by Eric Dabbs
42
After another night at the Cheval Three Quays, Agent Grant chauffeured Alex and Samantha back to MI5 headquarters in his government issued BMW.
For Alex, Monday night had been a carbon copy of the previous night, filled with the same tension between Samantha and himself, reminiscing about the past, talking about recent events, but conveniently leaving out the night they kissed. Alex had no ill feelings toward Samantha, but the more things progressed, the more he sensed they might be on a path to become two people that worked together, at most friends, and nothing more.
Even so, Alex caught himself glancing at her more than Grant as the three stood outside of Sir Helmsley's office. The softness of her genuine smile left him with an ache somewhere deep inside. He had thought more about the night at the safe house—how she stopped him in his tracks—and how he mishandled the situation. In conclusion, he decided not to read too much into it. In the moment, it stung, but it was one night, nine years after their break-up had sent them in opposite directions. He shoved aside the swirling thoughts of their passionate encounter, and instead shifted his focus to averting a nuclear disaster.
As he pondered what their next move might be, Samantha's voice pulled him back into the conversation, which revolved around the sights one might see in London.
"You'd make a great tour guide for the city," she said.
"There's Buckingham Palace," Grant replied. "And Big Ben."
"The clock tower at the Houses of Parliament." Alex tried to focus on the British agent, but his gaze naturally drifted toward Samantha's smile.
Their eyes met. She brushed her hand through her hair, and then turned her attention back to Grant. Alex felt a warmth rush over him. It made him feel awkward like he wanted to melt into the wall next to him. He had no choice but to concentrate on what Grant was saying. What was he saying, anyway?
"...the clock tower was completed in 1859. Designed in a neo-gothic style, whatever that is."
Thank God for Helmsley, who appeared around a corner further down the hallway. He was followed by Baxter.
Grant caught wind of their presence. "Come up with anything?"
"Indeed, I did," Sir Helmsley said. "You're needed downstairs for evidence analysis."
"Oh...yes sir...straightaway, sir. Well, Mr. Banks and Ms. Peterson, off I go." Grant shuffled toward the wide staircase. Alex watched his red hair disappear from sight as the young agent descended the steps.
Now they could get back to business.
When nothing came back Monday, Alex had been forced to wait another day. The MI6 agent in Iceland caught a flight on a single engine plane to Greenland, and after a little digging around, sent back word to the MI6 director, who in turn contacted MI5 headquarters. Sir Helmsley received the call Tuesday morning and told Alex by phone he'd let Baxter break the news first thing in his office.
Alex took his accustomed place in a guest chair, as did Samantha. The director dropped his rounded figure into his plush executive style chair while Baxter assumed his usual position against the wall next to the bookcase. Helmsley nodded for his agent to speak.
Baxter seemed tentative. "Well, word has come back from the MI6 agent..."
"Yes?" Samantha said with anticipation.
"Our man did a full search. He went through every land record he could possibly get his hands on, and..."
"And..." Alex sat on the edge of his seat.
"And," Baxter grimaced, "we discovered that he doesn't own one single blade of grass on that icy frontier."
Alex sank back into his chair, sharing a concerned look with Samantha. He felt a weight of hopelessness settle over him.
"But," Baxter grinned, "he did purchase an old, World War II airbase there, way back over twenty years ago."
A renewed energy came over Alex. "Where at in Greenland?"
"The southern tip of the country," Helmsley replied. "You Americans used the base as a filling station on the way to Great Britain and Europe during the war. Mid-Junction was the official name."
"He's stupid enough to use a base he owns?" Samantha said. "It's still in his name?"
"Not according to the paperwork. About five years ago he sold the property to Swedish investors, but that could all be a ruse, a front to throw us off his trail."
"That makes sense. If he doesn't own the place, he can deny any involvement."
"It may be our only option," Alex said. "Can you get me there?"
"No worries, Mr. Banks." Sir Helmsley let his eyes drift between his American friends. "I have no doubt that I can arrange a flight. But while you're off playing commando…if you could spare Ms. Peterson…I could use her help here in London."
"You don't think I can play commando too?" Samantha said, arching her brow.
"I have no doubts, Ms. Peterson. Especially after what Mr. Banks said you did to Alfred Coraco's chief of security."
"Touché. What did you have in mind?" Samantha asked with a curious tilt of her head.
"You'll see. I'm getting a few things together for a bit of a sting operation. It'll take some time to organize, but your assistance would be much appreciated."
"While I wait, I suppose Agent Grant could show me around London."
Alex started to comment, but on the fly, he decided to address Sir Helmsley instead. "How soon can you get that flight for me?"
43
The flight to Nanortalik, a settlement in southern Greenland was set to leave at 2 p.m., London time. Alex figured it would take close to four hours to get there, so he wanted to be wings up as soon as possible. It wouldn't be a straight shot. First, he'd take Helmsley's private jet to Iceland, a journey of about two hours. After that, he'd board a single engine plane—probably the same plane that the MI6 agent used—bound for the southern tip of the land that wasn't exactly green. The last leg of the trip, although almost half the distance when compared to the first leg, would take almost as long, maybe longer since the smaller plane was much slower than Helmsley’s jet.
About an hour after updating Washington on his next move, Alex got an unexpected knock on his hotel room door. As he checked the peep hole, Samantha relaxed in a chair by the picture window overlooking the tower bridge and the River Thames.
"Who is it?" she asked.
"You'll never guess." He opened the door, welcoming their visitors into the room.
"Hello, Mr. Preston," Wes said as Alex closed the door behind Agent Reed and Agent Wilson. "Your Chief, as you call him, has thought it necessary for us to make the trip as well."
"I guess you've been briefed?"
"Absolutely. I'll be supplying the hardware as usual."
"Then make yourself at home, but don't get too comfortable," Alex said. "We leave in an hour."
The reunion was refreshing, except for a lingering doubt. Alex's mind kept going back to his safe house. Not the kiss with Samantha, but the way the place had been ransacked, likely by Coraco's men, possibly Carlos Diego. Had someone tipped them off? Someone could have followed them back to the house from the party, but he was sure he had no tail that night. There were only three other people who knew the address of the house. They were standing before him.
Alex let his wary gaze ponder the three men.
"Something wrong," Agent Wilson asked.
"No. Just concerned."
"About what?" Agent Reed replied.
“A lot of things.” Alex turned his back to them, walked over to the window and crossed his arms, looking out over the river. "This could be it. The final showdown. We need to be ready."
"We will be," Wes said. “The three of us working together will increase our chance of success.”
Alex’s eyes drifted over the men in the room, estimating the skills they brought to the table and their trustworthiness. Agent Reed was determined and shrewd, a free thinker, and also the one who hit him over the head at his farmhouse. Agent Wilson played things by the book, but seemed willing to help in any way he could. He appeared efficient and honest, but looks could be deceiving.
No matter how hard he tried to gauge Reed and Wilson's intent, the calculations in his mind kept putting off an error message—insufficient data. As for Wes, he was a weapons specialist. He seemed straight forward, like he had nothing but the technical issues weighing on his mind. If Alex could trust any of the three, it'd be him. Right?
Of course, it wouldn't be the three of them for long if their recon turned up Coraco, Raziz, and The Crescent Moon. In that case, the threesome would be joined by a platoon of U.S. Marines. Washington had a broad range of powers. He had made contact with the Admiral of the U.S.S. Bataan. The warship was on its way back to Norfolk, Virginia when Washington ordered it to drift further north. Once in place, the Bataan would hold its position for the next twenty-four hours. If Coraco and the nuke were held up at the airbase, he'd be paid a visit from a bunch of trigger happy Marines, a last resort since Greenland officials would have no knowledge of the mission. Washington said they'd just get in the way.
Wilson and Reed sat at the glass table not far from Samantha as Wes followed Alex into his room.
"So, you have our gear ready for the flight?" Alex asked.
"You know me better than that, Mr. Preston. Our necessary equipment is being loaded onto Sir Helmsley's jet as we speak."
"Anything worth mentioning?"
"Same as you used in Marbella."
"You bring the Porsche?" Alex forced a smile.
"No, I did not bring the sports car. But I did bring a few additional pieces of hardware, just in case."
Through the doorway of his bedroom, he watched Samantha talking with Reed and Wilson. Then with a discreet slide of his left hand, Alex flashed a three-by-three inch square object to Wes, and then slid it back into his pants pocket. He had a phone conversation with the owner of the villa in Marbella and discovered that no one had paid him a visit. That solidified in his mind that someone had leaked the whereabouts of the safe house. And he was sure that Diego hadn't followed him the day he chased him to the harbor. He was certain he'd lost him that day. From here on out, Agent Reed and Agent Wilson would be on a need-to-know basis. He knew he needed their help, but could he trust them?
"What's that?" Wes asked, concerning the object Alex showed him.
"Locator card for the stealth," Alex replied under his breath. "Helmsley gave it to me before I left earlier today. It'll help the British get a ping on the bird and retake control of it."
“A remote controlled airplane. Interesting.” Wes nodded and glanced over at Reed and Wilson. His brow pinched together. "Uh-hum."
"Just between you and me."
Wes nodded again. “Your secret is safe with me.”
44
NANORTALIK ISLAND, GREENLAND
The single engine plane buzzed through the night sky, transporting Alex, Reed, and Wilson to the southern tip of Greenland near the old airbase. Mid-Junction Air Force Base, as it was called eighty years ago, was located several miles from the small settlement of Nanortalik, the name meaning, place of polar bears. The town of thirteen hundred inhabitants was part of an island called, Nanortalik Island. The pilot kept the aircraft about two miles out from the base in case Coraco and Raziz were shacked up there.
Each agent carried an M4 assault rifle and a handgun. Wilson looked like the most nervous of the bunch. His big eyes and antsy behavior were possibly due to the rucksack stuffed with C4 plastic explosives strapped to his back.
"You don't think we'll see any polar bears, do you?" Wilson asked.
"You're not scared, are you?" Alex replied, rethinking the idea that the big agent was jittery about the C4.
"Who me? Nah. Just wondering."
Reed said, "We have guns. Big ones. We'll be okay."
"From what I read on Google in the hotel room," Alex said, "they mainly come down in the winter when the ice sheet extends further south. It's late summer time, don't sweat it."
"That's encouraging," Wilson replied.
Alex checked his gear one more time. He had a satellite phone and a magnetic homing device which included a small, hand-held tracking computer. Wes, who sat in the co-pilot seat and wouldn't be joining them on the ground, thought the homing device might come in handy. In addition, Alex carried the locator card for the stealth bomber that would need to be inserted into a slot inside a compartment behind the cockpit that housed the plane's emergency override software. A task that could only be completed if Alex had the opportunity to climb on top of the bird before takeoff.
Reed had the long range zoom spy camera. The camera had a collapsible tripod. But what made the device spectacular to use was that it relayed real time video to a satellite in space, which would then be beamed down to Homeland Security headquarters.
After an okay hand signal from each agent, the three men leaped from the plane's side door. Wind whipped through Alex's hair as he plummeted toward the ground below, Wilson and Reed, spread eagle to each side. From the sky, the landscape was marked with shadowy outlines of huge rocks and other fixed objects of unknown origin. But more importantly, the airbase was lit up like a creepy old ghost town in the middle of nowhere, aside from the few lights twinkling in Nanortalik.
Trained and seasoned, the agents opened their chutes at the proper altitude and glided to a flawless touchdown. They moved into action in the silent dead of night, save for a whispering wind chilling the air.
Three hundred yards from the outer edge of the base, Reed assembled the camera and tripod. To keep a low profile, the three men lay prostrate on the sparse grassy surface. The cool late summer temperatures allowed a few lucky blades of grass to sprout through the rough landscape.
Alex tapped an icon on the hand-held computer to operate the camera. The display screen revealed the visual that Washington would be receiving back at Homeland Security headquarters. With another tap of his fingertip, the camera began streaming the video to the satellite overhead. He zoomed in on the airbase by using the on-screen controls. Several armed men patrolled the outer perimeter of a large network of buildings, all of which seemed to be connected. One particular structure appeared to be the heart of the complex, likely containing the installation's aging control center. South of that were two additional structures, connected to the main base as well. Even the hangar was joined to the facility with a long tunnel-like corridor.
There was another thing Alex hadn't shared with Reed and Wilson. He had printed off a blueprint copy of the base from his laptop. Washington had emailed it to him before leaving London. He removed the paper from the inside pocket of his black fatigues, unfolded it, and studied the layout.
"What's that?" Agent Wilson asked.
"A blueprint straight from the Pentagon archives." Alex showed it to Reed and Wilson using a red LED flashlight. "The hangar's on the north end of the complex. That's where we'll likely find the bomb and the plane." Then he tapped the south end of the drawing. "This is the generator room. And of course," he shifted the light to the middle of the compound, "this is the ventilation shaft we'll use to enter the facility from a position on the roof."
"I didn't think they needed air conditioning up here." Reed couldn't hide the surprise in his voice.
"They don't, but they do need heat. That's what the shafts are for. Objective one is to place a homing device on the bomb, in case it gets airborne before we're able to secure it. If it does hit the air, we'd be able to track and intercept it. Objective two is to put the generators out of commission. We'll blow them by remote. It should create a good diversion while we try to remove the bomb from the base."
"Wilson," Alex said, "you got the night vision goggles?"
"They're in my bag."
"Good."
"You forgot something," Reed said.
"What's that?"
"How are we going to get up on the roof?"
"Simple. We'll use the staircase on the west side of the base." Alex pointed to it on the blueprint. "It's kinda small on the printout, so it's hard to see, but it was put there for maintenance reasons to keep the heat working."
> Getting in seemed simple enough.
Alex zoomed the camera in on a few more key areas to give Washington more information to go on. He knew at the moment, the U.S.S. Bataan was holding for further orders in the northern Atlantic, but he kept that to himself. Reed and Wilson were on a need-to-know basis. And right now, they didn't need-to-know that tidbit of information.
"That should be enough video for Washington. I'll give him a ring now."
45
"Fill me in," Washington said into Alex’s earpiece. “But watch what you say, the President, my bosses, and the Marine General are in the room, and you’re on speaker phone.”
"Sure thing, Chief. You're getting the same visual I'm getting. Any thoughts?”
"Looks like the place is a-buzz...are you sure it's Coraco's men?"
"As sure as I can be at this point. I haven't got any identifying visuals, but what I'm seeing is a group of heavily armed men. If they're not with Raziz or Coraco, why all the firepower?"
"Good point. How sure are you?"
"Ninety percent."
"Good enough for—”
"Chief, take a look at the east side of the base."
"The plane?"
"Yeah, it looks like the cargo plane I tried to hitch a ride on. If that's not it, it's a perfect duplicate." With the camera, Alex zoomed in on the aircraft for a close up.
"Well, I'm sure they made more than one, but if you say that's it..."
"That's it, Chief. Trust me."
"All right then, listen up," Washington said. "As I informed you earlier today, the U.S.S. Bataan set sail a few days ago for Norfolk. It's currently awaiting orders, two hundred miles off the southern coast of Greenland. I'm about to order the vessel to move within one hundred and twenty-five miles of the coast. That’ll get the ship within range of their choppers. You'll need to wait close to four hours before going in, or else you'll be way ahead of your backup."
"Copy that."