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

by Andrew Towning

  “Watching? No, I’d say that he was stalking us. Biding his time, until we find the tunnel entrance. That’s when things will get really interesting.”

  “Quite so, Jake. Now tell me how things have progressed and don’t leave anything out, not a single damn thing.”

  When Dillon was finished, LJ paced up and down the lawn with his hands behind his back deep in thought. Dillon went and refilled their glasses, reappearing a moment later.

  “So, what do you think our next move should be?” Dillon asked.

  “Well, let’s see. I’m assuming of course, that you’ve brought along the usual array of weaponry. Which you no doubt obtained from that albino fellow in the East End?”

  “I’ve brought along a little insurance, naturally” Dillon said. “Oh, and by the way, he also threw in Semtex and underwater detonators at no extra charge. You never know, we may need to blast our way into that tunnel.”

  “Which we’ve got to find first, haven’t we?” LJ said. “If only Nathan hadn’t had the misfortune to have been run over. Life can be so unjust sometimes.”

  “I’ll agree with that, but in the meantime we’ve still got to push on.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Chapman, we really do need him on our team.”

  “So what’s it going to take, to get him to help us?”

  “Well, he won’t be bought, if that’s what you mean. Money really isn’t his thing, and he makes that perfectly clear when you talk with him.”

  “Oh dear, now that’s a shame. It really would’ve been a lot easier, if we could have simply offered him a lump sum of money. But never mind; we’ll just have to find out what floats Mr Chapman’s boat. And then do whatever it takes to convince him, that helping us is the right thing to do.” He stood up and glanced at his watch.

  “Good heavens, it’s almost food time, Jake. Where are we eating this evening?”

  “I thought we’d drive down to the harbour and have a bite to eat at Annabelle’s place. I’ve already booked us a table, and Chapman will be in there later. He’s in there every evening around ten-thirty for something to eat.”

  “Excellent, that’s settled then. All that remains now is to drag Vince away from his computer for a few hours, and for you to put a jacket on, Jake. You look as if you’re going to a barn dance.” LJ said as he turned and walked briskly off inside.

  * * * As darkness fell on Bonne Nuit bay, an inflatable rib from the Solitaire came alongside Dillon’s powerboat, the only sound was the muted throbbing of the outboard motor. Kurt was at the helm and Pierre sat up in the bow. As they bumped against the hull of the sleek craft, he jumped up over the side rail and then made his way back to the stern, and the rear deck area. He skilfully picked the lock of one of the stowage lockers and lifted the lid into the upright position. From his pocket he took a small electronic disc, no bigger than a fifty pence piece and using the magnetic backing attached it to a metal strengthening bracket.

  A moment later he was back on board the inflatable. “Everything okay?” Kurt asked.

  “I’ve placed the device inside one of the stowage

  lockers.”

  “Good, now for Chapman’s dive boat, the Wave

  Dancer.” Kurt said and turned the inflatable towards it. Hugo Malakoff was sitting in the main day cabin

  of the Solitaire, wearing a khaki linen suit and sipping

  green tea out of a fine bone china cup when Kurt came in.

  He’d changed and wore a silk maroon coloured shirt and

  matching tie, and a hand made black Italian suit that made

  him look rather aggressive.

  “Did everything go to plan?” Malakoff asked. “Yes, Mien Herr. There is now a tracking device on

  board Dillon’s powerboat and another on Chapman’s dive

  boat, as you requested. Captain Armand informs me that

  we can now track them from up to five miles away. Dillon

  has booked a table at Annabelle’s place for eight o’clock

  this evening.”

  “So they’re eating at Annabelle’s, are they? That can

  only mean one thing, Kurt. Dillon hopes to meet up with

  Chapman, what a cosy scene that makes. I think it might be

  rather amusing to join them.”

  Captain Armand entered at that moment. “Your

  orders for this evening, Monsieur?”

  “Yes, Captain. Organise some female company for

  Pierre, Mazzarin and Zola. Bring them aboard, and let

  them all have a drink on me. You may break out a case of

  Krug for them and then later this evening, when they’ve had

  their fun, bring the three of them ashore. They can let off a

  little more steam at Annabelle’s if you follow me?” “Absolutely, Monsieur.” Armand smiled and went

  out.

  * * * It was just after seven-thirty, and Annabelle Cunningham was feeling happy sitting at her father’s bedside on the fifth floor of the city hospital. Her spirits had been lifted on her arrival, by the doctors informing her that Nathan was well on the way to recovery.

  On her way in, she’d picked up a handful of newspapers, and had been reading the articles aloud to him for the past two hours. She got up and walked around the room to stretch her legs, restless from being cooped up for most of the afternoon in the small private side ward. Her eyes glanced down at Nathan’s old brown leather attaché case that she’d brought with her to the hospital. She’d been slowly going through his documents and the numerous old scraps of paper, which he habitually scribbled on. Sitting down in the chair, she reached down and picked up the case off of the floor, placing it on her lap.

  There were copies of plans and correspondence to the planning office. These all related to the proposed refurbishment work to Annabelle’s café, which she’d given to Nathan to read just before he’d left to come up to London. A street map of the city was tucked inside a pocket, and as she pulled out the soft backed booklet a folded piece of paper fell out from inside. She picked it up off of the floor and unfolded it.

  Nathan had always been a prolific doodler, and the sketch that Annabelle was now looking at on the creased scrap of paper, made her look twice. So surprised was she, that she stood up and held it at arms length. Turning it on its side and then upside down, viewing it from every possible angle to make sure that what she was interpreting was in fact correct.

  She flushed with excitement, “Oh my God, why didn’t I think of that before?” She said out loud. “Pops, you old rogue. I do believe you’ve just given me a clue to your U-boat mystery!”

  She gently stroked a hand across her father’s forehead, brushing the hair back with her fingers. And bending down she lovingly kissed his cheek; there was a knock at the door. It was the police officer stationed outside Nathan’s room, who stuck his head inside to ask if she’d like a coffee or tea brought in. Annabelle declined, and then informed him that she would be leaving very shortly.

  Stepping outside she looked up, the evening sky had turned a wonderful shade of pink with only a smattering of wispy clouds trailing off over the rooftops. Annabelle eased herself into the rear seat of chauffeur driven Mercedes, and as she settled into the luxurious leather she made a mental note to phone LJ straight after dinner.

  * * * Edward Levenson-Jones was sitting on the terrace of Annabelle’s café, looking out across the harbour. The dark sky was streaked with pink and orange as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

  “Never ceases to fill me with a sense of hope.” LJ said as they sipped a glass of Pimms.

  “A day without sunshine is like night, isn’t that how the saying goes?” Dillon said.

  The waves lethargically rolled onto the sandy beach, and tiny bats darted around the night sky just above the cliff tops. LJ got up and moved to the edge of the terrace.

  “I must say, that’s very profound, Jake.”

  Dillon took a sip of his drink. He grinned
boyishly, and said, “Well perhaps I feel profound. You know what it’s like, you look at your life and how it’s passing you by. I mean, here I am still playing action man hero at forty.”

  “Oh dear, old son. Sounds like you’re coming down with a nasty dose of melancholy. You know as well as I do, it never pays to look back with regret. Not in our business, anyway. Next thing you know, you start getting a conscience, and then that’s the end of it. That’s no good to anyone, including yourself. I trust you realise that?”

  “You don’t have to worry about me. I know it doesn’t pay to dwell on the past, and I’m not as you put it, feeling melancholy.”

  “Good, because we have this wretched man Malakoff to contend with. And what still concerns me the most, is what his next move is likely to be?”

  “That’s what bothers me.” Dillon said.

  “Well, would you look at that, I think the answer to that question is coming towards us right now.” Vince said.

  “What?” Dillon asked.

  “Walking this way up the beach.”

  Dillon and LJ both looked round at the same time. Hugo Malakoff jumped down from the inflatable, walked along the beach and up the steps, followed closely by Kurt, who as always, was one step behind his employer. He looked around the terrace, saw Dillon and the others, and came over. “Mr Dillon? Hugo Malakoff.”

  “I know who you are, Monsieur,” Dillon replied in excellent French.

  Malakoff raised an eyebrow. “You speak like a Frenchman, Monsieur,” he replied in his native tongue, “such fluency in an Englishman is extremely rare.” He turned to LJ and added in English, “A pleasure to see you in Jersey, Mr Levenson-Jones. Have a pleasant evening and an enjoyable dinner, gentlemen. The food here is quite exquisite.” He then turned and went through into the restaurant followed by the German.

  “The audacity of the man, he knew who we were, and that we’d be here this evening.” LJ exclaimed.

  “So it would seem.” Dillon stood up. “Let’s have dinner, I’m absolutely starving.”

  The food was excellent, just as Malakoff had said, and LJ had thoroughly enjoyed himself. They started with pan fried sea scallops followed by roasted guinea fowl and locally grown vegetables that were accompanied by Jersey new potatoes tossed in butter. LJ devoured everything with zealous enthusiasm.

  “To be honest, old son, I prefer good old fashioned British bred red meat. But I must say, that was a most enjoyable meal and one of the best that I’ve had in a long time.”

  “So, it wasn’t too much of an endurance for you, then?” Dillon inquired.

  “If by that remark, you’re insinuating that my palette is not adventurous. Then you are very much mistaken. As a matter of fact, I’ve eaten both exotic and even bizarre dishes during my life long travels.”

  “Such as?” Dillon pressed.

  LJ poured himself another glass of wine before answering. “Okay, let me see.”

  “Take your time, Vince and I are in no hurry.”

  LJ shot Dillon one of his glances from over the top of his wire-framed spectacles. “Well, I suppose two of the most bizarre dishes would be jellied sheep’s eyes. I tried those on a trip to India, and then there were the grilled python steaks in South America. How’s that for exotic?”

  “Okay, point taken.” Dillon said amiably, and raised his glass in a mock toast to his boss.

  “I’m glad to see that you still have a small degree of humility, Jake. At least there’s still some hope for you yet. Can either of you see what Malakoff is up to?”

  “Having dinner over by the window behind you. The henchman who is with him, by the way, is called Kurt. He’s his minder, and the one who threw me over the cliff, and then attempted to murder me with a silenced carbine the other night.”

  “Oh my, that won’t do, will it?” LJ asked the waiter for strong black espresso coffee instead of the weak milky excuse that he was offered. “So Jake, what are you suggesting our next move should be? Malakoff being here this evening demonstrates to me that he doesn’t want us talking to Chapman on our own. I’d also venture that this brazen display is simply to tell us that he’s here, and is going to stay here. The man’s arrogance obviously knows no boundaries.”

  “I think that we need to talk to Chapman. Urgently, and in private.” Dillon said getting up and putting on his jacket.

  “Do you know where he is right now?”

  “Oh yes, I know exactly where he’ll be.”

  “Excellent.” LJ stood, buttoned up his blazer and adjusted his tie. “We’d better get going then.”

  “Vince, you stay here. Keep an eye on our friends over there, and ring me from your mobile if they should leave.”

  “Do you want me to follow them, Jake?”

  “Hell no. That would be tantamount to suicide, and that big German is far too dangerous. You stay put here, and do what comes naturally. Converse with total strangers and have a few more drinks, but keep your eyes on those two. I’ll only be an hour or two and then I’ll come back and get you in the Range Rover.”

  As they went out, Dillon complimented the chef on an excellent meal, and the two men left. Malakoff saw them leave, said something to Kurt, and then ordered another round of liqueurs for them both.

  Dillon drove the Range Rover into the wide gravel driveway, parking it next to Rob Chapman’s pickup and switched off. He took the Glock automatic out of the glove box and tucked it under his belt in the small of his back.

  “What in heaven’s name do you want that for?” LJ demanded.

  “Insurance.” Dillon said bluntly, adding. “Now let’s go and have a little chat with Mr Chapman.”

  Gravel crunched under their feet as they walked across the drive to the entrance portico. Dillon stood for a moment, looking up at the big oak panelled door before tugging on the old-fashioned bell pull. From deep within the unusual granite building, the jingle jangle of the bell could just be heard. After what seemed to Dillon like an eternity, Rob Chapman appeared at the door wearing a pair of dark shorts, a white T-shirt and bare feet.

  “Jake, come on in.” Chapman said as he motioned the two men into the hallway.

  “Hello, Rob. Sorry to barge in on you like this, but I’d like to introduce a friend of mine to you, Edward Levenson-Jones.”

  Chapman smiled. “No problem, Jake and it’s good to meet you, Edward. Come on through to the garden room and have a drink, I’ve got a bottle of white wine on the go.”

  The garden room had a view over both Gifford and Bonne Nuit Bay, and a clear glass domed canopy that gave the impression of being out in the open. There were a number of exotic plants and flowers in pots of all sizes and colour. Chapman poured wine, and then handed Dillon and LJ a glass each.

  “So gentlemen, a toast. To life and whatever it throws at us.” Chapman raised his glass and then emptied it in one gulp.

  Dillon glanced over at LJ, who was watching Chapman. Raising his own glass he said, “And always be prepared for the unexpected.”

  Chapman frowned then turned to LJ and then back to Dillon. “Odd sort of toast, isn’t it. Now why would you say that, Jake?”

  “Oh no reason, Rob. But I suppose it pays to keep an open mind about some things, doesn’t it?”

  “Something’s not quite right here gentlemen. And, if I were any judge of a situation, I’d say that this wasn’t a social call?”

  At that moment, they heard a woman’s panicked voice shout out from one of the rooms on a lower level, “Get out, you have no right to be in here!”

  It was Chapman’s sister who had called out, she was staying with him for the summer holidays.

  Chapman flew out of the room, with Dillon following close behind, down stone steps and through narrow corridors. They reached the kitchen doorway, and were instantly greeted by the sight of Kurt, restraining a pretty woman somewhere in her mid to late thirties with naturally blonde hair in a plait bound up at the back.

  He had an arm around her neck, and she looked terrified and very vulner
able stood there. The big German saw them come through the doorway, tightened his grip and instantly took one step backwards. The two men stopped in their tracks, Malakoff appeared at the same time through the open rear doorway.

  “I hate to see a bully picking on someone smaller than themselves.” Chapman said and his face was hard.

  Dillon said, “I couldn’t agree more. He’s a disgrace to the entire German male population.”

  Kurt’s eyes flashed anger, and he released his grip on the girl, allowing her to break free and run across to where Chapman was standing. He looked straight at Dillon, meeting his eyes with steely coldness, and then smirked, turned to Pierre who was now stood next to Malakoff, and nodded at him. The Frenchman stepped into the kitchen and positioned himself on the other side of the large beech table that was positioned in the middle of the room.

  LJ had seen what was going on, and had until that moment, stayed hidden in the hallway. He now casually entered the room, and said. “Monsieur Malakoff, I’d leave quietly if I were you. Before someone gets hurt.”

  Dillon glanced at Malakoff, who made no attempt to leave.

  “My dear Levenson-Jones, those are brave words coming from someone who spends most of his time sitting behind a desk. We wish only to talk with Mr Chapman, about a business proposition that will make him extremely rich.”

  “Get out Malakoff, and take your bully boys with you. I’ve no wish to discuss anything with you.” Chapman said angrily.

  “Oh, come now Mr Chapman. I’m sure that with a little gentle persuasion, you’d change your mind?” Malakoff said, and then fleetingly glanced across at Pierre who instantly moved around the table fast. He had a knife in his hand, and with his arm extended went forward towards the two men.

  LJ dragged the girl back out of harm’s way through the open doorway into the hall. Chapman turned, and made ready to defend himself, but it was Dillon who moved first. He struck the side of Pierre’s head with a high karate kick that sent the Frenchman to the ground in a daze. Pierre recovered enough to pull himself up from the hard flagstone floor using the edge of the table for support. Dillon wasted no time, and delivered a heavy blow to his kidneys. Pierre cried out and fell to one side. He lay prone on the flagstone floor for a moment, then forced himself up on to one knee.