Last Op

Chapter 18

The wheels of the chopper barely touched earth, when Grant and Adler jumped out. Running at full speed toward EOD, they didn’t give a shit they were still in their wetsuits.

Bursting into the office, Grant pushed his hood off his head and shouted, “Has anyone heard from the commander?”

Petty Officer Weaver spun around, spraying coffee across a wall and desk. “Captain Stevens! No, sir. We haven’t had any contact with the commander. No, sir!”

“Where’s Chief Becker?” Grant asked between clenched teeth, but trying not to let his frustration get the better of him. No response from Weaver. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of two other petty officers behind the main door. As soon as his eyes focused on them, they jumped to attention.

Grant turned and stepped directly in front of one and then the other. He glanced at the name tag sewn to the petty officer’s green fatigue shirt. “Do you know where Chief Becker is, Petty Officer Jarrett?”

“Sir, I believe the chief went to talk with Gunny Baranski, sir!”

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? As you were.” Grant turned to Adler and winked.

He started walking to Henley’s office. “Marty, get Chief Inspector Townsend from CID on the phone. We’ll be in the commander’s office.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

Adler closed the door and leaned against it. “Now what?”

Grant pulled the zipper of his wetsuit down a few inches. “I’d like to get outta this damn wetsuit!”

“Totally in agreement!” Adler laughed.

“Captain Stevens?” Weaver called from behind the door, with no intention of entering the room. “Chief Inspector Townsend’s on line one, sir.”

Grant put his hand on the receiver. “Joe, give Gunny Baranski a call. Get Becker back here, and have him bring Gunny with him. Oh, and Joe, have somebody get a couple of towels.” Adler nodded and left.

Grant picked up the receiver. “Chief Inspector Townsend?”

“Yes, Captain Stevens.”

“Sir, before you give me the report on the rental houses, I’ve got some important news.” Grant proceeded to tell Townsend about the catamaran, where they found it, and the number of men on board.

Townsend scribbled on his notepad, trying to keep up with Grant’s description, finally asking, “When did this happen?”

“Just past noon, sir.”

“Do you have any idea who those men were? Why the explosives?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t authorized to tell you earlier, sir, but I think they were IRA.”

That bit of information was something Townsend wasn’t expecting. “IRA?!”

“Yes, sir. We heard a couple names called out, but one in particular was ‘Callum.’ Do you recognize it, sir?”

“Son of a bitch,” Townsend said, throwing his pen on the table. “Callum Quinn. And you’re right, Captain. IRA. You don’t think there were any survivors?”

“Highly unlikely, sir. There was a shitload of explosives on board. And with the explosion, so went any possibility of an interrogation. That was our only hope to get more info on the bastard Labeaux, sir.”

“I sure would have liked to get ahold of one of them myself, Captain.”

“You might have the Coast Guard check out Lundy for debris and body parts, sir. I doubt there’s much left that would give us any more clues. Maybe contact the officials on Lundy. There might be civilians that need to be kept away.”

“I’ll do that straightaway, but with an explosion like you described, I have a feeling they were already notified. Now, putting that aside for a moment, would you like to know what I found out about the rentals?”

Grant sat up straighter. “Affirmative, sir!”

“We made visits to the first two houses. One was in Quintrell Downs, the other in Trevemper.”

“Which means you didn’t have any luck at those two. Tell me you found something or someone at the third, sir.”

“In the village of St. Newlyn East there’s an old home, ‘Tafton Manor.’ The home is set well back off a country road. My men noticed a wide set of tire tracks. They looked to be fairly fresh. So, they decided it best to stay back.”

Grant interrupted. “They didn’t want to take the chance of possibly being surprised.”

“Correct.”

“Then do you have a name for me, sir? Who rented that house?”

“Were you expecting the name ‘Victor Labeaux’ by any chance, Captain?”

“Just tell me, sir.”

“The rental contract was signed by a Mr. Virgil Lawrence, paid in advance for three months, and in British pounds.”

Grant’s heartbeat flew off the chart. “Jesus Christ! Sir, don’t you see? Virgil Lawrence. ‘V. L.’ That’s Victor Labeaux!” Grant swung around, hearing the door open. He waved Adler closer.

“Are you sure?” Townsend asked, already suspecting it was Labeaux. He so enjoyed screwing around with Yanks.

“Too much of a coincidence with the names, sir.”

Townsend finally responded, “I agree, that’s why I posted one of my men at the drive entrance. You want to come with us when we go investigate?”

“Damn right we would, sir!”

“Anything else I can do for you before that?” Townsend asked.

“Nothing I can think of, sir.”

“All right. And if I hear from my man at the house, I’ll call you; otherwise, you show up here at my office in one hour. Can you make it?”

Grant looked at his watch. “How about an hour and a half, sir?” Townsend agreed. Grant hung up.

“What happened?” Adler asked. “What’d I miss?” He handed Grant a towel.

Grant rubbed the towel over his head as he filled Adler in on the conversation.

“Captain Stevens?” Weaver said with a knock on the door.

“Come on in, Marty,” Grant replied.

Weaver came in carrying two mugs. “Thought you both might like some hot coffee, sirs.”

“Thanks, Marty. Let me know when the chief gets back.”

“Yes, sir.” Weaver left.

Adler took a sip of the hot brew then asked, “Why do you think he didn’t use that name when he rented the boat?”

“Good question, except the house rental probably needed some kind of official contract. Maybe he thought it would’ve been easier to trace with a real name.”

Adler rubbed his chin in thought. “Could be. Getting back to the Cat, skipper. I expect Labeaux doesn’t know it went ‘boom’ yet.”

“Don’t see how he could. That’s definitely one in our favor. Unless… ”

“Unless?! Unless?! You keep throwing wrenches into this shit!”

“Unless there were more men who are now nowhere to be found.”

“Oh, Christ! You really think so?”

“This shit’s getting outta control.” He turned the phone around. “Maybe the admiral can step in.”

“What can he do?”

Grant was ready to ask Torrinson to talk to the base commander and Colonel Donaldson. His plan was to have the base C.O. authorize flyovers around the perimeter. The likelihood of explosives being planted was remote since all the shit onboard the Cat had been blown to hell.

But he just needed to add another measure of safety. Time was running out. He couldn’t hold anything back. He dialed Torrinson’s number.

Just finishing his conversation, Grant hung up when there was a knock at the door. “Sir, it’s Chief Becker. Gunny Baranski’s with me.”

“Wait one, Chief,” Grant said.

“What do you have in mind, skipper?”

“First, we’re gonna get out of these wetsuits.” He went to the door and opened it.

Becker and Baranski backed up, surprised at seeing the two officers in wetsuits.

“Chief, Gunny, we’ll be back in about twenty. In the meantime, Chief, contact everybody. And I mean EOD and your security team. They’re to report here ASAP. See that every man gets a weapon with extra ammo,” Grant ordered, noticing Baranski already had a weapon. “How long will that take, Chief?”

“As long as they’re in the local area, they should all be here in thirty minutes, sir.” Becker stepped toward Grant. “Sir, you gonna tell us what this is all about?”

“I will, Chief, as soon as we get changed.” Grant looked at Baranski. “Gunny, call your C.O. Give him a heads-up on what we’ve discussed. Advise him Admiral Torrinson’s waiting for him to call. It looks like we’ll need as many marines as he can spare.”

“Yes, sir,” Baranski responded, immediately going to the desk.

Adler held the door open. Grant started to leave then turned around. He looked down and just shook his head before looking up at bewildered faces. “Gentlemen, we’ve got a dangerous situation going on. I’m sorry you’ve been kept in the dark, but security was vital. I’ll explain in detail when we get back.” He and Adler rushed from the building, leaving the EOD men wondering now, more than ever, what the hell was going on.

When the two men returned to the office, they were facing a roomful of questioning, concerned faces. Most of the men were in their twenties and early thirties. All the EOD men had been put through the same grueling training in Key West, Florida; Aniston, Alabama; Indian Head, Maryland. They knew every ordnance in the world. Some had already put that training to use. But here in St. Mawgan, England, they could be put to their ultimate test… preventing the theft and possible use of a nuclear weapon.

Once EOD and security had been fully briefed, Grant had Weaver contact Townsend, telling him they were on their way.

About ten minutes later, Grant steered the van into the parking lot, noticing Townsend standing outside the building. He pulled next to him, as he rolled down the window. “Do you want us to follow you, sir?”

Townsend pointed to a black, four door Anglia. “Think that would be best. Three of my men are already in the car.”

“Lead the way,” Grant replied.

Townsend started to leave, then he turned again, leaning close to the open window. “Can I assume you gentlemen have your own ‘protection’?”

“Your assumption is correct, sir,” Grant responded, patting his holster under his jacket.

Townsend slapped the door. “Then I guess we’re all set.” He walked to the Anglia and got in.

Grant pulled out of the parking lot, staying close to the detectives’ car.

“Well, skipper, whadda ya think?”

“Think I’m gonna be pissed if we don’t find anything or anybody.”

“Know what you mean,” Adler commented. He gave Grant a quick look, wondering if he was physically up to par. He reasoned it didn’t matter.

Once away from the downtown area, the Anglia picked up speed with the van hanging close. There was just enough room on the narrow road that would allow two vehicles to pass one another.

Out of the corner of his eye, Adler couldn’t help but notice the hedgerows. They seemed too damn close.

“Maybe we should’ve brought the MG!” he said to Grant.

“Aren’t you having fun?” Grant asked, sliding the van around a curve.

“Not exactly!”

“When this shit’s over, we’ll come back with the MG!”

“Changed my mind! Not a chance!” Adler shouted.

The Anglia finally started slowing as the two vehicles approached the village of St. Newlyn East. Flats, shops, houses, were all within a few feet of the road. Adler noticed in some parts of town there weren’t any sidewalks. Some doors dangerously opened onto the road itself.

The Anglia made a left onto another narrow road, again lined with hedgerows. The farther they traveled from the village, the more the road narrowed. Hedgerows got even closer.

“Christ!” Adler spat out. “I’m sure glad I’m not claustrophobic!”

Another two miles and the Anglia slowed. The van wasn’t far off its bumper. The vehicles were moving under fifteen mph.

“Must be close,” Grant mumbled.

Finally, the Anglia pulled off the road and into a small clearing near a creek. Grant followed the car as it drove around a stand of trees and brush. He parked, then waited until the detectives got out before he killed the engine.

Adler slid the side door open as Grant came around. Dragging the rucksack closer, Adler opened it and took out four extra clips for the .45s, handing Grant two. They slipped them into their jacket pockets. Starlighters, binoculars, NVGs (night vision goggles), a shotgun mike, throat mikes, C4, det cord, and Adler’s ever popular duct tape rounded out the remaining contents of the rucksack.

Drawing their .45s from the holsters, they checked them one last time. Adler glanced at the Uzis hiding behind the seat. He closed the door quietly, then slung the rucksack over his shoulder. They met the detectives by the Anglia.

Grant noticed Townsend eyeing the rucksack. “Tools of the trade, sir.”

Townsend didn’t need further explanation. He pointed across the road. “My man should be fifty meters or so up that driveway.”

With weapons drawn, the six men headed across the road.

The Americans stayed behind the detectives as they all walked quickly but cautiously up the driveway. Nearing the location where Townsend’s man was supposed to be, they slowed their pace.

Townsend called quietly, “Leo.” No response. He signaled for everyone to spread out. They continued walking.

Stopping again, and now starting to worry, Townsend called, “Leo.”

Adler tapped Grant’s shoulder, then pointed to an area in some thicket just off the driveway. He handed Grant the rucksack. “I’m gonna check something.”

Grant nodded, then staying several paces back, he went to the edge of the driveway, keeping his eyes in constant motion.

“Skipper,” Adler called softly.

Grant ducked down, seeing Adler shaking his head and pointing toward his feet.

“Oh, shit,” Grant said under his breath. He jogged up the driveway, signaling with a short whistle. Townsend and his men turned seeing Grant waving them toward him. As they started coming back, he hustled to where Adler was now standing along the edge of the drive.

“What is it?” Townsend asked.

“I’m afraid it isn’t good, sir,” Grant replied. He pointed, “He’s in there.”

Townsend paled, then pushed aside some brush and walked into the thicket, his three men following. Grant and Adler stayed back.

Continuing to look at the detectives, Grant asked, “What happened to him, Joe?”

Adler made a movement with his hand. “Throat was slit; nearly took his head off. He already bled out.” He took the rucksack from Grant.

“Jesus Christ!” Grant put his head down, with pictures flashing through his mind of the times and the places he’d seen that kind of death. Too many times. Too many places. He looked at Adler and spoke softly. “I don’t know, Joe.”

“Don’t know what?” Adler asked, keeping an eye on the detectives.

“From what I know about Labeaux, this just doesn’t seem like his M.O. (modus operandi). And that had to be a helluva knife to do that kind of damage, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah. I agree.”

Townsend was in the lead, pushing aside branches as he and his men walked to the driveway. Grant offered their condolences. “We’re sorry, sir. It’s… it’s never easy. May I ask his name?”

“Moore. Detective Sergeant Leo Moore.”

Townsend’s eyes were red. “We don’t have time to get the M.E. out here.” He looked back at the body. “I just can’t leave him like that.”

Grant responded, “You can put him in the van, sir. Joe, check the van for something to wrap the body in.”

Adler left and within a short time came back with a folded tarp, handing it to the detectives. Once the three left, he immediately got down on a knee, opened the rucksack, and took out a throat mike, handing it to Grant. Townsend stood near, but kept his eyes on his men.

Working quickly, Grant and Adler attached small batteries to their waistbands. Each battery had a dangling antenna. Wires ran from the batteries to the throat mikes and earpieces.

Grant held onto the earpiece, then said to Townsend, “Why don’t you let us go ahead, sir? That’ll give you time to take care of Detective Sergeant Moore.” He looked at his submariner. “How far to the house?”

“Maybe another hundred meters or so.” (Three hundred feet).

“Joe will come back to get you if we find something.”

As Grant turned, Townsend grabbed his arm. “I want to find the bloody bastard who did this.”

“Understand, sir. So do we,” Grant replied, as he adjusted the earpiece.

The detectives finished covering the body, then Townsend assisted them in carrying it to the van.

Staying along the right side of the drive, Grant and Adler moved as fast as they dared. They stopped occasionally to listen for any noises that might be coming from up ahead. Noticing that the driveway made a slight curve to the right, they moved closer to the brush and trees.

The stone house of Tafton Manor finally came into view. It was situated approximately forty-five yards away, with the driveway circling around to the right, eventually disappearing around the back.

Using thicket for cover, they cautiously made their way until they were opposite the side of the house that didn’t have a single window.

As they continued forward, the greenhouse came into view. At this point they were less than ten yards from the house.

Listening for anything, and hearing nothing but the rustle of leaves and a small stream, Grant pointed Adler toward the greenhouse. Once Adler reached the structure and had taken up his position, Grant made a dash across the driveway.

He tried to see through the dirty, grime-covered paned windows. It was nearly impossible. Adler continued sliding his back along the panes of glass, edging his way nearer to the corner. He slowly leaned his head forward and scanned the yard. He stepped back. “No Rover.”

“Dammit!” Grant said softly. “Okay. Check the barn. I’ll watch your six.” He took the rucksack from Adler and slung it over his shoulder.

Checking again that it was clear, Adler took off, running across the driveway, heading for the barn. Signaling Grant that he was moving on, he stepped cautiously and disappeared behind the barn.

Grant tried to rub grime off a window, but the inside was just as dirty. Moving forward, he positioned himself close to the corner, keeping an eye out for Adler. While he waited, he continued scanning the property.

Adler spoke into his throat mike. “Clear around back. Checking inside.”

“Go.” He watched Adler cautiously stepping into the barn.

Now he started to worry. With no sign of the Rover, and if they didn’t find anybody inside the house, they were up shit creek. Labeaux could’ve gone anywhere.

He heard Adler in his earpiece, “Barn’s empty but there were tire tracks on the west side. Looks like a small vehicle was parked there.”

“Okay. See anybody looking from windows?”

“Negative.”

“How far is the door from me?”

“About twenty feet.”

“On my way.” Seeing Adler make a dash toward the house, he slid around the corner, then hustled to meet him. Standing on opposite sides of the door, they took another look around. Grant pointed to the ground in front of them. “Wide tire tracks.” Adler nodded.

As Grant reached for the doorknob, he and Adler froze. Taking aim toward the sound, they waited. Townsend and his men were coming around the greenhouse with their weapons drawn.

Lowering his weapon, Grant put a finger to his lips, then motioned for the detectives to stay back. The four men backed up against the structure.

Grant turned and reached for the doorknob again. Locked. Adler took the leather case from his jacket pocket. Within a short amount of time, the lock “clicked.” Grant waited until Adler was ready, then he turned the knob, pushing the door open slowly.

It was impossible to keep the old rusted hinges from squeaking, but he had to open it. When there was enough space to pass through, he motioned for Adler to go ahead.

He stayed close behind, walking through the dark entryway, finally stopping when they reached an open door leading to the kitchen.

Hearing a sound behind him, he turned, seeing Townsend coming around the door. The only way to stop him was to shoot him. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an option.

Motioning once again for Townsend to stay where he was, he turned back to Adler and whispered, “Ready?” Adler gave a quick nod. Grant said, “Go.”

Adler stepped into the kitchen, aiming his weapon wherever he was looking, methodically checking every space. “Clear.”

Grant came in. Spotting a door on the opposite wall, he whispered, “Did you check?” Adler shook his head. Opening it slowly, they both stared into total darkness, but noticed steps leading down. Grant pulled out a penlight from his jacket. “I’ll go down. You check in there,” he said pointing to the dining room.

The penlight didn’t illuminate much, as Grant started down the creaking wooden steps. He’d take one careful step at a time, then aim the light toward the next step. Squinting, he tried to see beyond the staircase but could only see a dirt floor. He breathed in a damp, musty, foul odor emanating from the basement. There was an eerie stillness.

Stepping off the last step, he aimed the light around the room. Small pieces of shattered glass lay scattered near an old kerosene lamp, then he spotted something in the far corner. The closer he got, he could see it was a wooden chair. What made him stop short was seeing the rope wrapped around the chair legs. “Oh, fuck!”

Adler had just started checking the bedrooms, when he heard Grant in the earpiece. He hustled down the stairs, then stood by the open door. He tried to find Grant within his penlight’s beam. “Skipper?”

“He was here, Joe.”

“Who?”

“Jack,” Grant replied. Getting closer, he aimed the light around the base of the chair, not seeing any sign of blood. Picking up the rope, he slid the light along its length, relieved he didn’t find any blood.

He took a quick check of the rest of the basement, then he started up the stairs.

Adler backed up as Grant stepped into the kitchen. “What caused your ‘fuck’ remark?”

“Found a chair with a length of rope around the bottom.”

“Any blood?”

“Negative. Did you finish searching upstairs?”

“Not completely. On my way.”

As Adler went to the second floor, he wondered if after finding the rope and chair, Grant had any flashbacks of his own captivity in East Germany. Even though he himself had been held captive in Sicily that one time, it wasn’t violent like the one Grant experienced.

“Captain?” Townsend called softly from the entryway.

“Come on in, sir.” Grant holstered his weapon.

Townsend entered the kitchen with one of his detectives. “I left the other men to check the property.”

Grant nodded as he removed the earpiece, letting it dangle outside his jacket collar. “That’s fine, sir.” His mind was still on the chair in the basement, hoping Henley was okay.

“Are you all right, Captain?” Townsend asked stepping closer to Grant.

“What? Oh, yeah. Listen, there’s evidence someone was held prisoner in the basement. I’m guessing it was Jack, I mean, Commander Henley.”

“What did you find to make that assumption?”

“A wood chair and length of rope on the floor. You can take a look for yourself.”

Townsend motioned for his man to go to the basement. “What about the wife?”

“Nothing yet. Joe’s upstairs scoping it out.”

They both turned hearing Adler coming down the stairs. Grant asked, “Anything?”

“Nothing too specific,” he answered.

Grant recognized the expression on Adler’s face. “Come on. Tell me what you found.”

“Just this.” Adler handed Grant Victoria Henley’s ID card. “It was behind a lamp on the side table.”

“Why the hell did she even bring it? How could she think anybody would show up here, least of all us?” Grant questioned under his breath.

Adler added his own comment. “Unless the commander somehow managed a way to signal her when they were being taken from the house.”

“Possibly,” Grant said, “but she sure took one helluva chance.” He handed it to Townsend.

Grant refocused his mind on the dead detective. He turned and walked into the dining room. Three of the four wooden chairs were angled away from the table. He stood quietly and closed his eyes as he pictured the dead man. He tried zeroing in on the slash across the man’s throat.

“Am I interrupting?” Adler asked.

“Affirmative,” Grant replied, while continuing to keep his eyes closed. Adler sat on one of the chairs. Clasping his fingers behind his head, he watched Grant and waited.

“Joe, take a look on the carpet around the table.”

“Gonna give me a hint?” Adler got down on his knees and started crawling.

Grant got down on all fours. Sliding his hand across the carpet, trying to feel through the nap, he searched around the opposite side of the table. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

Townsend came into the room, stopped, then just stared at the two men crawling on the floor. “Did you gentlemen lose something?”

“I’m hoping one of the visitors did, sir,” Grant answered.

Adler reached under one of the chairs and picked up something with his fingertips. “I win!” he announced.

As he stood, Grant and Townsend walked to him. “It’s some kind of red stone, skipper.” He dropped it in Grant’s outstretched hand.

Grant held his hand open, giving Townsend a chance to look. “It’s what I was afraid of, sir.”

Townsend picked the stone from Grant’s palm, holding it between two fingers. He held it up to the light. “What makes you say that?”

“The way your man was killed, sir. That slash was violent. It had to be made by someone who’s experienced in using a type of knife sharp enough to split a hair, sir… and I mean lengthwise.

“The type of knife I’m thinking of is called a ‘janbia.’ It’s carried in a scabbard. Some of the fancier scabbards have jewels set in them.”

“And you think this stone came from one of those?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Do you know who?”

“Right now I can’t give you a name, sir, but I’ll bet Joe’s ass at least one Arab was here, possibly Libyan.” Adler ignored the “ass” remark.

Grant lowered his head, knowing it was time to bring Townsend up to speed on the St. Mawgan situation, without releasing anything about nukes. He pulled a chair close. “Sir, why don’t you sit down, and I’ll fill you in on why Joe and I are here.”

When Grant finally finished, Townsend could only shake his head. “And you think the IRA and the Libyans are working together, by hiring this Labeaux character?”

“No, sir. I can’t see them doing that. Those two aren’t about to share.” Grant stood in front of Townsend. “Look, tomorrow there’s one plane coming into St. Mawgan, possibly with cargo.” Grant looked at Adler, who was nodding, as both of them thought the same thing. “So what if neither group knows about the other being involved? What if Labeaux has his own plan? What if he has no intention of turning anything over to either one?”

“Then what’s the point? I mean, aside from the money he’s probably been paid, what would be his reason?”

“We haven’t asked CIA to give us background information on Labeaux. It’s time we did. Maybe we can find something in his past that’ll help answer the question, sir.”

Townsend stood, handing the stone to Grant. Seeing his men waiting in the kitchen, he said, “I guess there’s no reason to monitor this place any more.”

Grant nodded in agreement, “Don’t think so. Whoever was here sure as hell won’t be coming back after finding one of your men spying on them, sir.

“Joe and I will call the States once we’re back at base.” Grant changed his thought process again, focusing on how the Arabs got to England. “Sir, how many old airfields are there within a twenty mile radius?”

“You think they came by plane?”

“With a small plane, they could’ve come in under radar, sir. And how many fuel stops depended on where they actually departed from. But I’m sure it could be done, sir.”

“We can check on those airfields back at the office.”

Grant started walking toward the kitchen. “One more request, sir. Can you check on a vehicle registration for Colin Webb?”

“I’ll take care of it personally.”

“Thanks. Look, I know you want to get Detective Sergeant Moore back to Newquay, sir. It’d be our privilege to drive him wherever you like.”

“I’d appreciate that, Captain.”