Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (41 page)

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 from 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.

“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.

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.”