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

by Andrew Towning

  “Yes, the arrangement is between you and I Mr Dillon. And, that’s how I wish it to remain.”

  “Good. But, I never make a snap decision, Sir Lucius. That is, not unless my life depends on it. So I’ll definitely think about your offer.” Dillon said, and before the former Prime Minister could answer, Dillon got out of the car, and had closed the rear door firmly shut. He stood on the pavement, and watched, as the Bentley silently drove away.

  “So what’s your game you devious old bastard?” Dillon thought to himself.

  Phil Allerton flew Dillon and Vince in the Bell 206 Jet Ranger, southwards out of London at an altitude of one thousand feet, when he reached Brighton his flight plan took him west down the coast towards Dorset and Portland Bill. He increased his altitude to fifteen hundred feet, and then headed southward across the English Channel towards the Island of Jersey, and the mystery of U-683.

  Chapter Eight

  The Bell Jet Ranger touched down in Jersey exactly fifty-five minutes after taking off from London. Outside the sun was shining, puff-ball clouds floated lethargically by in the brilliant blue sky, and the temperature was a pleasant twenty-four degrees.

  Dillon felt his spirits lift as he stepped out of the helicopter cabin onto a neatly mown blanket of grass, and strode off across the great expanse of the private airfield towards the waiting Range Rover. Leaving the heavy luggage for Vince to carry. As Dillon reached the luxury four-wheel drive vehicle an attractive woman in her mid thirties with tousled hair of the deepest auburn, got out of the driver’s side with an officious looking clipboard in her hand.

  She smiled. “Welcome to Jersey Mr Dillon, my name is Charlotte, but please call me Charlie. I’m here on behalf of the rental company that’s supplying you with this Range Rover and the Powerboat that is berthed at St. Helier. I’ve also been asked by Mr Levenson-Jones, to escort you both across the island to the marina, and to ensure that everything is satisfactory for you.”

  “Umm, I’m sure you have, Charlie.” Dillon said, taking off his blazer and throwing it onto the rear seat. He then walked around to the other side of the Range Rover rolling up the sleeves of his light blue shirt as he went and got into the passenger seat. Peering through the open driver’s window he said, “Well let’s get going then, you drive and we’d better go and rescue my assistant before he has a heart attack carrying the luggage.”

  She jumped into the driver’s seat, showing off firm tanned legs as her linen skirt rose up. Her eyes sparkled, a mischievous smile on her face as she slid the gearshift into drive, and then confidently moved off at speed across the airfield to where Vince was waiting.

  Five minutes later she was driving them away from the helicopter along narrow twisty lanes with high banks on either side towards the island’s capital, St. Helier. The Range Rover pulled up on the concrete standing above the twenty-six foot power cruiser. It was berthed at the end of a long line of much smaller sport fishing craft, and slightly incongruous because of its sleek lines and newness.

  A man in his late fifties in red overalls was standing on the stern deck. He looked up and introduced himself as George, and immediately helped Vince with the bags containing additional diving equipment onto the boat, commenting, “I’ve given her a full service, and gone over her with a fine tooth-comb. In fact I took her out first thing this morning, and she’s fast this one, sings as sweetly as a songbird when you open up her throttles.”

  “I’m sure the boat’s just fine.” Dillon said. George slid back the saloon door, and threw the bags in one at a time. Complaining about how heavy they were, and how he had to be careful as he had a recurring back problem.

  “Of course the doctors can’t do anything...” “So tell me, George what gadgets have we got on board?” Dillon said, butting in, and completely ignoring the little man’s whinging.

  “Gadgets, if you mean onboard electronic devices? You have all of the usual equipment, radar, sonar and of course a digital radio set. Plus a depth finder and a full colour satellite navigation system. In fact, everything you’d expect on a craft of this quality, but should you have any problems with any of these. The phone number to call is in the handbook.” George then picked up his toolbox ascended the metal ladder up to the dock, and walked off in a bit of a huff.

  “I’m terribly sorry about that Mr Dillon. Only, George is usually so polite. I really don’t know what could have got into him.”

  “Don’t worry about it Charlie, I assure you that no offence was taken, and I’m sure none was intended.”

  “Well then, all that remains is for you to sign the receipt for the car and boat hire. Do you know how long you’ll be staying on the island, Mr Dillon?”

  “Well I’ve got no immediate plans to return to London, it could be as little as a few days or as long as a month, it all depends on how good the diving is.” Dillon said as he signed his name, and handed her back the clipboard.

  “Thank you, Mr Dillon that all looks in order, if you require any assistance during your stay here in Jersey, please feel free to call me on my mobile number, anytime day or night.” There it was again, that same mischievous smile and the glint in her eyes.

  “Thank you, I might just have to keep you to that, Charlie.”

  She laughed demurely, went inside the cabin, and returned a moment later with a file which she handed to Dillon. “This folder contains detailed information about the local waters as well as weather forecast information for the week ahead. The trip around to Bonne Nuit Bay is about nine miles and shouldn’t take you more than thirty-five minutes.” She glanced at her watch, and then added, “You should be there by one-fifteen.” She turned and stepped up onto the dock, disappearing from sight as she got into her car and drove off.

  Five minutes later, Vince was on his way in the Range Rover. Driving across to the other side of the island, and leaving Dillon to take the powerboat around the eastern coast to Bonne Nuit. He backed away from the berth, the harbour master instructed him to hold his position; while a cross channel ferry lumbered into the main port area. There was a short wait before he was given the signal to go, and then he eased the twenty-six foot power cruiser gently forward. Moved slowly out of the marina, and then into the busy main channel.

  He left the harbour entrance behind him as he opened up the throttles and the twin inboard diesel engines roared into life as they powered the sleek white craft out into open water.

  * * * Hugo Malakoff arrived at the French port of St Malo two hours after speaking with Oliver Asquith. The chauffeur driven Mercedes limousine that he was travelling in came to a halt on the concrete standing, alongside his sixty-five foot yacht, the Solitaire. He sat in the rear seat for a moment, gazing out of the darkened window at the high sides of the luxury boat.

  The German bodyguard who was sat in the driver’s seat watched him in the rear view mirror.

  “Is there something wrong, Mien Herr?”

  Malakoff laughed. “You must have a sixth sense for trouble, Kurt. You seem able to hone in on it.”

  “This is why you employ me, Mien Herr.”

  “This is true, Kurt.” Malakoff closed his attaché case and released his seat belt. “But you are also my friend. Of course you’re quite right, there is a problem looming over the horizon. His name is, Jake Dillon.”

  “Would you like this problem erased, Mien Herr?”

  “All in good time, Kurt, all in good time. Dillon is a very devious and clever Englishman and you will need to know all about him if you are to eventually kill him. The key to success is to get inside his head, Kurt. You will have to be patient, pick the time and the place carefully, and then strike him when he’s least expecting it. But this discussion will keep, and we will have ample time to talk about it over dinner this evening.” Malakoff then got out of the car and walked off towards the boat, while Kurt took care of the bags and followed moments later.

  As Malakoff reached the top of the gangplank, a member of the crew piped him aboard the luxury vessel.

  �
�At your command, Monsieur Malakoff.” The uniformed man said in French.

  “It’s good to see you again, Pierre,” Malakoff said to the first mate. “The arrangements have been made as I requested?”

  “Yes, Monsieur. I personally saw to everything this morning, and the captain has asked me to inform you that he is waiting for you in his cabin, Monsieur.”

  “Thank you, Pierre. Oh, and by the way, the boat is looking splendid.” Malakoff said as he was walking away.

  Pierre stood to attention and saluted his employer. the cropped black hair and facial scarring gave him a sinister look. A disfigurement left by an unknown sniper, who had taken a pot shot at him while he was serving with the French Foreign Legion and had left him with a constant reminder of how lucky he was to be alive. Pierre’s outward appearance wasn’t particularly large, five foot eight or nine, but it belied just how strong and agile he really was.

  Seven years previous, Malakoff had offered the former Legionnaire a job, immediately after he’d outwitted and survived the wealthy idiots who had each paid a large sum of money for a weekend of special hunting on his estate. They had spent two days trying to track down and kill the former Legionnaire. His cunning had been such that he now had a job for life, and lived permanently on board the cruiser.

  * * * Dillon sat high up on the flying bridge of the twentysix foot boat, enjoying the perfect weather conditions, and open sea. The sun shone down from a sky of brilliant blue, occasionally playing hide and seek behind the odd dash of white cloud as it floated by.

  Passing Green Island on the port side, he pushed the throttle levers further forward, and the engine pitch changed as the powerful twin inboard diesels responded; a plume of spray shot up at the stern, and the bow of the sleek white craft lifted with the increased speed. On towards La Rocque Harbour where he rounded the point, and came around a few degrees, continuing up the most easterly coast of the island to the Royal Bay of Grouville with its sweeping expanse of sandy beech. Checking his watch for the first time since leaving St. Helier, Dillon saw that he was making good time, and eased back on the throttles as he passed Mont Orgueil Castle on his way to St Catherine’s Bay. Dillon gazed into the crystal clear water as it rushed by below him, it seemed to constantly change colour. One moment it appeared almost transparent over the shallow reefs, and then dark and foreboding where the fields of kelp grew on the seabed, and the water was much deeper.

  Fifteen minutes later, Dillon rounded the headland at Belle Hougue. The chart for that area of the island coastline showed Bonne Nuit about half a mile up ahead of him. He approached the small harbour slowly and saw for the first time just how rugged and inhospitable the shoreline was. Jagged reefs of granite rose up out of the water, waves thrashed and foamed onto the rocks, only to stumble over themselves and then be dragged back out to sea again.

  There were small fishing vessels, and cabin cruisers dotted around the harbour. A high sea wall jutted out like a finger pointing out to sea. The only protection against the ocean beyond. Cottages and houses dotted the hillside and Annabelle’s café nestled below, at the edge of a cobbled slipway.

  On entering the harbour he soon found the bright yellow buoy of the swinging mooring that came with the property the firm had rented. He dropped the anchor and fastened the bow line to the buoy, and then went around securing all of the hatches before lowering the dinghy into the water from the dive platform at the stern.

  The outboard coughed and spluttered into life, and a moment later the propeller bit the water, churning it up as the small inflatable craft made its way to shore. Dillon was on the sandy beach and in no time was tying the bow rope onto a heavy mooring chain.

  As he walked up towards the slipway a woman somewhere in her late fifties came out of the doorway to, Annabelle’s café carrying a tray with cups, teapot and cakes on it. Dillon got to the top of the steps just as she was turning to go back inside.

  “Excuse me,” the happy ruddy faced woman turned around. “Sorry to trouble you. But I’m looking for, Kate Jackson. Is she around?”

  “You’re not troubling me sweetie. Kate, she’s in the back room sorting out the menu for tonight, who shall I say is looking for her?”

  “Jake Dillon.”

  “Oh yes, Mr Dillon, Annabelle phoned earlier to say

  that you’d be calling in for some keys. I’ll just go and get her for you, or you can come through if you like?” “That’s very kind of you,” Dillon said, and held open the door for her.

  Kate Jackson stood up in the tiny room as Dillon was shown through. He was greeted by a tall elegant and warm woman somewhere in her mid forties with shoulder length chestnut coloured hair. “It’s good to meet you, Mr Dillon. Annabelle has told me a lot about you.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Favourable, would best describe it.” She reached into the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a bunch of keys.

  “These are for you, I think. The letting agent dropped them off earlier this morning.” Giving them to Dillon, she looked at him for a brief moment before saying in a breathless tumble of words.

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but Annabelle is my best friend and one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known or worked for, and the point is, Mr Dillon. Well, the point is that she obviously likes you a lot.”

  Dillon stood in the doorway, taking in what had just been said to him. “Does she now? Well, I like Annabelle, Miss Jackson.” Dillon fiddled with the bunch of keys that he was still holding in his right hand. “And your point is, Miss Jackson?”

  “Well, my point is Mr Dillon. That Annabelle is extremely vulnerable at present and doesn’t need any complications in her life. If you get my drift?”

  Dillon pushed the keys deep into his jacket pocket, turned, and walked out of the café. As he got to the slipway a voice from over his shoulder called after him.

  “Mr Dillon, please wait.” It was Kate Jackson coming down the steps. “I’m so sorry, I was completely out of order back there, please forgive me?”

  “Look, you don’t know me, and you really don’t have to apologise for anything. It’s simply a case of you misreading the situation, and although I don’t feel that I need to justify myself to you, Miss Jackson. I can tell you, that I’m very happy with the relationship that I’m in, thank you. Annabelle and I are quite simply just good friends. So you needn’t worry, really. ”

  “Thank you, she warned me that you were disarmingly charming, and please call me, Kate.”

  Dillon smiled, said goodbye and then walked off up the hill to find the rented property.

  Kate Jackson went back inside to her tiny office, and made a phone call.

  * * * The Solitaire had cost Hugo Malakoff 1.1 million pounds, and was definitely one his favourite playthings. He spent as much time as his busy schedule would allow him to, on board the sixty-five foot luxury boat. Frequently entertaining friends and associates as well as the occasional female companion along the way.

  The vessel’s outward appearance was that of any other and had every conceivable luxury needed for her size, a captain and four crew members to man her. The Solitaire however, was no ordinary craft. She was fitted with the latest computer hardware and intelligent software that not only controlled every system above and below water, but could also adjust and recalibrate them according to demand.

  Malakoff sat at a table in the main salon enjoying a fine Cuban cigar, and a cup of strong black espresso coffee; Kurt sat at his side. And, sitting opposite was the power cruisers captain, Paul Armand. A stocky, grey haired man in a crisp white uniform, and like Kurt, he had been with Malakoff for many years, had frequently taken part in activities of a highly dubious and illegal nature.

  “And that is our dilemma, Armand. This man, Dillon poses a very real problem to us, he’s cunning, extremely resourceful, and could jeopardise our success in finding the U-boat first. He will most definitely approach this archaeologist, and diver, Rob Chapman. If he hasn’t already done so. Our contac
t on Jersey tells me that Dillon, and one other person arrived this morning by private helicopter.”

  “A notoriously bad place, Monsieur,” Armand said, using a remote control to expose a large plasma screen on the wall. A map of Jersey was shown on the screen, which he enlarged to show the northern coastline more clearly. “I know this island, Monsieur. Even the most experienced divers would find it almost impossible to dive in this area. As for finding a concealed tunnel entrance, well it’s not going to be easy, Monsieur. Even with all of our sophisticated equipment onboard. Not easy at all.”

  “I agree, Captain,” Malakoff leaned back in his chair, and laced his fingers together, before adding, “But, I still think that Commander Cunningham must have confided to his daughter about the location. Unfortunately she has a guard with her twenty-four hours a day, so our opportunities to get close are none existent. No matter though, we will keep Mr Dillon company instead. Let him know that the chase is on, I think.” He smiled across at the big German. “What do you think, Kurt?”

  “It will be my personal pleasure, Mien Herr. To look after Mr Dillon.” Kurt replied.

  “That’s good.” Malakoff looked at, Armand. “Pierre is OK, but what about the other two crew members?”

  “I have personally chosen the other crew, Monsieur. For their special talents. Mazzarin and Zola, are both experienced and very able divers. They’re also extremely competent with weapons and explosives. As well as having seen action in Afghanistan and Iraq as hired mercenaries.”

  “Can they be trusted, Armand?”

  “Without a doubt, Monsieur.”

  “And what arrangements have you made for our arrival in Jersey?”

  “We can drop anchor in St Brelade’s Bay this evening. I hope that this meets with your approval, Monsieur?”

  “No, I don’t think so Captain. Take the Solitaire to the northern side of the island, and drop anchor in Gifford Bay. This will be a most suitable anchorage for our purposes, and it’s next door to Bonne Nuit.” Malakoff finished his coffee and stood up.