Last Op

by Jamie Fredric

  Grant

  He looked around for a place to leave the note, then laid it next to an electric tea kettle on the counter where she was bound to see it.

  Grabbing his baseball cap from the coat rack by the door, he quietly left the flat.

  During his drive to the base,

  he thought about Abigail Hall. Their brief encounter left him wondering if he’d ever be able to settle down. There’d been a number of women in his life since Jenny. But losing her, without being able to see or talk with her before she died, left a feeling of guilt that kept interfering with his life. Maybe he needed to talk to Dr. Freud.

  Fifteen minutes later he pulled in front of the barracks, seeing Adler standing near the door with one foot propped on a bench. He gave Grant a quick two finger salute.

  Grant put the car in neutral, set the hand brake, and got out. As he walked toward Adler, he said, “Aren’t you the early bird!”

  “No more than you!” He bent down and picked up his rucksack, adjusted it on his shoulder before lifting a small leather satchel and his wetsuit bag. As Grant reached down for his own gear, Adler said, “I take it you said your goodbyes.”

  Walking to the MG, Grant nodded. “Yeah. Hey, didn’t have time to ask you, but how are you and Beth making out?”

  Adler dropped his gear behind the car. “We aren’t. She decided to move on.”

  “Jesus, Joe. I’m sorry to hear that. You think both of us might need to talk with the good ‘doctor’?” Grant asked, flashing a grin.

  Adler was temporarily stumped, then it dawned on him. “We’d probably have our own chapter!”

  Grant unlocked the trunk then lifted the lid.

  Adler looked inside the small space. “You think all our shit’s gonna fit in there?”

  “We can be imaginative in packing, unless, of course, you’d rather wait for another chopper.”

  “Hell, no! I wouldn’t pass up the chance driving with you ‘hell bent for leather’ along the hedgerows!” He dropped his wetsuit bag in the trunk. “How the hell long’s this trip?”

  “About seven hours, depending on speed and wind direction!” Putting the last bag in the trunk, Grant closed the lid.

  “Captain! Lieutenant!” Chief Becker called, being followed by the EOD team.

  Grant and Adler stepped away from the MG. “What’s up, Chief?” Grant asked.

  “We just wanted to say good-bye, sirs, and thank you.”

  Both officers shook each man’s hand. Grant said, “Appreciate it, Chief, men. Listen, if you’re ever in D.C., look us up, okay?”

  “Yes, sir!” Becker replied, smiling.

  “Guess we’d better hit the road,” Grant said, opening the door.

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” Adler proclaimed.

  “What?”

  Reaching inside his jacket, Adler took out a pair of sunglasses. “My last day here, and the freakin’ sun finally makes an appearance!”

  Grant laughed as he got in the car. “Told you the rain was your fault!”

  Adler slammed the door. “Just drive! And stay away from those damn hedgerows!”

  Chapter 23

  NIS

  Wednesday

  0645 Hours

  Grant drove his black ’74 Vette sports coupe into the NIS parking lot. He pulled into a parking space marked: Special Operations Officer. Grabbing his cap off the seat, he got out. He gave his service dress whites a quick inspection before putting on his cap. Instinctively, he adjusted it so the brim was one and a half inches above his eyebrows.

  As he walked to the main door, he gave his submariner a quick glance. Then he heard a familiar sound--the rumbling engine of Adler’s ’67 red Mustang pulling up next to him.

  “Mornin’, skipper!”

  Grant managed a quick two finger salute before Adler drove off looking for a parking space. Within a minute, he was jogging toward Grant.

  Grant asked, “New uniform?”

  Adler looked down. “What? This old thing?”

  “And I see you had breakfast.”

  “Huh?” Adler glanced at his uniform shirt, picked off two crumbs, then popped them into his mouth. “Biscuit remnants.”

  They took the elevator then made the walk down the hallway, approaching the office of Rear Admiral Torrinson, prepared to present their case.

  “Captain Stevens! Lieutenant Adler! Welcome back, sirs!” Zach greeted the two, as he came around his desk.

  “How ya doing, Zach?” Grant smiled, extending a hand to the petty officer.

  “I’m good, sir. Guess you haven’t heard, but I’ve got new orders.”

  “Jesus, Zach! Has it been that long?”

  “Afraid so, sir,” Zach answered as he shook Adler’s hand.

  Grant said, “I know the admiral’s gonna miss you. Where you headed?”

  “Pacific fleet, sir; the Preston.” He decided to leave it up to Torrinson to break his own news to the captain and lieutenant.

  “No kidding?! We know it well,” Grant laughed. He gave the petty office a slight jab to the shoulder. “Just be careful when you’re walking on all those acres of sovereign U.S. territory!” Grant referred to the carrier’s flight deck.

  “Yes, sir. I will. Oh, there’s some fresh coffee and donuts, sirs,” he said, indicating with a tilt of his head.

  Adler answered, “Think I’ll hold off, Zach. But save me one or two jelly-filled, okay?”

  Yes, sir. Uh, sirs, the admiral’s in his office. He’s waiting for you.”

  “Okay, Zach. Talk with you later.”

  The two officers tucked their caps under their left arms, then Grant knocked on the door. “Sir.”

  Torrinson came from behind his desk. “Come on in, gentlemen!”

  They walked in and stepped closer to Torrinson, bracing at attention. “Morning, sir,” they said simultaneously.

  Torrinson walked to them with his hand extended. “At ease! Good to have you back, Grant, Joe.”

  “Good to be back, sir,” Grant replied, smiling.

  “Sit! Sit!” Torrinson said, motioning toward two chairs. “How about some coffee?”

  “Not for me, sir. Thanks,” Grant responded.

  “None for me, sir,” Adler said, hoping Torrinson didn’t hear his stomach growling.

  Torrinson sat on the corner of his desk, then reached for a cup of coffee. “Well, Grant, how’d you enjoy your R&R, what there was of it anyway?”

  “Great diving, sir. It’s a beautiful place...the water and country.” Grant lowered his head briefly, and then he looked up at Torrinson, thinking there was no sense in delaying. “Sir, can we talk about Commander Henley?”

  “Of course.” Torrinson went behind his desk, then sat in his swivel chair. He looked at Grant. “Go ahead.”

  “Well, sir, you and I had a discussion about Jack and his behavior, sir. I’d be the first one to admit that he really had me concerned. But Joe and I came to the conclusion that it was because of Mrs. Henley. In all likelihood, she confronted Webb about his being IRA, sir, then she told Jack.

  “That’s when Webb, and most probably Labeaux, threatened her and then Jack, sir. Labeaux was afraid that one or both of them would report Webb’s association with the IRA. He couldn’t take that risk and have that possibly happen. That’s why they were taken hostage, sir.

  “The commander was beaten. Mrs. Henley probably suffered emotional damage.” Grant pictured Victoria in his mind as he continued. “Sir, she wasn’t responding when we found her, almost as if she were in a coma. She’s gonna need some kind of treatment, Admiral.” Grant was almost pleading his case. “Sir, all they were doing was trying to protect each other.”

  Torrinson pushed his coffee cup aside. He looked at Grant through narrowed eyes. “That’s not good enough, Grant. Commander Henley had a responsibility to come forward with information. That’s no excuse. And you know it.”

  Torrinson rested his forearms on his desk, clasping his hands together. “I think I know where you’re headed, so an
swer this: Just how do you explain how Webb got the information? How and who got it for him, Grant? Explain.”

  “What information, sir?”

  “The informa...” Torrinson’s brow wrinkled. “Grant.”

  “Sir, Joe and I are willing to say it was Carter and Webb who were the only ones working for Labeaux. That connection was made through Callum Quinn, sir. As far as everyone’s concerned, the Henleys were taken hostage, and only because of their association with Webb...and because Jack was EOD.”

  “Look,” Torrinson replied, “I appreciate what you’re both trying to do, but don’t forget the letter.”

  Both officers remained quiet. Torrinson moved his eyes back and forth between the two. “Gentlemen?”

  Grant finally spoke. “Sir, we never saw the actual documents supposedly passed. It’s possible Webb supplied his own details on the layout of the base, and even info on flight procedures. The only thing he couldn’t get himself was the daily schedule and type of weapons being delivered. My personal opinion, sir, is that Carter didn’t know it was Webb who put the package at the drop site. Labeaux and Webb only needed Carter for one reason--to drive. Carter was just in it for the money.”

  Torrinson processed what Grant was saying, as he rocked back and forth in his chair. “So, what you’re saying is, there isn’t any letter.”

  Again silence.

  Adler finally spoke up. “One more important note, sir, and maybe the most important, is that all the bad guys are sorta dead.”

  Torrinson could only shake his head. “Sort of dead, Joe?”

  “Dead, sir. Yes, sir.”

  “Very dead, sir,” Grant added.

  Torrinson gave a brief nod. “I’ll file my report with the Secretaries. But are you both sure about this?”

  Both officers answered in unison, “Yes, sir.”

  Torrinson searched their faces, looking for any indication of hesitancy in what they were agreeing to. “All right, gentlemen. Now, do you know how long the Henleys will remain at Mildenhall, Grant?”

  Grant shook his head. “No, sir. We were going to call the hospital before our flight, but we ran out of time. One other note, sir. We’re positive the EOD team will confirm our report, sir.”

  Torrinson nodded slowly before asking, “Did the commander have any idea you’d be making this proposal as to how and why this all went down?”

  “No, sir. All I told him was we’d do everything to see him through this, sir, and help him all we could.”

  “Very well. Oh, have you filled in your ‘dance cards’ yet?” Torrinson asked. A “dance card” is an AAR, an After Action Report.

  “Not yet, sir. We wanted to talk with you first. We’ll go to my office when we’re through here.”

  Torrinson swallowed a last mouthful of cold coffee, then got up and came around his desk. “Then, I think it’s time to move on. Grant, Joe, I guess Zach told you he’s got new orders.”

  “Yes, sir. He did. And to the Preston!” Suddenly, Grant’s brow furrowed. “Are you leaving, sir?”

  Adler looked at Grant then at Torrinson. “You’re leaving, sir?”

  “I am. I also have orders to the Preston.”

  “How do you feel about that, sir, if I may ask?”

  “Of course you can, Grant.” Torrinson walked away, not even sure how to answer. He came back to the two officers. “NIS has been my perfect job. There’s no way I’ll ever forget a single minute I’ve spent here.” Lowering his voice, and in all seriousness, he said, “You two have made it special. You know that, don’t you?”

  Grant tried to lighten the moment, as he pointed at Torrinson. “We do know we’re responsible for some of those gray hairs, sir.”

  Torrinson dropped his head back and laughed. “Something to remember you by!”

  “When will you be reporting to the carrier, sir?”

  “Mrs. Torrinson’s convinced me to take some leave, so I won’t be reporting until the third week in September.”

  Grant glanced at Adler before asking, “Sir, would you mind if Joe and I got some coffee?”

  “Let me have Zach get it for you,” Torrinson responded, starting to reach for the intercom.

  Grant and Adler stood, laying their caps upside down on the chairs. “That’s okay, sir. We’ll get it.”

  Torrinson nodded, watching his two favorite operators leave the office. He knew they weren’t going just for the coffee. He walked over to the window then waited.

  A few minutes later there was knock at the door, and Torrinson said, “Come.”

  Grant and Adler entered and stood at parade rest. Torrinson kept his back to them. Grant spoke. “Sir, since you won’t be leaving NIS for at least another couple of weeks, Joe and I would like to take some leave, just for a few days.”

  Torrinson walked near his two men, standing in front of them, looking into their eyes. “The Navy wouldn’t know what to do without you two.”

  “Sir, after Germany, you know I almost had to ‘hang it up,’” Grant said.

  Torrinson’s eyes narrowed. “Grant, are you still having physical issues?”

  “Every now and then, sir, but guess I might have overdone it during this last op. I’m planning on getting checked out at Bethesda, sir.”

  “Good. Good.” Then Torrinson turned to Adler. “And you, Joe...you thinking the same?”

  “I don’t know, sir. The Navy’s been my life since I was sixteen. But I think once in awhile, especially at this time in life, it’s good to step back and reexamine things. Hope you understand, sir.”

  “Of course, I do, Joe.” He thought briefly, and wondered if it would make any difference, whether it would help them make a decision if he added further comments. “I probably don’t have to remind either of you that you’re both due for promotions.

  “Joe, making lieutenant commander would be a wonderful achievement for a ‘Mustang.’” A ‘Mustang’ refers to an enlisted person who came up through the ranks.

  “And Grant, I can see ‘rear admiral’ in your future, and probably sooner than you’d think.”

  Grant let out a slow breath through tight lips, uncertain how to reply. “Hope you don’t take this the wrong way, sir, and no disrespect, but I don’t know if that’s what I’m cut out for, sir.”

  As it turned out, Torrinson wasn’t surprised in the least to hear Grant’s response. Grant Stevens was a covert operator, a man who belonged in the field, whether or not it was with the U.S. Navy.

  “I guess time will tell, Grant.” He decided he’d said enough. “Look, have Zach prepare your leave papers. Go do your thinking, and I’ll see you back here next week.”

  Grant and Adler came to attention. “Thank you, sir.”

  “All right, gentlemen. Dismissed.”

  *

  After turning in the AARs, the two friends walked out of NIS. Putting on their caps, they stood outside the building, remaining quiet.

  Adler finally asked, “You want some company when you go to Bethesda?”

  “Thanks, Joe, but I’ll be okay.”

  “You gonna hang around D.C. when you’re through at the hospital?”

  Grant lifted his aviator sunglasses from his pocket, enjoying the feel of warm sunshine on his face. “Think I’ll drive up to the Blue Ridge. There’s a campground that rents small cabins. Might be a good place to take in some quiet time. You going to see your dad?”

  “Yeah. I haven’t seen him in awhile. Hey! Why don’t you come with me? I know he’d really like to see you. Come on, skipper! The fishing’s great this time of year!”

  Grant put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Appreciate it, Joe, but we’ve got decisions to make.

  “Well, if you change your mind, you’ve got his number, right?”

  “Tucked in my wallet.”

  “What now?”

  It was time to modify their thought process, if only briefly. Grant started walking to the Vette, digging his keys out of his pocket. “Now, Joe? How about we pick up some flowers, then go pay
Grigori and Alexandra an overdue visit?”

  “Who’s that? Oh, you mean Uri and Natasha!”

  Just then, they heard the door to NIS open. They swung around. Zach held the door, as he called, “Captain Stevens! Lieutenant Adler! You’ve gotta come back to the office, sirs!” Without saying another word, he turned and ran to the elevator.

  Grant and Adler immediately broke into a run. “What?! What the hell is it, Zach?!” Grant shouted.

  The petty officer was already standing at the elevator, punching a button, when Grant anxiously said, “Zach! Tell us!”

  “It’s a call from St. Mawgan, sir. A Chief Becker’s on the line!”

  *

  Torrinson’s office was as quiet as a tomb. The three officers were at a loss for words. Torrinson leaned against his desk, with his arms folded tightly across his chest. He realized this was one of those times he had to give his two men a chance to let their emotions play out. As he walked toward his office door, he finally broke the silence. “Gentlemen, I want you to use this room as if it were yours. Speak your minds. Talk it out. I’ll be in the outer office.” He left.

  Adler paced back and forth, keeping his head down, occasionally wiping his eyes. Grant sat on the edge of the couch, shaking his head as he stared at nothing. Leaning forward, he rubbed his hands briskly together, part in anger, part in frustration. But he mostly questioned why?

  Why couldn’t they have rescued the Henleys sooner? If they had, maybe Victoria would still be alive.

  He abruptly got off the couch, ready to toss something against a wall, saying under his breath, “Goddammit!” He pounded his fist against his forehead, until Adler grabbed his hand.

  “Skipper! Look at me!”

  Grant stared into the familiar blue eyes, as he pulled his hand away. “What, Joe? You gonna tell me it’s all part of the job? That I should be used to this ‘game’ we play? Well, I’m not used to it! Maybe I don’t give a damn about my job anymore!” Before Adler could respond, Grant asked, “What about you? Don’t give me any bullshit and tell me you’re not tired of it.”

  Adler knew the anger wasn’t directed at him, but it wasn’t like Grant to talk this way, especially to him. “No bullshit, skipper. And, yeah, I’m tired of it. But it doesn’t always turn out like this, does it? You’ve gotta remember the POWs. We got them home last op, didn’t we?”