Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (31 page)

Inside, Annabelle had let Kate Jackson and the staff
go home after the last party of diners had left. They’d
finished eating, were at the coffee stage when LJ’s mobile
phone rang.

“Levenson-Jones.” He listened briefly, before saying,
“Just one moment.” Got up from the table and walked
outside.

“What’s all that about?” Annabelle asked.
“Well, from the look on his face, it’s not good news,
whatever it is.” Dillon replied, as LJ came back inside and
sat down. He looked old and weary, all of a sudden the
many years of smoking and generally stressful living seemed
to have caught up with him.
“That was Tatiana,” LJ explained to Chapman that
Tatiana was the Partners’ personal assistant, and then went
on to explain why she’d called him at such a late hour.
“Guy Roberts is dead.”
“Dead?” Vince said incredulously.
“Yes, it happened earlier this evening as he left our
building.”
“Were the police called?” Dillon said.
“By all accounts, by one of the private security
officers on duty. He was watching the monitors that are
linked to all of the surveillance cameras around the area,
and saw it happen on one of the screens. He immediately
called the local force, which not only sent a local car to the
scene, but also a team from the firearms unit.”
“Looks like a contract then?” Dillon stated.
“Almost definitely, old son. According to Tatiana, the
recording shows a smartly dressed woman with dark hair
walking up the street towards Roberts. And then as they
pass each other, she turns and shoots him with a silenced
pistol. Tatiana, tells me that afterwards she had the cold
blooded audacity to look down at the body, and then up at
the camera. As if taunting whoever it was watching her.”
“In that case, whoever it was, almost certainly was
wearing a disguise.” Vince cut in.
“The question is why was Guy Roberts whacked
by a professional killer,” Dillon said. “It does seem just a
little too coincidental, that he’s now lying dead in a London
gutter, and shortly after you gave him the go ahead to look
into Lord Asquith’s financial affairs.”
When LJ spoke, it was with a steely coldness. “That,
Mr Dillon, had not escaped me. And believe me. when the
time is right, justice will be done.” He adjusted his tie, and
then stood up. “Well, I think that I’m going to turn in as
we’ve got an early start in the morning. Vince could you
please drive me back up to the Fisherman’s Lodge, and Mr
Chapman back to his place, if he’d like a lift?”
“Well it’ll beat walking on a very full stomach, at
this time of the night.” Chapman said patting the palm of
his hand on his stomach.
“Jake, I think it’s probably a good idea for you to
stay with Annabelle tonight.”
“I agree, if that’s okay with Annabelle?” Dillon said,
and Annabelle nodded her agreement.
“Good, well in that case, we’ll bid you a good night
my dear, and see you in the morning.” The three men left in
the Range Rover, leaving Annabelle and Dillon to walk the
short distance up the hill to her house.
Before locking up, Dillon pulled the automatic from
it’s holster and checked that it had a full clip.
“Is that thing real?” Annabelle asked wide eyed.
“Glock 10 automatic. And yes it’s real.” Dillon said
matter of factly, as he placed it back in the holster.
“Oh,” Annabelle put the key in the main door.
“Now, I think that’s everything locked up,” She punched in
the numbers on the security keypad. “There, the alarm’s on,
so let’s go.” And they left, slamming the door behind them.
Kurt watched as Dillon and Annabelle came down the steps
of the café.
“Look, Frenchman. Our waiting is over, Dillon and
the girl are leaving.” Kurt said, passing Pierre the night
scope.
“What do we do now?”
“We’ll give them a head start, and then follow.
Dillon’s our problem. Let’s hope that he’s just walking her
home.”
At the house, Annabelle had gone to bed, and Dillon
was downstairs. He was standing in the shadows, by one
of the windows that overlooked the road, watching for any
movement outside. Five minutes later his patience paid off,
and he spotted what he was looking for. Using his mobile
phone, he dialled a local Jersey number.
Making his voice sound convincingly like an elderly
man, Dillon spoke slowly and clearly. “Hello, I’d like to
report a crime.” He said to the operator, and then waited
briefly while his call was transferred. “Hello, there are two
rough looking men, snooping around one of the houses on
the hill at Bonne Nuit. No, I don’t wish to give my name,
and this is not a hoax call. I’m simply trying to be a good
citizen, that’s all. You’d better be quick, because they look
as if they’re breaking into the house, and I think they’re
armed.”
After saying the magical, ‘armed’ word. Dillon
immediately hung up, and put the small mobile back into
his jacket pocket.
He then went and poured himself a healthy measure
of Nathan Cunningham’s single malt whisky, and positioned
himself in a comfortable looking swivel chair, that not only
afforded him a clear view of the spacious living room, but
also though the wall of glass to the outside deck area and
the road below. Taking the Glock from its holster, he placed
it on the small round side table next to him, making sure
that the safety catch was in the off position. And waited.
Dillon had expected the police to take longer to
arrive, especially as they would have had to get an armed
unit up to Bonne Nuit from the other side of the island.
There were no sirens, and only one flashing blue light could
be seen at the very top of the hill.
Outside, Dillon could hear a voice shout a warning,
as Kurt and Pierre broke cover to come across the road
towards the house. From under his leather jacket, the big
German pulled an Uzi machine pistol. But before he could
use it, was thrown face down, hard onto the ground, by two
officers dressed in black uniforms, and was immediately
handcuffed.
Pierre had tried to run away, heading down towards
the harbour, but was instantly brought down by one of the
other officers, with a Taser stun gun. After he’d recovered
enough from the electric shock of the Taser, the officer
roughly pulled the Frenchman’s arms behind his back, and
handcuffed him. A moment later, and completely bewildered
at being ambushed and arrested, they were both tossed into
the back of a police van and driven quietly away. From
where he was sitting, Dillon had heard the commotion
outside. He took a gulp of the whisky, and smiled to himself
in the darkness. Annabelle’s plan had worked without a
hitch, but how effective and long lasting it would be, only
time would tell.

It was six-thirty the next morning, when Dillon told
Annabelle about the police, and how, after an anonymous
tip off, they’d foiled an armed burglary attempt.

Annabelle smiled ruefully, and said, “Well let’s
hope that they’re both safely locked up in a cosy little cell
somewhere.”

“We shouldn’t hold out too much hope of the police
keeping them in custody for more than a few hours. Once
Malakoff hears about what’s happened, he’ll have his
lawyers go in and get them out on bail. But it’ll still give us
a bit of a head start.”

At the lodge, Dillon brought the others up to speed,
and then went into the bedroom and got the holdall from
the cupboard. He took everything out, the Semtex and
chemical fuses, the MP5 carbine and half a dozen hand
grenades. LJ came in as he was finishing, wearing a blue
Guernsey sweater, a pair of mustard coloured trousers, and
leather deck shoes.

“It’s good to see you’ve come prepared, Jake. Let me
guess, where you obtained the means to start a full scale
war. The albino?” Dillon nodded. “I thought as much.”

Dillon put everything back into the holdall. “Given
the situation we now find ourselves in. I’d say, that
Chapman and I are going to have enough problems with
diving through this tunnel. At least you and Vince will have
some sort of edge, should the need arise.”

“Do you really think this dive is possible?”
“We’ll just have to wait and see.” Dillon said, as he
pulled on a sweater. “LJ, about what happened to Roberts.
I just wanted to say...”
“I know, Jake. We’re all upset by what’s happened.”
LJ looked pale. “But we’ll have our day, I promise you. Now
I suppose we should get going. Chapman will be waiting on
the dock.”
Down at the harbour, Chapman was already on
board the power cruiser, he had stowed six full tanks of air
in the rear rack, and was just making a pot of coffee when
he heard the others coming alongside in the dinghy.
LJ shouted up from where he was sitting in the bow,
“Chapman, what a fine fellow you are. That coffee smells
absolutely bloody marvellous.” And with that, he jumped
onto the rear dive deck like a man half his age.
Once on board, Dillon went below to stow the
holdall with the weapons in. As he was about to go back
up on deck, Annabelle came in with two steaming mugs of
black coffee.
Dillon took one of the mugs from her, and noticed
how tired she was looking. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine Jake, really. I haven’t been sleeping very
well, that’s all.” She said.
“Well, we’re very close to solving this mystery now.”
“And then what happens?” she asked.
Dillon didn’t know what to say, because he didn’t
know the answer. Instead, he simply said. “What happens
next, I really don’t know. That your father gets well, and
then we can tell him this yarn, about a hidden Kreigsmarine
U-boat, Nazi gold bullion, and a priceless religious artefact,
called the Spear of Destiny.”
Dillon picked up a Walther PPK, and handed it to
Annabelle. “Here, put this somewhere handy. And don’t
tell me you don’t know what to do with it. Just release the
safety catch, point and fire.”
Annabelle gingerly took the weapon, and slipped it
into one of her jacket pockets. “Do you really think that
I’m in that much danger?”
“For whatever reason, Malakoff is determined to
find that submarine, and just because his two monkeys are
locked up, doesn’t mean that he hasn’t got others on board
that floating gin palace of his, to take their place.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I know I’m right, Annabelle. And another thing.
When you get back to shore, stay in the Café. It’s public, and
there’s less likelihood of Malakoff’s men trying anything
where there are other people.”
Annabelle, gave him a kiss on the cheek, before
jumping back down into the dinghy.
“Take care, my dear,” LJ called from the wheelhouse.
“Good luck.” She called back, and waved as she
steered the dinghy back towards the beach.
Chapman throttled up the in-board diesel engines.
Dillon untied the bow mooring rope, as the automatic
winch brought in the anchor line. The boat drifted back,
then Chapman spun the wheel and pushed both throttles
forward.
Dillon looked back at Bonne Nuit, spotted Annabelle
on the beach, and waved at her. She raised her arm and
waved back, the power cruiser’s bow lifted, and they started
to move out to sea. The next moment, they’d rounded the
sea wall, and were in open water. As the power cruiser
disappeared out of sight, Annabelle turned and walked
away.
Her watch showed just after seven o’clock, she
walked up the slipway and straight past the entrance of the
café. A few of the local fisherman had returned to harbour,
and were stood talking on the dockside. she waved at them
as she started up the hill towards her house.
Kurt and Pierre had watched the power cruiser leave
the harbour, and saw Annabelle return to shore in the
dinghy from high up on the hill. “Luck is certainly with us
today, Frenchman. It looks like the girl is walking home on
her own. And without those fools around, we can have a
nice quite chat with Miss Cunningham.”
“And don’t forget your promise. When you’ve got
the information you want out of her, I want my turn to get
to know her better,” Pierre said lecherously.
“You have testicles for brains, Frenchman. Now,
let’s get moving.”
Annabelle had almost reached the house, when her
mobile phone started to ring. It was Kate Jackson at the
café, there was a problem with one of the cookers, and she
wanted to know which firm to call to repair it. Annabelle,
told her that she’d come down right away and find the
number for her. She hung up, and walked the short distance
back to the café.
There were a few people already in the café having
breakfast when she went in and Kate Jackson was helping
one of the girls to serve the tables. Annabelle went through
to the kitchen and found out from cook what the problem
with the cooker was. Went into the office, and flipped
through the business card index to find the number of the
repair company, she was just about to phone them, when
Kate appeared in the doorway.
“Rob Chapman, and those London friends of yours
were up and off early this morning?”
“That’s right, Kate.”
“Look, Annabelle. You’re one of my dearest friends,
and I know you’d tell me if it were any of my business.
But, I have to ask, what is going on, and why is Jake Dillon
really here?”
“Kate, I really don’t mind you asking, but there’s
nothing going on, as you put it. And Jake is simply a friend
in need of rest and relaxation, and that’s why he’s here.”
She lied, and then added, “Look, I don’t mean to be rude,
but I do need to ring the cooker repair company, and then
I’ve got a million and one things to do at home, before I fly
back to London this evening.”
Kate apologised to her friend for being so nosy, and
then went back to work. Annabelle made the call, and she
arranged for an engineer to come and repair the cooker,
went and told cook, and then left. She walked across the
driveway, went up the steps, found her key and unlocked the
front door, then went inside. The house seemed unnaturally
quite without her father there, she thought going through
to the kitchen. Passing the coffee machine, she flicked the
switch to turn it on, and then went over to the sliding glass
doors, that opened out onto the raised teak deck. She pulled
them apart, and walked outside. The sun was already
beating down onto the weathered timbers, she splendoured
at the magnificent view of the harbour and ocean beyond,
which never failed to fill her with joy.
Annabelle stood there for a moment, enjoying the
morning freshness, she then turned and went back inside
and found Kurt sitting in one of the leather armchairs in the
living room.
“We meet at last, Miss Cunningham.” The big
German said the words with a malicious smirk.
Looking into the room, it was as if she were
dreaming, but that rough looking face told her otherwise.
The cropped blond hair, and facial scarring that distorted
his features as he laughed.
Annabelle, in spite of being terrified, surprised even
herself by turning and darting back out onto the deck. She
had almost made it to the steps that led down to the front
of the house, when Pierre moved around the corner, and
grabbing her by the hair, pulled her around and stopped her
in her tracks.
Kurt ordered the Frenchman to get her back inside.
Pierre roughly pushed her through the open doorway back
into the living room, closed the sliding doors as he came
in and locked them. As she was picking herself up off the
floor, Kurt stepped forward, and struck her heavily across
the face. She was sent backwards with the force of the blow,
and ended up sprawled face down, half on, half off, one of
the long sofas.
“I think this one is going to be fun.” The big German
said in fluent French.
Annabelle pulled herself up into a sitting position,
her eyes darting around the room in search of something
to use as a weapon, and then she remembered that she still
had the Walther PPK in her jacket pocket. Dipping her hand
in, she wrapped her hand around the butt of the pistol, and
tried to relax, found the safety catch, and released it.
As Kurt moved ominously towards her, she pulled
the weapon out and screamed at him, “Stay away from
me, you bastards. Or so help me God, I’ll shoot you both.”
Tears were rolling down over her cheeks, and her makeup
was starting to smudge around her eyes.
It was Pierre who lurched forward first. Annabelle
pulled the trigger once, and the bullet whizzed over his head
and slammed into the plaster, high up on the far wall. As he
recoiled behind one of the other chairs, Kurt seized the split
second opportunity, and while Annabelle was wondering
what to do next, moved in, and expertly kicked the gun
out of her hand. She got up and tried to run back through
the house to the front door, but was immediately knocked
down onto the floor by the German. He rolled her over
onto her front, and pressed her face, hard against the wood.
The smell of beeswax polish, that her father used to clean
the floor, filled her nostrils, and then he roughly twisted her
right arm up her back. The searing pain was so terrible that
she cried out.
“So you’re enjoying that, are you?” Kurt was a
perfectionist, when it came to inflicting pain on his victims.
He was enjoying himself so much that he’d almost forgotten
why they were there. “I think we’ll try more, but this time
it’ll be both arms.”
The pain was so intense, that she screamed at the top
of her voice, and tried to thrash her legs around. He turned
her over, and slapped her so hard across the face that she
almost lost consciousness. From his pocket he pulled out a
syringe filled with a clear liquid, and a long sheathed needle.
He held the syringe up, took the sheath off, and squirted a
small amount of the liquid into the air.
“Please listen carefully, Miss Cunningham. I’m going
to ask you some questions.” He held the syringe just above
her head. “If you do not cooperate with me, I’ll inject one
of your eyes with this solution. You’re wondering what it
is? Well, I can tell you that it’s better that you don’t know,
believe me.”
Annabelle was terrified out of her mind, and couldn’t
take her eyes off the syringe. “I’ll tell you what you want to
know, but please don’t hurt me anymore.”
“You have made a wise choice, Miss Cunningham.
So tell me, where would we find the tunnel entrance that
will lead us to U-683?”
“Devil’s Hole,” she said between sobs.
“But, that’s not far from here. How do you know
this?”
“My father’s dive diary,” she gasped.
“Is that where Dillon and the others have gone this
morning?”
Annabelle hesitated and he squeezed her throat
between a large forefinger and thumb. “Is that right, Miss
Cunningham?”
“Yes, that’s where they’ve gone this morning.” She
said hoarsely.
Kurt looked down at her, suddenly forced her mouth
open with his fingers, and then squirted the entire contents
of the syringe down her throat. He waited a brief moment,
before standing up and laughing loudly, “How was the tap
water? Good for you, Miss Cunningham?” He then turned,
and started to leave.
Pierre, who had been sitting on the other side of the
room, stood up. “Now it’s my turn, yes?”
Kurt made a sweeping gesture with his arm towards
Annabelle. “You can do what you like, Frenchman. Just
make sure that when you’ve finished there is no trace of
evidence.” And with that the big German left.
Annabelle had pulled herself up into a sitting position
on the floor. And had spotted the Walther tucked under one
of the leather chairs. As she went to get up, Pierre moved
towards her and started to unbutton his shirt.
Her heart was pounding with the fear she felt. He
moved closer to her, and as he did, she slowly stood up and
faced him.
His shirt fell to the floor, and he started to unbuckle
his belt. “Relax, Mademoiselle. You don’t need to be afraid,
I’m just going to show you a good time.”
Annabelle, couldn’t believe what was happening,
was fraught with fear, and then remembered what her father
had taught her about trying to stay very calm in dangerous
situations.
“Well, you’d better get it over with, then, hadn’t
you?” Annabelle said.
The Frenchman grabbed the top of her arms, and
tried to kiss her. Annabelle swiftly brought her knee up,
driving it hard into his balls, which made him squeal like a
pig at market.
“Oh what a shame, are you all done in?” she said
stepping away from him.
Holding his crotch with both hands, Pierre doubled
up, and rolled onto the floor, all the time moaning with
the searing pain. Annabelle immediately bent down, and
retrieved the Walther from under the chair. She stood with
the gun in her hand, and pointed it at the Frenchman. “I’m
going to give you to the count of five, you pathetic little
man. And if you’re not out of my house by them, I’m going
to shoot you. Do you understand? But, this time, I’ll make
sure the bullet hits you square in the head. Now get up and
clear off.”
The Frenchman slowly stood up, one hand still holding
onto his aching genitals. “Don’t worry, Mademoiselle,
there’s always the next time.” He sneered.
“In your dreams, little man.” Annabelle said, shakily,
and waved the gun at him.
He turned, and started to walk away, changed his
mind and tried to grab the Walther out of her hand. The
silenced pistol spat at him, and the Frenchman was knocked
backwards, as the bullet slammed into his left shoulder. He
wasted no time in picking himself up off of the floor this
time, and only looked back once, as he ran up the hall and
out of the front door.