“I’m not sure what relevance that has on his mental state now. However, I do agree that he was acting out of character that day.”
“I’ve no doubt that he was. Because, he wanted us to believe that the confident man who stood before us was someone in total control, but he obviously wasn’t, and we now know that it was Hugo Malakoff pulling his strings. I believe that his natural personality trait is quite the opposite. In fact, I’d guess that he’s a highly strung, pent-up, anal retentive who likes his life to be very orderly, and that if he’s backed into a corner, who’s to say what he’s likely to do.”
“I disagree, old son. I’ve known Oliver Asquith a long time, and he’s much stronger mentally, than you are giving him credit for. He also has an exceptional degree of cunning about him. So don’t expect me to have any sympathy for him.” LJ said apathetically. He stood up and put on his jacket, he picked up his briefcase, and before he departed drank what was left of his now cold black coffee.
“Come on, let’s put this one to bed, old son,” and he opened the door and led the way out.
* * * When Asquith arrived at the London Eye there was the usual throng of sight-seekers waiting to get on, making it virtually impossible to see anybody in the pods at ground level. A uniformed security guard approached him, and led him through the crowds, all the way to the front of the queue, much to the verbal annoyance of those who had been waiting patiently for their turn. He was told to wait until the next pod had docked, and as the door opened he saw that the only occupants were two men dressed in city suits, standing on the far side of the spacious interior. They were looking over the Thames, and were in deep conversation. He stepped inside, the door closed behind him, and almost immediately the pod started to move again.
“Sit down, Oliver.” LJ instructed, and turned around to face Asquith. And then leaned casually against the glass of the window.
Asquith stood there for a brief second, then went forward to one of the seats hesitantly, his fingers clasped around the butt of the small pistol in his right-hand jacket pocket. The antique ladies handbag weapon was extremely easy to conceal, and lethally effective at close range. And after purchasing it from a back street trader in Cairo, he always knew it would come in handy one day.
The giant Ferris wheel started to rotate again, the pod went another notch upwards and then stopped as the one behind it docked, to allow more people on board. LJ walked across the cabin and sat down opposite Asquith.
“Well, here we are, Oliver. I mustn’t be too long. I’ve got a meeting with the Home Secretary and Simon Digby at the Home Office in precisely thirty minutes.”
“Oh please, cut the crap and the silly games, Edward. We all know why you’ve got me here. And before you say anything, it’s not my bloody fault that my father fervently believed in Hitlerism.” Asquith said the words with rancour, and then added in a quiet voice, “I was only trying to protect my family name, my position with the Museum.”
“The family name, of course. Understandable, but not a good enough reason why you should be forgiven, Oliver. What I am most disturbed by is the fact that, for whatever reason, you acted as Malakoff’s poodle from the very outset. Feeding him every scrap of information that you came by. You sold us all out, and put Dillon, Vince Sharp, Rob Chapman and myself in extreme danger. It was your actions that resulted in Annabelle Cunningham being attacked in a side street, just outside of the Ferran & Cardini offices. I dread to think what would have happened to her, had Jake not intervened and sorted out the two hired thugs.”
“I know you won’t believe me. But, I wasn’t aware of any of this, Edward.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that for one moment, Oliver, that it was Malakoff who arranged everything. After all, he was in a position of extreme wealth to organise just about anything he wanted. But, what I’m talking about is retribution for the futile taking of human life. For the old man on Jersey, whose name was Albert Bishop by the way. He’d have been a young boy during your father’s time at the house on the island. I went to talk to him about the war years. But, he’d already been brutally murdered by the time I arrived. It was the way in which he had met with his death that first threw light onto this whole affair, and what it was about. Now that was obviously Malakoff’s people, but how did he know about the old man’s existence in the first place? Again, it’s obvious. You told him, Oliver.”
“You’re bluffing again, Edward. You can’t prove that, or come to it, any of this far fetched fairy tale that you’ve concocted.”
“That’s true, up to a point. Just as I can’t prove what happened to Guy Roberts, but let me tell you my theory anyway. Before Roberts met with a bullet in the head from a professional killer. He flew down to Jersey with the revelation that he’d found out about Albert Bishop’s connection to your father. Now, you might be wondering how he found out? Well, he discovered this while running an unofficial data checks on your family. I’d asked him to do this, because of the information that was haemorrhaging to Malakoff that could only have come from one of those who knew about this affair. That’s how we found out about the house on Jersey. Unfortunately, he took it upon himself, by dubious means, to hack into your personal computer and rummage around in a few of the files there. It’s quite probable, that you or even one of your employees noticed that someone had been snooping around in your bank files.” He pointed out.
“You then contact Malakoff, and he has his people run a locator scan over the Internet to find out who it was. I can only imagine that you were beside yourself with panic at that precise moment, not knowing who had hacked into your private details.” LJ gave a small chuckle at this revelation.
“You must have feared the worst, and phoned Malakoff who placated you, and then took care of it for you.” LJ sighed, “Somehow, and my people are still looking into this, Malakoff managed to trace the connection point, back to our Docklands address. Sadly, had the terminal used, not been on-line at the time of the scan, young Roberts would still be alive to this day.”
Asquith, who looked pale, but had regained some of his composure and arrogance, took a deep breath and sat upright, “The only crime that I’ve committed, Edward. Is to be naive. After all, I was only doing what any son would do, protect my father’s memory. Like I said, what he got up to during the war was his affair. Not mine. If his treasonous actions ever become public knowledge, it will not only bring utter ruin and disgrace to the family name. But, will be detrimental to this Government at a time when it, together with other free nations, is fighting fascism and dictatorship around the planet.”
He seemed to have recovered his nerve. “I warn you, that if you persist with this thing, I’ll simply call in a few favours from some very influential friends of mine. You can’t prove any of it, Edward. And, so what if you’ve got those ledgers, what do they actually prove anyway?”
LJ turned his back on the archaeologist and looked out across the Thames far below. “As I said, I can see why you jumped into bed with Hugo Malakoff, Oliver. After all, in your panic you could see an ancient name being dragged through the gutter press, tarnished for all eternity. In fact, your whole life turned upside down, your privileged position in society taken away from you, and no more British museum with those fully expensed trips to the Middle East. But, you see what I can’t see any excuse for, were the attacks on Annabelle Cunningham, the death of the old man on Jersey, the cold blooded murder of Guy Roberts and heaven knows how many others, who met with an untimely end during this whole affair.” LJ turned around to face an ashen faced Asquith. “I’ve no doubt, whatsoever old son, that on those charges you are every bit blameworthy as the men who carried them out.”
“I still say you’re bluffing, Edward.” Asquith snapped, and stood up.
The pod docked, and the door slid back. “Goodbye, Oliver,” Edward Levenson-Jones said, allowed Dillon to step out onto the platform, and then followed him. Within seconds they’d both been swallowed by the crowds.
* * * Asquith was trembling, he got up f
rom the seat and slowly walked out of the cabin. Oblivious to the throngs of people waiting on the platform to get on the London Eye, pushing past them, and making his way down to the embankment. He walked along the path, away from the crowds and the constant noise, and sat down on a quiet bench and gazed out across the river, his thoughts a million light years away. He didn’t notice, or even hear, the tall ruggedly good looking man dressed in a dark city suit, come and sit down almost beside him.
Asquith, looked around to his left, and his eyes widened in recognition, “Dillon, fancy meeting you here. What do you want?”
“That’s not a very friendly greeting, your Lordship.” Dillon shifted himself on the wooden bench to face Asquith. “And there was I thinking you were a gentleman.” Dillon said amiably. “However, the first time I met you at the House of Lords I immediately thought that you were not to be trusted. And unremarkably, you’ve proved my instincts correct.”
“So what of it. What does it matter what you think, Dillon. After all, you’re only the hired help, the blunt instrument.” Asquith said vehemently, shrugged his shoulders, and then pushed his hands deep into his jacket pockets. “Hugo was particularly sloppy where you were concerned. He should have taken care of you, permanently.” Asquith said, with a kind of snorting sound that emanated from somewhere up his nose. He’d almost forgotten about the tiny pistol, that he was now gripping tightly around the ivory butt.
“Malakoff’s henchman, Kurt, tried on a number of occasions.” Dillon said, and deliberately let the lapel of his jacket fall to one side, just enough for Asquith to clearly see that he was carrying the Glock in a side holster. “Now if you know what’s good for you, Asquith. You’ll pack your bags and take a very long holiday. I’m told that you own a villa in the Bahamas. I can think of worse places to be exiled to, as I’m sure you can. I’m to tell you that you’re not to return, ever! I hope that you fully understand the part about not returning?”
Asquith hesitated, completely ignored what Dillon was saying, and said, “Well, he obviously didn’t try hard enough.” And with one quick spirituous movement, he’d pulled the pistol out of his pocket, and was jabbing the end of the barrel hard into Dillon’s ribs.
Dillon glanced down at the delicate pistol in Asquith’s hand. “If your Lordship’s intention is to kill me in broad daylight with that pea-shooter, then you’d better get on with it.” Dillon smiled at the other man, all the time eyeballing him. “I’m guessing that you’ve never murdered anyone in cold blood before. And if I’m right in my assumption, then you’re about to find out that it’s not as easy as it looks, especially when you’re up close up and personal like this.”
“Shut up. You’re just like your boss, a smug arrogant bastard.” Asquith said, and jabbed at Dillon’s ribs again. Only this time harder and with more forethought of position. “My whole world is slowly crashing down around me, and it’s all because of you. I assure you that pulling this hair trigger will be easy, Dillon. But, not before you’ve answered my question. What do you want from me?”
Dillon remained perfectly still, but continued to hold Asquith’s gaze. “If you’re going to kill someone. Do it, don’t just talk about it.”
The silenced .25 calibre single shot weapon, that Dillon had strapped to the underside of his forearm, and concealed up the sleeve of his jacket, coughed once. All it took was a slight flexing of his muscle, and Asquith’s heart stopped beating instantly as the tiny bullet pierced his clothing and entered his chest cavity. Dillon immediately, but with no haste, stood up and walked off along the embankment towards Westminster Bridge.
The entry point was so small that it was barely noticeable, except for the tiny trickle of blood that was starting to stain the tweed jacket just below the breast pocket. Asquith’s unseeing eyes continued to gaze over the Thames; no one paid any attention to the well dressed older man sitting on the bench. And by the time someone noticed that he was dead, Dillon was long gone and forgotten about.
* * * Ten minutes later, Dillon was coming up the steps onto Westminster Bridge, just as the dark green Bentley pulled up at the kerbside. Sir Lucius Stagg was sitting in the rear seat as Dillon got in and joined him.
“Everything okay, Dillon?” Sir Lucius asked. “Yes, Sir Lucius. It’s taken care of.” Dillon said gravely.
“A difficult decision, but the appropriate conclusion.” “It’s a part of the job, I suppose. To kill people. But,
it doesn’t mean I have to enjoy doing it, and it’s nothing to be particularly proud of. But I agree, if we hadn’t, then someone else would have. If only to save this whole sorry mess, from ever getting into the public domain.”
“Quite.” The next moment, the Bentley pulled over to the kerb, and Dillon knew that this was his cue to get out. “Good bye, Mr Dillon.”
“Sir Lucius.” Dillon stood on the pavement, and watched as the luxury car pulled back out into the traffic. A moment later he was walking in the opposite direction, just another anonymous soul in a vast city of people.
* * * LJ was shown into the Home Secretary’s outer office some ten minutes before the appointed time of the meeting. Someone came in and asked if he’d like a cup of tea or coffee and, at the same time, one of the Home Secretary’s personal assistants walked along the austere corridors and entered the room.
“Ah, there you are, Mr Levenson-Jones.” LJ turned around to be confronted by a young man in his mid twenties, wearing a pair of old fashioned horn rimmed spectacles that probably cost a small fortune, even by today’s standard.
“Please forgive me, I’m a little early.” LJ replied. “Oh, that’s not a problem. The Home Secretary is on his way back from Downing Street, and will be about five minutes. Apparently, Simon Digby is already in the building and on his way up. By the way, the ledgers are with you, I presume?” He said, pushing the glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose.
“It’s foolhardy to presume anything in this day and age, young man. But yes, they’re in my briefcase.” LJ’s patronising comment, made the young assistant flinch, just for a second or two.
“Good, well I’d be grateful if you would allow me to take a look at them prior to the meeting.” He immediately saw the wary look on LJ’s face, and added, “I speed read, Mr Levenson-Jones. That’s one of the reasons why the Home Secretary employs me. He will expect me to brief him the minute he enters the building. And, to give him a full appraisal of what exactly is contained within their pages.”
LJ handed over the blue leather bound books, and the assistant went and sat behind a desk located in the corner of the spacious room. A few moments later there was a knock at the door, and Simon Digby was shown in by a uniformed security guard.
“Edward,” Digby said formally as he entered the room.
The young assistant looked up from his reading, acknowledged Digby with a nod, and then stood up. He gathered up the four blue books, and with them tucked under his arm, left through a doorway on the far side of the room. Five minutes later he reappeared. “Please come this way, gentlemen.”
* * * The Home Secretary was sitting at his desk, one of the ledgers open in front of him. As the two men were ushered into the office, he glanced up from the page that he was reading. “Take a seat, gentlemen. I won’t be a moment.”
Through the enormous window at the end of the room, the last remnants of the late afternoon sun could just be seen disappearing over the rooftops of the nearby buildings.
Finally, the Home Secretary leaned back and looked at them. “Edward, this really is quite amazing. Some of the names in these ledgers are incredible. I see that you’ve tagged one of the pages, does the present Lord Asquith know of this revelation about his father?”
“Earlier this afternoon, Home Secretary.” LJ replied. Digby turned and glanced at LJ sharply. The Home Secretary said, “How did he react, when you told him that his father had been a Nazi collaborator.”
“He already knew about him, Home Secretary. You
see, his butler was the son of the la
te Lord’s personal butler, and inevitably got the job of looking after Oliver Asquith.” “I see, and I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, Edward. After all, if these books ever fell into the wrong hands. Well, let’s just say that it would be extremely embarrassing to the Government and the Royal Family. However, the fact that his father was a rabid fascist all those years ago is hardly his fault. And furthermore, there is absolutely nothing to gain by raking up old muck, as they say.” The Home Secretary closed the book he’d been reading, and stacked it on top of the other three. “So gentlemen, if there is nothing else. I think that the best thing for these is to have them shredded immediately.”
A strange silence descended on the room, broken only by the opening of the door, and the young personal assistant walking in.
The Home Secretary picked up the ledgers and handed them to him. “Adams, take these down to the shredding suite and have them destroyed. You’d better take one of the security guards with you, and stay until they’re all done.”
The young man left, and the Home Secretary said, “Those were the originals, Edward? No copies lurking in your briefcase, I hope.”
“No copies, Home Secretary.”
“Good, and what of this Spear of Destiny?” “Safely under lock and key with Adrian Vass at the
central depository vault.” LJ confirmed. The Home Secretary stood up to leave, “It was a long time ago, gentlemen, a long time ago.”
Digby stood up, and looked awkward at his lack of input into the conversation that had just taken place, and said, “I think you’ve made a wise decision, Home Secretary.”
“My dear Digby, I already know that I’ve made a wise decision, but thank you for your input, anyway.” He came round the desk to shake hands with LJ and smiled.
“I’m sure that the bits you’ve deliberately left out, you old rogue, make for a very interesting story, which you must tell me over dinner one evening. Have your secretary telephone mine to arrange it. And now you must excuse me, I’m due in the House in twenty minutes.” The door opened and he left, a moment later the assistant returned to usher them out.
Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) Page 43
