Last Op

by Jamie Fredric

  Backing up against the couch, he sat down heavily, trying to understand himself, his stupidity, his reason...

  “Jack,” Victoria called quietly.

  He sat up, seeing her standing in the bedroom doorway. She tucked her hair behind her ears, then tied the nightgown sash around her waist as she started walking toward him.

  “Are you all right, Vicky? Do you need anything?”

  “Can I sit with you?” she asked softly.

  He patted the cushion. “Come on.”

  She sat on the edge of the cushion, turning enough to look at him. Even with a limited amount of light coming through the window, he could see her eyes moist with tears.

  He gently enfolded her in his arms, drawing her close. She burst into tears. “Oh, Jack! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! I don’t want anything to happen to you!”

  There were no words for him to say. He let her cry until she finally fell asleep.

  Holding her tightly, he stared blankly at the ceiling. There they’d stay until it was time to shower and dress, then wait for the ride to St. Mawgan. He’d already decided to take her with him, counting on Grant to get her safely to Mildenhall.

  Then it would be time for him to spill his guts to Grant...and face the consequences.

  *

  Grant finished relaying Henley’s conversation to Adler, ending with, “Guess we can cross something off the list.”

  “Yeah. One down and how the hell more to go?”

  Grant pursed his lips and shook his head. Grasping the back of his neck, he squeezed and squeezed. “Something’s not right!”

  “What’s wrong, skipper? That instinct trying to tell you something?”

  Grant turned around. Resting his hands on the edge of the desk, he leaned back, as he looked down, shaking his head slowly. “Dammit.”

  Adler raised an eyebrow. “What? She’s home, isn’t she?”

  “I know. I know. But tell me, Joe. What do you think the odds would have been of her ‘disappearing’ during the same time we...?”

  “While we were wondering where her brother was, and losing the ‘raincoat’ and, etcetera, etcetera,” Adler interrupted.

  “Something like that.”

  Adler went quiet, trying to wrap his brain around what Grant was intimating. “What are you gonna do?”

  “Have to keep going and see where it leads.” He picked up the phone and dialed a number.

  *

  Torrinson pushed his chair back from the dining room table and went to the living room. As he wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin, he picked up the receiver. “Torrinson residence.”

  “Sir, it’s Grant.” Before Torrinson could reply, Grant added, “I apologize for calling you at home, sir, but it’s important.”

  “We’re just finishing a late dinner, Grant. What’s wrong?” Torrinson sat on the sofa.

  “We’ve identified a major player, sir.”

  Torrinson’s back straightened. “Where are you?”

  “At EOD, sir. Do you want to call me back from a secure phone?”

  “Yes. Yes. Give me five minutes to get to my office.”

  “All right, sir.” Grant hung up.

  Adler straddled one of the chairs with his arms folded across the top. “He calling back?”

  Grant nodded, just as the phone rang. “Sir?”

  “Tell me, Grant. Who and how’d you find this ‘player’?” Torrinson asked anxiously.

  “Victor Labeaux, sir. We...”

  Torrinson was halfway into the chair when he stopped, almost not believing what he was hearing. “Labeaux?!”

  “Yes, sir.” Grant proceeded to explain how he and Adler saw the name in the rental book, and then the run-in at the harbor. “We just couldn’t catch him, sir. And we don’t know where he’s hiding. There’s one possibility where he could be, but...”

  “And what about Mrs. Henley, Grant?” Torrinson finally sat down.

  “She’s home, sir.”

  Another shocker for Torrinson. His voice rose as he questioned, “What?! Where the hell was she?!”

  “According to the commander, she’d fallen on her way home and was knocked unconscious. Police finally found her and brought her home.”

  “Is she all right?” Torrinson asked.

  “She refused to go to the hospital, sir.”

  Torrinson had learned to read between the lines with Grant Stevens. He leaned his head against the swivel chair, then he asked, “You didn’t quite answer my question, Grant.”

  Grant walked back and forth next to the desk. “Just can’t put my finger on it, sir. But something’s bothering me. It may just be because of the commander’s earlier reaction. And I haven’t had a chance to talk directly with Victoria, I mean Mrs. Henley.”

  “You planning on doing that?”

  “My list of things to do just keeps growing, sir. And after seeing Labeaux, I’d say whatever he’s got planned, well, the time might be getting closer. He’s gotta be my top priority right now, sir.”

  “By the way, Grant, I got the intel back on Colin Webb.”

  Grant wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the report. Was he about to have more shit thrown at him? “Yes, sir?”

  “It seems Mr. Webb has been living under the pretense of being Mrs. Henley’s step-brother.”

  “I’m listening, sir,” Grant said, really paying attention now, especially after catching the word ‘pretense.’

  Torrinson had the report memorized and relayed the information to Grant.

  Grant never expected any of it but he finally got his answer. “I guess the connection’s been made, sir.”

  Torrinson swung his chair around, staring out the window toward the main street. “Do you think the commander knows about this, Grant?”

  “Could be, sir, but can’t be sure until I confront him.”

  “Well, I’ve got something else for you to chew on,” Torrinson said. “You and Joe are on your own.”

  “I take it the recommendation to bring in SIS or Interpol was shot down, sir.”

  “Let’s just say there’s been a breakdown in all communication. State felt it best not to pursue the matter, mainly because we didn’t have anything specific, that it’s all assumption.”

  “Am I understanding correctly, sir, that the breakdown is within our own government?”

  “Maybe we’d better just let it rest, Grant. You know I can get just as frustrated as you when it comes to these matters.”

  “Yes, sir. I know.”

  “Well, look on the bright side,” Torrinson continued, “maybe it’s better without outside interference anyway. That’ll leave the two of you to do what you usually do best.”

  “You wouldn’t mean get into trouble, would you, sir?” Grant laughed.

  “Not exactly what I had in mind, but that, too!” Torrinson stood and stretched his back, then checked the clock on the corner of his deck. “I’ll try to call SECDEF and SECNAV. It shouldn’t be too late. They need to know about Labeaux. Maybe that’ll help change everyone’s attitude. By the way, do you still have that letter?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have you talked with the local police?”

  “No, sir. I haven’t.”

  Torrinson could only shake his head and smile at the answer he’d expected. “Very well, Captain. Good luck.”

  “So,” Adler said, as Grant dropped the receiver in its cradle, “I take it SIS is out of the picture.”

  Grant nodded. “And Interpol. Freakin’ politics even with what’s at stake.”

  “You gonna explain about a ‘connection being made’?”

  Grant relayed everything Torrinson told him about Colin Webb.

  Adler finally asked, “You think Mrs. Henley mentioned any of this to the commander?”

  “Who the hell knows? But it could be the answer to why Jack’s being so uncooperative.”

  “So you’re thinking he knows more than he’s saying?”

  Before Grant could respond, Petty Officer Weaver kn
ocked at the door. “Captain?”

  “Come,” Grant answered.

  Weaver opened the door then stood in the doorway. “Sir, Gunny Baranski’s out here; said he’d like to have a word with you.”

  Grant waved the marine in. “Come on in, Gunny. Good to see you again.”

  “Sorry to come here so late, sir.”

  “Not a problem. Oh, Gunnery Sergeant Phil Baranski, this is Lieutenant Joe Adler.”

  “Gunny,” Adler said, shaking Baranski’s hand.

  Grant backed up against the edge of the desk. “Coming through the gate tonight, we noticed two guards.”

  “Yes, sir. Colonel Donaldson spoke with the base C.O. He didn’t give him any info about your op, sir, just told him we had more weapons being delivered over the next couple of days and thought there should be more security.”

  “Good. Now, have you got something for us?”

  “I was putting the duty roster together and thought you and I hadn’t discussed anything about flight schedules, sir.”

  Grant nodded. “Go on.”

  Baranski handed a paper to Grant. Adler stepped closer, trying to see the information.

  “Well, sir, we’ve got flights coming in twice a week delivering weapons. Thought you might have some questions.”

  “Are they set schedules?” Grant asked.

  “Since I’ve been here, they have been, sir.”

  Adler asked, “Gunny, are the planes offloaded at the same location no matter what weapons are being delivered?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Baranski explained the same procedures are followed with every weapon being delivered: Before the plane even lands, security force vehicles wait by the runway, then follow it to a cordoned off area, getting as close to the main storage bunker as possible. Then the weapon or weapons are offloaded. A security team follows the weapon until it’s secure inside the bunker.

  Baranski added, “Even then, a guard is always posted within the bunker itself, sir.”

  “So there’s a door beyond the entry door?”

  “Yes, sir, there is. Can I take you on a tour, sir?”

  “Wish we had the time, Gunny.”

  Adler took the paper from Grant, scanning the type of aircraft and the weapons being delivered.

  “Got ‘heavies’ coming in, Joe?” Grant asked, while he gave his back a stretch.

  “Afraid so, skipper,” Adler answered, sliding his finger along the paper.

  The schedule showed Monday afternoon and Thursday morning. Each aircraft was bringing in one B57 from the States. Adler pointed out that according to the markings on the paper, each weapon was five kilo.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Baranski said, “but how well do you know the 57s?”

  Adler looked at the marine, and in all seriousness he answered, “Let’s just say I’ve seen them up close and personal, Gunny.”

  “Joe’s EOD, Gunny,” Grant explained.

  “Oh, I see, sir.”

  Grant jammed his hands into his back pockets and walked to the other side of the room. It was Sunday morning. There wasn’t much time left. He was sure Monday would be the day the shit would go down.

  He massaged his shoulder, as he rotated his arm. He walked toward Baranski. “Gunny, are there patrols throughout the day, I mean, especially patrols around the perimeter of the base?”

  “Yes, sir. I don’t know what kind of schedule there is, though. Just like us, the Brits keep that stuff close to the vest.”

  “Understand, but what’s the possibility your C.O. could ask them to step up patrols, day and night?”

  “Well, Colonel Donaldson got them to add extra guards. Can’t see why he won’t want to do this.”

  “Appreciate it, Gunny. Listen, did you have anything else for us tonight?”

  “Uh, no, sir. Just let me know if you need any help, sir. I mean...”

  Grant walked Baranski to the outer office. “You’re first on my list, Gunny.”

  Once Baranski left, Adler yawned and rubbed his eyes. “What say, skipper, think we can catch some Zs? Expect we won’t get much the next couple of days.”

  As the two walked to the barracks, they remained quiet. This op was similar to the mission in Russia. They were tasked with stopping an East German fanatic from poisoning Politburo members. Except this time, the effects were far more reaching--they had no idea what Labeaux intended. They only knew he had to be stopped.

  Adler started to open the door to the barracks, when Grant said softly, “Hold up, Joe. Let me run something by you.”

  “Sure.” Adler closed the door. They walked farther away from the building. “Speak to me.”

  “Okay, the majority of nukes at St. Mawgan are meant to be delivered by aircraft,” Grant began.

  “Affirmative.”

  “Now, I’d say the odds of Labeaux’s co-conspirators having the knowledge and ability to fly any jet is remote.”

  “Agreed.”

  Grant shook his index finger at Adler. “But what if he wasn’t planning on flying anything outta here?”

  “Wait! You know there’s a shitload of procedures to go through to arm one of those ‘babies’ and that’s not done till the aircraft’s airborne. Why and how do you think he’d try to explode something from the ground?” Adler asked, surprised and worried at the thought.

  “Didn’t say that. What if he just intends to hold the base captive for some reason, threatening?”

  “C’mon, skipper. Do you really think Labeaux would do that? I mean, do you think he’s doing this solely for money?”

  Grant paced back and forth. “Oh, I’m sure he’s being paid handsomely. But, you’re right. It’s not his style to extort. And it’s probably too goddamn late to find out anything about his past.”

  “You think he’s got some deep emotional issues pent up inside from his childhood?” Adler asked facetiously.

  “We can check with Dr. Freud later. For now, let’s rethink aircraft.” He started walking away when he stopped short. “Shit!”

  “What?!”

  “We’ve gotta get the choppers outta here.” He took off toward EOD.

  Adler yelled, “What the hell...!” He caught up to Grant. “And your reason?”

  “It’s a helluva lot more likely Labeaux would attempt to get his hands on a chopper than a jet.”

  “Wait a minute! Wait a minute! A chopper? Don’t you think that’s just a little slow to fly something outta here? Shit! A jet and its weaponry could blow it to smithereens within the blink of an eye.”

  “We can’t take the chance, Joe. We’ve gotta remove anything the son of a bitch could possibly get his hands on. Christ! I’d ship all the ordnance outta here under cover of darkness, if we had the time.”

  “Okay, but where the hell could you send the choppers? What if we need one?”

  Grant decided St. Eval was the perfect location. The distance was less than two miles and the choppers could be recalled in a heartbeat. They couldn’t give Labeaux a heads-up by moving them out too early. Late this afternoon or early evening he’d make it happen.

  As they approached the EOD office, Grant thought out loud, “It’s time to have the base C.O. invited to this party.”

  “You’re planning on calling Torrinson again, aren’t you?”

  “Why not? We shouldn’t have all the fun.” Grant’s smile slowly disappeared. He went silent, backing away from the door and looking straight ahead toward the airfield.

  Adler had seen the look many times before. The clenching of the jaw, the grinding of teeth, meant the “wheels” were definitely spinning. He’d usually let it play out, staying quietly to himself, never knowing what to expect, or where the thought process would lead them.

  The waiting was killing him this time. Putting his hands on his hips, he stepped in front of Grant. “Well, you gonna fill me in?”

  Grant tugged on the brim of his cap. “The way Gunny described the bunker and its security, I can’t imagine Labeaux attempting an attack directly on it. I’
m thinking Labeaux will go after the plane making the delivery. Think I’ll see if we can get that flight delayed or stopped altogether. Let’s see how much pull Torrinson’s got.”

  “Maybe that’ll give us the extra time we need to catch the bastard!” Adler said, nodding his head.

  Grant had his hand on the doorknob. “And about those Zs--consider them taken. After we make the call, we’re heading to CID. Maybe they can help find where Labeaux’s hiding.”

  Chapter 15

  Newquay Police Station

  Sunday

  0700 Hours

  “You got the radio?” Grant asked as they got out of the MG.

  “Got it handy.”

  As they headed for the entrance to the station, Adler ran a hand back and forth across his chin. “Don’t think either one of us is looking too presentable this morning, skipper.”

  “Not a priority. Come on.” Grant took off his cap and smoothed his hair back. He opened the door.

  The two of them approached the desk. “Excuse me,” Grant said.

  The uniformed officer turned around. Grant immediately recognized the constable. “Sergeant Fowley, right?”

  Fowley looked at Grant for a moment. “Oh, you’re the American I spoke with the other night.”

  “Yes, sir. Grant Stevens. This is Joe Adler.”

  Both Adler and Fowley acknowledged each other with a nod, then Fowley looked again at Grant. “What brings you here this lovely morning? Could it be you’re wanting to speak with Chief Inspector Townsend?”

  “Yes, sir. I realize we’re a little late in...”

  “Wait here,” Fowley ordered. He walked from behind the desk, then turned down a hallway.

  Adler leaned sideways against the desk and propped an elbow on top. “See you’ve made another friend.”

  “Yeah. We’re good buds.” Grant went near the end of the desk, looking down the hallway, finally seeing Fowley motioning for him. “Let’s go. We’re being summoned.”

  Fowley stood in the middle of the hall, waiting. As Grant and Adler approached him, he held an arm out to the side. “Right in there, gentlemen.”

  “Thanks, sergeant,” Grant said with a sideways glance.

  He and Adler walked into a large open room with several desks, separated by low dividers, and lit by bright florescent lights.