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

by Andrew Towning

  LJ, said thoughtfully as he picked it up, “According to some notable experts, it’s rumoured that this is one of the actual nails from the true cross, you know?”

  And these were all that remained of the Spear of Destiny.

  LJ probed around in the bottom of the silver case in search of anything else that might be inside. Seconds later he pulled out a bundle of envelopes. Picked out one at random, unfolded it, and raised an eyebrow. He was looking at a hand written letter, which he immediately passed to Dillon.

  “Here, you read it Jake, you’re the multi-linguist.”

  Dillon studied the German text, and then read it aloud, “From Adolf Hitler. Gross admiral Karl Donitz is acting under my personal orders in a matter of the utmost importance to the Third Reich. He is answerable only to me. It is imperative that he succeeds in this mission, and therefore all personnel, military or civil will assist him in any way he requests.” Dillon handed it back. “It’s signed by Hitler.”

  “So it looks like Donitz, was landed with the onerous job of safeguarding the spear. Decided to transport it here to Jersey, where he knew there was already a safe place to harbour one of his U-boats. And, that Himmler on the other hand, was only interested in his own agenda, and that was simply to hide the gold bullion. And what better way of transporting it to safety, than in a big black submarine.” LJ commented.

  LJ, passed another large manila coloured envelope over to Dillon. “Here, have a look through this one.”

  Dillon opened it, and took out a hard backed blue coloured book. He leafed through several pages, before studying one of them more closely. “Now this makes very interesting reading.”

  “What’s that, old son?”

  “LJ, have a look in your envelopes.”

  LJ, took out a further three books, all with the same blue hard back cover. After leafing through a few pages, he handed them to Dillon who studied each of them in turn for a few moments.

  He looked up at the others. “These books appear to contain the details of numbered bank accounts in Switzerland, South America and here in the Channel Islands.”

  “Really?” LJ said, as he leaned forward, his interest heightened by this revelation.

  Dillon looked through several more pages, before saying. “You won’t believe some of the names written in here. Mostly, English and American, but also Irish and French.”

  LJ took the books from him and placed them back inside the silver box. “Any names jump out at you, Jake?”

  “Two. But I’m sure that there’s many more.” Dillon answered, and then added, “But, I’m not surprised that they’re there.”

  “Would someone mind telling me, what the bloody hell is going on here?” Vince butted in, agitated by the cryptic banter that Dillon and LJ were using between themselves.

  “Sorry, Vince.” LJ said apologetically. “What I’m referring to, is something that I’ve suspected since coming to Jersey. And it concerns Malakoff and Asquith. Or I should say, it concerns their fathers. You see, both names appear in these ledgers.” He let the enormity of what he’d just said hang heavy in the air.

  “What? So they were both working for the Nazis?” Vince’s voice was incredulous.

  “In a nut shell, old son. Yes. And that’s why we’ve been constantly harangued by Malakoff and his merry band of thugs from the out start of this affair. If a revelation like this ever becomes public knowledge, well let’s just say, that both of these men would almost certainly be finished.”

  “My God!” Chapman said. “If that’s true, then it’s dynamite.”

  “Absolutely right, Rob.” LJ carefully placed the two gold bullion bars on top of the ledgers, at the very bottom of the silver case. Replaced the inner box containing the spear head, and covered it with the muslin. Closed the lid, and then snapped shut the catches. “Of course, if it does turn out to be true. And, don’t forget, the Nazis were masters of forgery and deception. It will cause a right old stir in Whitehall, that will reverberate all the way through the corridors of power to the House of Commons and the House of Lords.”

  “So what happens next?” Chapman asked.

  “We return to Bonne Nuit, where Dillon, Vince and I will pack up and then return to London. I’ve already contacted Phil Allerton. He’s flying down later today.” He held up the silver case and smiled bleakly. “I suppose, that Sir Lucius Stagg will want to know about this as soon as possible.”

  “What about the U-boat? After all, it’s still down there with the gold on board.” Chapman said.

  “The tunnel is sealed off, and we trust you’ll not go blabbing to anyone about its whereabouts, Rob?” Dillon replied bluntly.

  “That goes without saying. I can be trusted, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Chapman said belligerently, looking Dillon in the eye.

  “Gentlemen, please. Enough said and done, I think. That submarine is not going anywhere, and that applies to the gold on board. The Partners will be fully briefed, and it will be up to them to come up with a suitable plan for the recovery of it. Now let’s get started back to Bonne Nuit.”

  * * * The clock in Malakoff’s study chimed eleven o’clock. He glanced up from the documents he’d been working through since breakfast. Checked his wrist watch, and immediately pushed the button on the highly polished oak desk. A moment later Captain Armand, Kurt and Pierre entered the cabin.

  The Solitaire was still at anchor off Gifford Bay, and Mazzarin and Zola, in the inflatable rib, had made contact immediately. Malakoff, remained seated at the large desk, a two way radio in his hand, listening intently as Mazzarin went over the events of the morning. When he’d finished, Malakoff turned to the captain, who was standing beside him.

  “Tell me Armand, what is your view of this situation?”

  “With little or no wind to hamper their progress, they’ll make good time. I would estimate that it will take them no more than twenty minutes to return to Bonne Nuit, Monsieur.”

  “So what is the plan, Mien Herr?”

  Malakoff stood up and straightened his jacket. “The question should be, what will Levenson-Jones do when he returns? Well I’ll hasten a guess. He’ll want to get off this island, and back to London as quickly as possible. I’m reliably informed that a helicopter is already on its way to collect him and one other, most likely that computer chap Dillon brought with him.” He paced around the study. “So, the plan is gentlemen. That if the need arises, we hit them very hard, with stealth and surprise on our side, the instant they return.”

  “And your orders, Mien Herr?” The big blond haired German demanded.

  “Are very simple. You, together with the others, when they return, will go ashore in the inflatable rib. Leave this on the beach below the steps that lead up to the Fisherman’s Lodge. Send Zola up to the road to keep watch for their return, Mazzarin will be on the harbour wall, and make sure he’s suitably dressed to blend in with the tourists. You Kurt, will go and conceal yourself in the immediate area of the lodge. Armand will issue you all with two-way radios and ear-pieces, so that you can stay in touch with each other, and the Solitaire.”

  “And me, Monsieur Malakoff. What do you want me to do?” Pierre asked.

  “After the aggravation you’ve already caused me, Pierre. All that I want you to do, is stay out of sight. You will break out the sailing dinghy, go out about half a mile, and pretend to be just another incompetent amateur sailor. This shouldn’t be too difficult, even for you to do. When you see Dillon’s power cruiser, notify the others immediately. Levenson-Jones and the others must return to the lodge to pack. That’s when we’ll hit them. Once you have the chest with the spear inside, you return to the inflatable and get away from there. Remember, that the chest is quite unique in the way it looks. It’s not that big, made from solid silver, with the Nazi swastika emblazoned in black across the lid.”

  “Are we to come straight to the Solitaire, Mien Herr?”

  “No.” Malakoff went around the oak desk and sitting down, added, “Head down the
coast towards St. Helier. We will sail around the island in the other direction, and meet you in the marina. I need some time to think about what the next move will be. After all, what’s inside the chest is not only priceless, but holds the power to change the world. It could change our lives forever.”

  He got up out of his chair, and walked across to the far wall. A panel slid back to reveal a wall safe. Inside it, were various papers and documents, along with an assortment of weapons. He selected a Magnum .45 handgun and gave this to Kurt. “Don’t be careless, and don’t make any mistakes.”

  “I will not fail you, Mien Herr.” Kurt said standing to attention. “If the chest is with them, I will get it.”

  “Have no doubt, Kurt. They’ll have it. Dillon will not have failed in retrieving that chest, because he doesn’t know what failure is.”

  * * * Chapman throttled back the cruiser’s powerful diesel engines, slowing the sleek white craft to a virtual standstill as he moved it between the many yachts at anchor to the mooring. Out in the bay the local dinghy school was under full sail and windsurfers were weaving their course through the ocean. From high up on the sea wall, people were watching the world go by and enjoying the late morning sunshine, Mazzarin was one of them, in a light coloured T-shirt and colourful long surfer’s shorts. And at Annabelle’s café, business was bristling with tourists clambering at the counter in search of refreshments.

  Mazzarin saw Dillon lean over the side rail and gaff hook the swinging buoy, and then heave it up to tie the bow line to it. He went to the stern and did exactly the same there, returning to the main cabin a moment later. After five minutes, he came out on to the deck with one of the large canvas holdalls in one hand. LJ followed him carrying a silver box under his arm, and then Vince and Chapman came out with the diving equipment stowed in large black holdalls. Dillon stayed on board to lock up, while the others clambered down into the inflatable at the stern. He joined them a moment later in the small craft, Chapman pulled the starter cord and, on the third attempt the outboard fired, white smoke spewed out of the tiny exhaust and then a loud pop interrupted the usual sounds of the harbour. He engaged the propeller, and a moment later they were heading straight towards the beach.

  Dillon got out of the dinghy, and taking hold of the bow line, pulled it partly out of the water and up onto the wet sand. The others were out of the small inflatable craft in an instant, and together they walked along the beach in front of Annabelle’s café and up the slipway towards the road.

  Mazzarin pulled on a dark blue baseball cap that, with the peak pulled down, partially concealed the upper part of his face. With dark sunglasses on, he looked just like any other anonymous tourist strolling around in the sunshine. He walked back along the sea wall towards the slipway, reaching it at the same time as Dillon and the others were coming up the ramp off the beach. At that moment, a woman hurried out of Annabelle’s Café, calling LJ’s name and waving an envelope in one hand.

  “Oh Mr Levenson-Jones.” It was Kate Jackson, Annabelle’s manager, who was coming down the steps towards them.

  LJ looked over his shoulder, and then turned to greet her. “My dear Miss Jackson, good morning. And, what’s so urgent that you should have to dash out to catch me?”

  “It’s this note from Annabelle. I’m to tell you that she’s flown back to London, because the most wonderful thing has happened. You see, the hospital’s called to say that Nathan’s starting to regain consciousness at last.”

  “Well, that’s the most marvellous news.” LJ said. And then added, “And the envelope?”

  “Oh yes, nearly forgot.” Kate Jackson, handed LJ the envelope, and then hurried off back inside the busy café. LJ, ripped it open, and pulled out a single sheet of white paper. He took a moment to read the note, and then immediately handed it to Dillon. The grievous look on his face, said it all.

  “The bastards! How the bloody hell did they get out of police custody?” Dillon said between clenched teeth, and looking up at Chapman, added, “Would you believe it. Those two henchman of Malakoff’s, only tried to attack Annabelle early this morning at her home.”

  “Who? The German and the Frenchman?” It was LJ who nodded agreement. Chapman quickly added, “But, she’s alright isn’t she?”

  “Oh I think that we can assume that they came off worse. She apparently, shot the Frenchman in the shoulder with the Walther I’d given her.” Dillon said smiling, folded the piece of paper and handed it back to LJ, who placed it inside his jacket pocket.

  As they walked up the hill, leaving the bustle of the harbour down below, to the Fisherman’s Lodge, LJ said, “I’ll call Annabelle on her mobile phone when we get back. Just to make sure she’s okay, and to find out how Nathan is.”

  “Good idea, while you’re doing that, I’ll take a shower and then pack.” Dillon said.

  “Well, if you’ve no further use for me, I’d better get going, I’ve got to be over at the dig in an hour or so.” Chapman said as they neared the brow of the hill.

  “Okay, oh and Rob. Thanks for all your help.” Dillon replied. Chapman said goodbye, and continued along the road towards his sea castle.

  Carrying the silver chest safely inside one of the large holdalls, LJ walked on towards the Fisherman’s Lodge with Dillon and Vince. The road curved around to the left, to be joined a little further along by the narrow dirt lane that led down through tall willowy trees to the lodge.

  Kurt paused in the shelter of a disused, and ram shackle, timber shed and using the two way radio called up Mazzarin. He answered at once from where he was sitting on the beach at the bottom of the steps that lead up to Fisherman’s Lodge.

  “Yes, I hear you.”

  “Levenson-Jones is almost here with Dillon and the other one.”

  “What, Dillon is with them? You know what he’s capable of?”

  “Listen to me, you coward. Dillon is merely flesh and blood, just like you and me. We can take him out, as long as we catch them off guard. Meet me on the seaward side in five minutes.”

  Kurt then called Zola before switching off the tiny device. Turning, he could see LJ and the others coming down the lane about one hundred metres away. He broke cover, moved quickly around to the rear of the lodge, and once on the seaward side, concealed himself in a thicket of bushes.

  LJ put the chest on the coffee table in the sitting room, then went into his bedroom and started to get changed into clean clothes. Dillon had gone for a shower, and Vince was packing away his computer equipment into their travelling cases. He should have felt exhilarated, he told himself as he buttoned up the shirt he’d just put on, but far too much had happened since his long time friend Nathan Cunningham had first walked into his office with this amazing discovery.

  Nathan was mown down by a mysterious car on a zebra crossing. He pulled on a pair of trousers, then there was the frail old lady at number fifty-one. It had been made to look like death by natural causes, but the pathologist had found the puncture mark just above the old lady’s ankle, and then there was the trace of an extremely rare poison that they’d found in her blood. They thought it most likely that it had originated from South America. He sighed, opened his suitcase and found the half empty bottle of single malt whisky.

  He poured a good measure into a tumbler and drank it down neat, in one gulp. Refilled his glass, and placed it on the cabinet at the side of the bed. Albert Bishop, an old man who had never done anyone harm in his life, and then Guy Roberts. Both murders were far too convenient to be coincidences. Malakoff had much to answer for. He picked up his mobile phone, took his drink and went into the sitting room, and placed the tumbler of whisky on the coffee table next to the silver chest. Before calling Annabelle, he paused, staring down at the Nazi swastika across the lid, and then ran his hand lightly over it. The cold metal sent a shiver through his body, he walked across the room and stood staring out of the window, his mood reflective, as he gazed out across the rear garden to the English Channel. After a minute or two, he went and slumped do
wn heavily into one of the old sofas. Leaned back, picked up his drink, and sat looking up at the painting over the fire mantle.

  Mazzarin went apace up the steps, and came to an abrupt halt behind the wooden fence at the edge of the garden. He’d immediately spotted LJ staring out of the double French doors in his direction, and then a moment later turn away and go and sit down. Staying low and using the dense foliage along the rear boundary, he made his way to where Kurt was waiting.

  They went straight to the heavy oak stable door, that opened up into the kitchen. This was located at the side of the stone building, and there were no windows overlooking this part of the garden. Very gently, Kurt tried the latch. He shook his head, and whispered, “No good, it’s locked.”

  Mazzarin pointed up to a dormer window, jutting out of the slate tile roof. Kurt looked up, gave him the okay sign, and then beckoned Mazzarin to follow him to the old wood shed. Before rounding the building, Kurt stood perfectly still, not even his breathing could be heard, and only after satisfying himself that there wasn’t anyone else about. Did he move towards the woodshed. Except for the ocean crashing onto the rocks far below, the only other sounds were those of their footsteps falling onto rotting twigs and debris scattered on the ground. There wasn’t anyone else about, and the garden surrounding the Fisherman’s Lodge was very luxuriant, shielding it from the road and the other houses in the immediate area. He went straight to the ladder that he’d found earlier, most of the timber had rotted away over the years, but there was still a good six or so foot that was usable. They carried it back, and put it up against the wall.

  Mazzarin started to climb up, Kurt caught hold of his shirt, and said, “Be very quiet.” He whispered to the other man as he took out the Magnum .45 and passed it to him, “Once you’re in, come down immediately and let me in through this door.”

  Mazzarin tried opening the aged window. When it wouldn’t budge; he pushed the blade of his divers knife between the outer and inner frames, prised it, and on the second try managed to open the window far enough to squeeze in. He slithered through the small opening, was inside the attic room in a matter of seconds, and was immediately overwhelmed by the musty decaying air of a room that had been locked away for too many years.