Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (18 page)

“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.”
“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.”

“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 staying 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.”

“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?”
“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.

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.”

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’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.