Category Five (9 page)

“Internal Investigations has already keyed in on Donovan Nash. Give it to me straight, Lauren. What do you think happened out there?”

“I think the person who was at the accident site took my computer, then replaced it with a destroyed one of the same type. I highly doubt that Donovan Nash was the one who did it.”

“Why?” Calvin said quickly.

“Because had I died, it would have taken days to discover that it wasn't my computer at the accident site.”

Calvin nodded, “So you don't think there's any tie-in with today's events and the fact that eleven months ago, Donovan Nash landed a plane full of classified communications equipment on Russian soil?”

“I do not,” Lauren said flatly. “If there had been any proof of
Donovan's wrongdoing, Eco-Watch would have been shut down. Am I right?”

“Probably,” Calvin said. “But in light of what happened in Bermuda…all bets are off. This second incident is too strong to ignore.”

“I'll agree there's a coincidence. But in my opinion it ends there.”

Calvin lifted a sheet of paper from his desk. “This is the preliminary examination of the computer you gave us. A secret internal code that identifies each DIA computer is missing—as in not installed. The computer is definitely a decoy. Despite the condition of the case, they lifted two sets of fingerprint—yours and Mr. Nash's. The hard drive is scrambled gibberish. It's believed to have been intentionally sabotaged to make it appear that all of your data was lost.” He let the report fall back to his desk.

“Donovan did touch the computer, right before we boarded the plane. It would follow that his prints would be on it.”

“I'll buy that. Now back to the question at hand. I'm concerned that this mysterious person was at the scene so fast. You said it was only a matter of minutes? How could someone engineer this theft if they didn't know the car was going to crash?”

Lauren felt the blood drain from her face. If what Calvin was saying were true, then the accident was rigged and someone had tried to kill her. Her eyes grew wide as she looked across at him.

“I think you survived an attempt on your life,” Calvin said solemnly. “The same person or persons also killed Kenneth.”

“My guess is whoever took the computer is still on Bermuda.”

“I think they'd have to be.” Calvin said, getting out of his chair. He began to pace. “You were the last plane out, and leaving on a ship would be improbable given the storm. But they could download the information and e-mail it anywhere in the world by now,” Calvin said, a tinge of hopelessness in his voice.

“They have to get into it first. Bypass all the passwords and safeties. I think that would take them a while.”

“True.” Calvin pondered her words. “All we can do is alert the Bermuda authorities and have some field people on the first plane to Bermuda. I'll need your help in determining when that might be.”

“Of course.” Lauren had no idea what was going through his mind. Could he really shut down all avenues of escape from Bermuda? A slight chill came over her as she decided she didn't really want to know what all Calvin or the U.S. government could or couldn't do.

“That's all for now. Go get some rest. You must be exhausted.”

Lauren nodded. “I'll plot a window for you to fly to Bermuda. Though I don't think it'll be for at least the next eighteen to twenty-four hours.”

“I'll be waiting for the information.” Calvin's eyes darted around his office until he found what he was looking for. “Before I forget, they sent you up a new computer. You'll have to reset all the passwords and protocols. The note here says that they've already loaded in the links to
Jonah
.”

“Oh, good.” Lauren slipped the laptop from its case; it was exactly the same make and model as the one she'd had. It wouldn't take her long to get it up and running.

“Be alert for any signs that someone has tampered with your data. It might be the first sign that they've gained access to the system.”

“Trust me. I'll give everything a good look…and thanks.” Lauren gathered her new computer and left Calvin's office. She hoped she didn't look as bad as she felt. Everything that had happened was swirling around in her head.

“There you are.” Simmons hurried to catch up with Lauren. He was breathing hard when he reached her.

“Carl, what is it?” Lauren wondered if something had happened to
Jonah
.

“I just heard,” he lowered his voice. “They say Kenneth is dead.”

Lauren nodded.

“I can't believe all of this is happening.” Carl took a quick look up and down the hallway. “I've also noticed a lot of different people around. I have a feeling they're from the investigations side of things. Is something going on I should know about?”

“I don't know.” Lauren couldn't discuss what she knew with anyone.

“I'm just worried about you,” Carl said sincerely. “You've been through a lot.”

“Thank you.” Lauren understood Carl's concern. Since they'd begun working together, she'd had no greater champion of her and her work than Carl. It was as if he'd designated himself her mentor and protector.

“If there's anything I can do,” Carl said, looking into Lauren's eyes, “You know where to find me.”

“I appreciate your concern. But I'm fine.” Lauren needed to get to her mother's house. The thought of seeing Abigail swept some of her burden away. Kids were wonderful in that respect. They don't care if mommy was almost killed, that people mommy knew were dead. They just wanted mom. Lauren missed her little girl so much it was almost a tangible pain.

“If I hear anything I'll let you know,” Carl offered.

“I'll do the same thing,” Lauren said as she began to walk away. She hurried to her office, grabbed her things, and headed out of the building. As she pulled out into traffic she wondered if she were being followed. There were a dozen cars behind her on the busy road. Would Calvin do that to her? If not Calvin, then perhaps the two men who had interrogated her? She wondered if their orders were to spy on her, or protect her? Either way, the implications were unsettling. She caught herself looking for Donovan's Range Rover. Was it possible she could be wrong…was he somehow involved in all of this?

T
he glare from the sun forced Donovan to put on his dark glasses. The asphalt parking lot shimmered in the heat. He'd finally been forced to escape the confines of his office; it had begun to feel like a prison. He opened the door of his ten-year-old Range Rover. It was like an oven inside and the rush of hot air caused him to step backward. He reached in and touched the leather seat with his hand. It felt safe. The cell phone clipped to his belt sprang to life, the shrill bell almost drowned out by a Boeing 747 that was climbing out overhead. Donovan swept the phone to his ear, sliding into the Range Rover so that he could hear.

“Hello.”

“Is this Mr. Donovan Nash?”

“Yes. Who is this?” He didn't recognize the caller.

“This is Guardian Security. We have an alarm reported at 22332 Oatlands Road in Loudoun County.”

“Get the police out there. Tell them I'm on my way!” Donovan ignored the heat and immediately cranked the ignition.

A moment later he whipped out of the Eco-Watch facility and roared down the access road. He blew through a stop sign, the tires squealing as he took the first turn. The property on Oatlands Road outside Washington, D.C. had belonged to his mother. He didn't live there, but the estate was one of the most important things in his life. It was why, years ago, he'd had a sophisticated security system installed. The thought of thieves or vandals inside the house left a bitter taste in his mouth as he jumped onto route 28 and accelerated south.

Donovan merged onto route 50. As he'd hoped, the traffic was light. On the four- lane road headed west, his speed crept up near 80 mph. Keeping one eye on the road he found his cell phone and dialed information.

“I need the number for the Loudoun County Sheriff's office.”

“Would you like me to connect you?” The operator offered.

“Yes!” Donovan urged as he swerved and passed a truck on the right.

“Loudoun County Sheriff's office.”

“This is Donovan Nash. I understand there is an alarm sounding at 22332 Oatlands Road. Can you tell me if there's a unit headed out there?”

“I'm sorry. I can't give that information out over the phone.”

“I'm the caretaker of that property.” Donovan was careful not to reveal to her that he was actually the owner. Through a maze of trusts and corporations, his connection was carefully hidden and he wanted it to stay that way. “Please check your security file. My name is on the list.”

“I just did, Mr. Nash. Can you tell me your social security number?”

Donovan rattled it off and waited for the dispatcher to respond.

“Yes Mr. Nash. There is a car on scene. They have someone in custody.”

“I'll be there in ten minutes.” Donovan crossed highway 15 and headed toward the small town of Aldie.

“I'll alert the officer on scene that you're on your way.”

“Thank you.” Donovan severed the connection, relieved that whoever set off the alarm had been caught. He ground his teeth as he was forced to slow within the Aldie city limits. The collection of antique shops, furniture stores, and historic buildings was usually a source of interest, but Donovan ignored them as he pressed down the narrow street. He saw Dwight's General Store ahead on the left, and as always, smoke poured from the outside barbecue pit. Just beyond was his first chance to get off the main road. He braked hard and threw the Range Rover around the tight turn, then gunned the engine and climbed the steep hill. A cloud of dust billowed behind him as he raced the last mile down the unpaved road.

Donovan slowed as he approached the estate. He could see a police car past the low rock wall. Usually, he made this drive
slowly, pulling into the property filled with a quiet, reverent mood. The massive stone house had been in his family for almost a hundred years. As he covered the last fifty yards he could see the officer standing next to the car, the silhouette of someone's head visible in the back seat.

Donovan waved at the deputy, shut off the engine, and jumped out of the Range Rover.

“Mr. Nash?” the deputy asked…his hand resting on the butt of his revolver.

“That's me.” Donovan slowed his mad rush. “I called dispatch.”

“Can I please see some identification?”

Donovan handed over his driver's license, then peaked into the back seat of the sheriff's car. He was met with the startling dark eyes of a young woman. She wore jeans and a white tee shirt. Her short black hair framed a face more cute than beautiful. He couldn't imagine she was a day over twenty-five.

“Thank you, Mr. Nash. Just needed to check.”

“Where did you find her? Was she in the house?” He glared at the young suspect.

“Please step this way.” The deputy gestured as they moved out of earshot from the young woman.

“I found her outside in the backyard. Claims she was lost and had car trouble. She came to the house to find help.”

“Did you find her car?”

“Yeah. It's about a quarter of a mile up the road. It wouldn't start. I also ran a check on her. She's clean.”

“You think she's telling the truth?” Donovan felt relieved, yet still slightly wary.

“I think so. Maybe you should check out the house and make sure?”

“What's her name?” Donovan dug in his pocket for the keys.

“Erin Walker.”

The name didn't ring any bells. “I'll be right back.” Donovan looked over the deputy's shoulder at Erin. Her wide eyes seemed filled with fear and uncertainty.

Donovan walked around the side of the house. She'd been caught out back; it seemed as good a place as any to start his inspection. From the top of the hill, the view to the east always brought a wealth of childhood memories. The huge oak tree where a tire swing used to be, the lake he swam in every afternoon, visible at the foot of the rise. The property covered almost 200 acres and it had been his kingdom as a young boy. If he closed his eyes he could almost hear his mother calling to him from the kitchen.

He checked the windows—they all seemed to be intact. He examined the back door and it looked fine also. The alarm system could be tripped by applying a slight force to either a window or a doorknob. It was the perfect system for a rural address. He unlocked the door and slipped inside. The wood floor creaked under his feet. He stood and ran his eyes over each detail of the room. Rough-hewn beams soared overhead and sunlight filtered through the interior, giving the room almost a cathedral feeling. Donovan breathed in the rustic aroma of the old house. It'd been weeks since he'd had the time to come for a visit. He strode to a cabinet and deactivated the main alarm. A quick inquiry indicated the back door sensor had been tripped. He quickly went room to room until finally he began to relax. It seemed everything was as it should be. He left the house and trotted to the detached garage. It was also made of stone, a smaller version of the main house. The doors and windows were locked tight. It looked as if Erin Walker's story might be legitimate. Donovan was about to head back to the front of the house when an odd flash caught his eye. He crossed the lawn and knelt under a bush. A metallic object lay on its side, partially hidden under the shrub. Donovan reached in and pulled it out. It was a 35mm Nikon. He
turned it over in his hand. There were twenty pictures already exposed. He worked quickly, using a small stick to depress the rewind button. The camera whirred in his hand as the film was pulled back into the canister. He popped open the case and stashed the cartridge in his pocket. He put the camera back where he found it, then went to join Erin Walker and the deputy.