Seeing her brother’s face in her mind, and remembering the words he’d said, tormented her even more. She felt bile slowly creeping up into her throat. She started retching, then vomited, and that was immediately followed by a bout of dry heaves. Her body seemed to convulse before she slumped forward and then became quiet.
“Victoria!” Henley cried out. “Oh, Jesus Christ! Vicky!” He frantically tried to get to her, but his efforts were futile. The rope cut into his wrists the more he struggled. He shouted at the top of his lungs, “You fucking bastards! Get her out of here! Get her out of here! Help her!
“Vicky! Listen to my voice! Don’t give up! I love you! Do you hear me? I love you!”
As dark as it was, Webb had been driving without headlights for nearly five miles. He kept the speed of his beat up car just under forty kph, following Grant’s instructions to the letter. The feel of a .45 pressing against his temple was all the incentive he needed.
Grant turned in the seat, just enough to see the van following close. “How much farther?” he asked Webb.
“A couple kilometers.”
“Pull over.” Grant lowered the weapon, and rested his arm on the backrest. He lowered the window, then waved Adler to him.
Adler leaned toward the window. “What’s up?”
“We’re a couple kilometers from the airfield. You got the diagram?” Adler unfolded the paper, then took out his penlight, shining it on the diagram. Just then a set of headlights came toward them, the vehicle slowing as it got closer. Adler slowly dropped his hand, resting it on top of his holster.
Pulling next to Webb’s car, the driver leaned out the window. “You blokes need any help?”
Grant tapped the back of Webb’s head with the .45. Webb responded, “No thanks, mate.” The driver gave a wave, then drove off.
Once the taillights were no longer visible, Grant and Adler studied the diagram. They had to assume that whoever was holed up at the airport would have posted a lookout.
He pointed to an area on the diagram, asking Webb, “Is there a way to get to this point without being seen if someone had binoculars?” Webb gave directions to a turnoff that was a safe distance away from the airfield and the building.
Grant handed the paper to Adler, as he said to Webb, “I don’t have to remind you what’ll happen if this diagram… ”
“I’ll be better off with you than with that fucking, bloody Labeaux, or the Arabs!” Webb answered with his shoulders hunched.
“I wouldn’t count on it if I were you,” Grant replied in a threatening tone. Then he turned to Adler. “We good?”
“Damn straight we are!”
Petty Officer Zach Phillips stood just outside Torrinson’s office. “Sir, it’s Lieutenant Colonel Donaldson again on the Red 1.”
Torrinson reached for the phone, then hesitated, hoping he didn’t hear bad news. He picked up the receiver. “Colonel?”
“Admiral, I just got off the phone with a Chief Inspector Townsend at CID. He was in contact with Captain Stevens just a short time ago, sir.”
“Fill me in, Colonel,” Torrinson said, relieved. He swung his chair around, staring at pictures of Silver Strand Beach in Coronado and his classmates at the Academy. He wasn’t really focused on the pictures. He was focused on the words Donaldson was saying.
For the next fifteen minutes, Donaldson relayed the information, while Torrinson remained quiet.
Finally Donaldson said, “That’s all I have for you, sir. Oh, one more comment from Chief Inspector Townsend, sir. Captain Stevens said for you to remember the desert. Hope you know what that means, sir.”
Torrinson did indeed know what that meant. There was a mission in Libya he’d read about after he took over for Admiral Morelli. Grant was telling him that Massi and Aknin were involved.
Torrinson didn’t know how long he’d been holding his breath, until he finally said, “Colonel, proceed with Captain Stevens’ orders for base security, and that includes his orders to EOD. Fill the team in on what we’ve discussed, including about Commander Henley. They’re to remain at the compound and not leave the base. Those are my orders, Colonel.”
“I understand, sir. Should I call you if I hear from Captain Stevens?”
Torrinson didn’t care for the word “if” being thrown in there. He looked at the clock. “Yes, Colonel, but call me in two hours anyway.”
“Yes, sir.”
Torrinson disconnected the call, but hung onto the receiver. He had to make other calls, including one that would alert a carrier in the Med, the USS John F. Kennedy, sending it to GQ (general quarters).
He rolled his chair to the side, spotting Zach standing by the file cabinets. “Zach! Get SECDEF on the line. Then dig out a file from a few years back. Captain Stevens and Lieutenant Adler had a mission in Libya. They were working with SAS.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” the yeoman responded, immediately dialing SECDEF. As he waited for a response, he pulled the phone closer to the edge of the desk, stretching the cord to its max. He started looking through files.
“Sir, SECDEF’s on the Red 1!” He hung up, then grabbed the file and hurried into Torrinson’s office. Laying the folder on the desk, he immediately left.
Chapter 21
Webb turned the car off the road, driving across a pasture. Adler followed close behind. Neither vehicle had headlights on. They were moving at a crawl, attempting to avoid irregular depressions, rocks, clumps of dirt.
They’d driven about thirty-five yards off the main road, when Grant had Webb park alongside a hedgerow. The airfield still wasn’t in sight.
Grant felt confident no one in the building would be leaving during the night. If anyone did make an attempt to drive off… well, he and Adler would be ready and more than willing to put a stop to the intended “trip.”
Using the handle of his .45, he smacked the small overhead light. Webb covered his head when small pieces of plastic and bulb rained down on him.
“Okay, let’s go,” Grant said.
Webb looked at him defiantly. “Up yours!”
His door flung open. Adler grabbed his arm and yanked him out, making sure he landed hard on his ass. Adler kept his voice low. “That’s not being very friendly. Now, get your ass up!” Using one hand, he jerked Webb up so violently, that Webb’s feet left the ground. A shove started him stumbling toward the van.
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.”