“Precautionary, I don't think jet fuel being sucked into the inlet did it any good.” Donovan studied his remaining engine and after several long moments decided for now his problems had stabilized.
“Eco-Watch zero one, whenever you're ready I need you to turn right to a one-two-zero degree heading. We'll be escorting you to the Naval Air Station at Patuxent River. Altitude is at your discretion, there is no traffic between you and the airport. I know you're busy, but when you get a chance, do you have the coordinates for your point of origin and any information about where the airplane was ultimately going to land?”
“Hang on,” Donovan replied.
With the airplane stabilized, he could finally take in all the information on his displays. The destination that Strauss had programmed was a familiar four-letter code: KHEF.
“Viper Leader. The destination entered into the FMS is Manassas, Virginia.”
“Roger. And your origin?”
Donovan pushed a series of buttons on the FMS. He was holding his damaged hand as still as he could, but it throbbed and ached all the way up to his elbow. He worked one handed and ran through different screens on the FMS until he found the latitude and longitude where the flight had originated. Blood traced down his arm and dripped onto his trousers as he retrieved the microphone. “I have the coordinates. Are you ready to copy?”
“Go ahead.”
As Donovan read off the data, he pictured the point on the globe that the numbers represented. They'd been in Venezuela. He wondered how long it would take for U.S. forces to arrive at the primitive airfield there.
“Thanks, Captain Nash. We'll pass along the information.”
“Be advised, they set explosive charges before we departed.”
“Roger. We'll pass that along as well. Are you ready to make a turn back to the east?”
“We're still trying to get squared away up here. I need to make a wide turn out to the west and lose some altitude before I come
back around toward Patuxent River. That'll give me some time to get situated.”
“No problem, Captain. Whatever you need.”
Montero slipped up beside him and put her hand on his shoulder. She held up the first-aid kit. “Give me your hand.”
Donovan had been holding his wounded fist firmly against his chest to try and staunch the bleeding. As soon as he extended his arm to Montero, it began to drip fresh blood.
“Hold still.” She began to clean the wound and, once she'd finished, she applied an antibiotic cream and then put pressure on the wound with a gauze compress. “Did I hear something about Manassas? Where are we landing?”
“Strauss was going to land at Manassas. We're being escorted by the Air Force to the Naval Air Station at Patuxent River.” Donovan turned and gave her a quick nod. “Nice job with those two.”
“What in the hell happened?” Montero said. “What was that cloud?”
“It caught me off guard, too. Someone came up with the idea of getting the Airbus to dump gas. It was a cloud of jet fuel that made everything work.”
“Thanks for the assist,” Montero said. “I knew Strauss was going to be a problem.”
“Is he alive?” Donovan asked.
“Yes.”
“I didn't think he was going to survive.”
“I was back there holding a gun to his head, but I couldn't shoot him, not when he was unconscious. Then the political magnitude of this thing hit meâit's staggering. As much as I'd love to end his miserable little life, I can't ignore the bigger picture. We won. He'll sufferânever see the light of day againâmaybe that's enough.”
“What did you do with him?”
“I found his duffel bag in the front closet. There were more of those tie wraps in there, as well as my gun and badge. I did stop his leg from bleeding; can't have him dying on me before he and I canâchat.”
Montero examined Donovan's hand, then began wrapping an elastic bandage tightly around his palm.
“How's that?” she asked when she was finished. “Can you fly?”
“It's good, thanks.”
She leaned in and put her arms around his shoulders and gently kissed him.
Donovan was caught off guard and, as she pulled away, a little more than surprised by this sudden show of affection. “What was that for?”
“Saving my life.” Montero gestured toward Rafael. “You want me to drag this guy out of here?”
Donovan looked past Montero where Rafael's chin rested on his chest; a single rivulet of blood ran from his ear down his neck.
“Don't bother. We'll be on the ground in a few minutes.”
“There's a message from Flight 401.” Kirk said in the deathly quiet room. “It says: The fuel dump worked. Trailing airplane has separated and is being escorted by fighters. It's using the call sign Eco-Watch zero one. There's a Captain Nash in control.”
Cheers and fist pumps erupted from both Kirk and Trent. David glanced at the clock, the look on his face left no doubt that it had been close. Lauren felt Michael sag, his energy completely spent. She, too, was exhausted. It seemed abstract, almost incomprehensible that her husband was still alive, but she felt like she needed to hold his face in her hands before she could allow herself to believe everything that had transpired. She thanked David, Trent, and Kirk, and then hugged Michael and whispered, “Thank you for being there for us.”
“This was all you.” Michael hugged her in return, and then he turned toward Buck. “Where are they taking him?”
“The Naval Air Station at Patuxent River,” Buck said, his phone pressed to his ear.
“Are you still talking with General Porter?” Lauren asked. “What's the fastest way for us to get to Pax River?”
“General Porter says we'll all be debriefed later. He also says we've got two medevac choppers with a hazmat team being launched from Andrews Air Force Base to take Mr. Nash and Agent Montero straight to Walter Reed Hospital to treat them for anthrax exposure. He'll dispatch another one to pick us up.”
“What did you just say?” Lauren's eyes grew wide. “They've been exposed?”
“According to information passed along from the fighter pilots, they were both exposed nearly twenty-four hours ago.”
“That's not good,” Lauren said. “What else did my husband tell the fighter pilots?”
“From what little he's been able to pass along, we now know that they were being held in Venezuela,” Buck relayed. “The destination Strauss plugged into the airplane's flight management system was the airport at Manassas. FBI as well as local police assets have been sent to cordon off the entire area.”
Her phone rang. She glanced down and saw that it was William. She motioned to Buck that she was going outside the office to take the call. He nodded as she stepped into the relatively quiet hallway.
“Hello,” she said.
“What's happening? Where are you?” William asked. “I just got a call from the State Department telling me that a Gulfstream carrying anthrax was inbound to D.C. The president has evacuated the White House and the military has gone to DEFCON 2.”
“It's over. The Gulfstream is the
da Vinci
. Donovan is still alive.” Lauren realized her hands were shaking. “It's a long story. He just now regained control of the airplane and is being escorted by fighters to the naval facility at Pax River. He's going to land shortly.”
“I don't know what to say.” She heard William's sigh of relief. “I'm stunned. That's wonderful news.”
“We still have some problems. He and Montero have both been exposed to anthrax. They're going to medevac them directly from Pax River to Walter Reed.”
“What does that mean?” William asked.
“It means we could still lose him.”
“Worst scenario, how long would they have?”
“No more than a few days,” Lauren replied.
“Okay, one step at a time. Let's plan to meet at Walter Reed. I'm on my way now. Call me if there are any changes.”
Lauren ended the call with William and leaned against the wall. She felt her control slipping away and the thought of going back into that room with all of those people seemed incomprehensible.
She retraced the route they'd taken earlier, walked down the carpeted hallway, and pushed through both steel doors leaving Operations behind. She began to run as she wound through the concrete passageway until she burst out into the night air. Her chest heaved and tears clouded her eyes. That Donovan was alive was almost too much for her to process. That, and the fact that he could still die from anthrax. She wasn't equipped to deal with enormous emotional swings that ripped at her psycheâit had only been forty-five minutes since she'd gotten his e-mail. She couldn't find the elation she should be experiencing, only a deeper level of worry and fear.
A Liberty Airways Airbus taxied into view and was guided up to a jetway near where Lauren was standing. From the number of airport security vehicles that surrounded the airliner, Lauren knew that this was the A330 whose unflinching crew had saved them all. The noise was deafening and she took refuge in Buck's SUV and scanned the sky to the south of the airport. She doubted the
da Vinci
was close enough to see, but she wondered if she could, would it make any of this feel more real?
A bright light above the horizon caught her attentionâfollowed by a large orange flash and a trail of fire as something began a descent. Lauren could only watch in curious silence as the flames seem to grow brighter and then winked out.
Off to her left, she saw two Liberty Airways ramp guys on a belt loader stop and point toward the convoy of emergency vehicles beginning to roll past. She felt for the ignition and was surprised to find the keys there. She cranked the engine, threw the SUV in gear, wheeled up within easy earshot of the radio-equipped ramp workers, and powered down her window.
“What's happening?” She called out.
“All we've heard is that some inbound airplane has declared an emergencyâthey've rolled the equipment.”
“Any idea who it is?” She couldn't believe how fast her heart was beating as more firefighting vehicles thundered past.
“They said it's a private jet,” the guy replied. “They're based here. It's Eco-Watch.”
Donovan heard a deep rumble from the back of the plane. A muffled thump rocked the entire Gulfstream, followed by the low whine of grinding metal. It was the unmistakable sounds of a jet engine tearing itself apart from the inside. Two distinct explosions followed and Donovan felt the shudders run through the length of the airframe.
“Eco-Watch zero one, this is Viper Leader. You've got some significant flames and debris coming out of your right engine.”
“Viper Leader. Uh, standby.”
The engine temperature was shooting through nine hundred degrees centigrade. Power was dropping off dramatically. There was nothing Donovan could do as the entire core of the engine disintegrated. Combustion failed, and within seconds, red lights began to flash, the engine fire-warning bell sounded, and the now powerless
da Vinci
started down.
Donovan silenced the fire-warning bell. He shut down the fuel supply to the burning engine and waited a moment to see if the fire would go out by itself. It was still burning when he pushed a button that sent the first rush of retardant into the engine. He breathed a momentary sigh of relief as the red light went out.
“What in the hell is happening?” Montero said as she rushed up behind him.
“Engine fire. I had to shut it down. We're going to crash land. Go back and strap yourself in tight! Use one of the aft-facing seats.”
“Are we going to make it to an airport?” Montero asked.
“I don't know yet. Now go!”
“Eco-Watch zero one, this is Viper Leader. Say your intentions?”
“We're going down,” Donovan radioed to the fighter pilot. “What's the closest airport?”
“Dulles is due north nineteen miles.”
“I'm turning now.”
Donovan gently banked the airplaneâhe pegged the airspeed at exactly two hundred knots. In the distance he could see the airport. His eyes darted back and forth from the altimeter to the runways, which looked impossibly far away.
“Eco-Watch zero one, this is Viper Leader. Confirm you have the field in sight. Tower has cleared you to land on runway one left. You're fourteen miles from touchdown. All of the emergency equipment is rolling. Tower advises the surface wind is three one zero degrees at ten knots.”
“Airport in sight,” Donovan said. Dulles had three parallel runways. One left, one center, and one right. It made sense they wanted him to use the left one, it was the farthest from the terminal building. Out the side window, silhouetted by the lights on the ground, Donovan found the sleek dark shape of one of the F-16s. There were at least two to a flight, the other one was probably directly behind him with a missile locked onto what was left of his heat signature.
Donovan once again eyed the distance and altitude to the airport and came to the realization that he was losing this battle. They weren't going to make it. He systematically scanned the immediate horizon to find a field big enough to crash land the
da Vinci
, but everything was either buildings or trees. Highway 50 was a few miles off his nose, but it was a divided four lane road with light poles and a median that ran down the middle. The Gulfstream was too bigâhe'd never make it down safely.
Donovan glanced behind him and saw that the F-16 that moments ago had been flying next to him was gone. Where was he?
In one last effort, Donovan reached up with his good hand to
the overhead panel and began pushing buttons. The right engine had exploded and was worthless, but he'd shut down the left one before it had self-destructed. He was down to three hundred feet. In the back of his mind he made the solemn decision that if it came down to itâif this didn't workâhe'd simply pick an empty lot and nose the
da Vinci
straight in. One big smoking hole would help contain the anthrax and hopefully keep the body count to three. Ahead and to his left he spotted Stone Middle School. Just to the east was a strip mall with a Safeway at one end. The parking lot was virtually empty at this hour. He decided if it came to it, everything would end there.