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

by Andrew Towning

  * * * Just before six o’clock, Guy Roberts arrived at Belgrave Mews to collect LJ and Annabelle, and to take them to the hospital. They settled into the rear seat of the Mercedes, and were driven away. At the end of the road the Mercedes had to squeeze past a white van coming from the other direction, with the words Emergency Drainage & Sewerage Engineers written down the side in bold black lettering. It drove slowly to the other end of the Mews, and parked in the vacant space that Roberts had just left.

  Two men in their late twenties got out of the van, both were wearing pristine blue overalls, and white hardhats of the type worn on building sites. They went straight to a manhole cover that was located a few feet away in the middle of the pavement. Lifting the heavy metal plate off, they placed it to one side, and then erected a portable safety barrier around the hole, and then walked back to the rear of the van.

  After five minutes, the one whose name was Dean Slater went along the path that led around to the back of the elegant Georgian building, and the rear courtyards. Opening a gate in the wall, he walked on ageing flagstones, which led to the backdoor of LJ’s ground floor garden apartment.

  The mortise lock gave in easily to Slater’s experienced touch, and a moment later he was stood in the middle of the kitchen. The state of the art alarm system that had been fitted remained silent. LJ, had once again forgotten to activate it in his haste to leave earlier. He went through the hall to the front door; his eyes darting into the rooms on either side, familiarising himself with the layout. Slater opened the heavy door, and Sean Black came up the front steps to join him in the hallway.

  They worked quickly and methodically through all of the rooms in LJ’s apartment, searching every drawer with meticulous care, systematically removing books off of shelves, and then replacing them diligently in exactly the same position as they had been taken from. Every painting including the large portrait of Winston Churchill hanging over the fireplace was lifted in one corner, in their search for a safe, but one wasn’t found.

  Finally, Slater said, “We’re wasting our time, the briefcase isn’t here.”

  They went through every room again, checking that they hadn’t left anything out of place. Slater and Black prided themselves on being professionals. They went to great lengths to ensure that every room looked exactly the same as it had done before they had entered it. Slater had placed tiny cameras and microphones in the study, living room and was just finishing in the kitchen when Black walked in.

  “Why are you bugging the place, that wasn’t what we were asked to do?”

  “So it wasn’t part of the brief. That’s no reason why we shouldn’t show a little initiative is it? Anyway, we might see or hear something to our advantage, and that’ll mean a bonus on top of what we’re getting already.”

  “Slater, have you forgotten who owns this place? Listen this bloke was with MI5, he’s not one of your ordinary everyday spooks, you know. This one is still involved in that sort of stuff at the highest level, and we were definitely warned not to take any risks that could make him suspicious. Remember?”

  “Black, you really are like an old woman. Are you forgetting who is paying us? Hugo Malakoff, and you’d better believe me mate, when I tell you that this French dude is not someone you mess around with, right. He wants fast action on this one, and no pussying around, that’s what the man said. I know what he’s capable of, and you don’t want to upset this guy. Now let’s get the hell out of here, and dump that van, before some nosy git gets suspicious, and rings the number on the side that doesn’t exist. Someone will almost certainly have made a note of it being parked here, they always do in these sort of areas. I think we’ll swap it for something a little more our style, Black, say a Ferrari preferably or perhaps we’ll even make do with an Aston Martin, who knows. Then we’ll go get ourselves one of Gino’s special pizzas to take back to the lockup.”

  “Then what?” asked Black.

  “Then we wait, Black. And when this Levenson whatever his name is and the girl return, well, then we can settle down to a little night time eavesdropping and hopefully learn something to Mr Malakoff’s advantage.”

  * * * “He looks so dreadful, with all of those tubes stuck in his body.” Annabelle Cunningham stood beside her father’s hospital bed stroking his hair with tears in her eyes. LJ, who had been standing by the door, came over, and put a fatherly arm around her shoulders. The door opened, and the consultant who LJ had seen on his last visit, breezed into the room with two young white-coated doctors following.

  After introducing himself, he proceeded to examine Nathan, at the same time he gently explained to Annabelle just how serious her father’s injuries were, but at the same time, also reassured her that his chances of pulling through were now much more favourable. When he’d left, Annabelle slumped down in a nearby chair, she looked tired, and had dark circles under her eyes. She looked up at LJ, and tried a smile that failed miserably.

  “You look absolutely bushed my dear. Why not get a good night’s rest at the apartment, and then I’ll have young Roberts bring you back here first thing tomorrow morning.” She was going to protest, but was far too tired, and gave in.

  As they drove away from the hospital Annabelle said, “You’re very kind. But I need to know exactly what happened, can you tell me?”

  “Okay, well from what the witnesses have told the police, Nathan was at a level crossing, the traffic lights changed to red, and he simply stepped off the pavement. Was half way across the road when a BMW saloon car came from the right and hit him. According to the lady who called for the ambulance, the driver of the car then accelerated off up the street, and disappeared into the mid morning traffic.”

  “What a bloody cowardly callous bastard.” The sobs had gone, and had been replaced by a steely hardness to her voice now. “I mean, here we have a man whose reflexes and eyesight are as sharp as anyone half his age. He would not simply walk out in front of a car, he just wouldn’t. I really can’t believe it, there must be more to this than we know LJ?”

  “I know, and that’s why I’ve got my best people looking in to it, and why the police are treating it as attempted murder, and not simply another hit and run incident.” They travelled the rest of the short journey in silence.

  They arrived back at Belgrave Mews just before ninefifteen. To be greeted by a police patrol car parked outside of the apartment. Guy Roberts stopped the Mercedes a short distance along the road. LJ walked back towards the two waiting uniformed officers. He talked briefly with them on the front steps, before going up, and opening the front door. In the hallway one of the officers outlined the alleged events that had led to them being called to the scene.

  “Apparently sir, there was a white van parked outside your flat with two white males inside it. One of your neighbours became suspicious when one of the men disappeared around to the rear of the properties, and then the other one was seen going up your steps at the front a moment later. The lady who witnessed this then tried to telephone the number on the side of the van to find out what the problem was with the drains. It turned out to be a fake number, so she decided to call us and report it. We arrived fifteen minutes later, but I’m afraid the van had already gone.”

  “I see, all very strange then. Well, we’d better go and have a look round the place, I suppose.” LJ went ahead of the policemen towards the kitchen, and checked the back door for any signs of forced entry. He then went through each room in turn. “There doesn’t appear to have been a break in officers, and as far as I can tell there’s absolutely nothing missing or out of place.”

  The officer in charge took a few minutes to write up a brief report, and LJ was asked to read and sign it. When they had left, he went, and poured two large whiskies. Annabelle downed hers in one gulp, and then said goodnight. Levenson-Jones poured himself another generous measure of whisky before moving to one of the Chesterfield sofas, and slumping down on to the antique leather. Sitting forward, he held his glass up to the portrait of Winston Churchill, and t
oasted the great man.

  At the same time he made a mental note to have his technical support chap, Vince Sharp come round in the morning, and check the place for fingerprints. He was sure that the painting had been perfectly level before.

  * * * Six miles away in the East End of London, the sound of trains could be heard rumbling on the heavy metal track high above the run-down side street. Sending dust down from the exposed rafters, and vibrations through the very structure of the Victorian railway arches, and into the lockup.

  Slater and Black sat eating pepperoni pizza from Gino’s, and complaining about the noise from the trains, while intently watching the monitor screen. Headphones kept out the noise above, and enabled them to hear what was being said at Belgrave Mews. The miniature bugging devices that Slater had placed inside the apartment were now active, and they could here and see the police officers, and LJ talking in the kitchen.

  So a nosy neighbour had spotted them. “Um, very unfortunate, that is Black,” Slater said aloud, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and a shiver ran down his spine. Whoever she was would almost certainly be able to pick out the two young criminals with the bottle-blond cropped hair in a line-up? Malakoff will be furious that they’ve been so amateurish as to bring attention to themselves. Of that he had no doubt. The only option was to eliminate the witness, whoever she was.

  Slater calmly picked up the phone, and dialled the number of a certain Detective Sergeant within the Metropolitan Police. This one owed his very recent promotion to a tip off that Slater had given him, which resulted in the downfall of a big-time drug dealer. Five minutes later the phone beside him started to ring, and he picked it up, and listened carefully, writing down the name and address that was given to him. He hung up without saying a word, the debt had been re-paid in full. Switching the twenty-four hour recorders over to automatic, Slater got up, and went to the back of the lock-up to an old rusty metal cabinet that was dented down one side, and bolted to a brick wall.

  Opening the steel door he swung it around to reveal what was inside. He studied the array of weapons for a few moments, before extracting a Walther PPK with a silencer already attached for himself, and a sawn off shotgun for Black. Before closing the cabinet door, he reached in, and picked up a syringe along with a small ampoule bottle that he then carefully placed into his jacket pocket.

  Slater slowly pulled on his soft black leather gloves, set the alarm and bolted the double doors at the front of the lock up. He turned, and looked up and down the dimly lit street, before walking across to where Black was already sitting behind the wheel of the stolen Ferrari, the engine running and false plates attached. At that time of night, the journey to the Belgrave Mews address that they had been given would only take them fifteen minutes.

  After parking the bright red Italian sports car in a vacant space, three roads away. They walked back to number fifty-one Belgrave Mews, finding that there were no lights on, and the curtains had been pulled tightly together. The owner was hopefully at home, and by now fast asleep.

  Black remained hidden outside while Slater entered through the back door. He stood just inside the room for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. The house was deathly quite and the only sound came from a wall clock in the hall. Slater moved through the ground floor, and then went up the stairs. His footsteps fell silently on to the thick carpet of the landing. He found the bedroom at the far end on the right. The door was slightly ajar, and creaked somewhat noisily on it’s hinges, as he pushed it open. He stood motionless in the darkness, did not even dare to breath, for fear of waking the old woman. His head was pounding, and he could hear his own heart beat under his clothing, after a minute of waiting, he carefully moved through the partially open doorway.

  Once inside, he crouched down low and moved stealthily, like a cat, to the end of the bed where he remained motionless for a few seconds while he deliberated his next move. He knew that he had to administer the lethal injection into a part of the body where it would not be easily spotted by the police or an experienced pathologist.

  He decided on the area of flesh just above, and behind the ankle. Lifting back the corner of the duvet, the old woman who had so foolishly informed on them remained still in her slumber. Even when the fine needle pricked the delicate parchment like skin, she didn’t stir.

  Ten seconds later her heart had stopped beating. Slater stood up, and replaced the protective cap over the needle, before putting it back into his jacket pocket. Walking to the other end of the bed he checked the frail body for a pulse, when there wasn’t one, he allowed himself a congratulatory smile for a job well done, and then left, closing the bedroom door softly behind him.

  * * * “That elderly lady at number fifty-one,” LJ said, “she told the police that the two men in the white van were in there mid to late twenties, average height, and both had short blond spiky hair. Have our people run a check through the various agency databases of all criminals in the Greater London Area who work in pairs, and who fit that very vague description, please Roberts.”

  “I’ll get on to it right away, Mr Levenson-Jones. What time would you like me to collect Miss Cunningham, sir?”

  “Nine-thirty on the dot, please. That will give Vince Sharp enough time to give this place a good going over.” LJ replaced the telephone on to its cradle, and looked up to find the seventeen stone hulk of Vince Sharp stood in the doorway to his study, scrutinising a tiny pencil like object in his hand.

  “Anything interesting?” He asked.

  “This?” he held up the tiny metallic tube with the wire hanging out of the end. “This is the latest colour surveillance camera and integrated digital microphone. I’ve found three of these in all, one in here earlier, another in the living room, and this one in the kitchen.” He walked over and placed the bug onto LJ’s desktop.

  “You’ve had a visit all right and whoever it was knew exactly what they were doing. I’ve only found them because I’ve got a scanner that will search a wider frequency band than those used by the police, and our own security service. But, these little beauties have been set at the most extreme end of the scale.”

  “Rather sophisticated I would have thought for anyone outside of the intelligence community.” LJ said, leaning back on his swivel chair, and rolling the tiny device in his fingers.

  “That may be true. But anyone could easily buy this type of surveillance gadgetry, if they knew where to go. But believe me, this type of kit does not come cheap. Whoever it was, would have needed to purchase not only the cameras, but also the portable laptop computer that goes with them, before they were able to receive the images and sound. That would have set them back around twenty grand at least.”

  “And what range would the computer have?”

  “The range is infinite, the only restriction is the strength of reception to its onboard modem. This is governed by terrain of course, and which is why it’s so bloody expensive. But there’s another reason why someone would be using this type of kit. You see it can never be pinpointed or tracked to one specific location, even if the receiving computer is stationary for long periods of time.”

  “How?”

  “Well it’s all in the mobile phone signal that the computer’s very powerful processor chip uses. It can automatically and randomly change the network from one to another in a split second, and without breaking the call. This on its own is extremely impressive, but there is more. While on line the call is continuously re-routed all over the globe, to evade being traced. That way, if you’ve settled down to do a spot of eavesdropping, you won’t get any unwelcome knocks at your door.”

  “Yes well, that’s all very interesting, Vince. But I’m far more interested as to why someone went to the trouble of bugging my apartment. I want you to put all of those cameras back, exactly where you found them. Whoever they are we don’t want them knowing that we’ve rumbled them, not for the time being anyway. And, when you get back to the office, run a check through our own database of surveillance
equipment dealers who sell this particular product, both here in the UK, and abroad will you. Oh, and Vince, run the check yourself, I want to keep this very much between ourselves.”

  “Of course boss, I’ll do that first thing when I get back there. But what intrigues me, is why someone would want to bug this place?”

  “I’m not sure, but it could just be connected with this U-boat mystery Nathan Cunningham has landed us with. Come to think of it, rather fortunate I put that aluminium briefcase into the firm’s vault yesterday afternoon.”

  “But how would they have known about the existence of the briefcase and it’s contents?”

  “Um, that’s what I’m wondering.” LJ frowned. “I tell you what Vince. Before going back to the office, go across to Thames House and have a quiet word with one of your old friends in the technical department there. I’m sure they’ll be able to tell you if anyone has recently booked out this type of equipment, won’t they?”

  “You really think…?”

  “I don’t think, Vince, I’m merely considering all the options.” LJ looked at his watch.

  “Now re-instate those bugs and be on your way. Roberts will be here in a moment to take Miss Cunningham to the hospital.”

  When Vince Sharp had left, LJ went into the living room where Annabelle was sat by the window drinking coffee. “I’m ever so sorry about all of this, Annabelle.”

  “It’s not your fault. After all, you didn’t ask my father to come to London, and burden you with all this Nazi submarine stuff, only to then go and get himself knocked over, did you?”

  He sat down opposite her and said gently. “As a matter of fact, my dear, yes I did ask him to come over here. As you know your father, and I have been friends a very long time. We’ve been through a lot together, and to be honest this business with him getting himself put into hospital is extremely disturbing to say the very least.”