Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (26 page)

On the way back to Bonne Nuit the sun disappeared
completely behind the dark heavy rolling clouds, and the
wind had picked up to a force six. The inflatable, which
was well ahead of them, came alongside the Solitaire and
Kurt went up the ladder and found Malakoff in the aft day
cabin taking afternoon tea.

“You look extremely pleased with yourself,” he said,
looking at the big German bodyguard. “Can I assume that
you’ve been inflicting harm on Mr Dillon and his friends?”

“We have been diligent in our efforts, Mien Herr.”
Kurt related the morning’s events.
When he’d finished, Malakoff remained silent for a
moment, before saying, “As annoying as it might sound,
I’m sure that Mr Dillon is in perfect health. Unfortunately,
it will take much more than a solitary hand grenade
exploding underwater to harm him. As for this Chapman
fellow, well, he knows his business far too well.” He sighed,
and then stood up. “We’re wasting our time here, I think
that Chapman has been giving us the run around today, and
it’s now starting to bore me. There’s nothing to be gained
by staying here, especially with this storm blowing up.” He
walked to the window and looked out across Gifford Bay
towards Rob Chapman’s place.
“Have Captain Armand take us down to the marina
at St. Helier, and ask him to report to me when we’re under
way.”
“Will you be dining on board this evening, Mien
Herr?”
“No, have Armand call Francois Cocteau at the
Pomme D’Or Hotel. I’ll be dining there this evening.”
The German left, and Malakoff went back to his
chair and poured himself another cup of tea.

With the near gale force wind, came high rolling
waves streaked with caps of white foam. The rain that
had started as a fine drizzle, was now much heavier and
persistent. In the wheelhouse, Chapman had reduced their
speed and was concentrating on keeping the power cruiser
on a safe course back to harbour.

“This won’t last long,” he said to Dillon, who was
stood next to him.
“Are you going to attempt getting back into
harbour?”
“No way. It’s far too dangerous with waves this size,
and anyway, these summer storms usually blow themselves
out in a couple of hours or so. We’ll sit it out until the worst
has blown over, and then go in.”
“I agree it’d be suicide.” Dillon said.
LJ came up the ladder with a bottle of whisky and
three glasses in his hands. “I thought you might like a little
something to warm you up.” He said passing the glasses
around, and then poured a generous measure into each of
them.
“I don’t normally drink during a trip, but as we’ve
got a bit of time to kill, I’ll accept this gratefully once again.”
Chapman grinned.
“God, that’s good. There are times when a good
single malt whisky is the only thing.” Dillon said.
After an hour of drifting on the swell, the storm had
all but blown itself out, just as Chapman had said it would.
“Sky’s clearing now. We’d better head back.”
Chapman said, as he took the engines from an idle to full
ahead, and set a course back towards Bonne Nuit bay and
the harbour.
Five minutes later, Chapman spotted the Solitaire
steaming towards them.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Dillon said. “If it’s not our
dear old friend Malakoff. I wonder where he’s going?”
“St. Helier and the Pomme D’Or hotel, if I’m not
mistaken.” Chapman commented.
LJ climbed the ladder to the wheelhouse to join the
others. Chapman took them in close to the luxury craft, and
as they passed by, Dillon leaned over the rail, and waved at
Malakoff and Kurt who were standing on the stern deck. LJ
raised his glass to them, and Malakoff responded by lifting
his own, and said to Kurt, “What did I tell you? That hand
grenade stunt was a complete waste of time, you fool. It will
take more than that to harm Mr Dillon.”
At that moment Pierre came through from the main
day cabin with a portable phone in his hand.
“What is it, Pierre?”
“A call for you Monsieur. Lord Asquith.”
“Oliver,” Malakoff said. “How are you?”
“I was wondering whether there had been any
developments, Hugo?”
“No, unfortunately not Oliver. But, I can assure you
that everything is under control.”
“Only, something has just occurred to me. I’m most
likely worrying about nothing, of course, but...”
“What is this thing you’re fretting about Oliver?”
“Remember the house my father owned on the
island.”
“What about it?”
“I can’t imagine it would be a problem now. But it
was something my man Jenkins, said this morning. You see,
there used to be a local Jersey couple who looked after the
place during the war years. They had a son, who he reckons
would be around seventy, give or take a few years. I mean,
they may even all be dead by now of course.”
“Yes I agree, Oliver, they could be dead. But, then
again they may just be alive. And, if that is the case, and
Dillon puts two and two together. Then we will have a
problem.”
“Sorry, I should have thought of it before. I mean, they
would have all been there when my father was in residence
on the island. And more importantly when Himmler used
to visit him, you see my point?”
“I see your point, Oliver. And so you should be sorry,
because this revelation of yours is most disturbing, to say
the least. But never mind, I’ll attend to this matter in due
course.” Malakoff broke the connection and turned to Kurt.
“I’ve got a special job for you, but there’s no immediate
rush. I’m going to have a nap. Come and wake me when
we’ve docked.”
On the rear terrace of the Fisherman’s Lodge Dillon
was sitting on a lounger with a cup of strong Columbian
ground coffee, smoking a cigarette. He was taking in the
view of the bay. While also taking the rare opportunity of
grabbing a quite moment to collect his thoughts about what
had taken place so far, since he had arrived on the island,
and when LJ had appeared through the French doors.
“I’ve been thinking,” LJ said. “We ought to drive
down to St. Helier this evening for dinner. Why don’t we
book a table at this Pomme D’Or Hotel? Which by the
way, all the travel guides rave about as the best place on
the island for sea food. Might even be rather entertaining to
have dinner there.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Dillon said.
“We’ll take Vince with us to drive, and we may even
be able to cajole Chapman to join us.” LJ said as he walked
off inside, reappearing a moment later.
“Before you ring Chapman, I’ll give the hotel a call
and make sure they have a table.”
Within seconds LJ was speaking to the hotel dining
room manager, Francois Cocteau. “Monsieur Cocteau?
Edward Levenson-Jones here. My friends and I are down
from London, and were wondering whether you have a
table for four available this evening?”
“I’m very sorry, Monsieur. I’m afraid we’re fully
booked this evening. Although, I can offer you tomorrow
or the next day?”
“Oh, what a shame. Mr Malakoff will be
disappointed.”
LJ could hear a quite intake of breath at the other
end of the phone. “You are friends of Monsieur Malakoff?”
“Certainly, and if you’ve got his telephone number
why don’t you go ahead and check with him.”
“Just one moment, Monsieur Levenson-Jones.” The
manager immediately phoned the Solitaire, and asked to
speak to Malakoff.
“I’m very sorry to disturb you, Monsieur. But, does
the name Levenson-Jones mean anything to you. I only ask,
because he’s trying to book a table in the restaurant for this
evening, and informs me that you know him.”
Malakoff laughed out loud. “What a priceless gem
he is. Yes I know Mr Levenson-Jones, Francois. Please
ensure that he is dining this evening, will you?”
“Of course, Monsieur Malakoff. We look forward
to seeing you this evening, goodbye.” The dining room
manager hung up and immediately said, “Monsieur
Levenson-Jones. We look forward to you and your friends
dining with us this evening. At what time shall we expect
you?”
“Shall we say, seven-thirty to eight?”
“That is fine.”
LJ handed the mobile phone back to Dillon. “Call
Chapman, and see if he’s available this evening. If he is, tell
him that we’ll pick him up at his place around seven, and to
make sure he’s wearing a suit with a proper shirt and a tie.
All in all, this should be an enjoyable evening, and I think
we’ll start it with Champagne in the hotel bar before we
eat.” He said, and went back inside.
“And what if Chapman doesn’t want to come?”
Dillon called.
“He will, once you’ve used your infinite charm on
him, old son.”

It was just after eight o’clock in the evening,
when Annabelle Cunningham arrived back at the luxury
apartment that Ferran & Cardini owned on the banks of
the river Thames.

She’d been at her Father’s bedside for most of the
day, reading to him from the daily papers. She felt tired
and drained from the days of vigil. But, as the doctors kept
saying, Nathan was heading in the right direction, and the
sound of his daughter’s voice was the best medicine in the
world to aide his recovery.

In need of a drink she went into the kitchen, and
from the fridge pulled out the bottle of white wine that she’d
opened the night before. Pouring herself a good measure,
she went through into the living room, kicked off her shoes
and flaked out on one of the long comfortable sofas.

Her thoughts strayed back to Jersey. She picked up
the phone, and dialled Annabelle’s Café in Bonne Nuit. It
was Kate Jackson who answered.

“Annabelle, it’s so good to hear your voice. How are
you?”
“I’m good, how are things down there?”
“Busy. But we’re coping just fine. How’s Nathan?”
“He’s making good progress, but it’s a slow process
Kate. Very slow.”
“Well, I’m sure that he’s going to pull through. He’s
a tough one, your dad.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s what the doctors keep saying.”
Tears started to roll down her cheeks. “Anyway, how’s Jake
Dillon? Have you seen much of him since he arrived?”
“He’s been in a couple of times to eat. Oh, and he’s
been out diving with Rob Chapman.” Kate said, and was
about to elaborate about the fight that had taken place.
But, decided that it was something that would keep until
Annabelle returned to the island.
“Kate, I’m flying back home tomorrow for a day or
two, and I’d like you to give Jake Dillon a message.”
“Really, that’s great, Annabelle. What’s the message?”
“Tell him I’m coming back on the five fifty-five flight,
and that I’m sure I know where it is.”
“Where what is, Annabelle? Sounds a bit cryptic?”
“He’ll know what I’m talking about. Just make sure
he gets the message, Kate.”
“It’s as good as done. See you tomorrow.”
Annabelle put down the phone, and rested her head
against the soft leather of the sofa. She felt excited, and
yet at the same time guilty, about leaving her father, even
though it was only for a day or two.

Vince, LJ and Dillon pulled up in the Range Rover at
Rob Chapman’s place at seven o’clock. Dillon got out and
walked across the gravel driveway to the front portico. As
he was about to tug on the bell pull, the door opened and
Chapman appeared, wearing a pair of chinos, navy blue
blazer and an open neck shirt that had all seen better days.
Dillon on the other hand, looked extremely impressive
wearing an immaculate navy blue Hugo Boss suit, a crisp
white shirt buttoned at the neck and a silk tie.

As Chapman got into the Range Rover, he looked
around at the others. LJ in blazer, charcoal grey trousers
and old school tie. Vince, who was driving, wore a light
grey suit, shirt and a tie that was loosely knotted at the
neck.

“Well, don’t we all look smart this evening? Thank
the heavens above, that I didn’t wear shorts.”
“Well, we are going to the most famous hotel in
Jersey, are we not? So, I think that in the circumstances one
should make an effort.” LJ said.
“You’re quite right Edward. The Pomme is a hotel
that’s not only famous, but also has a very colourful past.
And the food, I’m told, is excellent as well.” Chapman
commented.
Vince parked the 4x4 in the nearest car park, and
they all walked along to the hotel. When they entered the
Pomme D’Or the front bar was already half full with the
early evening trade. LJ went to the reception desk, and asked
the concierge to point him in the direction of the restaurant.
The dapper man in his late fifties, snapped his fingers and a
uniformed porter was immediately to hand. He instructed
him to escort the four men up to the first floor restaurant
and bar area.
LJ went to the bar and ordered a bottle of the hotel’s
finest Champagne, with two more to be put on ice for later.
As Dillon and the others were sitting down, his mobile
phone started to buzz silently in his jacket pocket. He
excused himself, going out into the hallway to take the call.
It was Kate Jackson calling from Annabelle’s place.
“Jake? It’s Kate Jackson.”
“Hi Kate, how’s things?”
“Oh, fine thanks. Jake, Sorry to trouble you, but I’ve
got a message from Annabelle. She said to tell you that she
is flying home for a day or two, and that she’ll be on the
five fifty-five flight tomorrow. And that if it’s not to much
trouble, could you pick her up at the airport.”
“Has something happened to Nathan?”
“Nathan? Oh God, no. Nathan’s doing just fine,
Jake. Annabelle was saying that, although he’s still in the
coma, the doctors are now confident that once he’s regained
consciousness, he’ll make a full recovery. Reading between
the lines, I’d say that Annabelle simply wants a break from
the hospital for a while. After all, London is only an hour
away, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right, Kate. And, of course I’ll
pick Annabelle up from the airport.”
Dillon was about to break the connection when Kate
Jackson added, “Oh, there was one other thing.”
“And what was that, Kate?”
“Annabelle said to tell you, that she’s confident that
she knows where it is. All very cryptic I’d say. But she said
that you’d know what she meant.”
“Well that’s very interesting, Kate. But, I haven’t got
a clue what she’s talking about, although I’m sure she’ll
enlighten me when she gets here tomorrow.”
After breaking the connection, Dillon went back to
join the others. While he’d been on the phone, they had
emptied the first bottle of Champagne, with another already
on the table.
“Anyone interesting, old son?” LJ asked Dillon.
“Kate Jackson.”
“And?”
“Oh, only that Annabelle is flying back down
tomorrow for a couple of days, and has asked if I could
pick her up from the airport.”
“Nathan’s okay?” LJ asked, concern in his voice.
“He’s not conscious yet. But the doctors are now
sure that he’ll make good, once he comes round.”
“Well, I think that deserves a toast.” LJ stood up,
and raised his glass. “To Nathan and his full recovery.”
“Hear, hear.” Dillon said, raising his glass along
with the others, and then added. “There was just one other
thing, though.”
“What’s that, old son?”
“Annabelle gave Kate Jackson a message to pass on
to me. That she knows where it is.”
“Good God.” LJ blurted out, just as he was about to
drink some of his Champagne.
“What, the actual location?” Vince asked.
“That’s what she said, yes.”
LJ raised his glass again, and made another toast.
“To tomorrow then.” He emptied his glass. “Time for
dinner, gentlemen,” and he stood up and led the way into
the dining room.

The French barman who had served them when
they’d arrived. Had, from that minute, been listening to
their every word. And as they walked passed him standing
at the bar drying glasses, he bid them a pleasant evening,
and then immediately left through the rear door.

He took the lift up to the top floor, and then went
out on to the roof. Outside, the sky was unblemished and
the sun just disappearing over the rooftops. Sitting down,
he got out his mobile phone, and dialled the number that
had been given to him earlier that day.

On the bridge of the Solitaire Captain Armand was
talking to Pierre, when the phone at his side started to ring.
Malakoff was in his cabin getting ready for the evening
when Armand knocked on the door and hurried in.

“What is it Armand? Can’t you see that I’m getting
ready for dinner?” Malakoff demanded irritably.
“Forgive me, Monsieur. But, I’ve just received a
telephone call from my informant at the Pomme D’Or.
He’s just overheard Dillon and the others talking about the
Cunningham girl. Apparently, Dillon has received a call
informing him that she will be back in Jersey tomorrow
evening.”
“Intriguing,” Malakoff said. “Go on.”
“There is something else, Monsieur; apparently she
knows where it is.”
Malakoff momentarily stopped knotting his tie,
before saying. “Call your informant, Armand. Check every
detail of what was said, and tell him that he has done a
good job and that he will be rewarded well. And, that he is
to continue to keep his eyes and ears open.”
“Certainly, Monsieur.”
“You see, Armand. I’ve always known that the
Cunningham girl holds the key to the whereabouts of that
U-boat. It is fate that brings her back to the island.” He
said, and carried on knotting his silk tie.

Guy Roberts hurriedly crossed the tarmac at city
heliport to the waiting Bell Jet ranger helicopter. As he
stepped up into the cabin he placed the small black bag
containing his laptop computer behind the front seat.

“Hi Phil, thanks for this. I really do appreciate you
dropping everything at a moment’s notice.” He said, as he
strapped himself into the seat.

“It’s no problem, Guy. I wasn’t doing anything, and
anyway, it keeps my night-time flying hours up.”
Phil Allerton finished his pre-flight checks, and then
spoke briefly into his microphone. After a moment, the
control tower gave him clearance for take off. The rotors
were already turning, he pulled up on the stick, the engine
pitch grew louder and the Jet ranger lifted gently into the
air. They rose quickly above the tall buildings, and once
clear, he dropped the nose forward, and headed out of the
city in a southerly direction. Guy Roberts called Dillon
on his mobile to tell him that he was flying down, and to
find out where they were going to be. After breaking the
connection, he gazed out of the window, looking across the
rooftops of London in the fading light, and commented.
“What a beautiful evening.”
“It’s a full moon tonight, so we’ll have a crisp, clear
sky with us all the way down to Jersey.”
“How long will it take us to get there?” Guy asked.
“The flight shouldn’t take more than an hour or so.
Especially as we’ve got a bit of a tail wind behind us.”
They met the coast at Southampton, and continued
west towards Poole in Dorset. From here they flew over
Old Harry rocks and then out over the English Channel
and on down to Jersey. It was a perfect flight, and just over
seventy-five minutes after leaving London Phil Allerton was
passing over the green fields of the largest of all the Channel
Islands.
“I’m led to believe that this is a rich man’s paradise,”
Guy Roberts said.
“Well it certainly has its fair share of them, Guy.
That’s for sure.”
Phil put the Jet ranger down on the apron at Jersey
Airport, and switched off. Guy Roberts stepped down from
the cabin, and picked up the black bag with his laptop in.
“I’ll be about two hours, Phil. We’ll be okay to take
off the minute I return?”
“Sure thing. I’ve already filed our flight plan back to
London. So you take as much time as you need, after all we
are talking about LJ. We could be here all night.” He said,
laughing.
Outside the terminal building, Guy Roberts got into
a taxi and instructed the driver to take him directly to the
Pomme D’Or Hotel. On the way he phoned Dillon again,
and told him that he’d arrived with some interesting new
information, and would be there in five minutes. He also
asked if he could arrange for them to meet somewhere
private.
Dillon came off the phone, told the others that Roberts
was on his way, and then went and saw the concierge, who
after a little negotiation and fifty pounds in cash. Agreed to
let him have the use of one of the conference rooms for an
hour.
Guy Roberts breezed through the main entrance of
the Pomme D’Or to be greeted by the capricious Dillon,
complete with attitude. “So what’s so important that you
had to come all this way personally?” Dillon asked.
“You’ll see, Jake. Have you managed to get us
somewhere to talk?”
“We’ve got one of the small conference rooms for an
hour, courtesy of that man over there.” Dillon looked in the
direction of the concierge.
“That’s great, are the others here?”
“They’ve gone up to the room. Come on, I’ll lead the
way,” and Dillon walked off.
“This had better be good, Roberts.” LJ said soberly,
and then added. “Because, if you’ve dragged me away from
the exquisite lobster, that I was about to tuck into. You’ll be
returning to MI5 sooner than you’d expected.”
Guy Roberts pulled out his computer, placed it at
one end of the large conference table, and switched it on.
A moment later the screen came to life. He then typed in a
command that threw up an image of a large country house.
“Gentlemen, I’ll cut to the chase. This property is
located here on the island. It was built for the Birkett family
in 1871.”
“Birkett, you say?” LJ repeated.
“Yes, that’s right. The Birkett family. Mr and Mrs
Birkett had a daughter, Emily.”
“Where is this going, Roberts?” Dillon asked
irritably.
“If you give me a moment, Jake. I’ll tell you, and
you’ll then see why this is so important.”
“Okay, off you go.” Dillon said, rocking on his chair.
“Thank you. Now, when Emily got married to a Mr
Westcott. Mr Birkett gave the newlyweds the house as a
wedding gift. A year later, Emily gave birth to a daughter
called Amelia Westcott.” Guy Roberts paused a moment
while he referred to his notes.
“So, let me see if I’ve got this. Miss Birkett became
Mrs Westcott who had a daughter called Amelia Westcott.”
Dillon said sarcastically.
“Quite so. Only Amelia Westcott then became Lady
Amelia Asquith.”
You could have heard a pin drop in the room, as
Roberts left this revelation hanging in the air.
“Are you quite sure about this, Roberts?” LJ asked.
“Absolutely, and without any doubt whatsoever,
sir.” He replied, adding, “Oliver Asquith junior would have
been five years old.”
“There would presumably, have been staff in a house
of that size?” Dillon said.
“Yes, there was a local Jersey couple by the name
of Bishop, who looked after the place, and they had a son,
Albert. From what I’ve been able to find out so far. They
died about six years ago. But, the son is about seventy
now, lives not far from St. Helier. Before leaving London, I
took the liberty of phoning him earlier this afternoon.” He
handed LJ a sheet of paper with Albert Bishop’s address and
a detailed personal history on.
“Excellent work, Roberts.” LJ said, excitedly.
“Thank you, Sir.” Roberts said, handing LJ a folder
containing all of the information, and photographs that
related to the property.
“Before you go. Was there any mention of the Nazis
using the property?” Dillon asked.
“During the time of the Nazi occupation, many
of the larger houses were used by high ranking officers,
according to the official archive. And yes, this property was
commandeered for that use, why?”
“Because, certain things are now falling into place.”
Dillon said, looking at LJ.
“Great Scott. I see what you mean, Jake.”
“Would someone please explain to me, why this is
all so important?” Chapman asked.
“Well, it’s like this, old son. Just before the outbreak
of the Second World War. The Late Lord Asquith, as we
already know, was not only a prominent archaeologist of
his time, but also the foremost authority on the Spear of
Destiny. It was for this reason, that he was summoned to
a meeting with Adolf Hitler.” LJ, stood up and started to
pace around the room with his hands resting in the small of
his back, as he always did when delivering rhetoric.
“It was after he’d been given the okay from our
Government that he could meet with Hitler, that he went
to Germany to authenticate the spear that Hitler had in
his possession. He was in no doubt about its authenticity,
especially after conducting a number of tests. Hitler must
have been elated that he had the original spear head, which
was used by the Roman centurion at the crucifixion. I would
guess that he would almost certainly have been introduced
to Himmler at this time. You can see where I’m going with
this, Rob?”
“I think I’m getting the gist of it, Edward.”
“Good, because now it starts to get very confusing.
You see, we then have old Malakoff. Who owned a dormant
mining company that was registered on this island. This
has been niggling the hell out of me, as to why. And just
a minute ago, it struck me why. Old Malakoff was a civil
engineer. Lord Asquith was an archaeologist. And Jersey
is made up of granite rock. I’d state my reputation on it,
that they were both Nazi sympathisers. Put these factors
together, and you have a pretty formidable team with
enough expertise to co-ordinate the excavation of a tunnel
big enough to accommodate a very large submarine.”
“But how did the two meet, do you think?” Vince
asked.
“Who knows? They could’ve met at the meeting
with Hitler. Or they may have known each other long
before that. Either way, it doesn’t really matter. The most
important fact is that we now know where Malakoff has
been getting his information. And this revelation about
Asquith owning a house on the island. Well, it leads me to
believe that our Lord of the Realm, from one of the oldest
families in England has something to hide.”
“There were many people back in the thirties, and
even before war broke out, who sympathised with Hitler
and actually thought that he had the right ideas.” Dillon
said.
“It certainly all fits together, that’s for sure. But there’s
one thing that I’m very concerned about, on reflection.” LJ
said thoughtfully.
“What’s that?” Dillon asked.
“MI5. Why haven’t they picked up on this. Or have
they, and are keeping it quiet? Roberts, when you get back
to London. Speak to Tatiana about this development with
Albert Bishop and Asquith.”
“Certainly, I’ll make it a priority, LJ.” Guy Roberts
said his good-byes and left. Leaving the others to return to
their dinner.