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

by Andrew Towning

  “Well, there is one last thing, sir. The Interpol File had an attachment to it,” Roberts said.

  “This was also heavily encrypted, but for a very different reason. I’d guess that it was only ever intended for those with the highest level of security clearance, because the encryption code was much more sophisticated and took me twice as long as the original file to open. Apparently, Malakoff’s father was a pre-war friend of Adolf Hitler, and an absolutely rabid fascist.”

  “Which could just be the link between all of this.” Dillon said.

  “That is a distinct possibility,” LJ nodded.

  “More to the point gentlemen, what if Malakoff, his son Hugo and wife, on reaching good old Blighty, had spun the authorities a yarn about how they had only just managed to get out by the skin of their teeth. We already know that as a French aristocrat he would have very quickly established himself within the elite of British social and political society. That this enabled him to move around the corridors of power completely unhindered and able to pick up all sorts of information to feed back to his Nazi friends. Who must have had a good laugh at that one? But more importantly, this would explain the large sums of money that he was receiving. Also, as a friend of Adolf Hitler, he would almost certainly have been an acquaintance of Heinrich Himmler, at the very least. And, was the ironically named AngloFrench Exploration company genuine, or simply a conduit for channelling money, and information back to them, via Geneva. But something still doesn’t feel right with it. I want you to keep digging, Roberts, and try to find out who were the other people involved at the time it was set up. We know that the Nazi Party salted away millions all over the world to enable their work to continue should things go wrong. Or was Heinrich Himmler feathering his own personal nest?” He shrugged. “Of course this is all conjecture, but we might just be onto something.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with a little conjecture, but one thing that still remains a mystery to me?” Dillon said.

  “What’s that, old son?”

  “Nathan Cunningham. What I mean is, if the hit and run incident was as the police now think a deliberate attempt to permanently shut him up. I’d say that it was far more likely to be because he knew something, that would open up a can of worms. Like the exact whereabouts of U-683? In which case, and in light of what Roberts has just told us, Hugo Malakoff has to be considered a prime suspect with a strong motive for wanting that submarine location kept a secret. The question is why is Anglo-French Exploration still on record? After all, it has no current value whatsoever, and was set up all those years ago by his father for no apparent reason? Find out why, and I’d say that this mystery would become a little clearer. But he would still have had to be exceptionally well informed to know that Nathan was here in London, and for what reason.”

  “Umm, you have a point Jake, and I’ll certainly look into it, I’ve no doubt that we’ll find out in due course, though. But For the moment, we’ll just have to get on with the job at hand. Phil Allerton will be waiting for you on the heli-pad at precisely eleven o’clock this morning, gentlemen. So let’s press on, I don’t want you to be late getting there.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Dillon said, as he gave a mock salute to LJ.

  “Good. You should be in Jersey by midday.”

  Dillon said, “I wonder what odds the bookmakers would give of Hugo Malakoff turning up there shortly after we arrive?”

  “I’d say odds on favourite, old son. But we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

  “As I mentioned before,” Roberts interrupted, “His château is approximately thirty miles outside of Paris and he runs one of those big fancy million pound plus Sunseeker power cruisers out of an exclusive marina in Nice on the south coast of France. The latest report is that it set sail last night and is now heading for St Malo, and that’s very convenient for the Channel Islands.” He looked at his file, “The yacht is called the Solitaire. Captain and a full time crew of four.”

  “Listen Jake, if Malakoff does turn up, you’ll simply have to do the best you can,” LJ said. “After all, you’re more than qualified for that sort of thing, aren’t you?” Dillon kept quiet, but shot him a look from the other side of the room that told him exactly what he thought.

  “Your cover is quite simple. You’re a wealthy businessman, and Vince is your personal assistant. You own a company in London, computer software and the like. While you’re there you’ll have the use of a brand new Range Rover. Please don’t damage it. I’ve also managed to charter a suitable powerboat, and this will be waiting for you at the marina in St. Helier. Naturally it will be fully equipped with the latest electronics, and will have all of your diving equipment already stowed on board. Of course, you’ll be required to sign for all of this when you arrive in Jersey.”

  “You think of everything,” Dillon said.

  LJ passed him a folder. “Our forgery chap really has done you both proud this time. He’s produced new passports and driving licences along with a few other documents that may come in handy. As Phil Allerton will be flying you down to a private airfield on the island you won’t require the passports. However, better to have them on you just in case. You’ll find ten thousand pounds in cash in the envelope, which should be sufficient for any emergency disbursements, and will of course, require a signature. Now then, finally the property that has been leased is situated on top of the cliffs at Bonne Nuit Bay. This should enable you to keep an eye on the harbour when you’re in residence there. The keys are with,” LJ looked down at his notes, “Kate Jackson who manages Annabelle’s café.”

  “One thing,” Roberts said. “The property has no telephone, so you’ll have to make sure that your mobile phone batteries are kept fully charged at all times.”

  Dillon nodded. “So when we get there. Then what?”

  “Well, that rather depends on you, old son,” LJ said.

  “We had rather hoped that Nathan would have regained consciousness by now, and could tell us where the sub is located. But that hasn’t happened I’m afraid, which means that you and Vince are on your own for the time being. However there is this diver chap Rob Chapman, who may be able to help. He lives in a small-renovated castle not far from Bonne Nuit, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find him. Apparently he knows the island and especially the coastlines like the back of his hand. But be careful what you tell him; he’s got a very colourful background has Mr Chapman. Tell him, Roberts.”

  “Born in Lincolnshire in 1953, spent much of his youth overseas. And, his father was a captain in the army. When he retired his commission, the family returned to England, and Rob Chapman went to Oxford and attained a degree in archaeology with distinctions and honours. After graduating, it didn’t take him long to discover that he could earn large sums of money by working for a wealthy private collector of antiquities. Who apparently packed him off all over the world in search of illegally obtained artefacts. This collector’s name isn’t on file, by the way. But, on at least one occasion, he sent Chapman to Peru, supposedly to explore an uncharted cave network that it was thought led to ancient Inca temples further inland. There was a hell of a rumpus with the Peruvian Government, who accused the team of looting, and sent in the troops to arrest them. Chapman and only two of the team managed to get out of the country with their lives. The other six members of the party perished. After that he went from one job to the next, and eventually ended up in Antigua where he met his wife and learnt to dive. Since then he has lived and worked in Jersey. He now lives on his own in an unusual sea defence castle that’s built onto a granite outcrop.”

  “On his own?” Dillon repeated.

  “Yes, wife and daughter were killed in a cliff top car accident a few years ago. That’s when he started the dive school, and now he splits his time between the German Underground War Tunnel project, where he supervises young archaeologists working on some of the tunnels that have been sealed up since the last war, and taking small groups of tourists to dive sites around the island.”
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  “If, what you’re saying is all true, then this Chapman character could be extremely useful to Vince and I. But I agree, we must be very careful what we say to him. Because it sounds as if he could be a bit of a loose cannon if we get off on the wrong footing with him.”

  “He is most definitely your man,” LJ said.

  “I don’t care what it takes or how much it costs. Within reason that is. But I want him on our side.”

  Dillon smiled. “I’m amazed that you think money alone will sway a man like Chapman. From what I’ve heard so far, I’d say that he’s most likely to be a thrill seeker of sorts.”

  “We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we? Because as we both know, Jake. Every man has his price.” LJ got up out of his chair.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think that is everything gentlemen. Jake, call me the minute you arrive in Jersey.”

  “Thank goodness that’s over with.” Dillon remarked as they emerged on to the street.

  “What’s that, Jake?” Vince said as they walked towards the Mercedes.

  “You know, all that crap back there. How he rambles on to us, before every assignment, as if we’re children. And, his pathetic attempts to get under my skin. But, do you know what the worse thing is? That I let him. Ah, what the hell, we’ve got a job to get on with. Come on, let’s collect our gear, and get over to the heliport. After all, we don’t want to keep Phil Allerton waiting, do we now?” Dillon said with a smile, as he pulled out of the car park.

  * * * It was shortly after midday that Edward LevensonJones met Oliver Asquith in the lounge bar of a public house called The King George, not too far from the British Museum. He ordered a double malt whisky for himself, and then found a quiet corner with two vacant chairs.

  “Good of you to come, Oliver. As promised, I’ll bring you up to speed,” he said. “So much has happened since we last spoke.”

  Asquith was sitting opposite him in an easy chair, “Well don’t dilly dally, LJ. Tell me everything, and don’t you dare leave out the interesting bits.”

  So LJ did, about the two called Slater and Black who had attacked Annabelle in broad daylight in the side street, Malakoff, everything. When he’d finished, Lord Asquith was deep in thought, taking it all in, and then suddenly said, “This business with Malakoff - very interesting stuff. Your chap, Roberts must be a clever fellow, and may have stumbled upon a possible connection with the U-boat.”

  “Well, it does all seem to fit together rather well. Almost too well in fact. However, I’m sure that there is still something missing, pieces of the jigsaw that I just haven’t spotted yet. But Guy Roberts will find it whatever it is. Of that, I have no doubt. It still doesn’t explain how Hugo Malakoff seems to be so remarkably well informed, though?”

  “So what do you propose to do about him.” “Absolutely nothing that can be done, old son,” LJ said. “He’s a French citizen as well as being very wealthy, and in the eyes of the world he’s a highly respected businessman.”

  “But what about all of that encrypted stuff in the Interpol files. Can’t that be used?”

  “Great heavens above, most definitely not, old son. If anyone knew that Roberts had hacked into those files, well I mean, that would simply make things very difficult for everyone concerned. And not only Malakoff, you understand.”

  “Yes of course, I wasn’t thinking. The last thing we want to do is to arouse the curiosity of the authorities in any of this.” Asquith said quickly, adding. “I suppose that we’ll just have to be patient, and see what your chap Dillon comes up with then. Let’s hope that he’s as good as you say he is?”

  “Be patient, Oliver.” LJ said, as he got up out of the chair, adding. “I’ll keep you posted,” and went out; leaving Asquith alone with his gin and tonic.

  * * * At his château just outside of Paris, Malakoff was towelling dry after completing fifty lengths of the luxury indoor swimming pool. Something his personal fitness trainer had recommend he do. He was about to sit down to a late lunch when one of his staff appeared with a cordless telephone. It was Asquith, and Malakoff listened while he brought him up to date.

  “The thing that concerns me, Hugo, is that they now know who you are. And it’s all because of those two east end thugs you employed to snoop around the Cunningham girl, and her father.”

  “My dear, Oliver you fret about the smallest of problems, when there really is no need. Rest assured, those two incompetent fools have been taken care of once and for all.”

  “What are you saying, Hugo?” “Don’t be naive Oliver, you know exactly what I’m saying.”

  Asquith remained momentarily silent, and then said. “I really don’t want to get involved or even know about such things, Hugo. I’m far more concerned with what we’re going to do?”

  “Do, Oliver I’m going to do nothing. Levenson-Jones may know who I am but he won’t take it any further, of that we can both be certain. Don’t forget that I’m a French citizen, and a very important one at that. He knows that he can’t come anywhere near me legally, certainly not without stirring up an international fuss anyway.”

  “So what’s your next move?”

  “I’ve already telephoned the Solitaire, and instructed the captain and crew to make her ready for sea, I’ll be sailing for Jersey early this evening. Once I’m there, I can keep an eye on, Dillon. I would guess, that as he’s staying in Bonne Nuit bay, that he’ll be making contact as soon as he can with this diver fellow, Chapman.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Hugo.”

  “It’s a pity that Cunningham is still in a coma. It would have solved a lot of our immediate problems had he not been run over like that, Oliver. However, what is done is done. I gather that the daughter is still at his bedside, and how very commendable that is. But the risk of Dillon finding that U-boat is still extremely high.”

  “Well, let’s hope that he doesn’t find it then.”

  “Yes, Oliver, for your sake let’s hope he doesn’t.”

  * * * Annabelle Cunningham was sitting alone in the quiet private room of the hospital, reading articles from various daily newspapers to her unconscious father.

  When she wasn’t talking to him, her thoughts, quite surprisingly strayed to Jake Dillon this curious man whom she’d only just met, and now found herself inexplicably thinking about. The door opened, and Edward LevensonJones entered.

  “Hello my dear, thought I’d drop by on my way through. How’s our patient doing?”

  “About the same as yesterday, and the day before that and the day before that…” Tears welled up in her eyes as she began to gently sob.

  LJ said gently, “I know this must be difficult for you, but if it’s any help, I do believe that Nat will pull through this, especially as he’s such a strong man both physically and mentally.”

  “But I feel so helpless, LJ. Sat here day after day, I’m so used to doing things. Perhaps I should go back to Jersey, and help Jake try to locate the U-boat.”

  “You like him a lot don’t you?”

  “What makes you think that?” She said wiping away the tears from her eyes.

  “Because I’ve known, Jake Dillon for a great many years, and I know just how charming and attentive he can be around an attractive young woman.”

  “Yes, he’s also kind and gentle around me. But I mustn’t forget that he also has a dark and violent side too, hasn’t he?”

  “I’m afraid to say it my dear. But yes he does have another side to him, and like most men who have gone through what he’s gone through in the past, and have actually survived to tell the tale. Well, let’s just say that luck doesn’t even come into it.”

  “So what should I do, LJ?”

  “I think you know what my answer to that question is Annabelle, but only you can make your own mind up. But, if it helps, I’m almost certain that Jake would not want you in Jersey at this point in time.” She held Nathan’s limp hand, and gently stroked the back of it. “Sorry, I’m being very silly, and of course I’ll be sta
ying on here in London until Pops is better.”

  “The right decision, my dear for the right reason. You know that you have my full support, and the use of the firm’s apartment for as long as you need it.” LJ said, looking down at his watch. “Good grief, is that the time. I must be getting along, if you’re free this evening, I’d be honoured if you’d dine with me?”

  “Thank you, I’d like that very much.”

  “Excellent, I’ll have Roberts collect you around seven-thirty for dinner at eight then.” He said as he left.

  * * * Sir Lucius Stagg’s dark green Bentley pulled into the VIP parking space at the city heliport at 10.55am, five minutes before Dillon was due to fly out in one of the firm’s helicopters. The rear door was opened, and Dillon slid onto the back seat.

  “Look here Dillon,” Sir Lucius said awkwardly. “I’ve never really understood you or your motives, or why you work for Ferran & Cardini at all. But I wanted to personally thank you for taking on this assignment. It means a lot to me to know that we have someone who doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty from time to time.”

  Dillon nodded, but said nothing. “This Malakoff fellow, sounds like a bad one if you ask me. So you take care, and watch your back now.”

  “I’ll do my best, Sir Lucius.”

  “Oh, and one other thing.” The former British Prime Minister leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’m going to give you the opportunity to earn yourself another one hundred thousand pounds, by way of a bonus. That is, should you find what you’re being sent to look for. There is however, one condition that you will have to agree to before stepping out of this car.”

  “And what might that be, Sir Lucius?”

  “You’re to report back to me, and only me when you’ve located that U-boat, and whatever it may contain in its cargo hold. No questions asked.”

  “Is this to be a private arrangement, Sir Lucius?”