Last Op

by Jamie Fredric

  *

  EOD

  St. Mawgan

  As the three men approached EOD, Grant reached for Henley’s arm. “Hold up, Jack. I’d like you to wait in the outer office while I phone the admiral.”

  “Victoria may be in danger, and you want to make a fuckin’ phone call?!” Henley shouted.

  Grant’s head was pounding. “Look, Jack, I realize you’re worried, but can’t you understand our concern about the thousands of people in this town?”

  Henley just stared at Grant, not responding. Right now he didn’t give a shit about anyone else except his wife.

  Grant turned and opened the door. Only two men were in the EOD office, both on duty. Everyone else left for the evening.

  When the three officers entered, the petty officers stood. “Evening, sirs.”

  “As you were, gentlemen,” Grant said, giving a cursory nod, then he turned his attention to Henley. “Jack, why don’t you give your brother-in-law a call while we talk with the admiral? Tell me what you find out.” Henley just watched the two men disappear into his office.

  Adler closed the door behind him. His question to Grant was more of a statement. “You don’t think there’s gonna be anybody at that house, do you?”

  “I’d be surprised otherwise,” Grant answered, glancing at his watch. He picked up the phone and dialed the number for NIS.

  “Admiral Torrinson’s office. Petty Officer Phillips.”

  “Zach. Captain Stevens.”

  “Afternoon, sir!” the red-headed Phillips responded.

  “Is the admiral available, Zach?”

  “He’s over at State, sir. Secretary Freedman requested a meeting.”

  “It’s important, Zach. Any way to patch me through?”

  Phillips nodded to himself. “Wait one, sir.”

  Adler hooked his thumbs in his back pockets and walked to the window. Nukes! Not a pleasant thought.

  Grant leaned back against the edge of the desk, crossing one foot over the other. With his head down, he tried to piece together what they learned so far. It wasn’t much. He wondered if Secretary Freedman would accept the little he did have.

  Grant never met the Secretary, but only heard occasional scuttlebutt from his two friends in the Secret Service. Freedman was impatient, demanding, and egotistical. When he was appointed Secretary of State, Washington “buzzed” for weeks. He had yet to face a crisis...political or otherwise. This might just be the time.

  Grant wasn’t sure what to expect during the coming conversation.

  Zach came back on the line. “Sir, I’m patching you through to Secretary Freedman’s office.”

  Grant finally heard Torrinson’s voice. “Captain?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m here with Secretary Freedman, Grant. SECDEF and SECNAV should be arriving shortly.”

  “Sir, I still don’t have a whole lot of information, but I think it might be time to bring in SIS.”

  “Let me put you on speaker, Grant.”

  A moment later, Grant heard, “Captain Stevens, this is Secretary Freedman.” Freedman kept his eyes on his cigar as he rolled it between his fingers.

  “Afternoon, sir.”

  “Do you have anything to report, Captain?”

  “Not much, sir, except I think I’ve identified a couple more players.”

  “Are they major players?” Freedman asked, as he glanced at Torrinson.

  “Sorry, sir, but I don’t believe so.”

  Freedman shook his head in disappointment, as Torrinson took over the conversation. “Grant, you mentioned something about SIS.”

  “Yes, sir. I know I don’t have a lot to go on, but I think they’re the ones who might be able to assist in making identifications.”

  “Are you suspecting any group or specific individual?”

  “Well, sir, I may be reaching here, but considering the situation between Northern Ireland and England, we may have to look at the IRA.”

  Torrinson leaned back, mulling over Grant’s suggestion. It was well known that U.S. and Libyan sympathizers supplied arms and money to the Northern Ireland cause, but to suspect the IRA of using nuclear weapons was indeed a stretch.

  Freedman stuck the unlit cigar in his mouth, gnawing on the tip. Letting it dangle from the corner of his mouth, he questioned, “Captain, what are your thoughts about the Libyans being somehow involved?”

  “Well, sir, there’s always that possibility, but right now I’m going with the IRA. Can’t deny Libya might be helping with the financing, and we know they want nuclear technology, but...” Grant slowly shook his head. “Sirs, I just don’t have enough intel to answer with any positive conviction.”

  Before there were comments, Grant said, “Admiral, Mr. Secretary, it may be time to consider the consequences. There are thousands of people here in Newquay, residents and tourists alike, and that’s not counting the small hamlets within only a few miles of St. Mawgan.”

  As Grant waited for a response, there was a knock at the office door. Adler opened it seeing one of the petty officer’s. Grant looked at the two as he finally heard Freedman ask, “Captain, are you suggesting a total evacuation of that area?”

  Adler closed the door and stepped near Grant, whispering, “Fisherman found a body.”

  Grant covered the mouthpiece. “Get details.” Adler nodded then left.

  “Captain?” Freedman said louder.

  “Sorry, sir, but we just got a report that a body’s been found.”

  Torrinson spoke up. “Grant, I suspect you have some additional details to share.”

  “Uh, yes, sir.” Grant proceeded to relay all the information about the boat and the two individuals he saw at the harbor, adding information about the trip to the debris site.

  Then it was time to bring up Commander Jack Henley. He decided to keep to himself his own concerns regarding Henley’s possible involvement. He still didn’t have proof. “Sirs, I’m worried about Commander Henley.”

  Both the Secretary and Torrinson didn’t like the sound of that. “Go on,” Torrinson replied.

  Grant described Henley’s depth of worry concerning his wife, ending with, “We don’t know where she is, sir.”

  Torrinson replied, “You’ve got a lot of different directions to go, Grant.”

  “I know, sir. Have to find out about that body first. Depending what we learn, Joe and I might be heading to St. Columb Major to check out the brother-in-law’s place. Oh, sir, is it possible to have someone run a check on that guy? My fault; should’ve done it sooner.”

  “Give me his name,” Torrinson said, jotting down the information. “When I get the report, where should I contact you?”

  “Tough answer, sir. Maybe just leave word here. We’ve got radios and Chief Becker has the frequencies. Joe or I will try and check in from wherever we are.” Grant ran a hand over the top of his head, feeling frustrated and worried.

  Secretary Freedman broke in. “Captain, I’ll talk with the president about SIS getting involved. If that happens it’ll probably be someone from their MI6 division. And Captain, you realize that division doesnot exist.”

  “I understand, Mr. Secretary.” Grant smiled to himself, thinking about another group--SEAL Team Six. They didn’t exist either.

  Chapter 13

  Newquay Harbor

  Shops along Fore Street were busy. Tourists hustled in and out, carrying recent purchases. Small children had their noses pressed against storefront glass, pointing to toys and local souvenirs. Restaurants were overflowing, inside and out. Some patrons carried their dinner with them: fish ‘n’ chips wrapped in “cones” made from newspaper, perfect for absorbing grease.

  Pubs were just as crowded. Customers stood under awnings or sat at small tables covered by umbrellas.

  A steady flow of traffic moved at a slow pace. Parking along the main, one-way street was a problem. With only a few parking lots available, congestion was common.

  Henley was driving the van with Grant in the pass
enger seat and Adler in back. Adler commented on the traffic. “At this rate, maybe we should’ve walked, skipper.”

  Grant looked ahead and pointed. “Almost there, Joe. It’s the street’s by that building with the blue awning.”

  Henley made a right off Fore Street onto South Quay Hill. He slowed the van, then had to stop because of the crowd. The road was almost totally blocked by a throng of curious onlookers, jostling one another, trying to get a better view. Word had spread quickly about a body being found in the bay.

  Brit cops had already put up wooden barriers at the curve. They stood by, preventing anyone from scooting around them.

  Grant opened the door. “I’ll see if they’ll let us down there.” Hopping out of the van, he elbowed his way through the crowd, heading to the nearest constable.

  The constable put his arm out. “You cannot proceed any further.”

  “I need to talk with Habormaster Roberts, sir. He and I spoke earlier about a...situation. Tell him it’s Grant Stevens.”

  “Wait here, sir.” The constable motioned to another officer, who immediately ran down to the breakwater, stopping next to a moored fishing boat.

  As he waited, Grant looked around the harbor. Two cop cars were parked on the breakwater. Another two blocked the road at the bottom of the hill. The only civilians appeared to be the fishermen who most likely found the body. Grant turned around, scanning the crowd. He spotted the old man who rented the boat standing next to another constable.

  “You can go down, sir,” the constable said to him, after getting a wave from the harbormaster.

  “There are two others in that van who are with me,” Grant pointed. “You need to let them through.”

  Getting the cop’s approval, Grant motioned for Henley to drive, as he started running to where the harbormaster was waiting.

  Once he was at the bottom of the hill, he jogged over to Roberts who was standing opposite the fishing boat. The two shook hands.

  The sound of a car door slamming made Grant take a quick look. Adler hurried toward him. “Suggested the commander stay in the van.”

  Grant nodded, then looked down at what was left of a partially blackened hand. It was poking out from underneath a worn piece of tarp that probably came off the fishing boat. “Where’d they find him, sir?”

  “South of here,” Roberts replied. “He got tangled in the nets.”

  “Mind if I take a look?” Grant asked as he stepped closer.

  “Not a pretty sight,” Roberts commented.

  Grant took that as an “it’s up to you” answer. He squatted down and reached for the tarp, slowly drawing it from the body.

  “Damn!” Adler said under his breath, as he snapped his head back. He knelt down next to Grant. “Phew! Anything look familiar?”

  Grant tried to find something recognizable. “I’m pretty certain it isn’t the guy with the raincoat. I got a pretty good look at him when the boat pulled out of the harbor.”

  The body he was looking at was just a bloody, blackened mess. The left hand and ear were missing. His abdomen was split open, exposing the lower section of what was left of his liver. Most of the disembowelment was from the explosion, but also partially from active sea life.

  Grant commented, “This guy could’ve been the one with the weapon. He’s about the right height and body size. Christ! He must’ve been right on top of whatever blew.” His eyes followed along the length of the body down to the legs. “Either he slammed into something or something slammed into him to cause those compound fractures of his legs.” Without taking his eyes from the body, he asked Adler, “Got any ideas?”

  “Probably not much gas in that small engine, but some C4 would’ve helped nicely with whatever was there.” He got down on a knee. Squinting, and trying not to breath too deeply, he leaned closer, moving his index finger in a small circle just above the scorched temple. “What does that look like to you?”

  “Christ!”

  “Yeah. Looks like a bullet took care of this guy before the explosion did.” Not wanting to touch any part of the dead guy, Adler went to the other side of the body. Bending over, he looked at the head and pointed. “The exit was here, in front of where his ear used to be.”

  Grant drew the tarp back over the body, then stood. He asked the harbormaster, “Did the old gentleman who rented the boat take a look at this?”

  Roberts shook his head. “You mean Albert? We thought it best he didn’t.”

  “Understand, sir.” Grant backed up a couple of steps, taping Adler on the arm. “Let’s go.” He held his hand toward Roberts. “Sir, really appreciate your assistance and letting us take a look.”

  Roberts took hold of Grant’s hand with a firm grasp. “Anytime, mate!”

  Henley stood next to the van on the driver’s side puffing on a cigarette. When he saw Grant and Adler coming towards him, he dropped the cigarette, asking anxiously, “Well? Did you learn anything?”

  Adler gave both of them a quick look, then got in the back seat, as Grant said, “I’m sure it’s one of the men I saw taking out the boat, but still don’t know who it is. Come on, Jack. You drive.”

  One of the cops at the top of the hill waved them toward him. Henley put the van into drive and started driving slowly.

  The curious crowd was being pushed back to allow the van to pass. Grant was staring out the windshield. As they approached the curve, he said under his breath, “Son of a bitch!” He immediately unsnapped the holster strap, then rested his hand on the handle of his .45.

  “What the hell are you lookin’ at, skipper?”

  “I think it’s him!”

  Henley was craning his neck, looking in every direction, not knowing what or who he was looking for.

  Adler questioned, “Who? The guy you saw earlier at the harbor?”

  “Yeah. The ‘raincoat’ guy.” Grant reached for the door handle. He opened it just until it unlatched, then he hung on. He couldn’t let the suspect out of his sight. “Jack, drive slowly. Keep your eyes straight ahead.”

  Henley pressed on the accelerator, just enough to barely move the van forward.

  Adler eased his weapon from the holster and flipped off the safety. He scooted across the seat, getting close to the door.

  “Shit!” Grant spat out. “He’s got glasses (binoculars) on us.” It was then Grant drew his weapon.

  The van was almost through the blockade. Adler had one hand on the door handle, waiting for Grant to make his move.

  The cops pushed the crowd back farther, trying to make room for the van to pass. Henley’s heart pounded against his chest. He didn’t have any damn idea on how, or even if he’d be participating

  Just then, the suspect turned and started to disappear in the crowd.

  Grant shouted, “Jack! Follow us, but stay back at a safe distance!”

  He threw the door open and jumped out, then slammed the door. He made a dash past the cops. Pushing his way through onlookers, he kept his arm hanging close to his body, with the .45 grasped in his hand. Adler stayed close. Trying to see over the top of the crowd, they finally broke through the masses.

  Grant spotted him. “There he is!”

  The suspect was running full bore up South Quay Hill. His dark raincoat flapped around him. There wasn’t anywhere for him to go but up. The cliff was to his left and a rock wall with jagged rocks lining the top were on the right. Curious onlookers leaned against the cliff wall, turning their heads as he ran behind them.

  Keeping him in sight until he rounded a curve at the top, Grant and Adler put themselves into overdrive, trying to catch up.

  Slowing as they neared the curve, they hugged the wall and ducked down, edging their way closer to where the road straightened. Grant looked around the wall, then motioned Adler to follow him. They scrambled across the street, getting close to a building, slowly making their way toward an alley on the left.

  Poking his head around the corner, Grant didn’t see anyone or hear the sound of feet slapping against pavem
ent. Again, the two took off, running straight ahead. Grant knew this part of town. The next main road was Fore Street, with a parking lot about two blocks down. Fore Street was one way, with traffic heading in their direction.

  When they reached the corner, they stopped. There was a steady stream of traffic. People walked on both sides, looking in shop windows. The “raincoat man” was nowhere to be found.

  Grant whispered to Adler, “Take the opposite side.” Adler waited until a car passed, then he darted across the street, ducking into a narrow alley next to a fish ‘n’ chips cafe. He signaled Grant he was ready.

  Grant cautiously came around the corner. Staying close to the building, he walked faster. Folding his right arm across his middle, he tried to hide the weapon under his left arm. He maneuvered his way around people stopping to look in shops.

  Adler wasn’t far behind on the opposite side, still ducking in and out of doorways. He’d stop, look at Grant, then try and find the suspect.

  Grant was only a block away from the parking lot, when a sound of screeching tires and a loud revving engine made him tighten his grip on his gun. Within seconds a Range Rover came tearing out of the lot. The vehicle flew over the curb, continuing straight across Fore Street. The driver of an Austin Maxi hatchback hit the brakes, nearly broadsiding the Rover. People getting ready to cross the street jumped back, stunned.

  The two Americans raced to the corner. Firing their weapons wasn’t going to be an option with so many civilians in the way.

  Grant ran across the street, catching up to Adler. All they could do was watch the ass end of the Rover disappear around the bend onto Manor Road.

  “Goddammit!” Grant said between clenched teeth.

  “Just can’t seem to catch a break on this one, skipper,” Adler said, holstering his weapon. “There wasn’t even a license plate.”

  Grant holstered his .45, finally taking his eyes from the now deserted road. As he turned, two men came up behind him and Adler.

  “Bloody hell, mates!” the younger man said, eyeing the weapons in the holsters. “What the fuck happened?”