Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (9 page)

At the prestigious Docklands building of Ferran
& Cardini, LJ was sitting in his office looking across the
room at the silver Kriegsmarine briefcase, and Nathan
Cunningham’s overnight bag, the contents of which
were now laid out on the large conference table. He was
pondering over the problem of the cavern’s exact location,
when in frustration he said aloud, “You really must be mad,
if you expect to find out the location of that dammed tunnel
hidden amongst these things.”

With that he got up, and walked over to the conference
table, and then all the way around it, before going back
to his desk. He picked up the telephone, hesitating briefly
before pushing the button, Guy Roberts answered almost
immediately. “Roberts get me Dan Parker over at the FBI, if
you can’t get him on the mobile number, try the other one,
he’s sure to answer that.
* * *

Oliver Asquith had never liked small aircraft, they
bounced around far to much in turbulent weather to really
be safe. So he always had a double gin and tonic before
getting aboard, what was on this occasion, a twin engine
Cessna. The pilot taxied the small plane to the far end of
the grass runway before turning its nose into the wind, and
applying the brakes. A moment later permission to take
off was granted. Asquith gazed out of the small window,
thinking about Hugo Malakoff. French, from a long line of
nobility, he knew that much. His family had fled France at
the outbreak of war with Germany, and had come to live in
England. His father had seen the way the wind was turning
with the Nazis, and had fled in the dead of night, taking
his family, and whatever valuable assets they could safely
travel with.

The previous day, old Malakoff had transferred his
considerable wealth into a numbered Swiss bank account.
That is where it had stayed safely hidden until after the
war. That Hugo Malakoff had money was obvious, there
were the houses in Kensington and the villa in Monaco.
Not to mention his properties on the islands of Antigua and
Martinique in the Caribbean.

The pilot banked the Cessna over to the left for his
final approach and Malakoff’s magnificent fifteenth century
residence came clearly into view far below. Asquith had
stayed in the four hundred and forty-room château before.
But it never ceased to amaze him that this splendid display
of French aristocratic architecture was as fine today, as it
had been when it was built. The estate covered thousands of
acres that included one of the most coveted hunting reserves
in the whole of France. Wealthy individuals from all over
the world paid highly for a weekend stay at the château, and
the opportunity of a full day’s sport. Malakoff had built his
own private airfield, which the pilot was now instructed to
land on, and then directed to the apron in front of a large
solitary hanger where a black Range Rover was waiting to
take Asquith up to the Château.

Malakoff was standing in front of a majestic double
spiral staircase, severely reprimanding one of his staff, who
was obviously feeling highly embarrassed at being dealt
such a public humiliation. He was an impressively tall man,
dressed in khaki coloured tropical linen suit, white shirt
and tie. His greying hair, neatly groomed, framed his bony
angular face, and the dark eyes always remained watchful.
In fact, Asquith thought how he had always had the look and
confidence of a man who was used to getting his own way,
all of the time. He could hear him bellowing at the young
man as he was shown through the main entrance doors.
On seeing Asquith he dismissed the red-faced servant with
a wave of his hand, and greeted his guest with customary
charm, and an effervescent smile that could slice diamonds.

“My dear Oliver, what an absolute pleasure it is
to see you.” He kissed Asquith on both cheeks, patted
him on the back, and guided him through one of the day
rooms, and out onto a terrace overlooking the moat that
surrounded the château. A butler was already in attendance,
and immediately handed Asquith a glass of Champagne. “I
thought that you could probably use a drink.” His English
was faultless.

Asquith said, accepting the tall elegant crystal glass.
“Now Oliver, why don’t we take a stroll through the
gardens, and you can tell me all about this dilemma that is
causing you so much concern?”
As the two men walked, Asquith said, “I really don’t
know where to start.”
“Why my dear chap, simply start at the beginning.”
So Asquith told him the story. When he had finished,
Malakoff continued to look out across the lake for a an
indefinable amount of time without saying a word. Asquith
stood beside him, finally breaking the silence by saying;
“It’s all a bloody mess, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I would call it inconvenient,
Oliver.”
“Inconvenient. Hugo, from where I’m standing that’s
an understatement. Have you any idea what would happen
if any of this ever got out. We have a particularly vicious
gutter press in England, who would completely humiliate
and destroy my family name, as well as trashing the memory
of my father. Traitors who have been discovered to come
from aristocratic backgrounds are particularly fair game,
as history has shown many times before. There is also the
establishment of which I am a prominent member. Hugo,
you really can’t imagine what would happen to me. I’d be
finished, cast out, of that I have no doubt whatsoever.”
“Let me tell you, Oliver. Your father was a fascist all
of his life.”
“Fascist? What do you mean, a fascist?”
“Come now, we both know the history, Oliver. Your
father, and mine were both at university together. They went
on to become admirers, and close acquaintances of Adolf
Hitler before and after he rose to power. How shall I put it,
they were extremely useful to him because they were so well
connected, and influential within certain areas of the French
and English elitist societies. Your father went on to establish
close ties with a number of Hitler’s inner circle of friends.
But then many members of the English establishment agreed
with fascism, and loathed the Bolsheviks. After all what was
the alternative during those uncertain times, communism? I
really don’t think that educated and intelligent people would
have wanted any part of that. The Communists would have
swept through our lands like locusts, destroying everything
as they went.”
“So, what are you saying, that your father and mine
collaborated with the Nazis before the war had started?”
“Of course, because every man has to follow
their true course in life, and support a cause that they
unswervingly believe in. Why do you think my father fled
France, Oliver? Well, let me tell you, it wasn’t because of
the Nazis. It was on their instructions. They knew that he
was a Nazi sympathiser, and that a man in his position
would have no problem integrating with the establishment
in England because of his aristocratic background. It’s the
very reason why I still own this vast estate. Hitler ordered
it to be used as a retreat and protected the place all the
way through the war years. Some of my father’s staff were
even allowed to stay on and maintain service at the château.
The stories they tell after all of this time are outrageous,
about how the Nazi top brass turned it into a brothel for
high-ranking officers. They apparently used to come here
at weekends, screw themselves stupid, and then leave again
on the Sunday evening to return to their units.” Malakoff
took a deep breath of air, before setting off back up the path
towards the château.
Asquith, lost deep in thought, hadn’t noticed that he
was standing by the side of the lake alone. After a moment
he chased after the Frenchman, saying. “I find this all very
distasteful, Hugo.”
“Get over it, Oliver. How do you think this
magnificent building remained standing, and survived
the war. How everything was left securely locked up, and
unblemished afterwards. Even the collection of priceless
paintings by famous artists were still hanging in the same
positions as they had done for many years. Open your eyes
Oliver, how do you think your father managed to maintain
that large mansion, that you now live in. Not to mention
the London properties that both our fathers purchased
during the war years. All paid for my friend, with monies
they received from the Third Reich.”
Malakoff stopped suddenly and turning said, “When
my family returned to the château after the liberation of
France, these funds were made available to us via numerous
numbered Swiss bank accounts. This enabled my father
to build up a successful international import and export
business. It was soon after his death, when I’d taken over,
and discovered that I could indulge in various other forms
of illegal but highly lucrative forms of trafficking. But you
must have had your suspicions, after all, we’ve known each
other for such a very long time, Oliver. Ask yourself why
should I lie about this, especially to you of all people?”
Asquith admitted to himself that he had always
had his suspicions about Malakoff’s business dealings. But
he kept his opinions to himself, instead saying. “I’m not
interested in all of that Hugo. All that I’m saying is, that it
seems so incredible that they collaborated with the Nazis,
and were never found out.”
“Yes, but Oliver, you must remember that they would
have been extremely careful, keeping everyone including
personal staff at a distance. After all it was because of your
father’s collaboration that enables you to enjoy your exotic,
and very expensive life style that you have today.” Malakoff
offered. It was a statement that did not require an answer.
“And, I can assume that there is no problem with
the regular payments, that are made to you through the
numbered account in Jersey?”
“Of course not. But what if someone started snooping
around?”
“Why should they? Nobody knows that your father
was involved with the tunnel project. As for the money I
deposit with you, well that’s an arrangement that only you
and I know anything about. In fact if anyone did investigate
you Oliver, they would not find any link between us, at all.
Like my father, I’m also very careful.”
“But there must be servants who are still alive who
could link the two men, and then who knows, where it
would lead?”
“Oliver, that was a long time ago. I admit, that there
is a slim possibility that someone may remember the two
men meeting. But I very much doubt it.”
“Yes I’m sure you’re right Hugo. But there is still
a real chance that someone would remember if prompted.
Then it would be a simple case for an investigator to put
two and two together. You know what these types are
like. They dig and dig, until they find whatever it is they’re
looking for.”
“Look if it will make you feel happier, I’ll have my
people check the records of all servants who were in the
employ of both men from nineteen thirty-three to nineteen
forty-five. If we find that anyone is still alive, we’ll simply
have him or her eliminated from the equation.”
“You can arrange that?” Asquith said aghast.
“Yes Oliver, I can arrange that, and much more.”
Malakoff said soberly.
“Now tell me, this Edward Levenson-Jones, what’s
his address in London?”
“Belgrave Mews, but Levenson-Jones is a compulsive
workaholic. There’s only one place you need look for him,
and that’s Ferran & Cardini International. They have one
of those buildings in Docklands, you know the type all steel
and glass, that sort of thing?”
“As you wish, Oliver, but I think it prudent to check
his home. I’ll get someone to pay him a visit, because if we
can retrieve that briefcase, we’ll be able to stop this whole
messy affair from ever getting out. Although, I’m sure that
by now it will be securely inside a safe under lock and key.”
“They’ll be discreet, your people?” Asquith said.
“That is to say, we don’t want this thing to blow up in
our faces. And that’s exactly what will happen if LevensonJones becomes suspicious or finds out that your chaps are
snooping around?”
“Oliver, let me explain something to you. If we don’t
get in first on this thing, then we will both be ruined. The
hounds of the establishment will chase us both into noman’s land. I will not let that happen, Oliver. I’ll instruct
my people in London to check out Mr Edward LevensonJones, and I’ll also have his mobile phone calls intercepted
along with his private and business lines. I also feel that one
of my people should visit the hospital where Cunningham
is. They may be able to find out what his condition is, and
whether or not he’s going to ever come out of this coma?”
“And then what?”
Malakoff’s eyes glinted in the late afternoon
sunshine, and he gave the Englishman a wry smile before
saying. “Why, we’ll just have to wait and see what happens,
Oliver. Let’s hope that by watching and listening we learn
the whereabouts of the underwater cavern, and are able to
get to it before they do, or else we will have to resort to
other more severe methods.”
Asquith felt the blood drain from his face, and his
legs become weak. “Look, Hugo, there’s to be no rough
stuff with Levenson-Jones or the girl, is that understood?”
“My dear Oliver, what a pathetic little man you are
sometimes.” Malakoff turned, and walked off quickly up
the path towards the terrace. Calling back over his shoulder
as he went. “I will see you in the oak room at eight o’clock
for drinks before dinner. At which time we will continue
this discussion. That is, after you have had time to reflect on
the consequences of failure.”

In London, Edward Levenson-Jones had just arrived
at the opulent home of the firm’s benefactor, Sir Lucius
Stagg. LJ was shown in to the study, where the former British
Prime Minister was sitting behind his highly polished desk.
Looking up slowly from the papers he’d been reading, he
eventually said. “Is Commander Cunningham going to pull
through?”

“The consultant in charge of Nathan Cunningham,
won’t comment, sir. All that he is prepared to say is that the
odds of him coming out of the coma, are at best fifty, fifty.”