Both Libyans dropped their glasses. Aknin practically ejected himself from his chair, scrambling to get his Beretta from the counter. In one giant step he was near the door, backing up against the bulkhead. He pulled his dagger from its scabbard.
Massi stooped down, trying to see out the window. Finally, he spotted one, or possibly two men standing near the building. It was too dark to tell exactly how many there were, and no way to tell who they were.
“Aknin,” he whispered. Getting Aknin’s attention, he pointed out the window. “Possibly two men...near the building.”
Grant shoved Labeaux forward. “Labeaux’s here with me, Massi! He has something to tell you!”
Labeaux tried to run but Grant grabbed his arms, yanking him back. “I guess he’s lost his tongue! So, I’ll tell you! He’s fucked over you, Massi! The men and explosives don’t exist! You won’t be getting what he promised you! You can kiss your money good-bye, too!”
Aknin leaned out the door, aiming his Beretta in the direction of the voice.
“Wait!” Massi said, reaching for Aknin’s arm. Aknin lowered his gun.
Massi was beginning to wonder if he should believe this person. If he was being told the truth, the three governments had just lost fifteen million dollars. The plan, and his hiring of this terrorist mastermind, had been his idea, his suggestion. He could be blamed for its failure, and accused of taking the money.
Massi stroked his beard nervously. Why would Labeaux betray them? He never knew of Labeaux turning against any of his ‘employers’ in the past. Then again, maybe it wasn’t about the money after all. Labeaux probably had enough to last more than ten lifetimes.
There was only one reason he could think of. He and the Libyan government were being used by Labeaux for reasons unknown. And now, this person, who sounded to be an American, had taken away any chance for an attack, any chance to get their hands on a nuclear weapon. Massi’s head pounded with such intensity, he expected it to explode. Rage, pure rage raced through his body.
Holding his position--and Labeaux--Grant figured he’d given the Libyan enough time. “Massi!”
Massi pushed a surprised Aknin aside, then leaned toward the open doorway. “I want Labeaux!” he demanded.
A slow, satisfied grin spread across Grant’s face. “Sure! Sure you can have him, as long as you get your asses outta here! Go back to Libya, Massi! Explain to your boss what happened! Explain this to Masrata!”
Grant pushed Labeaux to the ground, face first, keeping a foot on his back. “Come and get him! And, by the way, in case you’re wondering...I didn’t come alone!”
Massi backed up and drew his pistol. He motioned for Aknin to get Labeaux.
Grant held his position over Labeaux as he saw the bulky figure of Razzag Aknin coming down the stairs. A side of Grant’s mouth curved up, watching Aknin looking around, trying to see if there was anyone else he had to worry about.
When Grant saw Aknin step off the last stair, he removed his foot from Labeaux and backed up to the building. He continued aiming the Uzi at the oncoming Libyan. He waited.
Labeaux rolled on the ground, unable to get to his feet. Guttural sounds escaped from his throat as he struggled, his eyes wide with fear and panic. His body bumped into something. Whatever it was...it moved.
Aknin finally stood over Labeaux, but kept staring at the figure near the building. It was too dark for facial recognition. He reached down, noticing something or someone wrapped in a cover of some kind. He looked up again at the American.
Grant said, “Take that package, too. It’s a traveling companion for Labeaux.”
Aknin reached down and jerked Labeaux to his feet. He looked one more time at the American, then bent down, and grabbed a loose section of tarp. He dragged it behind him, as he led Labeaux to the plane.
Grant could only shake his head. “That’s one big son of a bitch!” he said in barely a whisper.
He shouted to Aknin, “Tell Massi I want him out of here now! No waiting until daylight! Any problem with that, I can always call in air support to escort him and you outta here!”
Aknin stopped. Should he take the chance? His confidence in using his dagger and always winning his battles made him pause. He let go of the tarp and shoved Labeaux to the ground. He moved his hand to his dagger.
“Don’t even think it,” Grant said with his voice deep and menacing. The sound of him drawing back the Uzi’s action bolt added more incentive for the Libyan to leave.
Aknin jerked his head left, hearing a distinct sound of another weapon being made ready. Hesitating briefly, he reached for the tarp, and Labeaux, then started walking to the plane. At the bottom of the stairs, he let go of the tarp, then stayed behind Labeaux until they were inside the cabin. Pushing Labeaux to the floor, he went back outside to bring in the “package.”
Massi was standing over Labeaux when Aknin came in with the tarp-wrapped object. He pulled it off his shoulder, dropping it next to Labeaux.
Massi turned his head. “What’s that?”
Aknin shrugged his shoulders. “The American said it was a companion for Labeaux.”
Massi’s eyebrows came together as he questioned the statement. He removed his dagger from the scabbard, knelt down and felt along the tarp. He sliced it open, then stared into the terrified face of Colin Webb, the fool who was working with Labeaux.
“Sir, the American said we must leave now.”
Massi stood slowly. His eyes narrowed. “Now?! He’s ordering us to leave now?! Ordering us?!”
“Yes. He has threatened to call in air support, sir, if we do not.” Aknin waited briefly for a reply, then added, “Sir, I can probably take care of...”
Massi slipped his dagger into the scabbard, then flopped down on a swivel chair, feeling defeated. “No, Aknin. Prepare for takeoff. I will join you in the cockpit shortly.”
Aknin gave a slight bow, then went to the exit door, looking back at the building. The American was still there, walking toward the plane, but keeping a safe distance. Aknin kept his eyes focused on Grant, as he pulled in the steps. Finally, he sealed the door. He stepped over Labeaux and went to the cockpit.
Massi got out of the chair, then stood close to Labeaux. Looking down at this man, he debated whether to kill him now or take him to Libya. Taking him to Libya seemed the better choice. Perhaps it would be the proof he needed to show the government officials he, and they, had been duped. Explaining all this to the Algerians and Syrians might be much more difficult. He had no doubt they’d be wanting a full refund.
But then, after all, he had “captured” one of the most famous, wanted terrorists in the world. Maybe that would be a way to retrieve the money. Victor Labeaux had a sizable price tag on his head.
Hearing the plane’s engines, he left Labeaux to think about his situation. He joined Aknin in the cockpit.
Grant kept his eyes on the plane, when Adler finally jogged over to him. “We good?” Adler asked.
“I assume we are.”
“We are very good!” Adler laughed, settling his eyes on the aircraft.
Just then they heard a voice. “Grant?”
Grant turned. “Jack. Are you all right?” He and Adler backed up, moving toward Henley, but they continued watching the aircraft.
Henley came around the corner, with the .45 in one hand, and the other hand braced against the building for support. “I’m okay,” he replied with relief in his voice. He turned his attention to the plane, now lining up for takeoff.
Grant raised the barrel of the Uzi, resting it against his shoulder. “How’s Vicky?”
“She still hasn’t come around, Grant. We need to get her to a hospital.”
Grant placed a hand on Henley’s shoulder. “We will. We’ve got the van parked down the road. Joe will drive it up here in a minute.”
The sound of the engines revving up once more drew the attention of the three men. Henley leaned against the building as Grant and Adler walked toward the runway, then stopped.
The plane’s bright lights lit up broken slabs of concrete as it began its roll. Within no time, it was in flight, leaving the airfield behind. Aknin slowly brought the craft on a course west, heading for Newquay Bay. Once over water, he’d turn south. The first refueling stop was hundreds of miles away.
Without saying a word, Adler jogged off to get the van. When they returned to the base, they’d contact Townsend. His men could retrieve Webb’s car.
Henley handed Grant the .45. “Is it really over?”
“Pretty much, Jack.” Grant gave Henley the canteen, then holstered his weapon. He hooked the canteen on his belt, then raised Henley’s arm and put it over his shoulder before taking one last look at the plane’s fading, red blinking lights.
He helped Henley into the room where Victoria was still laying unconscious. Hearing the van’s engine, Grant asked, “Jack, can you hold the door open?” Henley nodded. “I’ll carry Vicky out.” Lifting her gently, Grant cradled her against him then carried her to the van.
Adler stood by the open door, and taking Vicky’s limp body carefully from Grant’s arms, he placed her on the bench seat. Then, he offered a helping hand to Henley.
Grant got behind the steering wheel, and asked over his shoulder, “Jack, you want to take her to a local hospital, or airlift her to Mildenhall?” He put the van into gear and started driving.
“Mildenhall,” Henley replied.
*
St. Mawgan
On the way back to St. Mawgan, Adler used the radio to call Marine Lieutenant Colonel Donaldson, telling him the base could stand down. Next, he contacted Chief Becker. A chopper had to be ready for immediate takeoff.
A short time later, exhausted, hungry and glad it was over, Grant and Adler stood in the field behind EOD, watching the chopper lift off. They gave a quick salute to Henley, who was leaning against the open cargo bay door. He returned their salute.
When the chopper was no longer in sight, Grant slapped Adler on the back. “I know--you’re starving.”
Adler shook his head. “I don’t know if I’m more hungry or more tired.”
“That’s gotta be a first!” Grant laughed. “Come on. Promise you that after we call the admiral, we’ll do whichever you want. Deal?”
“Deal,” Adler yawned.
With their butts dragging, and looking like hell, the two walked into the EOD office. A roomful of men were waiting for them.
Chief Becker announced: “Attention on deck!” The men snapped to attention. Although not quite in unison, they said, “Morning, sirs!”
Adler nodded as Grant replied, “Morning, gentlemen. As you were.”
Chief Becker stepped forward. “Captain, we’re all wondering, but will Commander and Mrs. Henley be all right, sir?”
“I’m sure they will be, Chief. Mildenhall’s got some pretty sharp doctors.”
Grant reached for the doorknob to Henley’s office, when Becker stopped him. “Uh, sir, we realize we don’t know the whole story, but what we’re really wondering is if...if the commander...” Becker was having a difficult time getting the words out. From the overheard conversations that went on in Henley’s office, Becker was concerned.
“Don’t worry, Chief. We’ll try our damnedest to see he gets through this.” He gave Becker’s shoulder a tap.
“Thank you, sirs.”
Grant and Adler went into the office. Adler collapsed on a chair near the desk. Grant stretched his arms overhead, and slowly walked to the window. “Almost daylight, Joe,” he commented looking toward the horizon. He turned, seeing Adler already asleep, with his head resting on the desk.
Sitting on the swivel chair, Grant rubbed his tired eyes then reached for the phone and dialed. He put his head back, and nearly dozed off, when he heard, “Torrinson residence.”
He bolted up, shaking his head. “Sir, it’s Grant.”
*
Newquay
Monday
1030 Hours GMT
Grant pulled into the parking lot of CID. Taking his keys from the ignition, he turned to Adler. “Awake yet?”
“That sure was a helluva short night,” Adler replied, yawning.
“Come on. We’ll talk with Townsend, then drive down to Porthgwarra to say goodbye to Chaz.”
“Chaz? Oh, you mean the dive guy.”
“Yeah. We’ll stop for breakfast, or lunch, on the way.”
“Sounds good.”
Getting out of the MG, Adler zipped up his jacket and looked overhead. “I’m still waiting.”
Grant stood near the front of the car. “For what?”
“The sun! It’s gotta be there somewhere!” Adler said, pointing at a heavily overcast sky.
“Let’s go. Townsend’s waiting for us.”
Chief Inspector Townsend gave a quick wave seeing the two men approaching. “Gentlemen,” he said opening the door.
“Morning, sir,” Grant said. “Sorry we’re late. Sort of had a late night.”
Townsend motioned with his arm. “You know where the conference room is.”
Once they were settled around the conference table, Townsend said, “Captain, tell me what happened.”
Grant filled in all the details from the time they left Detective Sergeant Moore’s body at the hospital to finding the Henleys.
Townsend stopped taking notes somewhere after Grant described locating Webb. When Grant finally finished talking, there was silence in the room until Townsend commented, “Quite an evening for both of you gentlemen.”
“Yes, sir. It sure as hell was,” Grant answered.
Townsend scooted forward on his chair and picked up a sheet of paper, perusing it briefly. “A report came in during the night. It seems there was another explosion, only this one apparently was in mid-air. A Shackleton spotted some small pieces of wreckage several miles off the coast, south of here. The lifeboat from Padstow was sent out to investigate and to search for possible survivors.” He looked at Grant, then Adler. Both men sat without expression. “The debris apparently was from a light aircraft. Oh, by the way. No survivors were found.”
Grant leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, intertwining his fingers. He gave Adler a quick look before he responded. “You can’t possibly think that was the plane taking ‘our friends’ back to the Middle East, do you, sir? I mean, that’d be one helluva shame. They were such nice folks.”
Townsend hadn’t smiled much during his encounters with these two, but this time he couldn’t hold back. He slid the report into a folder. “Guess we’ll probably never know, Captain, but I guess we can close the file on this Labeaux caper.”
“The file will be closed, sir, correct?” Grant asked in all seriousness.
“I can assure you. Once I finish my report, it will be.”
“Thank you, sir.” Grant stood and pushed in his chair. “If that’s all, sir, I think we’ll go. We’re heading down to Porthgwarra to say goodbye to a friend.”
“Good diving down there,” Townsend commented.
“I managed a few dives before the, uh, interruption, sir. It is spectacular. If you ever want to dive, I can recommend Chaz Davis. He’s got a dive shop and boat.”
“I’ll keep him in mind.” Townsend came around the table, extending a hand to Adler, then to Grant. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure. Hope you can visit our lovely country again.”
“I hope we can, sir,” Grant replied.
Townsend walked with them to the parking lot. As they settled in the car, he leaned toward the open window. “When will you be leaving Newquay?”
“Early tomorrow morning, sir. Our flight is scheduled to leave Mildenhall in the afternoon.”
Townsend extended his hand again, which Grant grasped firmly. “Fair winds, gentlemen.”
*
Newquay
Tuesday
0500 Hours
His internal clock brought him out of a sound sleep at 0500 hours. Laying on his back, with his left leg hanging over the edge of the bed, Grant slowly opened hi
s eyes. Trying to get his bearings, he rubbed his eyes then blinked a couple of times. Morning light was showing through a space between the curtains.
The soft sound of her breathing and warmth of her body made him turn his head. She had her back to him, her body covered with a sheet and blanket. Her brown hair was no longer in a braid, but fell loosely on the pillow.
Smiling briefly, Grant carefully eased himself out of bed, then picked up his clothes from the side chair. He felt around the floor for his shoes before remembering he left them by the couch in the living room the night before. Walking from the bedroom, he closed the door quietly behind him.
Draping his clothes over the couch, he picked up his trousers, stepped into them, then buckled his belt. He went to the window and pulled a curtain to the side, just enough to let in some light. He leaned toward the window, looking overhead. The beginning of the day was starting with light cloud cover, but there was a glimmer of sunlight on the horizon. Finally, no fog, and no rain.
A small B&B across the street and one block down, still had a light on its sign above the door. A small white delivery truck stopped in front. The driver got out and put a small wooden crate in front of the door. He returned to the truck then drove away.
Walking back to the couch, Grant noticed the two wine glasses and empty bottle of Riesling on the coffee table. The bouquet of flowers he bought still looked and smelled fresh. He put on his T-shirt before taking the glasses to the kitchen sink.
Walking barefooted to the small bathroom, he had just enough time to splash some cold water on his face and swish some around in his mouth.
After tying the laces of his sneakers, he put on his jacket. With one more glance at the bedroom, he decided to leave a note. He clicked the top of the ballpoint then reached for a napkin on the coffee table.
He wrote:
Abigail,
Didn’t want to wake you, but I had to get on the road early; have a long drive to London. Had a great time last night! Enjoyed meeting your friends.
Take care of yourself.
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