Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series)

by Andrew Towning

  Jenkins opened the door for him, he got into the Porsche 4x4 and drove away.

  * * * At the prestigious Docklands building of Ferran & Cardini, LJ was sitting in his office looking across the room at the silver Kriegsmarine briefcase, and Nathan Cunningham’s overnight bag, the contents of which were now laid out on the large conference table. He was pondering over the problem of the cavern’s exact location, when in frustration he said aloud, “You really must be mad, if you expect to find out the location of that dammed tunnel hidden amongst these things.”

  With that he got up, and walked over to the conference table, and then all the way around it, before going back to his desk. He picked up the telephone, hesitating briefly before pushing the button, Guy Roberts answered almost immediately. “Roberts get me Dan Parker over at the FBI, if you can’t get him on the mobile number, try the other one, he’s sure to answer that.

  * * *

  Oliver Asquith had never liked small aircraft, they bounced around far to much in turbulent weather to really be safe. So he always had a double gin and tonic before getting aboard, what was on this occasion, a twin engine Cessna. The pilot taxied the small plane to the far end of the grass runway before turning its nose into the wind, and applying the brakes. A moment later permission to take off was granted. Asquith gazed out of the small window, thinking about Hugo Malakoff. French, from a long line of nobility, he knew that much. His family had fled France at the outbreak of war with Germany, and had come to live in England. His father had seen the way the wind was turning with the Nazis, and had fled in the dead of night, taking his family, and whatever valuable assets they could safely travel with.

  The previous day, old Malakoff had transferred his considerable wealth into a numbered Swiss bank account. That is where it had stayed safely hidden until after the war. That Hugo Malakoff had money was obvious, there were the houses in Kensington and the villa in Monaco. Not to mention his properties on the islands of Antigua and Martinique in the Caribbean.

  The pilot banked the Cessna over to the left for his final approach and Malakoff’s magnificent fifteenth century residence came clearly into view far below. Asquith had stayed in the four hundred and forty-room château before. But it never ceased to amaze him that this splendid display of French aristocratic architecture was as fine today, as it had been when it was built. The estate covered thousands of acres that included one of the most coveted hunting reserves in the whole of France. Wealthy individuals from all over the world paid highly for a weekend stay at the château, and the opportunity of a full day’s sport. Malakoff had built his own private airfield, which the pilot was now instructed to land on, and then directed to the apron in front of a large solitary hanger where a black Range Rover was waiting to take Asquith up to the Château.

  Malakoff was standing in front of a majestic double spiral staircase, severely reprimanding one of his staff, who was obviously feeling highly embarrassed at being dealt such a public humiliation. He was an impressively tall man, dressed in khaki coloured tropical linen suit, white shirt and tie. His greying hair, neatly groomed, framed his bony angular face, and the dark eyes always remained watchful. In fact, Asquith thought how he had always had the look and confidence of a man who was used to getting his own way, all of the time. He could hear him bellowing at the young man as he was shown through the main entrance doors. On seeing Asquith he dismissed the red-faced servant with a wave of his hand, and greeted his guest with customary charm, and an effervescent smile that could slice diamonds.

  “My dear Oliver, what an absolute pleasure it is to see you.” He kissed Asquith on both cheeks, patted him on the back, and guided him through one of the day rooms, and out onto a terrace overlooking the moat that surrounded the château. A butler was already in attendance, and immediately handed Asquith a glass of Champagne. “I thought that you could probably use a drink.” His English was faultless.

  “Hugo you must be a mind reader, thank you,” Asquith said, accepting the tall elegant crystal glass. “Now Oliver, why don’t we take a stroll through the

  gardens, and you can tell me all about this dilemma that is

  causing you so much concern?”

  As the two men walked, Asquith said, “I really don’t

  know where to start.”

  “Why my dear chap, simply start at the beginning.” So Asquith told him the story. When he had finished,

  Malakoff continued to look out across the lake for a an

  indefinable amount of time without saying a word. Asquith

  stood beside him, finally breaking the silence by saying;

  “It’s all a bloody mess, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I would call it inconvenient,

  Oliver.”

  “Inconvenient. Hugo, from where I’m standing that’s

  an understatement. Have you any idea what would happen

  if any of this ever got out. We have a particularly vicious

  gutter press in England, who would completely humiliate

  and destroy my family name, as well as trashing the memory

  of my father. Traitors who have been discovered to come

  from aristocratic backgrounds are particularly fair game,

  as history has shown many times before. There is also the

  establishment of which I am a prominent member. Hugo,

  you really can’t imagine what would happen to me. I’d be

  finished, cast out, of that I have no doubt whatsoever.” “Let me tell you, Oliver. Your father was a fascist all

  of his life.”

  “Fascist? What do you mean, a fascist?” “Come now, we both know the history, Oliver. Your

  father, and mine were both at university together. They went

  on to become admirers, and close acquaintances of Adolf

  Hitler before and after he rose to power. How shall I put it,

  they were extremely useful to him because they were so well

  connected, and influential within certain areas of the French

  and English elitist societies. Your father went on to establish

  close ties with a number of Hitler’s inner circle of friends.

  But then many members of the English establishment agreed

  with fascism, and loathed the Bolsheviks. After all what was

  the alternative during those uncertain times, communism? I

  really don’t think that educated and intelligent people would

  have wanted any part of that. The Communists would have

  swept through our lands like locusts, destroying everything

  as they went.”

  “So, what are you saying, that your father and mine

  collaborated with the Nazis before the war had started?” “Of course, because every man has to follow

  their true course in life, and support a cause that they

  unswervingly believe in. Why do you think my father fled

  France, Oliver? Well, let me tell you, it wasn’t because of

  the Nazis. It was on their instructions. They knew that he

  was a Nazi sympathiser, and that a man in his position

  would have no problem integrating with the establishment

  in England because of his aristocratic background. It’s the very reason why I still own this vast estate. Hitler ordered it to be used as a retreat and protected the place all the way through the war years. Some of my father’s staff were even allowed to stay on and maintain service at the château. The stories they tell after all of this time are outrageous, about how the Nazi top brass turned it into a brothel for high-ranking officers. They apparently used to come here at weekends, screw themselves stupid, and then leave again on the Sunday evening to return to their units.” Malakoff took a deep breath of air, before setting off back up the path

  towards the château.

  Asquith, lost deep in thought, hadn’t noticed that he

  was standing by the side of the lake alone. After a moment
r />   he chased after the Frenchman, saying. “I find this all very

  distasteful, Hugo.”

  “Get over it, Oliver. How do you think this

  magnificent building remained standing, and survived

  the war. How everything was left securely locked up, and

  unblemished afterwards. Even the collection of priceless

  paintings by famous artists were still hanging in the same

  positions as they had done for many years. Open your eyes

  Oliver, how do you think your father managed to maintain

  that large mansion, that you now live in. Not to mention

  the London properties that both our fathers purchased

  during the war years. All paid for my friend, with monies

  they received from the Third Reich.”

  Malakoff stopped suddenly and turning said, “When

  my family returned to the château after the liberation of

  France, these funds were made available to us via numerous

  numbered Swiss bank accounts. This enabled my father

  to build up a successful international import and export

  business. It was soon after his death, when I’d taken over,

  and discovered that I could indulge in various other forms

  of illegal but highly lucrative forms of trafficking. But you

  must have had your suspicions, after all, we’ve known each

  other for such a very long time, Oliver. Ask yourself why

  should I lie about this, especially to you of all people?” Asquith admitted to himself that he had always

  had his suspicions about Malakoff’s business dealings. But he kept his opinions to himself, instead saying. “I’m not interested in all of that Hugo. All that I’m saying is, that it seems so incredible that they collaborated with the Nazis,

  and were never found out.”

  “Yes, but Oliver, you must remember that they would

  have been extremely careful, keeping everyone including

  personal staff at a distance. After all it was because of your

  father’s collaboration that enables you to enjoy your exotic,

  and very expensive life style that you have today.” Malakoff

  offered. It was a statement that did not require an answer. “And, I can assume that there is no problem with

  the regular payments, that are made to you through the

  numbered account in Jersey?”

  “Of course not. But what if someone started snooping

  around?”

  “Why should they? Nobody knows that your father

  was involved with the tunnel project. As for the money I

  deposit with you, well that’s an arrangement that only you

  and I know anything about. In fact if anyone did investigate

  you Oliver, they would not find any link between us, at all.

  Like my father, I’m also very careful.”

  “But there must be servants who are still alive who

  could link the two men, and then who knows, where it

  would lead?”

  “Oliver, that was a long time ago. I admit, that there

  is a slim possibility that someone may remember the two

  men meeting. But I very much doubt it.”

  “Yes I’m sure you’re right Hugo. But there is still

  a real chance that someone would remember if prompted.

  Then it would be a simple case for an investigator to put

  two and two together. You know what these types are

  like. They dig and dig, until they find whatever it is they’re

  looking for.”

  “Look if it will make you feel happier, I’ll have my

  people check the records of all servants who were in the

  employ of both men from nineteen thirty-three to nineteen

  forty-five. If we find that anyone is still alive, we’ll simply

  have him or her eliminated from the equation.” “You can arrange that?” Asquith said aghast. “Yes Oliver, I can arrange that, and much more.”

  Malakoff said soberly.

  “Now tell me, this Edward Levenson-Jones, what’s

  his address in London?”

  “Belgrave Mews, but Levenson-Jones is a compulsive

  workaholic. There’s only one place you need look for him,

  and that’s Ferran & Cardini International. They have one

  of those buildings in Docklands, you know the type all steel

  and glass, that sort of thing?”

  “As you wish, Oliver, but I think it prudent to check

  his home. I’ll get someone to pay him a visit, because if we

  can retrieve that briefcase, we’ll be able to stop this whole

  messy affair from ever getting out. Although, I’m sure that

  by now it will be securely inside a safe under lock and key.” “They’ll be discreet, your people?” Asquith said.

  “That is to say, we don’t want this thing to blow up in

  our faces. And that’s exactly what will happen if LevensonJones becomes suspicious or finds out that your chaps are

  snooping around?”

  “Oliver, let me explain something to you. If we don’t

  get in first on this thing, then we will both be ruined. The

  hounds of the establishment will chase us both into noman’s land. I will not let that happen, Oliver. I’ll instruct

  my people in London to check out Mr Edward LevensonJones, and I’ll also have his mobile phone calls intercepted

  along with his private and business lines. I also feel that one

  of my people should visit the hospital where Cunningham

  is. They may be able to find out what his condition is, and

  whether or not he’s going to ever come out of this coma?” “And then what?”

  Malakoff’s eyes glinted in the late afternoon

  sunshine, and he gave the Englishman a wry smile before

  saying. “Why, we’ll just have to wait and see what happens,

  Oliver. Let’s hope that by watching and listening we learn

  the whereabouts of the underwater cavern, and are able to

  get to it before they do, or else we will have to resort to

  other more severe methods.”

  Asquith felt the blood drain from his face, and his

  legs become weak. “Look, Hugo, there’s to be no rough

  stuff with Levenson-Jones or the girl, is that understood?” “My dear Oliver, what a pathetic little man you are

  sometimes.” Malakoff turned, and walked off quickly up

  the path towards the terrace. Calling back over his shoulder

  as he went. “I will see you in the oak room at eight o’clock

  for drinks before dinner. At which time we will continue

  this discussion. That is, after you have had time to reflect on

  the consequences of failure.”

  * * * In London, Edward Levenson-Jones had just arrived at the opulent home of the firm’s benefactor, Sir Lucius Stagg. LJ was shown in to the study, where the former British Prime Minister was sitting behind his highly polished desk. Looking up slowly from the papers he’d been reading, he eventually said. “Is Commander Cunningham going to pull through?”

  “The consultant in charge of Nathan Cunningham, won’t comment, sir. All that he is prepared to say is that the odds of him coming out of the coma, are at best fifty, fifty.”

  “Which is another way of saying that he hasn’t got a bloody clue.”

  “Yes I agree. I’ve pulled in a favour from the Chief Constable. There’s an armed police officer stationed outside of his room twenty four hours a day.”

  “Good, and what of his daughter. Has she arrived yet?”

  “She’s on a British Airways flight, landing at Gatwick,” LJ glanced at his gold Rolex that his wife had given him for his birthday. “In approximately twenty-five minu
tes time in fact.”

  “You’ve sent a car to collect her?”

  “Yes, and she’ll be staying with me while in London.”

  “Excellent, in the circumstances I think that is wise. You’d better have someone watch discreetly over her, especially when she visits her father in the hospital.”

  “That has already been put in place, sir. From the minute she gets off the plane, there will be at least two watchers following at all times.”

  There was a knock at the door and a moment later Stagg’s butler came in carrying a silver tray complete with bottle of Champagne and two tall elegant crystal glasses. LJ, suddenly felt very uncomfortable with the old man’s blatant insensitivity, and display of frivolous indulgence at a time when his friend and former colleague was lying in a hospital bed fighting for his life.

  The Champagne cork popped, and the glasses were filled. Lucius Stagg sipped at the pale sparkling liquid and then held the glass approvingly up to the light, saying, “Please forgive me Edward, but this is now a daily ritual. I’ve been told by my doctor that this stuff is actually good for me.” He sipped a little more from his glass. “I think it’s just an excuse for him to come round here, and drink my very expensive vintage Bollinger, if you ask me. Anyway, drink up, and I’ll have Stebbings show you out, I’m sure you’ve got far better things to do with your time than stand here and talk to an eccentric old man.”

  “You know fully well, that it’s always a pleasure to see you, sir. I’ll keep you up to speed with Commander Cunningham’s progress, and I’m sure the Partners will keep you informed as well, regarding the operational details when we get to Jersey.” He put the half full glass back onto the silver tray.

  “Very good, Edward.”

  “Goodbye, sir.”

  * * * The flight up from Jersey to London Gatwick airport took approximately forty-five minutes. As the British Airways jet touched down, Annabelle Cunningham was lost deep in thought, thinking about her father who was laying in a coma because of a reckless driver in a fast car. Whoever it was, hadn’t even had the decency to stop, she thought, instead had just callously driven off up the road. This image brought tears to her eyes, and then the stewardess was lightly touching Annabelle’s shoulder to tell her that they had landed. Outside the terminal building a chauffeur was waiting to greet her. He was standing alongside a black Mercedes saloon, the name on the small plaque that he held in his hand read, Cunningham. Annabelle got in, and a moment later the Mercedes pulled away from the kerb.