As he turned to leave, Grant responded, “Just a slight misunderstanding.”
“Quite the bloody misunderstanding, I have to say!”
Without further response, the Americans kept walking, looking toward South Quay. Henley was sitting in the van, parked at the corner, nervously slapping his hand against the outside of the door.
“C’mon,” Grant said. “Let’s try our luck at St. Columb and hope we can find that bastard Webb.
“What about the admiral? Aren’t you gonna call him?”
Grant stopped short. His frustration and lack of time were getting the best of him. He pushed his cap back with his thumb. Looking at his good friend, he could only shake his head.
“Jesus Christ, Joe! I don’t know which way to go first. We’ve gotta find Webb. We’ve gotta find Victoria, the ‘raincoat man,’ and then there’s the little issue of nukes. What the shit am I supposed to do?”
Adler rested a hand on Grant’s shoulder. “You do what you always do, skipper. You know, listen to that little gut thing of yours. I know it’s in there somewhere,” he said, pointing at Grant’s middle.
The two friends just stared at each other. Adler noticed a look in Grant’s eyes that gave him pause. He stepped closer. “Are you okay, I mean, are you having any pain?”
“Like I told the admiral, I’m working at a hundred ten percent.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been known to bend the goddamn truth more than once, haven’t you?”
Grant took a deep breath. “Help me out here, Joe.”
“Just name it.”
Grant finally gave one of his unmistakable shit-eat’n grins. “Help me do what we do best.”
“You mean find the freakin’ bad guys?”
“Fuckin’ A, my friend! Fuckin’ A!”
The two walked to the van, but as they walked side by side, Adler looked at Grant out of the corner of his eye. He knew Grant was just covering up. He was hurting for sure.
Grant yanked the door open and climbed into the front seat. He had to find out who “raincoat man” was. His best shot was the rental boat shack.
“Think we’d better take you home, Jack.”
“What the fuck do you mean, take me home?! Who the hell was that guy? And what about my wife?!”
“That’s why you need to go home! Look, she may try to contact you, or maybe she’s already there. Come on. Get movin’.” Henley pulled out onto Fore Street.
Adler sat quietly, looking at Grant. Whatever the plan was, it kept changing every time they turned around.
He leaned his head back against the seat, resting his hands on his stomach. The rumbling was non-stop. Maybe he needed to have Grant teach him some of that karate shit. He needed to learn discipline and concentration. Nothing else had worked to divert his thoughts from food.
*
Within ten minutes Henley pulled up to his house. No lights were on, inside or out. Adler handed him the house keys.
Henley got out. Grant slid over to the driver’s seat as Adler climbed in the passenger side.
Grant rolled down the window. “I’ll have one of your men pick you up in the morning. If you hear from your wife, call us. But promise me you won’t do anything without us. Hear me?” Then Grant lowered his voice. “Listen, Jack, we’re going to find her. You’ve gotta trust us.” He extended a hand to Henley.
Henley nodded, as Grant said, “Wait. Give us Webb’s address in case CID needs it.”
Adler wrote down the St. Columb Major address, wondering why Grant even brought up CID.
Henley turned away, then walked to the house.
As Grant drove to the end of the cul-de-sac, Adler asked, “Why the hell did you say it was for CID?”
“Didn’t want him to think we were going. I’ve had enough of his bullshit.”
Grant drove past the house slowly. A light in the kitchen had just come on.
“That’s all you can do, skipper. Time to stop the babysitting.”
“Yeah. You’re right.”
Grant put on the turn signal and stopped at the bottom of the road, waiting for a lorry (truck) to pass. As he made the right-hand turn, Adler asked, “So, what’s next?”
“I’ve gotta find out who that guy was. There’s something about him, but I can’t put my finger on it. I’m thinking the best shot is the rental shack. They’ve gotta have records. Maybe we can get a name.”
“I’m assuming we’re waiting till it gets dark,” Adler said.
“We’ll get you some chow, don’t worry.”
Adler put his hands together as if in prayer. “Thank you!”
*
Labeaux looked in the side mirror, not seeing any other vehicle behind them. “Slow down! We don’t want to draw any further attention.”
Webb eased his foot from the accelerator, and glanced quickly at Labeaux. “Who the hell were those bloody men?” he asked, without really expecting an answer.
Labeaux put an elbow on the armrest. He remained quiet. He thought about when he left the harbor with Farrell. Two men were on the breakwater casually glancing at them. But maybe it wasn’t just a casual glance after all, because one of the men chasing him tonight was one of those two. Seeing him through the binoculars had convinced him.
Concerned, Labeaux retraced in his mind this evening’s events, seeing the man being allowed to pass through the barricades, then inspecting the body. It had to be someone with credentials of some type. There wasn’t any reason for the British government to be involved over a body found in the bay. He wasn’t wearing any uniform, so maybe he was a local detective.
He’d instructed Quinn to see that none of his men carried any identification. He was positive Farrell didn’t have any. That should slow down the investigation.
The bigger question, and the most troubling, was why that man was chasing him? Why were two men chasing him? Surely, civilians and even local police wouldn’t know him. But he was definitely recognized by one of those men.
That left only one plausible explanation. It was the woman, even with a threat of death, that had given him up. That’s who it had to be. And those men at the harbor were possibly British or Americans and possibly from St. Mawgan. And if that were the case, he had to find out how much information she did give up, and to how many.
His fist came down hard on the dash, rattling the glove box...and Webb, who nearly drove the Rover into a hedgerow. “What the fuck?!”
It was unlike Labeaux to show any emotion, especially in front of someone, but this situation had rattled him to the core. He was always the man in charge, in control of every operation. Those who paid him to terrorize were usually the ones who feared him. The feeling coursing through his body left him with a strange sensation. Is this what fear felt like?
Things just weren’t going his way. And it started when he let the woman go. That was going to change.
Chapter 14
Sunday
Day Three
0045 Hours
All the kiosks along the breakwater were closed up tight. Inside the lifeboat building a single light illuminated the orange craft. A small light burned above the adjacent rowing club office door.
Grant and Adler stood at the top of the hill observing the area. Curious onlookers had long since departed. Barricades had been removed. Not a constable was in sight. All evidence of the previous evening’s event had disappeared.
Most of the boats were moored to the south breakwater. Small rowboats and sailboats had been pulled out of the water, and rested on sand closer to the road.
The two men started slowly walking toward the harbor, keeping close to the stone wall, trying to stay in the shadows. As they rounded the corner, they stopped, hearing a faint sound of laughter. A large motor boat, moored to the breakwater, had a dim light glowing inside the cabin. A man stood at midships, helping a woman to board. They disappeared inside the cabin. It became quiet again.
Continuing on, Grant and Adler ducked into a passageway next to the lifeboat building. Peeri
ng around the corner, Adler scanned the area, zeroing in on the opposite side and the kiosks. Street lamps lined both sides of the entire length of the breakwater casting shadows across concrete.
He motioned for Grant to wait, while he crept towards the glass door of the lifeboat building. Seeing no one, he signaled Grant. Keeping low, they ran to the first small kiosk, immediately rushing around to the back. Staying close to the kiosk, they hesitated briefly before running to the next building, positioning themselves, one on either side of the door.
Grant signaled with a thumb’s up. This was the kiosk. Adler nodded, then got down on one knee. He took out his penlight then inspected the lock. It was a simple single-dial padlock. All he had to do was pull on the shackle, turn the dial until it stopped, and repeat the process until the combination was revealed. He held the light between his teeth; his nimble fingers began their task.
Grant rounded the corner, side-stepping along the west side of the kiosk until he was near the front corner. Not hearing anything, he leaned slightly, just far enough until he was able to see. A movement caught his attention. He ducked back. Putting his hand on his .45, he leaned forward again. Someone was inside the lifeboat building. Whoever it was seemed to be making a slow inspection around the orange craft.
Grant slowly stood up, then eased his way behind the kiosk, walking around Adler, maneuvering to the opposite side. Staying close to the building, he edged his way closer to the front. Just moving that short distance gave him a clearer view inside the lifeboat building. He recognized the figure as Harbormaster Roberts. Pressing his back against the wall, he took a breath then continued to listen for anything out of the ordinary.
A soft sound of music emanating from inside the motor boat made him pause. While he and Adler were trying their damnedest to prevent a tragedy, people around them were still enjoying the simple things in life, totally unaware. But maybe that’s the way it was supposed to be. He refocused his attention on the harbor.
Adler kept his eyes on the lock, as his fingers deftly turned the dial, back and forth. One last turn and he was able to pull up the shackle. He removed the lock and put it in his pocket for safe keeping. Then he quietly went to the edge of the building. Aiming his penlight toward the wall of the kiosk next to them, he flashed it twice. Grant turned and saw him give a thumb’s up.
Adler eased the door open, then poked his head inside the darkened, compact space, barely eight by eight. He made a sweep with the penlight. The only window was at the front. A metal accordion-type shade was pulled down, secured at the bottom.
Grant came in behind him, took out his penlight, then quietly closed the door.
Adler whispered, “What are we looking for?”
Grant went near the window, shining the light along the countertop. “A log book or receipts. There’s gotta be records for the rentals.” Moving the light beam to the second shelf, h
e thumbed through colorful brochures and pamphlets advertising boat tours and fishing expeditions.
Adler opened a door to a small, dilapidated wooden cabinet. Three shelves were spaced evenly apart, with the top shelf set at eye level. “Might have something here,” he whispered as he lifted out a green, hardcover book with a black spine. Embossed on the front, in worn gold letters, was the word: “Record.” He handed it to Grant.
Laying it on the counter, Grant turned to the first page. There were five columns, each divided by thin red lines. He flipped through the pages, looking for the latest date.
“Anything?” Adler asked, looking over Grant’s shoulder.
“Not yet.” Grant ran his index finger down the first column, finally taping his finger on a date. “Here’s the day Gunny and I were here.”
“See anything with a number five and a J?”
“Bingo!” Grant whispered, as he tapped his finger on the page.
They both looked at a signature, trying to make out the scribble. “Think he used his real name?” Adler asked.
“He probably had to show an ID, but that could’ve been phony.” Grant leaned closer to the book. “Looks like the initial ‘V’ and then there’s....” He looked at Adler, then he closed the book.
“You know who the hell it is, don’t you?” Adler asked.
“Does the name Victor Labeaux ring any bells?”
“Are you shittin’ me?! Why the hell would he use his real name?” Adler reached for the book, and put it back on the shelf.
“Part ego, I’ll bet, but I don’t think he expected anybody to look in that book, let alone recognize his name. But then he let his curiosity get the best of him when he showed up here last night.”
Adler tried to keep his voice barely above a whisper. “Wait a minute! Are you saying that was him, the guy we were chasing?”
“Yeah. That’s what I’m saying. I’d only seen a picture of him one time at the Agency, but I’m positive it was the son of a bitch.”
Adler shined the light under his chin. “Well, skipper, it looks like you finally got the break you’ve been waiting for.”
“Hope so.” Grant shut off his penlight. “Lock up, then let’s haul.”
*
Driving up to the back gate, Grant turned off the headlights, leaving the parking lights on. He rolled down his window, handing the guard his and Adler’s IDs.
RAF Corporal Harris examined the IDs. “Where are you going at this hour, sir?”
“We’re headed to the EOD office, corporal,” Grant answered, noticing another guard stood inside the guard house with his weapon held across his body.
“Wait here, sir.” The corporal went inside the guard house, while the other guard stepped closer to the van.
Grant turned to Adler. “There’s usually only one guard posted. Gunny must’ve talked with Colonel Donaldson.”
“Here you are, sir,” the corporal said handing Grant both IDs. He saluted then waved them through.
They were only twenty yards past the gate, when one of the radios sounded. Adler reached behind the seat, then switched it on. “Adler.”
“Sir, Petty Officer Weaver at EOD. We got a call from the commander awhile ago. He said it’s urgent Captain Stevens contact him.”
“We’ll be there in five, Petty Officer. Out.” Adler tapped the radio against his palm. “The commander wants you to call him; said it’s urgent.”
“Oh, shit!” Grant stepped on the accelerator. “Hope he’s got some good news, Joe.”
*
As soon as they walked in, Weaver handed Grant a piece of paper with Henley’s home number.
Adler followed Grant into Henley’s office, then closed the door as Grant started dialing the number.
Henley answered, “Grant?”
“What’s happened, Jack?”
“Victoria...she’s home!”
“Is she all right?”
“Seems to be. She just had some bruises and needed a bath, but otherwise... Jesus, Grant.”
“I know. Just give me as many details as you can, Jack.”
“I couldn’t have been home more than ten minutes when Newquay cops brought her home.”
Henley slowed his breathing before he continued. “She’d gone out late-afternoon to get food for dinner. That’s her usual routine. It’s about all the exercise she gets, rain or shine. Anyway, she took a detour through the park. She says she still can’t remember what happened, but she must’ve slipped on wet grass. She took a tumble, landed between some brush, and was knocked out.”
Grant glanced at his watch. “And nobody found her during that whole time?”
Henley looked down the hallway. The bedroom door was closed, but he kept his voice low. “I questioned the cop who found her, and he said she was sitting on a bench, dazed. He wanted to take her to hospital, but she insisted on coming home.”
Grant remembered driving by a park on the way to Henley’s house. “Jack, is that the park we drove by, where you waited for us?”
“Yeah. Yeah it is.”
“Christ! We must’ve driven by
that four times! How’d we not see her?!” Grant asked with surprise.
“Couldn’t have, Grant, not according to where she was found.”
“Do you...?
Henley interrupted. “Listen, Grant, I didn’t notify you sooner because I had to fill out a report. And...and we needed some quiet time. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Jack. Now, tell me if you need to stay home.”
“I think she’ll be fine. Besides, it won’t take me long to get back here if I have to. Can you have someone pick me up around 0700?”
“Sure. Sure I will. Look, Jack, we still need to think about getting her to Mildenhall.”
“There’s no way she’ll be able to travel right away, Grant. I’ll secure the house before I leave and ask our next door neighbor to check on her. If she feels better later in the day, maybe then we can think about Mildenhall.”
“It’s your call, Jack. Get some rest yourself. See you later.”
Henley put the receiver down. He looked into the mirror hanging above the table, and leaned closer. He ran a finger across pronounced dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. Even though his wife was home, he knew it still wasn’t over. He slapped at the light switch.
Continuing on into the dining room, he went to the liquor cabinet. He opened the glass door and reached for a bottle...any bottle, then he took out a glass. Managing to unscrew the bottle top with one hand, he poured till the glass was nearly full. Not even taking the time to replace the bottle top, he went to the living room and flopped down on the couch. He downed the gin in three long gulps.
Abruptly, he got up, went to the cabinet, poured another glass-full, then he walked to the window. He was blaming himself for the whole fucking mess. If he hadn’t gotten Colin Webb the job on base. If he hadn’t brought the folder home. If he’d only stopped her sooner. But she never told him who threatened her, or who threatened them. He realized now it had been someone much more important than Colin.
He gulped down the last mouthful of gin as he finally admitted he was wrong in not trusting Grant. Why the hell didn’t he tell him everything?
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