“Information, old son.” LJ pulled out a cigar from the half empty pack, and absent-mindedly lit it. Smoke swirled around him as he exhaled and then hung heavily in the air until it was carried away by the air conditioning system.
“That’s one of the changes, Edward. No smoking inside the building, I’m afraid.”
LJ apologised, and immediately looked for something to stub the brown pencil like stick out in to.
“But I won’t tell if you don’t. So, what information, and on whom?” Digby said.
“Extremely sensitive, and it’s Lord Asquith. Past and present.”
Digby smiled superciliously. “It’s jolly good to see that you haven’t lost your sense of humour, Edward?”
“What do you mean?”
“The Asquith file has been sealed. Nobody except the DG and the Prime Minister can get into it. Why that should be, I haven’t got a clue, but it must be something very sensitive to warrant that level of security.”
“I see, how extraordinary. When was the file given that sort of protection, can you tell me that, Simon?”
“Exactly three days ago, Edward. Why, what’s Ferran & Cardini’s interest in Lord Asquith?”
“Oh, nothing really, he’s being considered by Sir Lucius and the Partners for an advisory role on one of the firm’s current assignments, that’s all. Sir Lucius would like a little more in-depth background information on Asquith’s father. I’m simply trying to cover our position should things go sour. You know how these things work, Simon.”
“Certainly do, Edward,” he glanced down at his wrist watch. “Now if that’s all, you’re going to have to excuse me I’ve got a meeting to go to.”
“Of course and thank you for your time, Simon. I’ll see myself out, old son, I know the way. Thankfully that’s one thing they haven’t changed yet.” LJ got up, shook hands with Digby, and left through the sliding glass door.
Ten minutes later Simon Digby was standing in Oliver Asquith’s office at the British Museum.
“I’ve just had a visit from Edward Levenson-Jones, and do you know what he wanted, Oliver old chap?”
Asquith remained composed, sitting behind his large desk. “Does he know that I still do the occasional job for your lot?”
“Good God, Oliver. I’m sure that he wouldn’t be surprised at that. No, what he wanted was a look at not only your file, but your father’s as well.”
Asquith’s face went very pale, and standing up he said. “Is this some sort of practical joke, are you getting some sort of a jolly from this, Digby?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Asquith walked over to a long bench that ran down the entire length of one wall. Picking up one of the artefacts he held it up to the light. “Did he get a look at the files?”
“Absolutely not, Oliver. Lucky for you, he wasn’t able to, it was sealed by the DG, at my request, three days ago. Of course, that’s because you’ve resumed your work for the Government in the Middle East from time to time.”
“Good, in that case we have nothing to worry about then, do we Simon?”
Asquith carried on studying the artefact that he was holding, while thanking his lucky stars that Digby had not come to see him about anything other than LJ wanting to take a look into his personal file. He obviously had no idea about the U-boat in Jersey or that he’d spoken and seen Hugo Malakoff, who was known to both MI5 and MI6. However, he never underestimated Simon Digby. Especially as he knew from bitter experience that he was as slippery as a snake.
Turning he said matter of factly. “Is there anything else, Simon? Because if there isn’t, I’m very busy and need to get on with dating all of this by five o’clock,” he gestured with the sweep of his arm over the bench. “So if you’ll excuse me,” and he turned back to his work.
“I’ll see myself out, Oliver. But, please do be careful with whatever it is you are involved in with Ferran & Cardini. The Partners are both hardened professionals, and they do not take prisoners you know?”
Asquith turned quickly around, “What do you mean, they don’t take prisoners?”
“Just that. If you cross them, they’ll make sure that you are held to account. So be sure to tread carefully. That’s all.” Digby picked up his briefcase and walked across the office to the door, and placing his hand on the handle, hesitated, before saying. “I know that we haven’t seen eye to eye in the past, Oliver. But if you should need my help you know where I am.”
Asquith stood staring blankly at the door as it swung back quietly and closed. In the quiet of the office, the only sound that could be heard; was the fall of Digby’s footsteps outside on the flagstone floor of the corridor, as he walked away.
* * * At his château on the outskirts of Paris, Hugo Malakoff listened patiently while, Asquith gave him details of the meeting with, LJ and Dillon at the House of Lords, as well as his visit from, Simon Digby.
“Quite astonishing,” he said when Asquith had finished. “This man, Dillon sounds like a loose cannon, Oliver. Definitely not the sort to have as an opponent, I’d say. As for this, Digby fellow he is just scavenging for any scraps of information that he may be able to pick up.”
“What are we going to do, Hugo?” “I really don’t know, Oliver, we’ll simply have to wait and see. I’ll be in touch.”
He put the phone down momentarily. Picked it up again and rang Slater in London, and when he answered told him exactly what he wanted him to do.
* * * It was just after seven o’clock, and Annabelle was sat at her father’s bedside. A doctor who she’d not seen before came in to the room with a clipboard in his hand, and the customary stethoscope dangling around his neck.
“Good evening, Miss Cunningham. I hope our patient is comfortable this evening,” His accent appeared to be public school. Although, Annabelle wasn’t completely convinced by the man’s syntax or his smart expensive suit.
He walked around to the other side of the bed, checking the monitor leads that were attached to her father, every now and again, he’d look up and smile.
“Is there anything wrong, Doctor?” Annabelle asked anxiously.
“Nothing to concern yourself with, Miss Cunningham. The Commander is doing just fine.” He continued to check the monitoring machine that Nathan was attached to.
Slater prided himself as being a master of disguise with the ability to act out any part with absolute perfection. He put his hand inside the left pocket of the white coat that he was wearing, gently clasping his fingers around the grip of the small Beretta automatic pistol.
“Oh, it’s just that I haven’t seen you here before, are you new?”
“No, Miss Cunningham, I’m not new here. I usually work the night shift, but today I’m filling in for a colleague who has fallen ill.” Slater lied easily.
Annabelle felt a shiver run through her. There was something not quite right about his manner, or the way in which his eyes seemed to flit around the room. She stood up and moved towards the door, saying, “I won’t be a moment, I’m just going to get a coffee from the machine at the end of the hall.”
Slater had the silenced Beretta pointing at her stomach, before she could open the door and alert the armed police officer, whom was on guard outside in the hallway.
“Please sit back down, Miss Cunningham.” Annabelle stood with her hand on the handle, panic stricken, and she held Slater’s gaze for the merest second, before complying with his order, and then sat back down on the chair.
“No harm will come to you, as long as you do nothing heroic or stupid and you answer my questions quickly and truthfully. Do I make myself clear, Miss Cunningham?”
“Yes.” she said nervously.
“Good, then we understand each other. Now, where is the U-boat located?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer, Miss Cunningham.” Slater swung the gun round, and pressed it against Nathan’s temple.
“Now, I will ask you one more time, and please do not be in any doubt as to whether I would pull this tri
gger. Where is the U-boat located?” At that moment there was a knock at the door before it opened, and the police officer who had been standing guard outside entered the room.
Seeing Slater stood there with the Beretta pointed at Nathan Cunningham, he lifted his gun, but Slater responded with lightening reflexes, putting two bullets into his forehead in quick succession.
The officer dropped like a stone onto the hard vinyl flooring. Blood slowly spread across the light coloured surface, like the petals of a rose bloom. Slater knew that the first bullet had killed him instantly, and that the second was simply for good measure. He stood over the dead body and glanced down, savouring the moment as he always did after a kill.
Slowly he looked up, and saw that Annabelle had got away. Furious with the policeman who now lay dead at his feet for ruining his plan. He raised the Beretta, and pumped another two silenced bullets into the uniformed body before turning around and staring at the comatose body of Nathan Cunningham lying peacefully in the bed.
Malakoff’s instructions had been explicit; to finish Cunningham off; but he’d never kill anyone who couldn’t defend himself, that was simply bang out of order. Instead he took out his mobile phone and called up Black who was waiting outside in the Ferrari.
He would spin the Frenchman a story later.
Annabelle crouched in the cupboard for what seemed like an eternity, praying that the gunman hadn’t harmed her father, and trying to get her breath back. All that she could think of was getting to the safety of other people. But, she had to get out, couldn’t breath, and had to get outside quickly.
Standing up she tentatively opened the door to the storage cupboard so that she had a clear view up through the hallway. Seeing that it was clear, she ran straight to the fire exit stairway at the far end, and went through the door taking the stairs two at a time all the way down to the ground floor.
The staircase had brought her to a side entrance. Pushing the panic bar on the outer door it gave way easily, and the next moment she was standing in an alleyway that was completely deserted.
Slater smashed the glass of the fire alarm, and then walked calmly and quietly out of Nathan Cunningham’s private hospital room, quietly closing the door as he left. When he reached the end of the corridor he pushed open the heavy fire door, and checked the stairway.
He looked over the rail and could see all the way down to the ground floor. The panicked sound of a woman’s shoes could be heard clip-clopping quickly on the tiled steps moving in a downward direction, and were at least four floors down. When he went back through to the corridor there were nurses and doctors rushing around in all directions.
He pushed the button to call the elevator and a moment later sauntered out through the main entrance towards Black who was illegally parked a short distance away up the road. Getting into the passenger seat of the Ferrari, Black looked round and gave him an incredulous look, before saying, “What the fuck have you gone and done, Slater?”
“Don’t start, Black. I did everything as we agreed, I used the old doctor routine right down to the white coat and bleedin’ stethoscope around my neck. One minute I had it all sussed, and was in total control of the situation, the next all hell lets loose. If only that Cunningham girl hadn’t gone and got all suspicious like. Making some excuse about going to get a coffee from the machine, and getting up to leave and all. I wouldn’t have had to pull the Berretta on her and order her to sit back down. God, everything was going so well up to that point, I’d even asked her about the whereabouts of this U-boat, and then in barges this hulking great copper complete with a nasty looking machine pistol strapped around his neck. Well it was me or him Black, and no prizes for guessing who won.” Slater gave a nasty little snigger, “Oh, and while this is going on the bloody girl gets up, and legs it down the corridor, doesn’t she. But I’m pretty sure that she’s not far away.” Slater tapped Black on the shoulder. He looked round just as Annabelle was coming out of the side entrance in to the alleyway.
“Look - over there, Black. There she is.” Black started the engine and pulled slowly away from the kerb. Annabelle ran out of the alleyway, and then hurried along the pavement a few feet in front of them, jumping into one of the black cabs waiting outside of the main entrance to the hospital.
“Stay with her, Black. Don’t you bloody well loose that cab.” Slater said, fastening his seat belt.
The London cab that Annabelle Cunningham was sitting in the back seat of, weaved its way though the early evening traffic towards Docklands. After the shock of what had just taken place in the hospital. Her mind had gone a complete blank, and it was as much as she could do to speed dial LJ’s mobile telephone number. He answered immediately, and she explained what had taken place, the best she could between sobs. He instructed her to give the driver the address of the Ferran & Cardini building, and then told her that he would take care of everything else.
* * * Dillon controlled the light flexible fencing foil with a calculated coldness, striking the button tip of the weapon into the chest of his opponent with ruthless precision. The buzzer sounded, and Dillon stepped one pace back, bringing the foil up, so that the tip was pointing skywards. He then bowed to his opponent who returned the gesture. In the changing room he had showered and was changing back into his street clothes, when his mobile phone started to ring.
He listened to Edward Levenson-Jones, give him a brief account of what had happened at the hospital, and how the police guard had been murdered by someone impersonating a doctor, and asking questions about the
U-boat’s location.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Dillon snapped the
phone closed, and put it in his jacket pocket, picked up
the holdall and went straight to the club’s underground car
park to collect the Mercedes.
A moment later he emerged out of the gloom of the
car park, driving the brand new convertible up the ramp
at speed and immediately filtering into the early evening
traffic. By the time he reached Docklands the majority of
people who worked there during the day had gone home. Dillon stopped at the junction for a moment looking
left and then right, and saw Annabelle stepping out of the
rear door of the black cab. She started to walk the short
distance towards the Ferran & Cardini building, and Dillon
then saw something else. Slater and Black getting out of the
red Ferrari fifty metres up the road, and then start to walk
behind her.
From where he was positioned he couldn’t actually
see who it was, but the bright red Italian sports car was
enough. He swore out loud, and the tyres of the Mercedes
screeched as he pulled away from the junction and
accelerated up the road.
* * * Annabelle was feeling somewhat happier, since LJ had phoned her back with the news that her father was safe and unharmed in his hospital bed. She crossed the road and entered the narrow side street that led to the Special Project Department’s private entrance.
The last remnant of daylight was almost gone, and with darkness fast approaching, she briskly walked between the tall buildings. Stopping briefly under one of the dockside lamps. She unzipped her bag, and rummaged around in amongst all of the other stuff for a lipstick. It was then, that she heard the movement behind her. Turned and found, Slater and Black standing there menacingly.
She knew at once that she was in trouble. The street was deserted, and the entrance was at least another fifty feet away. “What do you want?” She demanded, mustering up as much courage as she possibly could, and then started to edge away.
“Keep your hair on luv, there’s no need to panic,” Slater said. “All we want from you is one simple answer to one simple question, that’s all.”
Annabelle instantly recognised the man’s voice as that of the fake doctor at the hospital, and she turned and started
to run towards the entrance, but Black was far too quick. Grabbing hold of her from behind he twisted her arm, and almost lifted her off the ground. She let out a scream which he stifled with his other hand.
“Annabelle, isn’t it?” Black said, as he grappled with her.
“If you promise not to struggle I’ll let go, but you try and run away, I’ll break both your arms and both your legs, just for good measure. Do I make myself clear, missy?” Annabelle nodded her head, and Black let go. The fear that she now felt had knotted itself in her stomach, and as he stepped away her legs gave way and she ended up sitting on the grimy cobbled surface. Slater came over, and roughly hauled her back up onto her feet like she was a rag doll. He still had a menacing look on his face, as he pinned her up against the wall.
“So, Miss Cunningham I’ll ask you once again, where is the U-boat located?”
She stared defiantly, looking him square in the eye, “Whoever you are, your breath stinks and you’re hurting my arm.”
“I like that in a woman, a bit of spirit, well I’ve got just the thing to loosen up your tongue.” Slater reached into his jacket pocket with his free hand, and pulled out a switch blade knife. The long six-inch blade appeared instantly, glinting in the semi-darkness.
“Now, for the last time. Answer my bloody question you stuck up bitch, or I’ll make sure you never talk again.”
The distinctive sound of a match being struck from somewhere in the shadows caused Slater and Black to both look over their shoulders at the same time. The flame flared as Dillon lit the cigarette.
“I’d step back, and leave the lady alone, if I were you,” he called. Stepping out from the shadows he started to walk towards them, Black turned, and went to meet him.
“Looking for trouble are we? Well you’ve got it, you poncy git.” Black looked like a street fighter, of that Dillon was in no doubt, but from the way he stood to the immediate throwing of the heavy punch to the head, Dillon also knew that it was just bravado.
He ducked, and then swayed to one side, coming up, and catching his opponent with a solid kick to the crotch. The effect was instant, Black stood there, with a pained and contorted expression on his face. Time froze, as he cupped both hands over his genitals, and then after a brief moment, sagged down onto his knees. Tears rolled down his face with the agonising pain that he felt. Dillon had been the better of him. As he walked passed the still kneeling man towards Slater, who was still holding onto Annabelle. Black looked up, and said arrogantly. “I’ll get you, you flash tosser.”
Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) Page 15
