Last Op

Chapter 16

With tires squealing, and a plume of smoke spewing from the tailpipe, the MG sped out of the parking lot. The sports car fishtailed when it hit the street.

“Call Becker!” Grant said angrily. “See if they tried phoning the house.”

“Where’re we going?” Adler asked getting ready to make the call.

“Henley’s. We’re gonna take a look ourselves.”

Adler was on the radio. “Chief, Lieutenant Adler here. How long did Weaver wait at the house?”

“Twenty minutes, sir. Then he radioed me. I had him wait another twenty minutes just in case, sir.”

“Have you made any more phone calls to the house?”

“Yes, sir. Every ten minutes but still no answer. What do you want me to do, sir?”

“Stay close, Chief. Call us if you make contact with the commander. We’re on our way over there. Out.” Adler switched off the radio. He looked across at Grant, already anticipating a reaction. “Becker said they’ve been calling every ten minutes.”

“Fuck!” Grant shouted, smacking his fist against the steering wheel.

“Looks like the commander may have done your job for you, skipper.”

Grant snapped his head left, giving him a quick glance. “What?! What are you talking about?!”

“Looks as if he may have relieved himself of command.”

As pissed as he was, and the longer he drove, the more Grant questioned. Had he put too much pressure on Henley? Had he fucked up the situation from day one? Or did Henley fuck up himself? He’d never been honest with Grant. And as much as he seemed to want to protect his wife, he went about it absolutely the wrong way, probably putting her, and himself in more danger.

Grant shook his head, trying to clear the jumble of questions. He had to refocus. That was becoming a problem.

“Here’s the park, skipper,” Adler said, breaking into Grant’s thoughts.

Grant turned onto the road leading to Henley’s street and started slowing down. “We’ll park here and ‘hoof’ it to the house.”

He got out of the car and looked overhead, feeling raindrops on his face. Weather wasn’t going to interfere with whatever they had to do.

Adler came around the front of the car. “You want me to scope out the neighborhood?”

Grant nodded. “Hate to risk it, but if you see any neighbors, ask some questions. I’ll start checking around the house.”

“Here,” Adler said, reaching into his pocket. “Don’t know if these’ll work on those locks, but no harm trying.”

Grant took the small leather case and slipped it in his jacket. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Adler started walking down the street, looking for anyone to talk to. No one was outside, but he noticed an older woman standing in front of a large plate glass window. She backed up seeing him look her way.

Going to the front door, he knocked on the glass. The woman came to the door but didn’t open it. He gave the best smile he could muster, as he tipped his cap. “Morning, ma’am. How are you today?” She just looked at him, without responding.

“My friend and I are visiting Newquay for a couple of days, ma’am. The Henleys are friends of ours,” he said as he pointed down the street. “It was going to be a surprise visit.”

She unlocked the door. Opening it part way, she held onto it with a frail, wrinkled hand. “How lovely. Are you American?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you came all the way from America?”

“Yes, ma’am. We did. Would you happen to know where they are?”

“Oh, no. I’m afraid not,” she answered, brushing a strand of gray hair from her forehead. “I don’t know where they went in that vehicle. It was so early this morning when they left.”

“You saw them leave?”

“Well, I don’t sleep very well, and I just happened to be in the living room. It was still quite dark. There weren’t any lights on in their house or the vehicle so I couldn’t entirely see… ”

“Was it their car, ma’am? Did they leave in their car?”

“Oh, no, no. It was something bigger.”

Adler’s heart thumped. “Did you see if there was anyone with them?”

“There may have been, but I’m not sure.” She drew a knitted white shawl around her shoulders. “Would you like to come in and have a cup of tea?”

Adler smiled. “I’m afraid we don’t have time, but we’ll try to come back later. I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me, ma’am.”

As he turned to leave, she gave a small wave. “It was lovely chatting with you, dear. Cheerio!”

He ran across the street, but not seeing Grant, he called, “Skipper?” Grant poked his head around the side. Adler waved him toward him. “It’s okay, boss. I told the neighbor we were paying a surprise visit on the Henleys.”

As Grant started toward Adler, he pulled his jacket down over his holster. “Find out anything that’ll help us?”

“Yes and no, but think we’d better move out.”

They started walking toward the MG as Adler relayed his conversation with the neighbor. Not wanting to attract any additional attention, they immediately got in the car. Grant started the engine, turned on the wipers, then swung a U-turn.

Not finding the Henleys left them with two questions: Were they forced into the vehicle, or did they go willingly? In either case, they had to track them down. But with so much ground to cover, Grant and Adler couldn’t do it alone. Grant headed back to Newquay, and Chief Inspector Townsend.

Adler finally asked, “When you gonna let the admiral know?”

“He’s next.”

“The two of you sure have been chatty this op.”

Grant gave a slight nod before saying, “Christ! Just think of the shit Jack’s got in that brain of his.”

“Yeah. The knowledge to disarm every known weapon on earth.”

Both of them went dead quiet, until Grant finally said, “It’s making me sick, Joe. I wanna believe he’s innocent, but… ”

“But he hasn’t given us anything to prove it.”

The implications were overwhelming. A U.S. Navy officer. Traitor? Innocent victim? Dead? Alive?

Grant pulled into the police parking lot, shut off the engine, then sat quietly for a moment before turning to Adler. “I’ve gotta give him a chance, Joe.”

“So, you’re waiting to tell Torrinson, right?” Grant nodded, and Adler said, “I knew you would. Hell! We’ve got the rest of the day to find him.”

Grant could barely manage a half smile before getting out of the car.

“Captain Stevens!” Townsend called from the passageway, seeing the two men coming into the lobby.

“Do you have a minute, sir?” Grant asked.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Come to the conference room,” he said with a wave.

By the time Grant and Adler got there, Townsend was already sitting at the head of the table.

Adler closed the door, as Grant stood opposite Townsend. “Sir, we’ve got a problem.”

“Tell me,” Townsend said, sliding a notebook closer.

“Commander Henley and his wife are nowhere to be found, sir. We don’t know if they’ve gone into hiding or if they’ve been kidnapped.”

Townsend sat up straighter. “Kidnapped?! Why would they be kidnapped?”

“Sir, I wish I could fill you in completely, but as of now, I don’t have authorization.” Adler’s eyebrows shot up hearing the statement.

Townsend didn’t like that response, but just proceeded with the question, “When and what proof do you have?”

Grant pulled a chair out and sat down. Townsend sat quietly listening to the report on the two men’s visit to Henley’s neighborhood.

When Grant finished, Townsend shook his head and finally commented, “Not much to go on.”

“I know, sir,” Grant answered, “but EOD personnel were to pick up the commander at 0700. He never answered the door, and hasn’t responded to repeated phone calls. That’s why Joe and I went to the house.” Grant shook his head, worried. “I don’t know why he hasn’t contacted anyone, sir, unless he’s unable to.” Before Townsend could comment, Grant asked, “Sir, have your men gone to the harbor to stake it out?”

“They have.”

Grant shoved his chair back then got up. “We’re running out of time to find Labeaux, and now maybe the Henleys, sir. Have you had any luck with the rental houses?”

Townsend flipped over two pages of the notebook. “There were three rented within the past two months, but I don’t have renter names yet.”

“Any possibility you could have someone check those three?”

“I’ll get right on it. Where will you be?”

Grant extended a hand to Townsend. “Flyin’!”

As Grant drove out of the parking lot, Adler called Chief Becker directing him to have the chopper brought back to St. Mawgan. What they’d do if they found the boat was a whole different ballgame, aside from the fact they didn’t have a clue on what they were looking for… except it could float.

Flying just under four hundred feet and three miles off the Cornish coast, the Sea King headed north to the Isle of Lundy.

Grant and Adler sat near the cargo bay door. Headsets were already in place. Grant rested his back against the bulkhead, while Adler dangled his legs over the side.

Grant heard Taylor’s voice in the headset: “Sirs, we’re approaching the southern part of the island.”

Grant scooted to the open doorway, holding onto his binoculars. “Copy that, Lieutenant. Stay at this altitude and distance from the beach till you’re past the island. We want to start our search at the very north end. Then circle back around and head south. Keep a mile off the coast.”

“What are you looking for, sir?”

“A boat, Lieutenant.”

Taylor’s eyebrows shot up. “A boat, sir?”

“Yeah. A boat, and probably bigger than a rowboat,” Grant smirked. “And they can’t see us lookin’ at them, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir. Understand.”

As the chopper came around, Adler pointed. “Looks like there’s more rain comin’ in.”

“No surprise there,” Grant said disgustedly. The chopper vibrated as it started decelerating. “Okay. Let’s see what we can find.” They were ready to give orders to the cockpit. They raised the binoculars.

Inspector Townsend was correct about the island. This end had little activity, especially with a prospect of bad weather.

Within two minutes, Adler spotted something. “Hold your position,” he said into the mouthpiece to Lieutenant Norris. He readjusted the binoculars. “Skipper, is that a catamaran? Twelve o’clock.”

“Sure as hell looks like it.” Grant moved the glasses, looking for any other crafts nearby. “And it looks like it’s all by itself.” He lowered the glasses, looking at a darkening sky. “Think we’ve got time?” he asked with a wink.

“Let’s do it!”

“Lieutenant!” Grant called into the mouthpiece.

“Yes, sir?”

“Circle back around to the western side and take us inland. Put us down about two hundred yards south of our current position. We’re gonna exit and take a look.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

Coming in from the west at a low altitude, the chopper touched down in a field. The short, green grass whipped around in a rotating pattern caused by the chopper blades’ downdraft.

Grant and Adler jumped out. Running two hundred yards across an open field, they finally had some cover by ducking behind mounds of rocks near the crest of a hill. Dropping to the ground, they crabbed their way toward the summit. The ground beyond fell away at a forty-five degree angle. Green grass covered the two hundred foot slope until it converged with sandy beach and rocks.

Focusing their binoculars, they immediately spotted the catamaran. It was anchored no more than fifty to seventy-five yards off the beach. Three men were on deck. A light was on inside the cabin but curtains were drawn. All they could see were shadows. It was nearly impossible to tell how many more were inside. Even though Grant and Adler were looking through binoculars, none of the men they did see looked familiar.

“There’s a Zodiac hanging off the ass end,” Grant said.

“Yeah, I saw it. Look what else there is. Port side, midships,” Adler said in a loud whisper.

Grant moved the glasses. “Shit!” Coils of det cord were set on top of a box of C4, partially covered with a tarp. Grant tugged on Adler’s arm. They scooted backwards till they were clear of the summit, then they hauled ass, running back to the chopper.

Lieutenant Taylor stood by the open door. Grant shouted, “Take us home, Lieutenant!” He and Adler climbed in as the rotors wound up.

On the flight back to St. Mawgan, they had to make a decision about the Cat. With the bad weather coming in, it could prevent the boat from leaving the island. But they couldn’t take the chance. Explosives meant not only lives at the base were at risk, but possibly the town.

Should they contact CID? Brit Coast Guard or Navy? Involve the local police? Or maybe they should just handle it themselves, giving them the possibility of a G2. They needed information, like where the hell was Labeaux? And where the hell were the Henleys?

The basement of Tafton Manor was the same as it had been for nearly three hundred years: dark and clammy, with a hard-packed dirt floor and stone walls covered with dust. Cobwebs hung from original, rough hewn beams. Against the south wall, narrow, steep wooden stairs led to the kitchen, which was closed off by a heavy wooden door.

Rusted hinges squeaked as Labeaux pulled the door open. Light from the kitchen barely illuminated the first few steps. He stood briefly in the doorway. Feeling along the wall in the dark, he found a kerosene lamp. Lifting it from a hook, he scraped a match against a stone, lit the lantern, then blew out the match.

Holding the lantern in front of him, he adjusted the flame until it glowed brighter. He started cautiously down the creaking stairs. Without a handrail, a misstep could prove disastrous.

Stepping onto the dirt floor, he held the lantern higher, then proceeded to walk toward the back wall. The light finally cast its eerie glow on Jack Henley.

His clothes were soiled and rumpled, a far cry from his usually spotless appearance. There was dried blood below his nose and mouth. A rope around his waist had him lashed securely to a wooden chair. His arms were tied behind his back.

He looked up at Labeaux, squinting from the light, trying to see a face. “Where’s my wife?”

Labeaux ignored the question as he walked behind the chair. Henley tried to turn but Labeaux slapped the side of his head. “Do you know why you’re here, Commander Henley?”

“Here?!” Henley shouted. “Where the hell is here?!” Another slap to his head, only this time with more force.

He had to be sure Victoria was okay. She had to be somewhere in this place. When they were taken by force during the night, with hoods pulled over their heads, she was with him in the backseat. Although she didn’t make a sound, he knew she was there.

When he joined the Navy, Henley memorized the Code of Conduct. He still knew it, backwards and forwards. He’d been to SERE training (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape). His panic made him look like a fool in front of Grant. But now, after all his years of service, he realized this would be his true test of all that training.

“Look,” he said, “just tell me if she’s okay.”

“For now… she is,” Labeaux replied.

Henley breathed an inward sigh, while hoping he wasn’t being lied to. “What the hell do you want?”

Labeaux walked in front of him, putting the lantern by his feet. “I want you to tell me who knows about the documents I have. Do they know how I obtained them?”

Henley stayed expressionless and quiet, silently repeating, over and over, to keep his fuckin’ mouth shut.

Labeaux grabbed a handful of Henley’s hair, jerking his head back. “I’m very experienced at this kind of interrogation, Commander. I usually get the answers I’m looking for.”

“I want to see my wife!” Henley demanded, trying to shake loose of Labeaux’s grasp.

He barely got the words out when a hard punch just below his sternum rocked him in the chair, taking his breath away. Hunched over, he gasped for air, coughing. Keeping his head down, he eyed Labeaux’s shiny shoes, and intentionally spit on them.

The next punch to his jaw sent him ass over end. His head hit hard on the dirt floor, knocking him unconscious.

Labeaux rubbed his knuckles, then picked up the lantern. Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, he held the lantern high overhead, pausing to look back at an unconscious Henley. He turned and went up the steps to the kitchen.

Webb was sitting on the counter, but the moment he saw Labeaux, he slid off and went to the other side of the kitchen. Labeaux’s expression was enough warning.

Labeaux angrily pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Putting his foot on a chair, he swiped the cloth across his black shoe until the shine returned. Throwing the handkerchief into the sink, he washed his hands, then dried off with a towel, tossing it on the counter. Ignoring Webb, he went into the dining room.

Abu Massi stood by the window looking across the front of the property, when he heard footsteps. Turning, he saw Labeaux walking to the table. He waited until Labeaux was seated, before going to his own chair. With his hands resting on top of the backrest, his dark eyes studied Labeaux. “Who is the person you’re holding in the basement?”

Labeaux leaned back. Returning the Libyan’s stare, he answered, “He’s an American stationed at St. Mawgan, the husband of the woman who obtained the information.”

Surprise and concern suddenly appeared on Massi’s face. “Was it wise to bring him here? I seem to remember you were going to dispose of those who… ”

“That’s true, I was. But he’s the best means I have to verify final security information. He’s in charge of the American Explosive Ordnance Disposal team. He has knowledge of flights and weapons.”

Massi finally sat down. “And have you obtained the information?”

Labeaux shook his head. “Not yet. There’s still time.”

“With what’s at stake?! How can you say there’s still time? I would have thought all the information was verified before this!” Massi reacted with agitation.

Labeaux remained calm. “We can’t take any chances.”

“And where’s the woman?”

“I’ve kept the two separated. She’s locked in one of the bedrooms.”

The Libyan rocked his chair back and forth, trying to decide whether he should question further. For the moment, the prisoners weren’t his concern. The weapon was. “Tell me about Monday, Labeaux.”

Labeaux breathed an inward sigh, relieved Massi didn’t press further. “Do you know anything about the B57?” Massi shook his head. “The bomb is due to arrive tomorrow from the United States. It’s a five hundred pound, five kiloton depth bomb. The weapon can be delivered by jet aircraft or helicopter.”

“Helicopter?” Massi asked with some surprise.

“Yes. Helicopter.” Labeaux shifted his eyes to Aknin. “If my research is correct, you are an experienced pilot, and you have been trained to fly helicopters.”

Aknin glanced at Massi, leaving it up to him to respond. “Razzag does have the ability to fly helicopters.” Massi’s worried expression was more than obvious. “I do not understand how you intend to make this happen. There are only three of us, four counting your man out there,” he said, pointing toward the kitchen. “We do not have a helicopter, and that base must be heavily guarded. Please! Explain to me, Labeaux. How can this plan of yours possibly work?”

Labeaux pushed his chair back, having known these questions would eventually arise. Could he get away with his deception? “I’ve hired extra men, using part of the money you’ve paid me. They are very experienced in using diversionary tactics, and very experienced with explosives. I assume the aircraft you flew here has enough fuel to get us to St. Mawgan.”

Massi looked at Aknin, who simply nodded. Then Massi continued questioning. “You said the weapon weighs five hundred pounds. How can…?”

“That’s been arranged.” Labeaux lied again.

Massi pushed his chair away from the table. Aknin stood abruptly. “All right, Labeaux. I have trusted you in our other ventures. Now, I want you to give me any diagrams you have of the base. Razzag and I wish to examine them.”

Labeaux opened a folder and removed one page, sliding it across the table. Then he stood. “While you study that, I have something to attend to.” Without waiting for any response, he turned and went to the kitchen, closing the door.

Backing up against the counter, he took several deep breaths. He never thought Massi would question him as intensely as he had. The other times the Libyans had hired him, he was allowed to plan the attacks himself, without any interference. They trusted him. Of course, this time there was so much more at stake for the Libyans.

Massi kept his eyes on Labeaux until the kitchen door closed. Regardless of Labeaux’s clever answers, Massi remained suspicious, and now… angry.

He looked across the table at Aknin and said quietly, “Razzag, I’m no longer certain things will go our way. I have no choice but to wait until Monday before I determine whether this plan has any chance of succeeding.” Massi drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly through tight lips. “I want you to be prepared to use your skills if I give the order.”

Aknin rested a hand on his janbia as he nodded in understanding, but asked, “You mean everyone, sir, correct?”

Seeing the kitchen door opening, Massi nodded, then let his eyes fall again on the paper.