Last Op

Chapter 21

Webb turned the car off the road, driving across a pasture. Adler followed close behind. Neither vehicle had headlights on. They were moving at a crawl, attempting to avoid irregular depressions, rocks, clumps of dirt.

They’d driven about thirty-five yards off the main road, when Grant had Webb park alongside a hedgerow. The airfield still wasn’t in sight.

Grant felt confident no one in the building would be leaving during the night. If anyone did make an attempt to drive off… well, he and Adler would be ready and more than willing to put a stop to the intended “trip.”

Using the handle of his .45, he smacked the small overhead light. Webb covered his head when small pieces of plastic and bulb rained down on him.

“Okay, let’s go,” Grant said.

Webb looked at him defiantly. “Up yours!”

His door flung open. Adler grabbed his arm and yanked him out, making sure he landed hard on his ass. Adler kept his voice low. “That’s not being very friendly. Now, get your ass up!” Using one hand, he jerked Webb up so violently, that Webb’s feet left the ground. A shove started him stumbling toward the van.

Grant closed both car doors quietly, then met up with Adler at the side of the van. He slid the door open. Adler immediately climbed in, took a seat on the opposite side, and reached inside the rucksack.

Grant leaned close to Webb’s ear. “No more shit. Get in.”

Webb climbed in and reluctantly sat on the bench seat, trying to keep as much distance between himself and Adler. Paying more attention to Adler, he forgot Grant was behind him, until a strong arm was around his throat. Within a second, Grant took hold of Webb’s right arm and jerked it back.

Webb struggled, trying to break free. Adler slid across the seat, and slapped a piece of duct tape across his mouth. Webb’s eyes were the size of dinner plates when he saw the hypodermic. Adler injected the sodium pentathol. A few eye blinks later, Webb was out.

“Handy stuff,” Adler smirked, putting the needle in a hard case. He dropped it in the rucksack. “He’s not going to be out that long, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Come on. Help me throw him in the back. You’ve got enough duct tape, right?”

“Never leave home without it.” He taped Webb’s ankles and wrists. “Now what?”

Grant eyed the tarp, and started smoothing it out. “We’ll roll him in this.”

“Uh, skipper, that’s covered with blood.” Grant gave him one of his looks. Adler responded, “Just thought I’d mention it.”

After quickly securing the tarp around Webb’s body, Grant said, “Let’s put him on the seat. We’ll lash him to it. That should prevent him from rolling around.”

When they finished, they sat on the front seats. Without any lights in the van, they relied on their years of experience and checked their .45s, then the Uzis.

Grant looked out the windshield and into the blackness, hardly able to distinguish anything around them. Adler reached behind the seat and pulled out two pairs of NVGs from his rucksack, handing one to Grant.

Their upcoming trek to the airfield, and eventually to the building, would be slow. But they still had plenty of time to remain hidden under the cover of darkness.

Grant clicked a button on his submariner, turning on a backlight. They had fifteen minutes until they moved out.

Sitting quietly in the dark, they skillfully spread black camouflage paint on their faces, in random, disruptive patterns. Then, they waited.

Aknin and Massi sat in the plane’s cabin. Small reading lamps above their heads were the only lights shining. There wasn’t anything for them to do except stay at this forsaken airfield. Monday afternoon, the time Labeaux scheduled the attack, seemed too far off.

Aknin took a final gulp of orange juice then put the glass on the tray. “I must walk outside for awhile, sir.”

Massi dismissed Aknin with a short wave of his hand, then he rested his head against the seat.

The plane’s collapsible stairs shook with each of Aknin’s heavy footsteps. Finally standing on a section of broken concrete, he stretched his back and looked overhead into complete darkness, feeling a light mist touch his face. The humidity and rain were not to his liking, and he swiped a hand over his beard.

Beneath his shoe he could feel the jagged edge of the concrete, with a soft section of grass filling in the spaces. As broken and fractured as this old runway was, he had no problem handling the plane when they landed. Takeoff tomorrow should be no different.

What he did worry about was the English weather, hoping it didn’t prevent tomorrow’s planned attack. Labeaux assured Massi they would have their B57 even if the American plane bringing one to St. Mawgan was delayed. The bunker guarded by American marines held a stockpile of such weapons. The men he hired would help make the operation a success.

Aknin looked toward the building. Earlier, there had been a disturbance. One of the hostages, the man, was shouting angrily.

Labeaux had left the plane, annoyed, telling Massi he would go take care of the situation by himself. It had been quiet ever since.

Walking around the front of the plane, Aknin ran his hand along one of the props, feeling the moisture. He wiped his hand on his shirt, as he turned his attention to the road in the distance. Why hadn’t Labeaux’s man returned from the town? He raised the binoculars hanging around his neck. Still no sign of headlights.

When questioned earlier, Labeaux once again tried to reassure Massi that Webb’s being late could be a matter of the weather. The explosives’ expert he was to meet only had a small craft to take to the harbor. The water could be rough, plus navigating the bay at night could add to the delay.

Since the explosives had already been placed around the perimeter of the base, all Webb had to tell him was the time to set them off and when to take care of the guards. There was still plenty of time.

Knowing that tomorrow he and Massi would be leaving this retched country, pleased Razzag Aknin. He lowered the binoculars, then went up into the plane. It was time to cleanse their bodies, to begin the ritual. But with just enough water for drinking, they’d have to perform the Tayammum, dry ablution (act of washing oneself).

Once the cleansing was complete, they’d begin the “Salah.” In Islam the act of “Salah” is a person’s communication with and remembrance of God, submitting completely to the Creator. Its basic meaning translates to bowing, homage, worship, prayer. Before midnight they would say their last, and fifth prayer of the day, the “Isha.”