His plan was dangerously bold — in more ways than one. On Monday members of the IRA were about to carry out the operation. Their full payment had already been deposited into a Swiss bank. But one of his past ‘employers’ had been willing to pay twice the amount that had been paid by the IRA, and had already deposited their money in an offshore account.
With the huge amount of money involved, it was worth the risk. The only hitch — both parties expected to have a nuclear weapon in their possession within a short matter of time.
But for Victor Labeaux this had become his opportunity to cause emotional and physical harm to Britain, to its government, to its people. He was prepared to use the weapon on Monday. The money wasn’t really an issue.
Labeaux was born and raised on the French Island of Corsica located in the Mediterranean off the coast of Italy. His father was a seaman aboard the French battleship Bretagne during World War II.
Diplomatic tension between Britain and the French Vichy government caused France to send its fleet to a port in Algeria. Britain was alarmed that Germany would use these ships against them.
Several attempts failed to convince the French to either destroy their vessels, take them to a neutral port, or side with the Allies. Churchill ordered the fleet be destroyed.
The Bretagne was fired upon by HMS Hood, HMS Valiant, and HMS Resolution. One of the shells from the Hood penetrated the deck and hit the magazine. At least one thousand French sailors died in a battle lasting under thirty minutes. Labeaux’s father was one of them.
The three men, Labeaux, Quinn and Webb had more in common than they knew, each with parents dying at the hands of the British.
His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Webb’s footsteps on the stairs. He folded his handkerchief and stuffed it back in his pocket.
There no longer was a road or runway in the true sense of the word. Green grass grew through the cracks of the broken slabs of concrete which was all that remained of a remote World War II airfield. At the north end was a concrete structure that once housed a watch office, signal room, and a metrological office. Extending out from the second floor was a balcony overlooking the runway. Walls and roof were reinforced concrete, windows were minimal, and the only exterior door was made of steel. The structure had also been used as a bomb shelter.
Webb drove the Rover across a field of green grass, then he followed the runway to the concrete structure. The vehicle jolted as tires constantly hit the separations between slabs.
Parking alongside the building, he killed the engine, then got out, walked to the front of the Rover, and lit up a cigarette. All Labeaux told him was to expect a two engine prop Beech aircraft. The plane would be carrying a pilot and one passenger on the final leg of their journey to England.
Looking into the distance he spotted what appeared to be an aircraft, coming in low. Taking one last drag on the cigarette, he flicked the butt toward the structure. Opening the door, he reached in and signaled the plane by turning the headlights on and off twice.
The twin turbo prop Beech touched down then taxied toward the structure. Once the props shut down, the two men inside got up and went toward the rear. A few minutes later, the port side door swung up and steps were lowered.
Webb remained by the Rover, glancing at a flag painted on the tail. It was unfamiliar to him. He diverted his attention back to the exit door, seeing the men step out. Both were wearing Western style clothes, black slacks, black shirts, black jackets. A large, heavy set man carried a suitcase, while the other held a briefcase.
Webb surmised the heavy set man was possibly a bodyguard. But who they were, he didn’t have a clue and he knew not to ask questions.
He opened the left passenger side door, then pulled the seat forward. Without so much as a word or a glance at him, the strangers both climbed in the back seat.
Driving away from the airfield, and as often as he dared, Webb would take a quick look in the rear view mirror. The larger man occasionally locked his intimidating dark eyes onto his.
The passengers kept a distance apart from each other, staring straight ahead. Webb heard locks of the briefcase pop open. A very brief conversation took place. But it was all Webb needed to identify his passengers — Arabs.
Chapter 9
Chief Becker stood behind the desk, writing out the duty roster on a small rectangular blackboard attached to the wall.
Grant opened the door, then stood in the doorway. “Is Commander Henley in, Chief?
“He is, sir. I’ll tell him you’re here.”
“Have him meet me outside.”
“Yes, sir. Right away.”
Grant went back outside and adjusted his cap, hoping the weather didn’t get any worse. Walking away from the building, he wanted to make sure the conversation he was about to have wouldn’t be overheard as it had been last time.
He was pissed. Henley held back information. He had to find out why.
Henley poked his head out the door, spotted Grant, then lit up a cigarette as he glanced overhead at the darkening sky.
Grant turned and started going around the side of the building, away from windows and doors. Henley caught up to him.
Grant jammed his hands into his side pockets. Taking a deep breath, he stared Henley square in the eyes. “No more fuckin’ around, Jack.”
“What the shit are you talking about?” Henley asked with his voice rising. He flicked his cigarette onto the pavement, and defiantly took a step closer to Grant.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me your brother-in-law worked on base and that he knew Carter? Why, Jack? What the hell are you hiding?”
“Goddammit!” Henley reared back, ready to strike.
Instinctively, and in the blink of an eye, Grant grabbed Henley’s fist, squeezing so hard Henley thought his bones would break.
Grant’s voice boomed. “Are you outta your fuckin’ mind?!”
“Okay! Okay!” Henley grabbed his hand, massaging his fingers.
Grant just stood there, not believing what almost happened. It had to stop now. Leaning in towards Henley, he kept his voice deep and low. “One more chance, Jack, just one more fucking chance to tell me the goddamn truth — or you’re outta here.” He was close enough to Henley he could smell the odor of cigarettes on his breath. “I can do it, Jack. Believe me, I can do it — and you can bet your ass I will do it.”
Henley walked a few paces away, then swung around, with his face covered in sweat. “Goddammit, Grant! Why the hell did you have to come here?!”
“Stupid question! Now, I’ll give you ten seconds to start explaining or security will… ”
“It’s because… because of Victoria.”
Grant raised an eyebrow. “Victoria. Your wife?”
Henley nodded, then slowly started heading toward the parking lot with Grant staying close. “You need to keep her out of this, Grant.” He stopped and waited for Grant to respond.
“Whatever the hell you got yourself into sounds like she’s already involved, and by your own doing.” Grant didn’t take his eyes from Henley, waiting for the next surprise. “Talk to me, Jack.”
Henley started walking again. “Let’s go sit in my car.”
As they headed for the car, Grant took a quick glance at his submariner. He was running out of time to call Torrinson. Right now, returning to the harbor was more important. He couldn’t ask Gunny Baranski to run surveillance. Getting him involved this morning was enough. He just hoped Adler was on his way.