“My dear Oliver, there you go again, presuming the worst. It is a very foolish man who presumes what the outcome of something will be, before it has taken place. All that I require from you, is that you keep me posted as regards Levenson-Jones’ plans, and I’ll have the Cunningham girl taken care of. Now, I have business meetings this afternoon and intend to stay here at the château for another day at least. In the meantime I’ll have my boat made ready for sea. We will need to be set to sail immediately we hear that Levenson-Jones is heading for Jersey. Until we know more, I think that’s about it. Now, is there any part of what I’ve just said that you do not understand Oliver?”
“You can be so bloody patronising at times, Hugo. My head is spinning with all of this stuff. It’s alright for you, but if this comes out I’m finished. Do you hear, Hugo, bloody finished.”
“I promise you this, Oliver. That U-boat will never surface. Because I will see to it personally that it doesn’t, my old friend. I’ve no intention of allowing this LevensonJones, or whomever he sends to Jersey to destroy what has taken many years to build. So don’t worry yourself, you leave the messy end of this business to me.”
Malakoff hung up, and immediately rang the yacht club to instruct them to make his sixty-five foot Sunseeker Carmargue ready for sea. He then went back outside, mounted his horse, and set off at a canter across the field on his morning ride.
* * * Dillon came out of the cool air-conditioned interior of the luxurious hotel. To be greeted by the brilliant Californian sunshine and Edward Levenson-Jones who was wearing a dark blue blazer, a pair of khaki trousers and a rather ancient Panama hat. The silk headband of which sported the colours of his old public school. Sitting next to him was Vince Sharp, resplendent in Australian bush hat that had seen better days.
“Ah there you are Jake, its good to see you looking so tanned and relaxed, old son,” LJ said getting up off his chair.
Dillon didn’t bother to answer, instead he walked past the Director of Special Projects on his way to the bar and ordered three large bourbons with ice. Turning around he casually leaned against the bar, and rested his elbows on the edge of it.
“I was wondering when you’d be in contact. Never thought you’d actually turn up here in person though?”
“Oh, come now Jake, don’t be bitter. I’m not here to argue with you old son. As a matter of fact, Vince and I have flown over to congratulate you on getting Harry Caplin out of Cuba, and back to Florida to stand trial. A job well done, after all he did cause extreme embarrassment to not only yourself and Ferran & Cardini, but to everyone else involved with the operation in Dorset. I’m glad to say that you’ve thankfully redeemed yourself and the firm with the Americans. So all’s well that ends well, as they say.”
“That’s all very touching, but what is it you really want, LJ?” Dillon asked, adding. “And just for the record, had it not been for Fiona Price pulling a string or two, I wouldn’t be here at all, and certainly couldn’t have taken Caplin without the help of agent Romerez.” He picked up the drinks from the bar, and went and perched himself on a seat opposite Vince Sharp who was precariously rocking on the back legs of his wicker chair, which were now creaking and bending under his weight.
LJ stopped pacing up and down, blew a series of small circles of cigar smoke up into the air, and considered his reply.
“I’ll be perfectly honest with you Jake. Sir Lucius Stagg has brought pressure to bear on the Partners to reinstate you back onto the active roster with immediate effect.”
“Has he now, but you still haven’t answered my question, why are you both here? Because that piece of good news could have been emailed to me.” Dillon took a cigarette from his sliver case, and lit it with a match.
“A situation has arisen back in the UK, that requires someone of your ability. And, let’s say, other dubious talents. But to be perfectly blunt old son, I’m still not convinced that you’re the right person for this particular job.”
Vince Sharp who had been sat quietly listening; suddenly stopped rocking his chair, got up, and said. “I’m sorry boss, but I disagree. Jake’s more than right for this assignment. I mean, he shoots guns rather well, is qualified to fly both fixed wing aircraft and helicopters, speaks at least four languages, and most importantly is an extremely good diver. Need I say more?”
LJ leaned back in his chair, and looking Dillon in the eye said matter of factly.
“What concerns me, is that ‘devil may care’ attitude of yours, and of course your lack of team spirit, old son. But this assignment is definitely going to require someone who can handle himself if things get rough. I’m not saying it will, but it could. One thing I am certain of though, is that it is going to require, at the right moment, someone who has considerable diving skills.”
“Okay, so you have my attention. Where would all of this take place?”
“The Channel Island of Jersey.” LJ stood up. “Of course you can turn down this assignment, Jake, and stay here in the sunshine if you wish?”
“What, and miss all the fun?”
“Good, but you do realise that by accepting the assignment, you’ll have to do exactly as you’re told, and play by my rules. Have you a problem with that?”
“I’ve not got a problem with that.” Dillon gave Vince Sharp a sly wink as he drank the remains of his bourbon.
“I knew you’d see it my way, old son.” As Dillon got up to go, LJ added, “Oh, and by the way. The flight back is booked for three o’clock this afternoon. Which should just about give you enough time to pack and say goodbye to Tatiana. Who I believe is here with you, and booked in for another week. Don’t worry about your hotel bill, Dan Parker has already paid it, and sends his best wishes. Oh, and one last thing, Jake. Please be punctual we don’t want to miss the plane, now do we?”
* * * Dillon finished reading Korvettenkapitan Otto Sternberg’s diary, and closed it. The former army intelligence officer passed the leather bound book back to LJ was sitting alongside him in the business class cabin of the British Airways 747, bound for London Heathrow. “Very interesting. Is this really genuine, or some kind of elaborate practical joke?” Dillon said.
“Of course it’s genuine, Jake. The source is one hundred per cent reliable, and I’ve known and worked with Nathan Cunningham for many years. Had it been anyone else, I’d have almost certainly thrown it straight in to the waste bin. Is that all you’ve got to say?”
The stewardess made her way back up the wide aisle from the galley area towards him. On the small circular tray was the glass of Champagne he’d asked for. Bending down she smiled demurely, placing the tall fluted glass into the cup holder of his luxurious seat. “Well, what do you expect me to say? I only know the bare facts, and what about this business with Nathan Cunningham, and the hit and run incident? Was it simply an unfortunate accident or was it a deliberate attempt on his life? Personally, I think it’s just a little too coincidental that it should happen before he has the opportunity to tell you the exact location of the U-boat.”
“You think so?”
“It’s only my opinion, but yes that’s what I think.” “Um, well the question is how do we go about
finding this place?” LJ said.
“Have you spoken to his daughter?”
“Yes, I spoke to Annabelle just before I left last
evening. I’m afraid that Nathan hadn’t told her anything that we didn’t already know. Although, there was something that she did say which surprised me a little, that after all these years, Nathan is still a bit of an adrenaline junky. I will always remember that when the two of us worked together on missions. Nat was always the daring one who thrived on the danger, especially in life and death situations.” LJ sighed, and sat back in his seat.
“So what makes you believe her?”
“As you well know, I’m a sceptical old goat, Jake. But there’s something very pure and unspoilt about her, and I suppose that it’s partly to do with having known, Annabelle since she was a small child
that genuinely makes me believe that she really doesn’t know.”
“She’s obviously very pretty then?”
“I’ll ignore that last comment, Jake. Anyway you can judge for yourself. We’ll be having lunch with her tomorrow.”
“What an excellent idea.” Dillon sipped some more Champagne. “But if she really doesn’t know where this U-boat is, what are we going to do?”
“Before I left yesterday, I started the ball rolling by arranging for Phil Allerton to fly you and Vince down to Jersey in one of the company helicopters, the day after tomorrow.”
“That doesn’t give us much time to plan the assignment?”
“That’s because we don’t have much time, old son. If word of this discovery leaks out, there will be an invasion of reporters, relic hunters and possibly religious fanatics clambering all over the island of Jersey in a matter of hours.” “Point taken, so where will we be based?”
“A property has already been rented at Bonne Nuit bay. Nothing to elaborate of course but it’s elevated, and secluded with direct access down to the harbour and beaches.”
“And what about our cover story?”
“Young Roberts has gone over it with a fine-tooth comb. You’re a wealthy businessman from London who has gone to Jersey for a spot of wreck diving. Vince was a little more difficult, but in the end, we thought it best if he were your sort of man-servant come personal assistant.”
“LJ,” Dillon said patiently, “That’s all fine, but have you any idea how I’m going to locate this German sub? The waters around the northern coast of Jersey are rough at the best of times?”
“You’ll think of a way, you always do, Jake. After all it’s the one thing of which I know you to have a special talent for.”
“Your confidence in me is very touching. However, I would still like to know whether you think Cunningham was run over deliberately or was it simply an accident?”
“Without a shadow of a doubt, I’d say it was most definitely an attempt to kill him. The eyewitness clearly stated that the BMW came out of a nearby turning and approached the crossing as if it were going to stop only to accelerate at the last moment. That’s why I’ve called in a favour from the Chief Constable and had an armed guard posted outside of his hospital room twenty four hours a day since it happened.”
“And what about this break-in at your apartment?”
LJ leaned forward. “Well, at first glance it looked straightforward enough, nothing had been touched. The police agreed with me, and I signed a statement to that effect, and they left. But it was afterwards, when I’d sat down with a stiff drink, and glanced up at the painting of Winston Churchill hanging above the fireplace. That’s when my suspicions were aroused. It wasn’t level, you see, and my paintings are always perfectly level. So I had Vince come round early the next morning, and sweep the place with one of his little gadgets. That’s when he discovered the bugs. He found one in my study, another in the living room and the third little bugger in the kitchen. He also discovered the phone tap, but only after he’d run a check through the firm’s computer system.”
“So, who would go to those lengths, and why?”
“The who, Jake. Now that’s a complete mystery. But, whoever it was, knew what they were doing and were using very expensive and sophisticated equipment. Vince thinks that the software for the phone tap came from the Far East, probably Korea and is not even on the open market yet. It apparently reconfigures a mobile phone network connection to break in to the land line which is being tapped, and then automatically records any outgoing or incoming calls. It then redirects the information back through a maze of connections all over the globe before it ends up back on a specified laptop computer via the internet. But the clever bit is that this particular software never uses the same network or mobile phone number twice. Which obviously makes tracing the source or location of the computer virtually impossible. The bugs use the same method for transmitting their sound and image files back to whoever is waiting for them in real time.”
“So, all of this has taken place since Cunningham came to see you in London, and told you about the U-boat?”
“That’s correct, and all of my instincts tell me that whoever is out there is most definitely linked in some way to that sub, and certainly up to no good. So you’d better watch your back on this one, old son.”
“Well that should make for some fun, shouldn’t it.” Dillon said sarcastically. “And how am I supposed to do that, when I don’t even know who it is?”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be alright, Jake. Now be a good chap and allow me to eat my meal in piece, will you?” LJ started to tuck into his evening meal of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.
Dillon turned in his seat and smiled, the urge to laugh out loud was irresistible. Perhaps it was something to do with the contempt he felt towards the condescending old fart sitting next to him. Instead, he ordered another glass of Champagne, reclined his seat and put his headphones on to watch a film on the small screen in front of him.
* * * The front door to Dillon’s converted loft apartment, grudgingly opened against the mountain of circulars and free newspapers that had been pushed through his letter box over the last three weeks. Dragging his suitcase into the dark cold hallway, he turned on the light, and flicked the central heating switches to constant. His watch showed just past two o’clock in the morning. In the kitchen, he boiled the kettle, ground a small quantity of Colombian beans, and made himself a strong black coffee. The answering machine showed a number of messages had been left for him, two were from a double-glazing company offering him a special deal on a conservatory and three from Romerez in Florida asking him to call her the instant he got in. “In the morning.” He said to himself.
* * * Under the railway arches in the east end of London, the fake drain-testing engineer who called himself Sean Black turned the bright red Ferrari into the alleyway that led to the lock-up. As he approached the old rundown Victorian building he pointed a small black remote control at the solid looking double doors. They opened, and the stolen Italian sports car was driven inside. Dean Slater was sat in front of a small laptop computer watching the images on the screen, downloaded from the three bugs in LJ’s apartment along with the telephone conversations that had been intercepted. The entire content of which was Annabelle Cunningham coming and going at various times during the day.
The only phone call was from LJ who left a message informing her that he was catching the three o’clock British Airways flight from Los Angeles to Heathrow. He finished by telling her that there was someone he wanted her to meet the following day over lunch. Slater checked his shorthand scribbling that he’d made in the small notebook. He then typed in the text, and saved it to disk before turning the small silver machine off.
“Anything interesting?” Black asked.
“No not really, the girl is there on her own at the moment. This Levenson-Jones bloke has flown off to the States for some reason. The only phone call was from him telling the girl that he was on his way back, and that there was someone he wanted her to meet tomorrow over lunch. Anything your end?”
“I think, that I must have walked all over bloody London today. She shops for England, that one, I can tell you. Then after lunch, she spent the whole afternoon at the hospital with her old man. That must have been a stimulating conversation.” Black said, smirking.
“You, Black, have a sick sense of humour. Have they still got a police guard outside of his room?”
“You bet, twenty four hours a day, and he’s armed. So what do we do now?”
“Now, Black we go and get some sleep. Nothing is going to happen until tomorrow when Levenson-Jones gets back. So in the morning you can go back to Belgrave Mews, and keep an eye on him and the girl. If they leave the apartment, you call me on my mobile phone, and I’ll come and join you. I’ll email Malakoff the images and sound files from the bugs, and the phone tap as well as a progress report. Oh, and Black, leave the Ferrari here, will you? We don’t want t
o attract any attention to ourselves now do we?”
“If you say so, Slater. But I’m not happy, you know?”
“What aren’t you happy about?”
“About being ordered around. But most of all about having to change the colour of my hair to this shitty dull brown colour. It’s not on, Slater. In fact, I wish we’d never taken this Malakoff’s money or ever set eyes on him.”
“You know as well as I do, that if Malakoff hadn’t come along when he did. We’d most likely be stony broke by now. Anyway, it’s only for this one job, and then we can bleach our hair blond again, and take a little holiday on the proceeds. Somewhere like Ibiza. How does that sound?”
“Well okay I suppose, but it’s only because I trust you, Slater.” Black said pushing his hands deep in his trouser pockets and walking off.
Slater switched off the lights, double bolted the doors to the lock up and followed after his lifelong friend.
* * * Dillon arrived at the riverside restaurant early, and went straight to the bar, ordering a large gin and tonic. The headwaiter came over to him, and Dillon got up off of his stool, and greeted the Frenchman. “It’s good to see you, Pierre.”
“Likewise, Mr Dillon, we have missed the pleasure of your company, I think?”
“I’ve been working overseas, Pierre. But I’m very glad to be back in London.”
“You are dining this lunchtime with, Mr LevensonJones, I believe. Please let me show you through to the dining room. I’ve taken the liberty of giving you your usual table overlooking the river.”
“Pierre, you are a very gracious gentleman, thank you. And what would you recommend from today’s menu?”
“As you well know, Mr Dillon, everything on our menu comes highly recommended. Although chef tells me that the lobster will most definitely not disappoint even the most sophisticated, and critical palate.”
The headwaiter led him to the table and a few moments later LJ and Annabelle Cunningham joined him.
“Jake, let me introduce you to, Annabelle Cunningham.”
Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) Page 13
