Grant closed both car doors quietly, then met up with Adler at the side of the van. He slid the door open. Adler immediately climbed in, took a seat on the opposite side, and reached inside the rucksack.
Grant leaned close to Webb’s ear. “No more shit. Get in.”
Webb climbed in and reluctantly sat on the bench seat, trying to keep as much distance between himself and Adler. Paying more attention to Adler, he forgot Grant was behind him, until a strong arm was around his throat. Within a second, Grant took hold of Webb’s right arm and jerked it back.
Webb struggled, trying to break free. Adler slid across the seat, and slapped a piece of duct tape across his mouth. Webb’s eyes were the size of dinner plates when he saw the hypodermic. Adler injected the sodium pentathol. A few eye blinks later, Webb was out.
“Handy stuff,” Adler smirked, putting the needle in a hard case. He dropped it in the rucksack. “He’s not going to be out that long, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. Come on. Help me throw him in the back. You’ve got enough duct tape, right?”
“Never leave home without it.” He taped Webb’s ankles and wrists. “Now what?”
Grant eyed the tarp, and started smoothing it out. “We’ll roll him in this.”
“Uh, skipper, that’s covered with blood.” Grant gave him one of his looks. Adler responded, “Just thought I’d mention it.”
After quickly securing the tarp around Webb’s body, Grant said, “Let’s put him on the seat. We’ll lash him to it. That should prevent him from rolling around.”
When they finished, they sat on the front seats. Without any lights in the van, they relied on their years of experience and checked their .45s, then the Uzis.
Grant looked out the windshield and into the blackness, hardly able to distinguish anything around them. Adler reached behind the seat and pulled out two pairs of NVGs from his rucksack, handing one to Grant.
Their upcoming trek to the airfield, and eventually to the building, would be slow. But they still had plenty of time to remain hidden under the cover of darkness.
Grant clicked a button on his submariner, turning on a backlight. They had fifteen minutes until they moved out.
Sitting quietly in the dark, they skillfully spread black camouflage paint on their faces, in random, disruptive patterns. Then, they waited.
*
Aknin and Massi sat in the plane’s cabin. Small reading lamps above their heads were the only lights shining. There wasn’t anything for them to do except stay at this forsaken airfield. Monday afternoon, the time Labeaux scheduled the attack, seemed too far off.
Aknin took a final gulp of orange juice then put the glass on the tray. “I must walk outside for awhile, sir.”
Massi dismissed Aknin with a short wave of his hand, then he rested his head against the seat.
The plane’s collapsible stairs shook with each of Aknin’s heavy footsteps. Finally standing on a section of broken concrete, he stretched his back and looked overhead into complete darkness, feeling a light mist touch his face. The humidity and rain were not to his liking, and he swiped a hand over his beard.
Beneath his shoe he could feel the jagged edge of the concrete, with a soft section of grass filling in the spaces. As broken and fractured as this old runway was, he had no problem handling the plane when they landed. Takeoff tomorrow should be no different.
What he did worry about was the English weather, hoping it didn’t prevent tomorrow’s planned attack. Labeaux assured Massi they would have their B57 even if the American plane bringing one to St. Mawgan was delayed. The bunker guarded by American marines held a stockpile of such weapons. The men he hired would help make the operation a success.
Aknin looked toward the building. Earlier, there had been a disturbance. One of the hostages, the man, was shouting angrily.
Labeaux had left the plane, annoyed, telling Massi he would go take care of the situation by himself. It had been quiet ever since.
Walking around the front of the plane, Aknin ran his hand along one of the props, feeling the moisture. He wiped his hand on his shirt, as he turned his attention to the road in the distance. Why hadn’t Labeaux’s man returned from the town? He raised the binoculars hanging around his neck. Still no sign of headlights.
When questioned earlier, Labeaux once again tried to reassure Massi that Webb’s being late could be a matter of the weather. The explosives’ expert he was to meet only had a small craft to take to the harbor. The water could be rough, plus navigating the bay at night could add to the delay.
Since the explosives had already been placed around the perimeter of the base, all Webb had to tell him was the time to set them off and when to take care of the guards. There was still plenty of time.
Knowing that tomorrow he and Massi would be leaving this retched country, pleased Razzag Aknin. He lowered the binoculars, then went up into the plane. It was time to cleanse their bodies, to begin the ritual. But with just enough water for drinking, they’d have to perform the Tayammum, dry ablution (act of washing oneself).
Once the cleansing was complete, they’d begin the “Salah.” In Islam the act of “Salah” is a person’s communication with and remembrance of God, submitting completely to the Creator. Its basic meaning translates to bowing, homage, worship, prayer. Before midnight they would say their last, and fifth prayer of the day, the “Isha.”
Chapter 22
With their NVGs in place and staying close to a hedgerow, the two Americans moved quickly and silently toward their destination. Grant held his .45, with an Uzi slung over his shoulder.
An Uzi was Adler’s weapon of choice for this evening’s activities. His .45 was holstered. A rucksack was on his back.
After ten minutes, Adler held up his fist and whispered into his throat mike, “Target in sight.”
Grant came around him, looking across the airfield. From where they were standing, they could see a faint light from inside the building. Approximately thirty yards from the building was the plane. On the north side of the building, and barely visible, was the Range Rover.
Grant whispered, “Looks like all the ‘players’ are here.”
Their first objective was to find the Henleys. They started toward the building, crouching low.
The grass was slick from constant rain and mist over the last few days. It could be in their favor, as they tried to stay in stealth mode.
“Hold it, Joe,” Grant whispered. They dropped to a knee. It was still dead quiet. They hadn’t seen any movement. But they did finally get a better view of the plane. The exit door was raised. Steps were lowered. Small overhead lights could be seen inside the cabin. They still weren’t close enough to tell if anyone was inside.
“Let’s move.”
Raising their NVGs, they made their approach from the south side of the structure, passing a single door. Continuing straight ahead until they were about fifteen feet beyond the back wall, they dropped to a knee again, listening for anything, but hearing nothing.
They crept slowly, staying parallel to the building, until they were opposite a small window. A dim light flickered inside. It was too freaking quiet, but considering only Labeaux and the two Arabs were supposed to be here, maybe that was good.
Grant pointed a finger toward the window. He took the lead with Adler just behind him.
Reaching the building, Grant flattened his back against the cold concrete left of the window. Adler took up a position to the right. With his .45 close to his cheek, Grant held his breath, leaning toward the window, trying to see in the room. Unable to see anything from that angle, he stepped back. He looked at Adler before trying again, only this time he stood directly in front of the window. The room appeared to be empty, until he looked down to the left. He spotted Henley, slumped sideways, staying very still.
Grant looked to the opposite side of the room. Victoria. She was laying in a curled position, with her hair covering her face. He could see a rope around her waist.
Stepping
back, he held up two fingers, pointing toward the room. Adler gave a quick thumb’s up, then slowly lowered his hand when Grant shook his head. Were the Henleys alive or dead? Either way, they had to get to them out.
Suddenly, Grant heard voices. What the hell were they saying? He tried concentrating on the sound. His mouthed curved slightly. He knew. They weren’t talking. The Libyans were chanting their evening prayers.
Now was his chance. Hoping Jack was unconscious and not dead, he had to try and get his attention. He stepped in front of the window again. Keeping his eyes on Henley, Grant tapped on the window. No reaction. He tried again. This time Henley moved. Relieved, Grant blew out a long breath. He tapped again.
Henley struggled, trying to sit up straight. He couldn’t figure out where the noise was coming from. Grant continued to slowly tap the window until Henley finally looked up and saw him. Grant smiled and gave a quick salute.
Henley dropped his head forward, shaking it in disbelief. As much as he tried to reassure Vicky that Grant would find them, he had his own doubts.
Grant backed up, this time giving a thumb’s up to Adler, who pumped his fist in mid air. Grant pointed two fingers at his eyes, then toward the opposite side of the building. Adler nodded, then cautiously walked along the wall toward the far end.
Grant waited until Adler disappeared around the wall. Then he headed slowly to the opposite corner, stopping briefly. He leaned forward, just enough to see. Clear. Then, he eased himself around the side, passing the main door, before he stopped again. He still heard chanting, but where the hell was everybody? Looking around the corner, he couldn’t zero in on the Arabs. Then he spotted two dark forms kneeling, not far from the plane.
He heard Adler in his earpiece, “Coming back.” Within seconds, Adler was behind him.
With the Libyans preoccupied, Grant knew this might be the only opportunity they had to get inside. But not knowing where Labeaux was worried the hell out of him.
He motioned Adler to stay at the corner, while he checked the door. Moving cautiously, Grant shifted his weapon to his left hand. He nearly had his right on the door knob, when a sound above made him freeze. He looked overhead. A balcony. He couldn’t see who was there. The only person it could be was Labeaux.
He stepped back, looked at Adler and pointed overhead. Adler acknowledged.
Grant tried the doorknob again, gave it a slight turn, then opened it just a crack. Adler signaled no lights. Grant pulled it open just enough to allow Adler to slip inside, then he immediately followed. He closed the door. Letting their eyes grow accustomed to the darkness, they walked slowly toward the staircase that led to the balcony. No sound came from above them.
A door to the left, one that Webb had described, was closed. A light shining from underneath constantly flickered. The Henleys were behind that door.
Adler stood just to the side, close to the stairs. He waited for Grant to make his move inside. With his Uzi ready, he’d keep watch. Grant looked at him and they both gave a quick nod.
Taking a deep breath, Grant put his left hand on the doorknob, praying it wasn’t locked. It turned. In a split second, he was inside. Immediately, Adler took up a position next to the door, keeping his eyes on the stairs, then the side entry.
Grant put a finger to his lips as Henley looked up at him. He pulled his K-bar from the leg strap as he got down on one knee and sliced the rope. Unhooking a canteen from his belt, he made Henley drink, then whispered, “Can you walk?”
Henley nodded, answering, “Think so.” He whispered with a raspy voice, “Vicky! See if Vicky’s okay.” He stretched his legs in front of him. They felt numb. He kept watching his wife.
Grant knelt next to her, then brushed aside hair covering her face. Even in the dim light, seeing her sallow complexion made him worry. Dried vomit was at the corner of her mouth and on her clothes. He felt for a pulse in her neck. It was weak, but she was alive. He looked at Henley and gave a thumb’s up.
Grant cut the rope from her waist and wrists. Cradling her against his chest, he poured a little water in his palm, and put it near her mouth, trying to moisten it. She remained motionless.
A decision had to be made. Should he leave the Henleys here while he and Adler took care of the Libyans and Labeaux? Or should they try and get them a safe distance away?
There wasn’t any way Henley could walk by himself. Vicky would have to be carried. The odds of them making it without being heard, or seen, were slim, especially with Labeaux on the balcony. They would probably be safer in this room.
Gently laying her on the floor, Grant scooted to Henley. “Jack, let me help you.” He put Henley’s arm over his shoulder then lifted him enough to have him walk. He helped him sit on the floor near his wife. Henley leaned over and kissed her cheek, then gently rubbed a hand over her head. “Vicky,” he said quietly.
Grant squatted down. “Jack, we’re gonna have to leave you here while we take care of things.” Henley looked at him with bloodshot eyes, nodded, then immediately turned to his wife.
“Here. Take this,” Grant said, with his .45 laying in his palm. “It’s ready.”
Henley took the gun. “But how...”
Grant slid the Uzi from around his side. “Don’t worry. I’m good,” he said, patting the weapon. “Look, Jack, I’m gonna shut the light off. We’ll signal you before we come back in.” He laid a reassuring hand on Henley’s shoulder.
Standing, he turned on his penlight before shutting off the overhead bulb. He went into the hallway, closing the door quietly.
Adler looked at him questioningly. Grant whispered into his throat mike. “They’re weak. Need to take care of business...quick.”
He no sooner got the words out when they snapped their heads toward the stairs. They both froze, hearing a door closing. There was the sound of footsteps. They rushed under the stairwell. Grant drew his K-bar.
It went quiet for a moment. Labeaux noticed there wasn’t any light shining under the door. He assumed the bulb finally burned out. He stepped off the last step and started toward the door.
Before he had time to react, a strong arm was around his throat, pressing so hard he thought his windpipe would disintegrate. He felt a cold blade against his cheek.
Adler immediately stepped in front of him, keeping his Uzi in full view. He patted the terrorist down. Pulling a Luger from Labeaux’s shoulder holster, Adler flipped on the safety then stuck it in his belt.
Grant backed up, taking Labeaux with him. When he was at the wall, he spun around, shoving Labeaux’s face into the concrete. Blood spurted from Labeaux’s nose.
Pressing his left hand against the back of Labeaux’s head, Grant leaned close, saying with his voice low, “Your IRA friends are dead, Labeaux. And the explosives? Well, we took care of them, too. And you can stop waiting for Webb.”
Labeaux struggled. Grant slammed his face into the wall again. “We can do this all night, but I don’t think your face is gonna enjoy it.”
As much as Grant wanted to end this guy’s existence, right here and now, bringing him in would be almost as satisfying. Then again, giving him up to the Libyans might feel just as good. And maybe even better.
But it was the plane that worried Grant...the Libyans’ plane. The word “fanatics” came to mind. What if they wanted to retaliate for a plan gone awry? What if they decided to “hit” the base, or Newquay, on their own? Even without a weapon, the damage and loss of life could be devastating.
There had to be a way to end it here. He signaled Adler closer, then whispered only a few words. Adler responded with a thumb’s up.
Labeaux ran his tongue across his lips, tasting blood, just as Grant swung him around. Adler slapped a piece of duct tape across Labeaux’s mouth. He ripped another larger piece, securing the terrorist’s arms behind his back. Grant motioned with his head. Adler took off.
Grant shoved Labeaux onto the floor, then stood next to him. The entire time they waited for Adler’s return, Labeaux would feel the K-bar’s c
old, smooth blade sliding up and down his cheek.
For Grant, getting Labeaux out of this building and away from the Henleys was priority. If all shit broke loose, Jack and Vicky needed a chance to survive, and inside a reinforced concrete building might be the way.
Labeaux’s head was spinning. This couldn’t be happening! How was it possible?! Sweat rolled down his eyelids, stinging his eyes. These men were the two from the harbor. He was positive. And it had been the woman who gave him up. He should have had Aknin kill her and her husband the same way the detective was sliced. Now, there wasn’t any way for...
A sudden thought jolted him. Massi! There was still Massi and Aknin. Knowing the reputation and ability of those two gave him a faint glimmer of hope. Maybe it wasn’t over yet.
*
Aknin stood at the bottom of the planes’ steps with two rolled up sajadas (prayer rugs) under his arm. He allowed Massi to go ahead of him, then he followed. He stopped briefly in the doorway, looking back toward the building. Labeaux had been gone a long time...too long. But it had been quiet since he left. Perhaps he’d finally taken care of the annoying hostages once and for all.
He joined Massi in the cabin, then carefully and respectfully placed the sajadas in an overhead bin.
“Come, Razzag, sit,” Massi said. “Have some juice with me. We’ll discuss the upcoming event. It will be a glorious day.”
Outside, Grant took slow, careful sidesteps, walking parallel to the building, keeping his body behind Labeaux. His left hand had a firm grasp on the terrorist, while his right held the Uzi. The plane remained his center of attention. He knew Adler was already in position, with an unobstructed view.
Grant stopped. He jerked Labeaux closer. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” Labeaux struggled. Escaping seemed impossible.
Grant shouted: “Massi!”
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