After quickly securing the tarp around Webb’s body, Grant said, “Let’s put him on the seat. We’ll lash him to it. That should prevent him from rolling around.”
When they finished, they sat on the front seats. Without any lights in the van, they relied on their years of experience and checked their .45s, then the Uzis.
Grant looked out the windshield and into the blackness, hardly able to distinguish anything around them. Adler reached behind the seat and pulled out two pairs of NVGs from his rucksack, handing one to Grant.
Their upcoming trek to the airfield, and eventually to the building, would be slow. But they still had plenty of time to remain hidden under the cover of darkness.
Grant clicked a button on his submariner, turning on a backlight. They had fifteen minutes until they moved out.
Sitting quietly in the dark, they skillfully spread black camouflage paint on their faces, in random, disruptive patterns. Then, they waited.
Aknin and Massi sat in the plane’s cabin. Small reading lamps above their heads were the only lights shining. There wasn’t anything for them to do except stay at this forsaken airfield. Monday afternoon, the time Labeaux scheduled the attack, seemed too far off.
Aknin took a final gulp of orange juice then put the glass on the tray. “I must walk outside for awhile, sir.”
Massi dismissed Aknin with a short wave of his hand, then he rested his head against the seat.
The plane’s collapsible stairs shook with each of Aknin’s heavy footsteps. Finally standing on a section of broken concrete, he stretched his back and looked overhead into complete darkness, feeling a light mist touch his face. The humidity and rain were not to his liking, and he swiped a hand over his beard.
Beneath his shoe he could feel the jagged edge of the concrete, with a soft section of grass filling in the spaces. As broken and fractured as this old runway was, he had no problem handling the plane when they landed. Takeoff tomorrow should be no different.
What he did worry about was the English weather, hoping it didn’t prevent tomorrow’s planned attack. Labeaux assured Massi they would have their B57 even if the American plane bringing one to St. Mawgan was delayed. The bunker guarded by American marines held a stockpile of such weapons. The men he hired would help make the operation a success.
Aknin looked toward the building. Earlier, there had been a disturbance. One of the hostages, the man, was shouting angrily.
Labeaux had left the plane, annoyed, telling Massi he would go take care of the situation by himself. It had been quiet ever since.
Walking around the front of the plane, Aknin ran his hand along one of the props, feeling the moisture. He wiped his hand on his shirt, as he turned his attention to the road in the distance. Why hadn’t Labeaux’s man returned from the town? He raised the binoculars hanging around his neck. Still no sign of headlights.
When questioned earlier, Labeaux once again tried to reassure Massi that Webb’s being late could be a matter of the weather. The explosives’ expert he was to meet only had a small craft to take to the harbor. The water could be rough, plus navigating the bay at night could add to the delay.
Since the explosives had already been placed around the perimeter of the base, all Webb had to tell him was the time to set them off and when to take care of the guards. There was still plenty of time.
Knowing that tomorrow he and Massi would be leaving this retched country, pleased Razzag Aknin. He lowered the binoculars, then went up into the plane. It was time to cleanse their bodies, to begin the ritual. But with just enough water for drinking, they’d have to perform the Tayammum, dry ablution (act of washing oneself).
Once the cleansing was complete, they’d begin the “Salah.” In Islam the act of “Salah” is a person’s communication with and remembrance of God, submitting completely to the Creator. Its basic meaning translates to bowing, homage, worship, prayer. Before midnight they would say their last, and fifth prayer of the day, the “Isha.”
Chapter 22
With their NVGs in place and staying close to a hedgerow, the two Americans moved quickly and silently toward their destination. Grant held his .45, with an Uzi slung over his shoulder.
An Uzi was Adler’s weapon of choice for this evening’s activities. His .45 was holstered. A rucksack was on his back.
After ten minutes, Adler held up his fist and whispered into his throat mike, “Target in sight.”
Grant came around him, looking across the airfield. From where they were standing, they could see a faint light from inside the building. Approximately thirty yards from the building was the plane. On the north side of the building, and barely visible, was the Range Rover.
Grant whispered, “Looks like all the ‘players’ are here.”
Their first objective was to find the Henleys. They started toward the building, crouching low.
The grass was slick from constant rain and mist over the last few days. It could be in their favor, as they tried to stay in stealth mode.
“Hold it, Joe,” Grant whispered. They dropped to a knee. It was still dead quiet. They hadn’t seen any movement. But they did finally get a better view of the plane. The exit door was raised. Steps were lowered. Small overhead lights could be seen inside the cabin. They still weren’t close enough to tell if anyone was inside.
“Let’s move.”
Raising their NVGs, they made their approach from the south side of the structure, passing a single door. Continuing straight ahead until they were about fifteen feet beyond the back wall, they dropped to a knee again, listening for anything, but hearing nothing.
They crept slowly, staying parallel to the building, until they were opposite a small window. A dim light flickered inside. It was too freaking quiet, but considering only Labeaux and the two Arabs were supposed to be here, maybe that was good.
Grant pointed a finger toward the window. He took the lead with Adler just behind him.
Reaching the building, Grant flattened his back against the cold concrete left of the window. Adler took up a position to the right. With his .45 close to his cheek, Grant held his breath, leaning toward the window, trying to see in the room. Unable to see anything from that angle, he stepped back. He looked at Adler before trying again, only this time he stood directly in front of the window. The room appeared to be empty, until he looked down to the left. He spotted Henley, slumped sideways, staying very still.
Grant looked to the opposite side of the room. Victoria. She was laying in a curled position, with her hair covering her face. He could see a rope around her waist.
Stepping back, he held up two fingers, pointing toward the room. Adler gave a quick thumb’s up, then slowly lowered his hand when Grant shook his head. Were the Henleys alive or dead? Either way, they had to get to them out.
Suddenly, Grant heard voices. What the hell were they saying? He tried concentrating on the sound. His mouthed curved slightly. He knew. They weren’t talking. The Libyans were chanting their evening prayers.
Now was his chance. Hoping Jack was unconscious and not dead, he had to try and get his attention. He stepped in front of the window again. Keeping his eyes on Henley, Grant tapped on the window. No reaction. He tried again. This time Henley moved. Relieved, Grant blew out a long breath. He tapped again.
Henley struggled, trying to sit up straight. He couldn’t figure out where the noise was coming from. Grant continued to slowly tap the window until Henley finally looked up and saw him. Grant smiled and gave a quick salute.
Henley dropped his head forward, shaking it in disbelief. As much as he tried to reassure Vicky that Grant would find them, he had his own doubts.