catch this sooner. We might have been able to stop this reporter.”

“It's okay.” Donovan patted William on the back and pulled away. “I made a deal with her. I'm going to give her the exclusive story. In return, she's going to help us find the person who is pointing at Eco-Watch as the source of the DIA leaks. It's a fair trade. Eco-Watch survives. I think Michael will make a great Director of Operations, don't you? I've also been giving a great deal of thought about what you said about Lauren. Maybe it is time to talk to her…explain everything.”

“Oh son…” William cast his eyes downward, reaching into his inside coat pocket. “I'm afraid I have bad news.”

“What? Nothing's happened to Michael or Lauren, has it?” Donovan's eyes grew wide.

William shook his head and handed Donovan an envelope.

“Is this from the tail we have on Erin?”

“Yes. After Erin left you, she went straight home. A short time later she left again.”

Donovan slid a finger against the seal and pulled out a photo. He felt as if he'd been struck with a wrecking ball. Lauren was standing and talking with Erin.

“I'm told the meeting only lasted a few minutes and the exchange seemed to be somewhat combative in nature. We of course have no way of knowing what was said. Erin went home afterwards and to my knowledge is still there.”

Donovan couldn't believe Erin's source was Lauren. The betrayal was too huge to grasp: the woman he loved had reached out and destroyed him once again. Donovan lowered his head. No wonder she wouldn't talk to him yesterday on the plane. He'd saved her life and she was stabbing him, and Eco-Watch, in the back. Donovan let the photo drop from his hand.

“I'm sorry, son.”

“Me, too.”

“I think maybe a drink is in order.”

Donovan looked at William. There seemed like there should be a thousand things to say, to do. But he felt immobilized with the certain knowledge that the death of Donovan Nash was going to be slow and painful.

“How could she?” Donovan lowered his head. “I just want to get this over with. How much legal trouble do you think there'll be? I did crash a plane. Fake my own death. I've got to think some district attorney somewhere will want to try to make a name for himself.”

“Leave that to me. I'll make it as painless as possible. We'll issue a statement when the news breaks. My guess is the statute of limitations is in play here. In no time at all you'll be free to do whatever you wish.”

“Thanks.” Donovan stood straight and fought to gather his emotions. He swayed like he'd been punched. “I will take you up on that drink. You still have any of those Cuban cigars left? The ones I brought you last month?”

“Of course,” William nodded. “I always carry a few in the car. Would you like me to get them?”

“Let me. You're in charge of the drinks. I need to put the Porsche away, then I think I'd really enjoy a good smoke out on the patio.”

William cupped his hands together. “Wonderful idea. What would you like?”

“Maybe a Hemlock, straight up.”

“I was thinking about something a touch more soothing,” William replied, calmly. “Maybe some cognac? Or a dry martini?”

Donovan felt an inkling of relief at their exchange. It was like a breath of normalcy in the middle of his own personal tempest.

“I'll have a cognac. I think there's an unopened bottle in the cabinet above the bar.”

“I'll find it and meet you out back.” William started to go, then turned and tossed his keys to Donovan. “The cigars are inside the glove box; you'll see the small humidor. There should be a lighter also.”

“Got it.” Donovan went out into the oppressive heat of the evening. The clouds had thickened; a light breeze blew from the northeast. It occurred to him that he hadn't watched a single weather report all day. There seemed to be an urgency in the atmosphere, as if charged with a forbidding energy. He stopped and studied the sky. The birds were flitting anxiously from tree to tree. He knew they could also feel the coming storm.

Donovan stored and covered the Porsche. He checked the doors, even though he knew Helena was poised to strike far to the north. Northern Virginia could see some heavy wind and rain. He went to William's car and retrieved the humidor. Walking back to the main house he thought of the connection between Erin Walker and the storm brewing unseen in the distance. Two destructive entities were at work, and each was going to leave a trail of destruction and pain in its path.

Donovan settled into a wooden chair and handed a cigar to William. He saw that his friend had taken off his jacket. He was seated in his vest and tie, as casual as he ever got.

“Here you are.” William traded Donovan a snifter for a cigar.

“Thank you.” Donovan swirled the dark amber liquid in the glass, then breathed in the heady aroma of the Cuban tobacco.

“I had a thought.” William unfolded a small penknife and began to carefully cut the end from the cigar. “It might be a good idea if you could persuade Ms. Walker not to reveal the existence of this place. If you're careful, you might be able to preserve it as your refuge. I hate to think of this serenity spoiled by those who would try to gain access.”

“I'd already thought about that.” Donovan took the knife from William. “I'm not sure I'm going to stay in the area. It might be time to leave.”

“Europe, Africa, Australia? Like you did once before.” William blew out a slender plume of smoke. “You always end up back in Virginia. Why leave?”

“I know,” Donovan agreed, but he knew it wasn't that simple. His thoughts zeroed in on Lauren, the image of her with Erin.

“I'd like to drink to the fervent hope that I never again witness the expression that's on your face right now.” William tipped his glass in Donovan's direction.

“I'm sorry.” Donovan halfheartedly returned the toast. “I feel so unsettled. It's like I have all this energy, yet I can't do a damn
thing. Events are happening all around me and all I can do is stand and watch. It's what I tried so hard to escape after Meredith was killed. I feel like a deer caught in the headlights, and there are cars coming in both directions.”

“I know.” William took a sip of his cognac. “At the risk of sounding maudlin, I would like to say that you were right about Lauren. I was wrong. I've been trying to nudge you back in her direction for months. I'm sorry.”

The wind freshened in Donovan's face, the dry leaves in the oak tree above them rustling in the breeze. It was a welcome sensation, and signaled the first impulse from Helena. By this time tomorrow, it would be pouring rain.

“What do you say we take a walk down by the lake?” William suggested. “I always enjoy the smell of the water. If I sit here, this cognac will go straight to my head.”

Donovan stood and waited while William slipped on his coat and buttoned the front. Cigars and drinks in hand, they took their time walking side by side down the winding path that led to the lake. The sun was setting and the air felt heavy from the weight of the clouds. As they stood at the edge of the water, Donovan couldn't help but think of his childhood. His father had been away a great deal of the time, running Huntington Oil. He and his mother divided their time among several of the family's homes. The coasts of Maine, Florida, and California were different stops as the seasons changed. There had been tutors, nannies, private airplanes, and limousines—all the accouterments that vast wealth provided. But each summer he always looked forward to their time spent here. His mother's fervent intent was to have a small part of his childhood resemble hers. He'd skinny dip in the lake and spend hours in the woods catching turtles and snakes. One of the groundskeepers had taught him to fish and built him the tire swing. They represented his most treasured moments as a child. Donovan felt comforted by the memories. They somehow served
as a measurement with which to help him gain perspective. He wondered if this had been William's intention in taking this walk. His friend's shrewdness was almost uncanny at times. Donovan wondered if their long silence was in deference to the expected mood this place would invoke. Donovan finished the last of his cognac. His cigar had long gone out.

“Thank you William,” Donovan said at last. “It's getting late. I think we should head back. Tomorrow is going to be a difficult day.”

“You'll handle it well,” William said reverently as he nodded. “You always do.”

T
he morning sky was filled with slate gray clouds. Donovan, as he always did, studied them as he made the drive to work. For a large portion of the night, he had been unable to sleep. The few fitful hours he did manage were filled with images of both Lauren and Meredith. Over the years, Meredith had grown larger in death than she'd ever been in life. A martyr for environmentalists, documentaries had been made about her remarkable life and untimely death. In each perspective, he'd been portrayed as the self-serving, uncaring billionaire who had refused to pay the ransom. Public opinion of him had probably changed very little in the last eighteen years. He tried to imagine what he would do when he was thrust back into the public eye once again—to the life he'd tried so hard to escape.