“Don’t see how he could. That’s definitely one in our favor. Unless… ”
“Unless?! Unless?! You keep throwing wrenches into this shit!”
“Unless there were more men who are now nowhere to be found.”
“Oh, Christ! You really think so?”
“This shit’s getting outta control.” He turned the phone around. “Maybe the admiral can step in.”
“What can he do?”
Grant was ready to ask Torrinson to talk to the base commander and Colonel Donaldson. His plan was to have the base C.O. authorize flyovers around the perimeter. The likelihood of explosives being planted was remote since all the shit onboard the Cat had been blown to hell.
But he just needed to add another measure of safety. Time was running out. He couldn’t hold anything back. He dialed Torrinson’s number.
Just finishing his conversation, Grant hung up when there was a knock at the door. “Sir, it’s Chief Becker. Gunny Baranski’s with me.”
“Wait one, Chief,” Grant said.
“What do you have in mind, skipper?”
“First, we’re gonna get out of these wetsuits.” He went to the door and opened it.
Becker and Baranski backed up, surprised at seeing the two officers in wetsuits.
“Chief, Gunny, we’ll be back in about twenty. In the meantime, Chief, contact everybody. And I mean EOD and your security team. They’re to report here ASAP. See that every man gets a weapon with extra ammo,” Grant ordered, noticing Baranski already had a weapon. “How long will that take, Chief?”
“As long as they’re in the local area, they should all be here in thirty minutes, sir.” Becker stepped toward Grant. “Sir, you gonna tell us what this is all about?”
“I will, Chief, as soon as we get changed.” Grant looked at Baranski. “Gunny, call your C.O. Give him a heads-up on what we’ve discussed. Advise him Admiral Torrinson’s waiting for him to call. It looks like we’ll need as many marines as he can spare.”
“Yes, sir,” Baranski responded, immediately going to the desk.
Adler held the door open. Grant started to leave then turned around. He looked down and just shook his head before looking up at bewildered faces. “Gentlemen, we’ve got a dangerous situation going on. I’m sorry you’ve been kept in the dark, but security was vital. I’ll explain in detail when we get back.” He and Adler rushed from the building, leaving the EOD men wondering now, more than ever, what the hell was going on.
When the two men returned to the office, they were facing a roomful of questioning, concerned faces. Most of the men were in their twenties and early thirties. All the EOD men had been put through the same grueling training in Key West, Florida; Aniston, Alabama; Indian Head, Maryland. They knew every ordnance in the world. Some had already put that training to use. But here in St. Mawgan, England, they could be put to their ultimate test… preventing the theft and possible use of a nuclear weapon.
Once EOD and security had been fully briefed, Grant had Weaver contact Townsend, telling him they were on their way.
About ten minutes later, Grant steered the van into the parking lot, noticing Townsend standing outside the building. He pulled next to him, as he rolled down the window. “Do you want us to follow you, sir?”
Townsend pointed to a black, four door Anglia. “Think that would be best. Three of my men are already in the car.”
“Lead the way,” Grant replied.
Townsend started to leave, then he turned again, leaning close to the open window. “Can I assume you gentlemen have your own ‘protection’?”
“Your assumption is correct, sir,” Grant responded, patting his holster under his jacket.
Townsend slapped the door. “Then I guess we’re all set.” He walked to the Anglia and got in.
Grant pulled out of the parking lot, staying close to the detectives’ car.
“Well, skipper, whadda ya think?”
“Think I’m gonna be pissed if we don’t find anything or anybody.”
“Know what you mean,” Adler commented. He gave Grant a quick look, wondering if he was physically up to par. He reasoned it didn’t matter.
Once away from the downtown area, the Anglia picked up speed with the van hanging close. There was just enough room on the narrow road that would allow two vehicles to pass one another.
Out of the corner of his eye, Adler couldn’t help but notice the hedgerows. They seemed too damn close.
“Maybe we should’ve brought the MG!” he said to Grant.
“Aren’t you having fun?” Grant asked, sliding the van around a curve.
“Not exactly!”
“When this shit’s over, we’ll come back with the MG!”
“Changed my mind! Not a chance!” Adler shouted.
The Anglia finally started slowing as the two vehicles approached the village of St. Newlyn East. Flats, shops, houses, were all within a few feet of the road. Adler noticed in some parts of town there weren’t any sidewalks. Some doors dangerously opened onto the road itself.
The Anglia made a left onto another narrow road, again lined with hedgerows. The farther they traveled from the village, the more the road narrowed. Hedgerows got even closer.
“Christ!” Adler spat out. “I’m sure glad I’m not claustrophobic!”
Another two miles and the Anglia slowed. The van wasn’t far off its bumper. The vehicles were moving under fifteen mph.
“Must be close,” Grant mumbled.
Finally, the Anglia pulled off the road and into a small clearing near a creek. Grant followed the car as it drove around a stand of trees and brush. He parked, then waited until the detectives got out before he killed the engine.
Adler slid the side door open as Grant came around. Dragging the rucksack closer, Adler opened it and took out four extra clips for the .45s, handing Grant two. They slipped them into their jacket pockets. Starlighters, binoculars, NVGs (night vision goggles), a shotgun mike, throat mikes, C4, det cord, and Adler’s ever popular duct tape rounded out the remaining contents of the rucksack.
Drawing their .45s from the holsters, they checked them one last time. Adler glanced at the Uzis hiding behind the seat. He closed the door quietly, then slung the rucksack over his shoulder. They met the detectives by the Anglia.
Grant noticed Townsend eyeing the rucksack. “Tools of the trade, sir.”
Townsend didn’t need further explanation. He pointed across the road. “My man should be fifty meters or so up that driveway.”
With weapons drawn, the six men headed across the road.
The Americans stayed behind the detectives as they all walked quickly but cautiously up the driveway. Nearing the location where Townsend’s man was supposed to be, they slowed their pace.
Townsend called quietly, “Leo.” No response. He signaled for everyone to spread out. They continued walking.
Stopping again, and now starting to worry, Townsend called, “Leo.”
Adler tapped Grant’s shoulder, then pointed to an area in some thicket just off the driveway. He handed Grant the rucksack. “I’m gonna check something.”
Grant nodded, then staying several paces back, he went to the edge of the driveway, keeping his eyes in constant motion.
“Skipper,” Adler called softly.
Grant ducked down, seeing Adler shaking his head and pointing toward his feet.
“Oh, shit,” Grant said under his breath. He jogged up the driveway, signaling with a short whistle. Townsend and his men turned seeing Grant waving them toward him. As they started coming back, he hustled to where Adler was now standing along the edge of the drive.
“What is it?” Townsend asked.