Last Op

Chapter 13

Shops along Fore Street were busy. Tourists hustled in and out, carrying recent purchases. Small children had their noses pressed against storefront glass, pointing to toys and local souvenirs. Restaurants were overflowing, inside and out. Some patrons carried their dinner with them: fish ‘n’ chips wrapped in “cones” made from newspaper, perfect for absorbing grease.

Pubs were just as crowded. Customers stood under awnings or sat at small tables covered by umbrellas.

A steady flow of traffic moved at a slow pace. Parking along the main, one-way street was a problem. With only a few parking lots available, congestion was common.

Henley was driving the van with Grant in the passenger seat and Adler in back. Adler commented on the traffic. “At this rate, maybe we should’ve walked, skipper.”

Grant looked ahead and pointed. “Almost there, Joe. It’s the street’s by that building with the blue awning.”

Henley made a right off Fore Street onto South Quay Hill. He slowed the van, then had to stop because of the crowd. The road was almost totally blocked by a throng of curious onlookers, jostling one another, trying to get a better view. Word had spread quickly about a body being found in the bay.

Brit cops had already put up wooden barriers at the curve. They stood by, preventing anyone from scooting around them.

Grant opened the door. “I’ll see if they’ll let us down there.” Hopping out of the van, he elbowed his way through the crowd, heading to the nearest constable.

The constable put his arm out. “You cannot proceed any further.”

“I need to talk with Habormaster Roberts, sir. He and I spoke earlier about a… situation. Tell him it’s Grant Stevens.”

“Wait here, sir.” The constable motioned to another officer, who immediately ran down to the breakwater, stopping next to a moored fishing boat.

As he waited, Grant looked around the harbor. Two cop cars were parked on the breakwater. Another two blocked the road at the bottom of the hill. The only civilians appeared to be the fishermen who most likely found the body. Grant turned around, scanning the crowd. He spotted the old man who rented the boat standing next to another constable.

“You can go down, sir,” the constable said to him, after getting a wave from the harbormaster.

“There are two others in that van who are with me,” Grant pointed. “You need to let them through.”

Getting the cop’s approval, Grant motioned for Henley to drive, as he started running to where the harbormaster was waiting.

Once he was at the bottom of the hill, he jogged over to Roberts who was standing opposite the fishing boat. The two shook hands.

The sound of a car door slamming made Grant take a quick look. Adler hurried toward him. “Suggested the commander stay in the van.”

Grant nodded, then looked down at what was left of a partially blackened hand. It was poking out from underneath a worn piece of tarp that probably came off the fishing boat. “Where’d they find him, sir?”

“South of here,” Roberts replied. “He got tangled in the nets.”

“Mind if I take a look?” Grant asked as he stepped closer.

“Not a pretty sight,” Roberts commented.

Grant took that as an “it’s up to you” answer. He squatted down and reached for the tarp, slowly drawing it from the body.

“Damn!” Adler said under his breath, as he snapped his head back. He knelt down next to Grant. “Phew! Anything look familiar?”

Grant tried to find something recognizable. “I’m pretty certain it isn’t the guy with the raincoat. I got a pretty good look at him when the boat pulled out of the harbor.”

The body he was looking at was just a bloody, blackened mess. The left hand and ear were missing. His abdomen was split open, exposing the lower section of what was left of his liver. Most of the disembowelment was from the explosion, but also partially from active sea life.

Grant commented, “This guy could’ve been the one with the weapon. He’s about the right height and body size. Christ! He must’ve been right on top of whatever blew.” His eyes followed along the length of the body down to the legs. “Either he slammed into something or something slammed into him to cause those compound fractures of his legs.” Without taking his eyes from the body, he asked Adler, “Got any ideas?”

“Probably not much gas in that small engine, but some C4 would’ve helped nicely with whatever was there.” He got down on a knee. Squinting, and trying not to breath too deeply, he leaned closer, moving his index finger in a small circle just above the scorched temple. “What does that look like to you?”

“Christ!”

“Yeah. Looks like a bullet took care of this guy before the explosion did.” Not wanting to touch any part of the dead guy, Adler went to the other side of the body. Bending over, he looked at the head and pointed. “The exit was here, in front of where his ear used to be.”

Grant drew the tarp back over the body, then stood. He asked the harbormaster, “Did the old gentleman who rented the boat take a look at this?”

Roberts shook his head. “You mean Albert? We thought it best he didn’t.”

“Understand, sir.” Grant backed up a couple of steps, taping Adler on the arm. “Let’s go.” He held his hand toward Roberts. “Sir, really appreciate your assistance and letting us take a look.”

Roberts took hold of Grant’s hand with a firm grasp. “Anytime, mate!”

Henley stood next to the van on the driver’s side puffing on a cigarette. When he saw Grant and Adler coming towards him, he dropped the cigarette, asking anxiously, “Well? Did you learn anything?”

Adler gave both of them a quick look, then got in the back seat, as Grant said, “I’m sure it’s one of the men I saw taking out the boat, but still don’t know who it is. Come on, Jack. You drive.”

One of the cops at the top of the hill waved them toward him. Henley put the van into drive and started driving slowly.

The curious crowd was being pushed back to allow the van to pass. Grant was staring out the windshield. As they approached the curve, he said under his breath, “Son of a bitch!” He immediately unsnapped the holster strap, then rested his hand on the handle of his .45.

“What the hell are you lookin’ at, skipper?”

“I think it’s him!”

Henley was craning his neck, looking in every direction, not knowing what or who he was looking for.

Adler questioned, “Who? The guy you saw earlier at the harbor?”

“Yeah. The ‘raincoat’ guy.” Grant reached for the door handle. He opened it just until it unlatched, then he hung on. He couldn’t let the suspect out of his sight. “Jack, drive slowly. Keep your eyes straight ahead.”

Henley pressed on the accelerator, just enough to barely move the van forward.

Adler eased his weapon from the holster and flipped off the safety. He scooted across the seat, getting close to the door.

“Shit!” Grant spat out. “He’s got glasses (binoculars) on us.” It was then Grant drew his weapon.

The van was almost through the blockade. Adler had one hand on the door handle, waiting for Grant to make his move.

The cops pushed the crowd back farther, trying to make room for the van to pass. Henley’s heart pounded against his chest. He didn’t have any damn idea on how, or even if he’d be participating

Just then, the suspect turned and started to disappear in the crowd.

Grant shouted, “Jack! Follow us, but stay back at a safe distance!”

He threw the door open and jumped out, then slammed the door. He made a dash past the cops. Pushing his way through onlookers, he kept his arm hanging close to his body, with the .45 grasped in his hand. Adler stayed close. Trying to see over the top of the crowd, they finally broke through the masses.

Grant spotted him. “There he is!”

The suspect was running full bore up South Quay Hill. His dark raincoat flapped around him. There wasn’t anywhere for him to go but up. The cliff was to his left and a rock wall with jagged rocks lining the top were on the right. Curious onlookers leaned against the cliff wall, turning their heads as he ran behind them.

Keeping him in sight until he rounded a curve at the top, Grant and Adler put themselves into overdrive, trying to catch up.

Slowing as they neared the curve, they hugged the wall and ducked down, edging their way closer to where the road straightened. Grant looked around the wall, then motioned Adler to follow him. They scrambled across the street, getting close to a building, slowly making their way toward an alley on the left.

Poking his head around the corner, Grant didn’t see anyone or hear the sound of feet slapping against pavement. Again, the two took off, running straight ahead. Grant knew this part of town. The next main road was Fore Street, with a parking lot about two blocks down. Fore Street was one way, with traffic heading in their direction.

When they reached the corner, they stopped. There was a steady stream of traffic. People walked on both sides, looking in shop windows. The “raincoat man” was nowhere to be found.

Grant whispered to Adler, “Take the opposite side.” Adler waited until a car passed, then he darted across the street, ducking into a narrow alley next to a fish ‘n’ chips cafe. He signaled Grant he was ready.

Grant cautiously came around the corner. Staying close to the building, he walked faster. Folding his right arm across his middle, he tried to hide the weapon under his left arm. He maneuvered his way around people stopping to look in shops.

Adler wasn’t far behind on the opposite side, still ducking in and out of doorways. He’d stop, look at Grant, then try and find the suspect.

Grant was only a block away from the parking lot, when a sound of screeching tires and a loud revving engine made him tighten his grip on his gun. Within seconds a Range Rover came tearing out of the lot. The vehicle flew over the curb, continuing straight across Fore Street. The driver of an Austin Maxi hatchback hit the brakes, nearly broadsiding the Rover. People getting ready to cross the street jumped back, stunned.

The two Americans raced to the corner. Firing their weapons wasn’t going to be an option with so many civilians in the way.

Grant ran across the street, catching up to Adler. All they could do was watch the ass end of the Rover disappear around the bend onto Manor Road.

“Goddammit!” Grant said between clenched teeth.

“Just can’t seem to catch a break on this one, skipper,” Adler said, holstering his weapon. “There wasn’t even a license plate.”

Grant holstered his .45, finally taking his eyes from the now deserted road. As he turned, two men came up behind him and Adler.

“Bloody hell, mates!” the younger man said, eyeing the weapons in the holsters. “What the fuck happened?”

As he turned to leave, Grant responded, “Just a slight misunderstanding.”

“Quite the bloody misunderstanding, I have to say!”

Without further response, the Americans kept walking, looking toward South Quay. Henley was sitting in the van, parked at the corner, nervously slapping his hand against the outside of the door.

“C’mon,” Grant said. “Let’s try our luck at St. Columb and hope we can find that bastard Webb.

“What about the admiral? Aren’t you gonna call him?”

Grant stopped short. His frustration and lack of time were getting the best of him. He pushed his cap back with his thumb. Looking at his good friend, he could only shake his head.

“Jesus Christ, Joe! I don’t know which way to go first. We’ve gotta find Webb. We’ve gotta find Victoria, the ‘raincoat man,’ and then there’s the little issue of nukes. What the shit am I supposed to do?”

Adler rested a hand on Grant’s shoulder. “You do what you always do, skipper. You know, listen to that little gut thing of yours. I know it’s in there somewhere,” he said, pointing at Grant’s middle.

The two friends just stared at each other. Adler noticed a look in Grant’s eyes that gave him pause. He stepped closer. “Are you okay, I mean, are you having any pain?”

“Like I told the admiral, I’m working at a hundred ten percent.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been known to bend the goddamn truth more than once, haven’t you?”

Grant took a deep breath. “Help me out here, Joe.”

“Just name it.”

Grant finally gave one of his unmistakable shit-eat’n grins. “Help me do what we do best.”

“You mean find the freakin’ bad guys?”

“Fuckin’ A, my friend! Fuckin’ A!”

The two walked to the van, but as they walked side by side, Adler looked at Grant out of the corner of his eye. He knew Grant was just covering up. He was hurting for sure.

Grant yanked the door open and climbed into the front seat. He had to find out who “raincoat man” was. His best shot was the rental boat shack.

“Think we’d better take you home, Jack.”

“What the fuck do you mean, take me home?! Who the hell was that guy? And what about my wife?!”

“That’s why you need to go home! Look, she may try to contact you, or maybe she’s already there. Come on. Get movin’.” Henley pulled out onto Fore Street.

Adler sat quietly, looking at Grant. Whatever the plan was, it kept changing every time they turned around.

He leaned his head back against the seat, resting his hands on his stomach. The rumbling was non-stop. Maybe he needed to have Grant teach him some of that karate shit. He needed to learn discipline and concentration. Nothing else had worked to divert his thoughts from food.

Within ten minutes Henley pulled up to his house. No lights were on, inside or out. Adler handed him the house keys.

Henley got out. Grant slid over to the driver’s seat as Adler climbed in the passenger side.

Grant rolled down the window. “I’ll have one of your men pick you up in the morning. If you hear from your wife, call us. But promise me you won’t do anything without us. Hear me?” Then Grant lowered his voice. “Listen, Jack, we’re going to find her. You’ve gotta trust us.” He extended a hand to Henley.

Henley nodded, as Grant said, “Wait. Give us Webb’s address in case CID needs it.”

Adler wrote down the St. Columb Major address, wondering why Grant even brought up CID.

Henley turned away, then walked to the house.

As Grant drove to the end of the cul-de-sac, Adler asked, “Why the hell did you say it was for CID?”

“Didn’t want him to think we were going. I’ve had enough of his bullshit.”

Grant drove past the house slowly. A light in the kitchen had just come on.

“That’s all you can do, skipper. Time to stop the babysitting.”

“Yeah. You’re right.”

Grant put on the turn signal and stopped at the bottom of the road, waiting for a lorry (truck) to pass. As he made the right-hand turn, Adler asked, “So, what’s next?”

“I’ve gotta find out who that guy was. There’s something about him, but I can’t put my finger on it. I’m thinking the best shot is the rental shack. They’ve gotta have records. Maybe we can get a name.”

“I’m assuming we’re waiting till it gets dark,” Adler said.

“We’ll get you some chow, don’t worry.”

Adler put his hands together as if in prayer. “Thank you!”

Labeaux looked in the side mirror, not seeing any other vehicle behind them. “Slow down! We don’t want to draw any further attention.”

Webb eased his foot from the accelerator, and glanced quickly at Labeaux. “Who the hell were those bloody men?” he asked, without really expecting an answer.

Labeaux put an elbow on the armrest. He remained quiet. He thought about when he left the harbor with Farrell. Two men were on the breakwater casually glancing at them. But maybe it wasn’t just a casual glance after all, because one of the men chasing him tonight was one of those two. Seeing him through the binoculars had convinced him.

Concerned, Labeaux retraced in his mind this evening’s events, seeing the man being allowed to pass through the barricades, then inspecting the body. It had to be someone with credentials of some type. There wasn’t any reason for the British government to be involved over a body found in the bay. He wasn’t wearing any uniform, so maybe he was a local detective.

He’d instructed Quinn to see that none of his men carried any identification. He was positive Farrell didn’t have any. That should slow down the investigation.

The bigger question, and the most troubling, was why that man was chasing him? Why were two men chasing him? Surely, civilians and even local police wouldn’t know him. But he was definitely recognized by one of those men.

That left only one plausible explanation. It was the woman, even with a threat of death, that had given him up. That’s who it had to be. And those men at the harbor were possibly British or Americans and possibly from St. Mawgan. And if that were the case, he had to find out how much information she did give up, and to how many.

His fist came down hard on the dash, rattling the glove box… and Webb, who nearly drove the Rover into a hedgerow. “What the fuck?!”

It was unlike Labeaux to show any emotion, especially in front of someone, but this situation had rattled him to the core. He was always the man in charge, in control of every operation. Those who paid him to terrorize were usually the ones who feared him. The feeling coursing through his body left him with a strange sensation. Is this what fear felt like?

Things just weren’t going his way. And it started when he let the woman go. That was going to change.