Last Op

Chapter 14

All the kiosks along the breakwater were closed up tight. Inside the lifeboat building a single light illuminated the orange craft. A small light burned above the adjacent rowing club office door.

Grant and Adler stood at the top of the hill observing the area. Curious onlookers had long since departed. Barricades had been removed. Not a constable was in sight. All evidence of the previous evening’s event had disappeared.

Most of the boats were moored to the south breakwater. Small rowboats and sailboats had been pulled out of the water, and rested on sand closer to the road.

The two men started slowly walking toward the harbor, keeping close to the stone wall, trying to stay in the shadows. As they rounded the corner, they stopped, hearing a faint sound of laughter. A large motor boat, moored to the breakwater, had a dim light glowing inside the cabin. A man stood at midships, helping a woman to board. They disappeared inside the cabin. It became quiet again.

Continuing on, Grant and Adler ducked into a passageway next to the lifeboat building. Peering around the corner, Adler scanned the area, zeroing in on the opposite side and the kiosks. Street lamps lined both sides of the entire length of the breakwater casting shadows across concrete.

He motioned for Grant to wait, while he crept towards the glass door of the lifeboat building. Seeing no one, he signaled Grant. Keeping low, they ran to the first small kiosk, immediately rushing around to the back. Staying close to the kiosk, they hesitated briefly before running to the next building, positioning themselves, one on either side of the door.

Grant signaled with a thumb’s up. This was the kiosk. Adler nodded, then got down on one knee. He took out his penlight then inspected the lock. It was a simple single-dial padlock. All he had to do was pull on the shackle, turn the dial until it stopped, and repeat the process until the combination was revealed. He held the light between his teeth; his nimble fingers began their task.

Grant rounded the corner, side-stepping along the west side of the kiosk until he was near the front corner. Not hearing anything, he leaned slightly, just far enough until he was able to see. A movement caught his attention. He ducked back. Putting his hand on his .45, he leaned forward again. Someone was inside the lifeboat building. Whoever it was seemed to be making a slow inspection around the orange craft.

Grant slowly stood up, then eased his way behind the kiosk, walking around Adler, maneuvering to the opposite side. Staying close to the building, he edged his way closer to the front. Just moving that short distance gave him a clearer view inside the lifeboat building. He recognized the figure as Harbormaster Roberts. Pressing his back against the wall, he took a breath then continued to listen for anything out of the ordinary.

A soft sound of music emanating from inside the motor boat made him pause. While he and Adler were trying their damnedest to prevent a tragedy, people around them were still enjoying the simple things in life, totally unaware. But maybe that’s the way it was supposed to be. He refocused his attention on the harbor.

Adler kept his eyes on the lock, as his fingers deftly turned the dial, back and forth. One last turn and he was able to pull up the shackle. He removed the lock and put it in his pocket for safe keeping. Then he quietly went to the edge of the building. Aiming his penlight toward the wall of the kiosk next to them, he flashed it twice. Grant turned and saw him give a thumb’s up.

Adler eased the door open, then poked his head inside the darkened, compact space, barely eight by eight. He made a sweep with the penlight. The only window was at the front. A metal accordion-type shade was pulled down, secured at the bottom.

Grant came in behind him, took out his penlight, then quietly closed the door.

Adler whispered, “What are we looking for?”

Grant went near the window, shining the light along the countertop. “A log book or receipts. There’s gotta be records for the rentals.” Moving the light beam to the second shelf, he thumbed through colorful brochures and pamphlets advertising boat tours and fishing expeditions.

Adler opened a door to a small, dilapidated wooden cabinet. Three shelves were spaced evenly apart, with the top shelf set at eye level. “Might have something here,” he whispered as he lifted out a green, hardcover book with a black spine. Embossed on the front, in worn gold letters, was the word: “Record.” He handed it to Grant.

Laying it on the counter, Grant turned to the first page. There were five columns, each divided by thin red lines. He flipped through the pages, looking for the latest date.

“Anything?” Adler asked, looking over Grant’s shoulder.

“Not yet.” Grant ran his index finger down the first column, finally taping his finger on a date. “Here’s the day Gunny and I were here.”

“See anything with a number five and a J?”

“Bingo!” Grant whispered, as he tapped his finger on the page.

They both looked at a signature, trying to make out the scribble. “Think he used his real name?” Adler asked.

“He probably had to show an ID, but that could’ve been phony.” Grant leaned closer to the book. “Looks like the initial ‘V’ and then there’s….” He looked at Adler, then he closed the book.

“You know who the hell it is, don’t you?” Adler asked.

“Does the name Victor Labeaux ring any bells?”

“Are you shittin’ me?! Why the hell would he use his real name?” Adler reached for the book, and put it back on the shelf.

“Part ego, I’ll bet, but I don’t think he expected anybody to look in that book, let alone recognize his name. But then he let his curiosity get the best of him when he showed up here last night.”

Adler tried to keep his voice barely above a whisper. “Wait a minute! Are you saying that was him, the guy we were chasing?”

“Yeah. That’s what I’m saying. I’d only seen a picture of him one time at the Agency, but I’m positive it was the son of a bitch.”

Adler shined the light under his chin. “Well, skipper, it looks like you finally got the break you’ve been waiting for.”

“Hope so.” Grant shut off his penlight. “Lock up, then let’s haul.”

Driving up to the back gate, Grant turned off the headlights, leaving the parking lights on. He rolled down his window, handing the guard his and Adler’s IDs.

RAF Corporal Harris examined the IDs. “Where are you going at this hour, sir?”

“We’re headed to the EOD office, corporal,” Grant answered, noticing another guard stood inside the guard house with his weapon held across his body.

“Wait here, sir.” The corporal went inside the guard house, while the other guard stepped closer to the van.

Grant turned to Adler. “There’s usually only one guard posted. Gunny must’ve talked with Colonel Donaldson.”

“Here you are, sir,” the corporal said handing Grant both IDs. He saluted then waved them through.

They were only twenty yards past the gate, when one of the radios sounded. Adler reached behind the seat, then switched it on. “Adler.”

“Sir, Petty Officer Weaver at EOD. We got a call from the commander awhile ago. He said it’s urgent Captain Stevens contact him.”

“We’ll be there in five, Petty Officer. Out.” Adler tapped the radio against his palm. “The commander wants you to call him; said it’s urgent.”

“Oh, shit!” Grant stepped on the accelerator. “Hope he’s got some good news, Joe.”

As soon as they walked in, Weaver handed Grant a piece of paper with Henley’s home number.

Adler followed Grant into Henley’s office, then closed the door as Grant started dialing the number.

Henley answered, “Grant?”

“What’s happened, Jack?”

“Victoria… she’s home!”

“Is she all right?”

“Seems to be. She just had some bruises and needed a bath, but otherwise… Jesus, Grant.”

“I know. Just give me as many details as you can, Jack.”

“I couldn’t have been home more than ten minutes when Newquay cops brought her home.”

Henley slowed his breathing before he continued. “She’d gone out late-afternoon to get food for dinner. That’s her usual routine. It’s about all the exercise she gets, rain or shine. Anyway, she took a detour through the park. She says she still can’t remember what happened, but she must’ve slipped on wet grass. She took a tumble, landed between some brush, and was knocked out.”

Grant glanced at his watch. “And nobody found her during that whole time?”

Henley looked down the hallway. The bedroom door was closed, but he kept his voice low. “I questioned the cop who found her, and he said she was sitting on a bench, dazed. He wanted to take her to hospital, but she insisted on coming home.”

Grant remembered driving by a park on the way to Henley’s house. “Jack, is that the park we drove by, where you waited for us?”

“Yeah. Yeah it is.”

“Christ! We must’ve driven by that four times! How’d we not see her?!” Grant asked with surprise.

“Couldn’t have, Grant, not according to where she was found.”

“Do you…?

Henley interrupted. “Listen, Grant, I didn’t notify you sooner because I had to fill out a report. And… and we needed some quiet time. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Jack. Now, tell me if you need to stay home.”

“I think she’ll be fine. Besides, it won’t take me long to get back here if I have to. Can you have someone pick me up around 0700?”

“Sure. Sure I will. Look, Jack, we still need to think about getting her to Mildenhall.”

“There’s no way she’ll be able to travel right away, Grant. I’ll secure the house before I leave and ask our next door neighbor to check on her. If she feels better later in the day, maybe then we can think about Mildenhall.”

“It’s your call, Jack. Get some rest yourself. See you later.”

Henley put the receiver down. He looked into the mirror hanging above the table, and leaned closer. He ran a finger across pronounced dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. Even though his wife was home, he knew it still wasn’t over. He slapped at the light switch.

Continuing on into the dining room, he went to the liquor cabinet. He opened the glass door and reached for a bottle… any bottle, then he took out a glass. Managing to unscrew the bottle top with one hand, he poured till the glass was nearly full. Not even taking the time to replace the bottle top, he went to the living room and flopped down on the couch. He downed the gin in three long gulps.

Abruptly, he got up, went to the cabinet, poured another glass-full, then he walked to the window. He was blaming himself for the whole fucking mess. If he hadn’t gotten Colin Webb the job on base. If he hadn’t brought the folder home. If he’d only stopped her sooner. But she never told him who threatened her, or who threatened them. He realized now it had been someone much more important than Colin.

He gulped down the last mouthful of gin as he finally admitted he was wrong in not trusting Grant. Why the hell didn’t he tell him everything?

Backing up against the couch, he sat down heavily, trying to understand himself, his stupidity, his reason…

“Jack,” Victoria called quietly.

He sat up, seeing her standing in the bedroom doorway. She tucked her hair behind her ears, then tied the nightgown sash around her waist as she started walking toward him.

“Are you all right, Vicky? Do you need anything?”

“Can I sit with you?” she asked softly.

He patted the cushion. “Come on.”

She sat on the edge of the cushion, turning enough to look at him. Even with a limited amount of light coming through the window, he could see her eyes moist with tears.

He gently enfolded her in his arms, drawing her close. She burst into tears. “Oh, Jack! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! I don’t want anything to happen to you!”

There were no words for him to say. He let her cry until she finally fell asleep.

Holding her tightly, he stared blankly at the ceiling. There they’d stay until it was time to shower and dress, then wait for the ride to St. Mawgan. He’d already decided to take her with him, counting on Grant to get her safely to Mildenhall.

Then it would be time for him to spill his guts to Grant… and face the consequences.

Grant finished relaying Henley’s conversation to Adler, ending with, “Guess we can cross something off the list.”

“Yeah. One down and how the hell more to go?”

Grant pursed his lips and shook his head. Grasping the back of his neck, he squeezed and squeezed. “Something’s not right!”

“What’s wrong, skipper? That instinct trying to tell you something?”

Grant turned around. Resting his hands on the edge of the desk, he leaned back, as he looked down, shaking his head slowly. “Dammit.”

Adler raised an eyebrow. “What? She’s home, isn’t she?”

“I know. I know. But tell me, Joe. What do you think the odds would have been of her ‘disappearing’ during the same time we…?”

“While we were wondering where her brother was, and losing the ‘raincoat’ and, etcetera, etcetera,” Adler interrupted.

“Something like that.”

Adler went quiet, trying to wrap his brain around what Grant was intimating. “What are you gonna do?”

“Have to keep going and see where it leads.” He picked up the phone and dialed a number.

Torrinson pushed his chair back from the dining room table and went to the living room. As he wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin, he picked up the receiver. “Torrinson residence.”

“Sir, it’s Grant.” Before Torrinson could reply, Grant added, “I apologize for calling you at home, sir, but it’s important.”

“We’re just finishing a late dinner, Grant. What’s wrong?” Torrinson sat on the sofa.

“We’ve identified a major player, sir.”

Torrinson’s back straightened. “Where are you?”

“At EOD, sir. Do you want to call me back from a secure phone?”

“Yes. Yes. Give me five minutes to get to my office.”

“All right, sir.” Grant hung up.

Adler straddled one of the chairs with his arms folded across the top. “He calling back?”

Grant nodded, just as the phone rang. “Sir?”

“Tell me, Grant. Who and how’d you find this ‘player’?” Torrinson asked anxiously.

“Victor Labeaux, sir. We… ”

Torrinson was halfway into the chair when he stopped, almost not believing what he was hearing. “Labeaux?!”

“Yes, sir.” Grant proceeded to explain how he and Adler saw the name in the rental book, and then the run-in at the harbor. “We just couldn’t catch him, sir. And we don’t know where he’s hiding. There’s one possibility where he could be, but… ”

“And what about Mrs. Henley, Grant?” Torrinson finally sat down.

“She’s home, sir.”

Another shocker for Torrinson. His voice rose as he questioned, “What?! Where the hell was she?!”

“According to the commander, she’d fallen on her way home and was knocked unconscious. Police finally found her and brought her home.”

“Is she all right?” Torrinson asked.

“She refused to go to the hospital, sir.”

Torrinson had learned to read between the lines with Grant Stevens. He leaned his head against the swivel chair, then he asked, “You didn’t quite answer my question, Grant.”

Grant walked back and forth next to the desk. “Just can’t put my finger on it, sir. But something’s bothering me. It may just be because of the commander’s earlier reaction. And I haven’t had a chance to talk directly with Victoria, I mean Mrs. Henley.”

“You planning on doing that?”

“My list of things to do just keeps growing, sir. And after seeing Labeaux, I’d say whatever he’s got planned, well, the time might be getting closer. He’s gotta be my top priority right now, sir.”

“By the way, Grant, I got the intel back on Colin Webb.”

Grant wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the report. Was he about to have more shit thrown at him? “Yes, sir?”

“It seems Mr. Webb has been living under the pretense of being Mrs. Henley’s step-brother.”

“I’m listening, sir,” Grant said, really paying attention now, especially after catching the word ‘pretense.’

Torrinson had the report memorized and relayed the information to Grant.

Grant never expected any of it but he finally got his answer. “I guess the connection’s been made, sir.”

Torrinson swung his chair around, staring out the window toward the main street. “Do you think the commander knows about this, Grant?”

“Could be, sir, but can’t be sure until I confront him.”

“Well, I’ve got something else for you to chew on,” Torrinson said. “You and Joe are on your own.”

“I take it the recommendation to bring in SIS or Interpol was shot down, sir.”

“Let’s just say there’s been a breakdown in all communication. State felt it best not to pursue the matter, mainly because we didn’t have anything specific, that it’s all assumption.”

“Am I understanding correctly, sir, that the breakdown is within our own government?”

“Maybe we’d better just let it rest, Grant. You know I can get just as frustrated as you when it comes to these matters.”

“Yes, sir. I know.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” Torrinson continued, “maybe it’s better without outside interference anyway. That’ll leave the two of you to do what you usually do best.”

“You wouldn’t mean get into trouble, would you, sir?” Grant laughed.

“Not exactly what I had in mind, but that, too!” Torrinson stood and stretched his back, then checked the clock on the corner of his deck. “I’ll try to call SECDEF and SECNAV. It shouldn’t be too late. They need to know about Labeaux. Maybe that’ll help change everyone’s attitude. By the way, do you still have that letter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you talked with the local police?”

“No, sir. I haven’t.”

Torrinson could only shake his head and smile at the answer he’d expected. “Very well, Captain. Good luck.”

“So,” Adler said, as Grant dropped the receiver in its cradle, “I take it SIS is out of the picture.”

Grant nodded. “And Interpol. Freakin’ politics even with what’s at stake.”

“You gonna explain about a ‘connection being made’?”

Grant relayed everything Torrinson told him about Colin Webb.

Adler finally asked, “You think Mrs. Henley mentioned any of this to the commander?”

“Who the hell knows? But it could be the answer to why Jack’s being so uncooperative.”

“So you’re thinking he knows more than he’s saying?”

Before Grant could respond, Petty Officer Weaver knocked at the door. “Captain?”

“Come,” Grant answered.

Weaver opened the door then stood in the doorway. “Sir, Gunny Baranski’s out here; said he’d like to have a word with you.”

Grant waved the marine in. “Come on in, Gunny. Good to see you again.”

“Sorry to come here so late, sir.”

“Not a problem. Oh, Gunnery Sergeant Phil Baranski, this is Lieutenant Joe Adler.”

“Gunny,” Adler said, shaking Baranski’s hand.

Grant backed up against the edge of the desk. “Coming through the gate tonight, we noticed two guards.”

“Yes, sir. Colonel Donaldson spoke with the base C.O. He didn’t give him any info about your op, sir, just told him we had more weapons being delivered over the next couple of days and thought there should be more security.”

“Good. Now, have you got something for us?”

“I was putting the duty roster together and thought you and I hadn’t discussed anything about flight schedules, sir.”

Grant nodded. “Go on.”

Baranski handed a paper to Grant. Adler stepped closer, trying to see the information.

“Well, sir, we’ve got flights coming in twice a week delivering weapons. Thought you might have some questions.”

“Are they set schedules?” Grant asked.

“Since I’ve been here, they have been, sir.”

Adler asked, “Gunny, are the planes offloaded at the same location no matter what weapons are being delivered?”

“Yes, sir.”

Baranski explained the same procedures are followed with every weapon being delivered: Before the plane even lands, security force vehicles wait by the runway, then follow it to a cordoned off area, getting as close to the main storage bunker as possible. Then the weapon or weapons are offloaded. A security team follows the weapon until it’s secure inside the bunker.

Baranski added, “Even then, a guard is always posted within the bunker itself, sir.”

“So there’s a door beyond the entry door?”

“Yes, sir, there is. Can I take you on a tour, sir?”

“Wish we had the time, Gunny.”

Adler took the paper from Grant, scanning the type of aircraft and the weapons being delivered.

“Got ‘heavies’ coming in, Joe?” Grant asked, while he gave his back a stretch.

“Afraid so, skipper,” Adler answered, sliding his finger along the paper.

The schedule showed Monday afternoon and Thursday morning. Each aircraft was bringing in one B57 from the States. Adler pointed out that according to the markings on the paper, each weapon was five kilo.

“Excuse me, sir,” Baranski said, “but how well do you know the 57s?”

Adler looked at the marine, and in all seriousness he answered, “Let’s just say I’ve seen them up close and personal, Gunny.”

“Joe’s EOD, Gunny,” Grant explained.

“Oh, I see, sir.”

Grant jammed his hands into his back pockets and walked to the other side of the room. It was Sunday morning. There wasn’t much time left. He was sure Monday would be the day the shit would go down.

He massaged his shoulder, as he rotated his arm. He walked toward Baranski. “Gunny, are there patrols throughout the day, I mean, especially patrols around the perimeter of the base?”

“Yes, sir. I don’t know what kind of schedule there is, though. Just like us, the Brits keep that stuff close to the vest.”

“Understand, but what’s the possibility your C.O. could ask them to step up patrols, day and night?”

“Well, Colonel Donaldson got them to add extra guards. Can’t see why he won’t want to do this.”

“Appreciate it, Gunny. Listen, did you have anything else for us tonight?”

“Uh, no, sir. Just let me know if you need any help, sir. I mean… ”

Grant walked Baranski to the outer office. “You’re first on my list, Gunny.”

Once Baranski left, Adler yawned and rubbed his eyes. “What say, skipper, think we can catch some Zs? Expect we won’t get much the next couple of days.”

As the two walked to the barracks, they remained quiet. This op was similar to the mission in Russia. They were tasked with stopping an East German fanatic from poisoning Politburo members. Except this time, the effects were far more reaching — they had no idea what Labeaux intended. They only knew he had to be stopped.

Adler started to open the door to the barracks, when Grant said softly, “Hold up, Joe. Let me run something by you.”

“Sure.” Adler closed the door. They walked farther away from the building. “Speak to me.”

“Okay, the majority of nukes at St. Mawgan are meant to be delivered by aircraft,” Grant began.

“Affirmative.”

“Now, I’d say the odds of Labeaux’s co-conspirators having the knowledge and ability to fly any jet is remote.”

“Agreed.”

Grant shook his index finger at Adler. “But what if he wasn’t planning on flying anything outta here?”

“Wait! You know there’s a shitload of procedures to go through to arm one of those ‘babies’ and that’s not done till the aircraft’s airborne. Why and how do you think he’d try to explode something from the ground?” Adler asked, surprised and worried at the thought.

“Didn’t say that. What if he just intends to hold the base captive for some reason, threatening?”

“C’mon, skipper. Do you really think Labeaux would do that? I mean, do you think he’s doing this solely for money?”

Grant paced back and forth. “Oh, I’m sure he’s being paid handsomely. But, you’re right. It’s not his style to extort. And it’s probably too goddamn late to find out anything about his past.”

“You think he’s got some deep emotional issues pent up inside from his childhood?” Adler asked facetiously.

“We can check with Dr. Freud later. For now, let’s rethink aircraft.” He started walking away when he stopped short. “Shit!”

“What?!”

“We’ve gotta get the choppers outta here.” He took off toward EOD.

Adler yelled, “What the hell…!” He caught up to Grant. “And your reason?”

“It’s a helluva lot more likely Labeaux would attempt to get his hands on a chopper than a jet.”

“Wait a minute! Wait a minute! A chopper? Don’t you think that’s just a little slow to fly something outta here? Shit! A jet and its weaponry could blow it to smithereens within the blink of an eye.”

“We can’t take the chance, Joe. We’ve gotta remove anything the son of a bitch could possibly get his hands on. Christ! I’d ship all the ordnance outta here under cover of darkness, if we had the time.”

“Okay, but where the hell could you send the choppers? What if we need one?”

Grant decided St. Eval was the perfect location. The distance was less than two miles and the choppers could be recalled in a heartbeat. They couldn’t give Labeaux a heads-up by moving them out too early. Late this afternoon or early evening he’d make it happen.

As they approached the EOD office, Grant thought out loud, “It’s time to have the base C.O. invited to this party.”

“You’re planning on calling Torrinson again, aren’t you?”

“Why not? We shouldn’t have all the fun.” Grant’s smile slowly disappeared. He went silent, backing away from the door and looking straight ahead toward the airfield.

Adler had seen the look many times before. The clenching of the jaw, the grinding of teeth, meant the “wheels” were definitely spinning. He’d usually let it play out, staying quietly to himself, never knowing what to expect, or where the thought process would lead them.

The waiting was killing him this time. Putting his hands on his hips, he stepped in front of Grant. “Well, you gonna fill me in?”

Grant tugged on the brim of his cap. “The way Gunny described the bunker and its security, I can’t imagine Labeaux attempting an attack directly on it. I’m thinking Labeaux will go after the plane making the delivery. Think I’ll see if we can get that flight delayed or stopped altogether. Let’s see how much pull Torrinson’s got.”

“Maybe that’ll give us the extra time we need to catch the bastard!” Adler said, nodding his head.

Grant had his hand on the doorknob. “And about those Zs — consider them taken. After we make the call, we’re heading to CID. Maybe they can help find where Labeaux’s hiding.”