Last Op

by Jamie Fredric

  With the huge amount of money involved, it was worth the risk. The only hitch--both parties expected to have a nuclear weapon in their possession within a short matter of time.

  But for Victor Labeaux this had become his opportunity to cause emotional and physical harm to Britain, to its government, to its people. He was prepared to use the weapon on Monday. The money wasn’t really an issue.

  Labeaux was born and raised on the French Island of Corsica located in the Mediterranean off the coast of Italy. His father was a seaman aboard the French battleship Bretagne during World War II.

  Diplomatic tension between Britain and the French Vichy government caused France to send its fleet to a port in Algeria. Britain was alarmed that Germany would use these ships against them.

  Several attempts failed to convince the French to either destroy their vessels, take them to a neutral port, or side with the Allies. Churchill ordered the fleet be destroyed.

  The Bretagne was fired upon by HMS Hood, HMS Valiant, and HMS Resolution. One of the shells from the Hood penetrated the deck and hit the magazine. At least one thousand French sailors died in a battle lasting under thirty minutes. Labeaux’s father was one of them.

  The three men, Labeaux, Quinn and Webb had more in common than they knew, each with parents dying at the hands of the British.

  His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Webb’s footsteps on the stairs. He folded his handkerchief and stuffed it back in his pocket.

  *

  World War II Airfield

  There no longer was a road or runway in the true sense of the word. Green grass grew through the cracks of the broken slabs of concrete which was all that remained of a remote World War II airfield. At the north end was a concrete structure that once housed a watch office, signal room, and a metrological office. Extending out from the second floor was a balcony overlooking the runway. Walls and roof were reinforced concrete, windows were minimal, and the only exterior door was made of steel. The structure had also been used as a bomb shelter.

  Webb drove the Rover across a field of green grass, then he followed the runway to the concrete structure. The vehicle jolted as tires constantly hit the separations between slabs.

  Parking alongside the building, he killed the engine, then got out, walked to the front of the Rover, and lit up a cigarette. All Labeaux told him was to expect a two engine prop Beech aircraft. The plane would be carrying a pilot and one passenger on the final leg of their journey to England.

  Looking into the distance he spotted what appeared to be an aircraft, coming in low. Taking one last drag on the cigarette, he flicked the butt toward the structure. Opening the door, he reached in and signaled the plane by turning the headlights on and off twice.

  The twin turbo prop Beech touched down then taxied toward the structure. Once the props shut down, the two men inside got up and went toward the rear. A few minutes later, the port side door swung up and steps were lowered.

  Webb remained by the Rover, glancing at a flag painted on the tail. It was unfamiliar to him. He diverted his attention back to the exit door, seeing the men step out. Both were wearing Western style clothes, black slacks, black shirts, black jackets. A large, heavy set man carried a suitcase, while the other held a briefcase.

  Webb surmised the heavy set man was possibly a bodyguard. But who they were, he didn’t have a clue and he knew not to ask questions.

  He opened the left passenger side door, then pulled the seat forward. Without so much as a word or a glance at him, the strangers both climbed in the back seat.

  Driving away from the airfield, and as often as he dared, Webb would take a quick look in the rear view mirror. The larger man occasionally locked his intimidating dark eyes onto his.

  The passengers kept a distance apart from each other, staring straight ahead. Webb heard locks of the briefcase pop open. A very brief conversation took place. But it was all Webb needed to identify his passengers--Arabs.

  Chapter 9

  EOD

  St. Mawgan

  Chief Becker stood behind the desk, writing out the duty roster on a small rectangular blackboard attached to the wall.

  Grant opened the door, then stood in the doorway. “Is Commander Henley in, Chief?

  “He is, sir. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

  “Have him meet me outside.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  Grant went back outside and adjusted his cap, hoping the weather didn’t get any worse. Walking away from the building, he wanted to make sure the conversation he was about to have wouldn’t be overheard as it had been last time.

  He was pissed. Henley held back information. He had to find out why.

  Henley poked his head out the door, spotted Grant, then lit up a cigarette as he glanced overhead at the darkening sky.

  Grant turned and started going around the side of the building, away from windows and doors. Henley caught up to him.

  Grant jammed his hands into his side pockets. Taking a deep breath, he stared Henley square in the eyes. “No more fuckin’ around, Jack.”

  “What the shit are you talking about?” Henley asked with his voice rising. He flicked his cigarette onto the pavement, and defiantly took a step closer to Grant.

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me your brother-in-law worked on base and that he knew Carter? Why, Jack? What the hell are you hiding?”

  “Goddammit!” Henley reared back, ready to strike.

  Instinctively, and in the blink of an eye, Grant grabbed Henley’s fist, squeezing so hard Henley thought his bones would break.

  Grant’s voice boomed. “Are you outta your fuckin’ mind?!”

  “Okay! Okay!” Henley grabbed his hand, massaging his fingers.

  Grant just stood there, not believing what almost happened. It had to stop now. Leaning in towards Henley, he kept his voice deep and low. “One more chance, Jack, just one more fucking chance to tell me the goddamn truth--or you’re outta here.” He was close enough to Henley he could smell the odor of cigarettes on his breath. “I can do it, Jack. Believe me, I can do it--and you can bet your ass I will do it.”

  Henley walked a few paces away, then swung around, with his face covered in sweat. “Goddammit, Grant! Why the hell did you have to come here?!”

  “Stupid question! Now, I’ll give you ten seconds to start explaining or security will...”

  “It’s because...because of Victoria.”

  Grant raised an eyebrow. “Victoria. Your wife?”

  Henley nodded, then slowly started heading toward the parking lot with Grant staying close. “You need to keep her out of this, Grant.” He stopped and waited for Grant to respond.

  “Whatever the hell you got yourself into sounds like she’s already involved, and by your own doing.” Grant didn’t take his eyes from Henley, waiting for the next surprise. “Talk to me, Jack.”

  Henley started walking again. “Let’s go sit in my car.”

  As they headed for the car, Grant took a quick glance at his submariner. He was running out of time to call Torrinson. Right now, returning to the harbor was more important. He couldn’t ask Gunny Baranski to run surveillance. Getting him involved this morning was enough. He just hoped Adler was on his way.

  Henley unlocked the passenger door of his two-door, lime green Dodge Charger, then walked around the front, going to the driver’s side. He slid behind the steering wheel and put the key in the ignition.

  Grant got in and closed the door. Taking off his cap, he tossed it on the dash, then rolled down the window a couple of inches. He turned slightly in the white bucket seat and leaned against the door, keeping an eye on Henley. Then, he waited.

  Henley’s fingers curled around the steering wheel, with his nerves about to get the best of him. “About three months after I was stationed here, Victoria and I met at Sailor’s. She and Colin and a couple of their friends were at a darts’ tournament. We just started talking, and that was the beginning.”

  Grant shifted in the
seat, draping his arm over the backrest. “Was Carter at that tournament?”

  Henley shook his head. “No. Not that time.” He continued staring out the windshield. “After we were married, she asked if I could get Colin a job on base. He’d just gotten out of the RAF and couldn’t find work. I heard there was an opening for a civilian mechanic for the Nimrods, and as it so happened, that was one of the planes he worked on during his last duty in Kinloss.” (The RAF station is located on the Moray Firth in the north of Scotland.)

  “He put in his application. He passed security checks. He got the job. All I did was put in a good word.”

  Grant now regretted not having Adler run security on Victoria Henley’s family. His eyes narrowed as he asked, “All you did was put in a good word?”

  Henley shot him a look. “That’s what I said! What? Don’t believe me again?”

  “Any reason why I shouldn’t, Jack? I mean, you’ve been truthful so far, right?”

  Henley turned away, catching sight of Chief Becker jogging toward the car. Henley rolled down the window. “What is it, Chief?”

  “Sir, I have a message for the captain.”

  Grant leaned toward the driver’s side. “Go ahead, Chief.”

  “Sir, a Lieutenant Adler called. He just landed at Mildenhall and is waiting for a chopper to fly him here. He didn’t have a timeframe but said he’d probably see you in time for chow.”

  Grant gave an almost imperceptible smile before responding, “Thanks, Chief. If I’m not here, could you see he gets settled in at the barracks?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll see it’s taken care of. Anything else, sir?”

  “That’ll be all, Chief.”

  “Yes, sir.” Becker took off.

  Henley rolled up the window, grateful for the brief interruption, until he heard Grant’s voice. “You were saying, Jack?”

  “A couple months later I started hearing some scuttlebutt about him asking questions on what kinda munitions were stored on base.”

  “And you confronted him?” Grant asked, hoping he got the right answer.

  “Sure. Sure I did. He said he saw the marine guards and that made him curious.”

  “Marine guards aren’t unusual on any base, Jack.”

  “Of course not, but he assumed there’d be Brit guards on an RAF base. I tried keeping my answer simple. I reminded him it’s a NATO base, and since some of the munitions were from the U.S. and the Netherlands, we were put in charge.”

  “Do you think that satisfied his curiosity?”

  “At first I did, but then he started asking around about flights. Any time a delivery was made, he’d notice that area of the base was cordoned off while the shipment was safely offloaded, away from eyes, and then it was stored.”

  Grant was getting more concerned. Henley’s explanation satisfied him so far but this brother-in-law, Colin Webb, was heavily involved in the security breach. He was sure of it now. More of the pieces were slowly fitting together.

  Sweat formed across Henley’s brow. He rested his arm against the door, then he continued. “I had him meet me off base one day. I think he knew what was coming. I laid into him good.”

  Grant sat quietly. Whatever Henley was about to tell him he had a feeling would send him in the right direction.

  Suddenly, Henley swung the door open. “I need to get out!”

  Grant quickly got out of the car, slammed the door, then went around to meet up with him. Screwing his cap down, he said, “You need to finish, Jack. I don’t think there’s much time left. Tell me.”

  Henley paced back and forth. Finally, he stopped, staring up into Grant’s eyes. “That son of a bitch actually had the balls to threaten me, Grant!”

  Grant leaned toward him, carefully studying his face. “You mean he threatened Victoria, don’t you?”

  Henley pounded his fist on top of the car hood, over and over. “Goddamn him! How could he do this? Why...?”

  Grant grabbed Henley’s fist. “Jack! Enough!”

  All the blood drained from Henley’s face. He fell back against his car. “Oh, Christ! What the hell am I gonna do?”

  Grant shook Henley’s shoulder. “You’re gonna help me, Jack! Where the fuck is he? Do you know? Is he still on base?”

  “I...don’t know. The last I saw him was the night I picked up Victoria at his place.”

  “You mean the night the cops showed up at Carter’s apartment?”

  Henley nodded. He was ready to puke. “You don’t think he murdered...?”

  “Right now, I’d say no. There wasn’t any indication he was meeting Carter that night. Carter even said he didn’t recognize his contact. Remember what was in the letter?”

  Henley tried to clear his brain, trying to remember the letter. “Yeah. I do.”

  “Do you also remember Carter said he was protecting you and Victoria by mailing that letter?” Henley nodded slowly, then Grant said, “Think about it, Jack. Why would your friend want to protect you two, yet her brother makes threats?”

  “I...I don’t know.”

  Grant backed away, rubbing his chin. “Well, I’ve got a couple ideas rolling around. I’m sure of one thing...your brother-in-law put that package outside the base for Carter to pick up.”

  “Oh, Christ!”

  “You have any ideas on what could have been in that package, Jack?” He hoped he got the right answer.

  Henley turned away as he answered, “No. No. I just can’t help you. I don’t know.”

  Grant nodded but he knew Henley was getting himself into deeper shit. It was obvious he was lying. Right now he didn’t have the time to press further.

  He looked at his watch. Time to leave for the harbor. “Listen, Jack. You go back to your office. I know it’s gonna be tough, but try not to worry. What time do you usually leave for home?”

  “About seventeen hundred.”

  “No matter what time it is, you wait till I get back. And Joe--Lieutenant Adler--should be here by then. In the meantime, try and call Webb’s home, see if he’s there. If you make contact, just carry on a normal but short conversation. I’m counting on you, Jack. Don’t fuck this up. He’s probably the biggest lead we’ve been looking for. We can’t spook him.” Grant pulled his car keys from his pocket and jogged to his car, hoping he didn’t make a mistake having Henley make the call.

  Chapter 10

  Newquay Harbor

  1415 Hours

  Grant stood at the top of South Quay Hill. The drizzle was more of a mist now but the temperature dropped. He zipped up his windbreaker, then shoved his hands into his pockets while he tried to spot the rental boat. Fishing boats and tour boats were already moored or anchored. The weather changed a lot of plans.

  He scanned the entire harbor, but focused on the mooring at the breakwater closest to the small shack where he’d made the inquiry this morning. The boat still wasn’t there.

  He slowly started walking down the hill, continuing to scan the harbor and watching for the two men. He just hoped they hadn’t returned the boat early. If he hadn’t taken so long with Henley, he would’ve been here on time. He was going to be up shit creek if he missed them.

  The old man he and Gunny had talked to was standing inside the shack, leaning on the counter, smoking his pipe. Grant walked up to the shack. “How are you, sir?”

  “Do you want to rent a boat?”

  “My friend and I were here this morning asking about a rental, sir. Do you remember?”

  The old man’s thick gray eyebrows knitted together as he looked at Grant. “I’m not that old.”

  Grant cleared his throat. “Of course you aren’t, sir. Accept my apology, please.”

  Dried tobacco fell out of the pipe as the man tapped it against the side of the counter. “Unless you’ve got some experience boating in this kind of weather, son, I don’t recommend it.”

  Grant sidestepped the suggestion. “Could you tell me if the eighteen footer we were inquiring about this morning has pulled back into port?” Grant
asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “No.”

  “Is there any timeframe when you...?”

  “We always have our boats returned.”

  “Uh, I understand, sir. But what is your procedure if one doesn’t come back?”

  The old man leaned over the counter. “Then I contact them,” he said pointing his pipe toward the lifeboat building.

  “Ok. Thanks for your help.” Grant looked at his watch again. “Almost fourteen forty,” he said under his breath. He started analyzing the situation. With the size of the boat and the small engine, they couldn’t have gone that far. Could they have traveled along the coast and pulled into a cove, or another harbor? Or did they...?

  Turning away from the shack, he started walking along the breakwater, looking toward Newquay Bay. Another boat? Were they going to meet another boat?

  He spun around, beginning to jog back to the road, when he spotted someone talking with the old man at the shack, possibly someone from the lifeboat building.

  The man looked like a fisherman, wearing old slacks, long-sleeve shirt, an old sweater, with a gray tweed cap resting on his head. Grant slowed his pace, trying to catch a few words as he passed.

  “There’s the young man asking about that boat,” the old man said as he pointed to Grant.

  The man stepped in front of Grant. “I’m Harbormaster Clifton Roberts. I understand you’re interested in a particular boat that had been rented out by Albert here. Would you like to tell me why?”

  “Could I talk with you over there, sir?” Grant asked, as he started walking toward the lifeboat building.

  Harbormasters enforce the regulations of harbors or ports. British harbormasters are civilians and have full responsibility for ensuring the safety of navigation, security and operation of port or harbor facilities.