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lurching forward, staggering toward his friend. All the air seemed to leave Donovan’s lungs as he knelt. The small puddles of water near Michael’s head were stained crimson.
    Behind him he heard the sound of running feet splash through the puddles. Donovan turned and found one of the linemen approaching; he was short, a little on the heavy side. He wore a yellow rain suit that covered him head to toe. One look told him this wasn’t the man he’d seen from the window of the
da Vinci
.
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œCall 911!” Donovan yelled.
    â€œOh Jesus.” The lineman immediately began talking into his two-way radio.
    In the harsh brightness from the flashlight Donovan could see that Michael’s skin was slack and colorless and the entire left side of his head was matted with blood. With shaking hands he put twofingers on Michael’s neck and found a weak pulse. He remembered the earlier smell of spent gunpowder and imagined the worst. His sense of helplessness added to his fear as the distant warble from emergency sirens ebbed and flowed in the fury of the storm.
    The rain fell heavier and the wind began to whip and gust. In the distance, Donovan heard the unmistakable sound of a jet taking off. A distinctive blue-and-white Gulfstream, lights fully ablaze, raced down the runway. Donovan glanced at the empty spot next to the
da Vinci
. The departing Gulfstream was the same one he’d noticed earlier. Plumes of water erupted behind the jet until it lifted off, raised its landing gear, and made a sweeping turn to the east, climbing away into the night.
    Beside him, Michael lay bleeding, maybe dying. Donovan cursed his inability to reach his friend in time, and was powerless to do anything but vow retribution. He found growing strength in the declaration, it was something white hot and tangible, and, most importantly, it held his fear at bay.
    In the midst of the howling storm, he saw more people running in his direction, a gate being opened. Palm trees danced in a wild frenzy as the wind from the thunderstorms hit full force. Sirens wailed in the night and Donovan imagined they were a part of him—some primal thing inside him that was screaming at the universe and warning all who could hear that he’d make whoever did this pay.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Lauren stared at the phone. She expected him to call her back within minutes and when that didn’t happen, she finally padded into the kitchen and put some water on to boil. She made her tea and slowly walked back toward the study and the movie. He’d obviously hidden it from her, but she wasn’t sure why, or how long he’d had it, or even how he’d gotten it. The fact that he’d kept it from her was disturbing, though Lauren began to wonder if she hadn’t stumbled on the root cause of his recent behavior. How damaging had it been for her husband to see Meredith again, hear her voice, and relive her death?
    Lauren sat back down in front of the computer, but didn’t restart the movie. Already she knew the film was riddled with errors and vindictive half-truths. If there was a conspiracy, Robert wasn’t behind it. He’d loved Meredith deeply. Robert had asked Meredith to marry him, and the two were planning a life together when she was killed. They’d decided to wait until after the summit to make the formal announcement.
    All those years ago he’d orchestrated his death and left everyone behind. After months of reconstructive surgery in Europe, he’d started his life over as Donovan Nash. The fact that Robert hadn’t died was a secret that Lauren had sworn to take to her grave. She wondered what impact this documentary had had on her husband. If she had to guess, he’d had this disk for weeks, about the time he began sleeping poorly, his nights plagued with either bad dreams or outright nightmares. It was if he were being nocturnally consumed by grief or rage—or both.