Hearing the plane’s engines, he left Labeaux to think about his situation. He joined Aknin in the cockpit.
Grant kept his eyes on the plane, when Adler finally jogged over to him. “We good?” Adler asked.
“I assume we are.”
“We are very good!” Adler laughed, settling his eyes on the aircraft.
Just then they heard a voice. “Grant?”
Grant turned. “Jack. Are you all right?” He and Adler backed up, moving toward Henley, but they continued watching the aircraft.
Henley came around the corner, with the .45 in one hand, and the other hand braced against the building for support. “I’m okay,” he replied with relief in his voice. He turned his attention to the plane, now lining up for takeoff.
Grant raised the barrel of the Uzi, resting it against his shoulder. “How’s Vicky?”
“She still hasn’t come around, Grant. We need to get her to a hospital.”
Grant placed a hand on Henley’s shoulder. “We will. We’ve got the van parked down the road. Joe will drive it up here in a minute.”
The sound of the engines revving up once more drew the attention of the three men. Henley leaned against the building as Grant and Adler walked toward the runway, then stopped.
The plane’s bright lights lit up broken slabs of concrete as it began its roll. Within no time, it was in flight, leaving the airfield behind. Aknin slowly brought the craft on a course west, heading for Newquay Bay. Once over water, he’d turn south. The first refueling stop was hundreds of miles away.
Without saying a word, Adler jogged off to get the van. When they returned to the base, they’d contact Townsend. His men could retrieve Webb’s car.
Henley handed Grant the .45. “Is it really over?”
“Pretty much, Jack.” Grant gave Henley the canteen, then holstered his weapon. He hooked the canteen on his belt, then raised Henley’s arm and put it over his shoulder before taking one last look at the plane’s fading, red blinking lights.
He helped Henley into the room where Victoria was still laying unconscious. Hearing the van’s engine, Grant asked, “Jack, can you hold the door open?” Henley nodded. “I’ll carry Vicky out.” Lifting her gently, Grant cradled her against him then carried her to the van.
Adler stood by the open door, and taking Vicky’s limp body carefully from Grant’s arms, he placed her on the bench seat. Then, he offered a helping hand to Henley.
Grant got behind the steering wheel, and asked over his shoulder, “Jack, you want to take her to a local hospital, or airlift her to Mildenhall?” He put the van into gear and started driving.
“Mildenhall,” Henley replied.
On the way back to St. Mawgan, Adler used the radio to call Marine Lieutenant Colonel Donaldson, telling him the base could stand down. Next, he contacted Chief Becker. A chopper had to be ready for immediate takeoff.
A short time later, exhausted, hungry and glad it was over, Grant and Adler stood in the field behind EOD, watching the chopper lift off. They gave a quick salute to Henley, who was leaning against the open cargo bay door. He returned their salute.
When the chopper was no longer in sight, Grant slapped Adler on the back. “I know — you’re starving.”
Adler shook his head. “I don’t know if I’m more hungry or more tired.”
“That’s gotta be a first!” Grant laughed. “Come on. Promise you that after we call the admiral, we’ll do whichever you want. Deal?”
“Deal,” Adler yawned.
With their butts dragging, and looking like hell, the two walked into the EOD office. A roomful of men were waiting for them.
Chief Becker announced: “Attention on deck!” The men snapped to attention. Although not quite in unison, they said, “Morning, sirs!”
Adler nodded as Grant replied, “Morning, gentlemen. As you were.”
Chief Becker stepped forward. “Captain, we’re all wondering, but will Commander and Mrs. Henley be all right, sir?”
“I’m sure they will be, Chief. Mildenhall’s got some pretty sharp doctors.”
Grant reached for the doorknob to Henley’s office, when Becker stopped him. “Uh, sir, we realize we don’t know the whole story, but what we’re really wondering is if… if the commander… ” Becker was having a difficult time getting the words out. From the overheard conversations that went on in Henley’s office, Becker was concerned.
“Don’t worry, Chief. We’ll try our damnedest to see he gets through this.” He gave Becker’s shoulder a tap.
“Thank you, sirs.”
Grant and Adler went into the office. Adler collapsed on a chair near the desk. Grant stretched his arms overhead, and slowly walked to the window. “Almost daylight, Joe,” he commented looking toward the horizon. He turned, seeing Adler already asleep, with his head resting on the desk.
Sitting on the swivel chair, Grant rubbed his tired eyes then reached for the phone and dialed. He put his head back, and nearly dozed off, when he heard, “Torrinson residence.”
He bolted up, shaking his head. “Sir, it’s Grant.”
Grant pulled into the parking lot of CID. Taking his keys from the ignition, he turned to Adler. “Awake yet?”
“That sure was a helluva short night,” Adler replied, yawning.
“Come on. We’ll talk with Townsend, then drive down to Porthgwarra to say goodbye to Chaz.”
“Chaz? Oh, you mean the dive guy.”
“Yeah. We’ll stop for breakfast, or lunch, on the way.”
“Sounds good.”
Getting out of the MG, Adler zipped up his jacket and looked overhead. “I’m still waiting.”
Grant stood near the front of the car. “For what?”
“The sun! It’s gotta be there somewhere!” Adler said, pointing at a heavily overcast sky.
“Let’s go. Townsend’s waiting for us.”
Chief Inspector Townsend gave a quick wave seeing the two men approaching. “Gentlemen,” he said opening the door.
“Morning, sir,” Grant said. “Sorry we’re late. Sort of had a late night.”
Townsend motioned with his arm. “You know where the conference room is.”
Once they were settled around the conference table, Townsend said, “Captain, tell me what happened.”
Grant filled in all the details from the time they left Detective Sergeant Moore’s body at the hospital to finding the Henleys.
Townsend stopped taking notes somewhere after Grant described locating Webb. When Grant finally finished talking, there was silence in the room until Townsend commented, “Quite an evening for both of you gentlemen.”
“Yes, sir. It sure as hell was,” Grant answered.
Townsend scooted forward on his chair and picked up a sheet of paper, perusing it briefly. “A report came in during the night. It seems there was another explosion, only this one apparently was in mid-air. A Shackleton spotted some small pieces of wreckage several miles off the coast, south of here. The lifeboat from Padstow was sent out to investigate and to search for possible survivors.” He looked at Grant, then Adler. Both men sat without expression. “The debris apparently was from a light aircraft. Oh, by the way. No survivors were found.”
Grant leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, intertwining his fingers. He gave Adler a quick look before he responded. “You can’t possibly think that was the plane taking ‘our friends’ back to the Middle East, do you, sir? I mean, that’d be one helluva shame. They were such nice folks.”
Townsend hadn’t smiled much during his encounters with these two, but this time he couldn’t hold back. He slid the report into a folder. “Guess we’ll probably never know, Captain, but I guess we can close the file on this Labeaux caper.”