Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (32 page)

Malakoff was sitting at a polished oak desk, in his
study on board the Solitaire. A phone to his ear, listening
intently to what Kurt was saying at the other end of the line.

“So, the girl talked, did she? And you’re sure she’s
telling the truth?”
“I’ve no doubt about that, Mien Herr.”
“Have you disposed of her, Kurt?”
“Pierre is having a little fun with her first, Mien Herr.
You know what he’s like.”
“You idiot; she must be dealt with quickly, before
Dillon and the others return.”
“No sweat, Mien Herr,” Kurt told him. “I assure
you, the girl will be dealt with. Just like Albert Bishop.”
“You make sure you do, Kurt. Because, I do not
want anything leading back to the Solitaire or myself. Is
that understood?”
“Of course, Mien Herr. That goes without saying.
What do you want us to do, after we’ve taken care of the
girl?”
“Keep your mobile phone switched on, and call me
when you’re done. I’ll have instructions for you.” Malakoff
cut the connection, and went straight up to the bridge to
talk with Captain Armand.
Dressed in crisp white tropical uniform, the captain
turned and saluted Malakoff as he came onto the bridge of
the luxury cruiser.
“They’re diving close to the cliffs at the Devil’s Hole,
Armand.”
The Captain went over to the chart table, and sifted
through some of the charts that were already out on the top.
When he’d found the one he’d been looking for, he spread it
out and ran his forefinger along the line of the coast.
“Ah, yes, here we are, Monsieur.” He said indicating
a point on the chart.
Malakoff had a look, frowning slightly. “Dillon and
the others have gone there this morning to dive, in the hope
of finding the tunnel entrance. But, the question is, Armand.
Should we follow them immediately, or simply wait for
them to locate it, and then move in on them?”
“If you want my honest and professional opinion,
Monsieur. When Dillon and Chapman dive there, I hope
that they both have a firm belief in God. Because, when I
called the Coast Guard this morning, to get an update for
our on-board weather system. They confirmed that the tidal
current around the island, is running at around fourteen
knots today. This Devil’s Hole area is a very bad place to
dive, Monsieur, so let’s hope they know what they’re letting
themselves in for. However, it would be extremely prudent
for us to move out into deeper water. Say half a mile off
shore, keeping to their blind side, just to keep our eye on
them.”
“I see what you’re saying, Captain,” Malakoff
said. “What you’re suggesting, sounds as if it could be
entertaining. But, they would surely spot the Solitaire
immediately; however, as you say it would allow us to see
what happens from a safe distance. And, we don’t want
to get to close, especially as we’ve discovered that they’re
armed and amateurishly dangerous.” He sniggered at his
own witticism, studied the chart again, and nodded. “I can
see no logical reason, for them not to do all of the hard
work for us. Then, if they succeed in locating that tunnel
entrance unhindered, it will make them feel good. They’ll
think that they’ve outsmarted us, after Dillon’s little stunt
with the police last night. When Kurt and Pierre don’t turn
up, they’ll drop their guard, and think that the police still
have them in custody. By the way, Armand. How much did
their early release cost me?”
“To drop all charges, just under seventy thousand
pounds, Monsieur,”
“I suppose it was the Uzi, which pushed the price
up?”
“It didn’t help, Monsieur. And, I’m afraid that our
friendly desk sergeant had no choice but to confiscate it as
well.”
“Remind me to deduct the entire amount out of
Kurt’s bonus for this job.”
“Of course, Monsieur.”
Malakoff paced up and down the bridge,
contemplating the situation, and what his next move should
be. After a few minutes, he stopped pacing, and said,
“Armand, send Mazzarin and Zola out in the inflatable to
keep an eye on Mr Dillon and his friends. Oh, and give
them a two way radio, I want a report every half an hour.
The Solitaire will remain here in Gifford Bay.”
“And then, Monsieur?”
“We’ll wait for them, Armand. They’ll be eager
to get their hands on the Spear of Destiny, and any gold
bullion that is on that U-boat. And, once they’ve got it,
they’ll return to Bonne Nuit. All we’ve got to do then is pick
our moment, and hit them hard.”
“Shall I make ready for a quick departure, Monsieur?”
“No, I don’t think so, Armand. We’ll head down to
St. Helier, and spend the night in the marina. We’ll then
head straight for St Malo in the morning, and then on to
the château in the jet. Please radio ahead and ensure that
the pilots are put on standby.”
The phone in Malakoff’s pocket started to ring. “It’s
Kurt calling me back. I’ll be in my study.” Malakoff said,
answered the call, and briskly walked away.
Kurt hung up, and stood holding the mobile phone
in front of him for a brief moment, before getting back
into the driver’s seat of the Porsche. The Frenchman was
sitting in the passenger seat, holding a wad of blood stained
material against his wounded shoulder.
“Don’t look so worried, Frenchman. You’re not
going to die from that bullet wound, and I haven’t snitched
on you either. After all, I don’t want Herr Malakoff to
know that you’ve fucked up again. It looks bad on me,
and let’s be honest; with the girl escaping without even a
scratch on her. Well, we’ve failed him miserably. But, this
is the last time you mess up Frenchman. I’ll not tolerate
your inability to keep your dick inside your trousers. And,
if you step out of line once more. I will personally see to it,
that you’re dispatched to hell, with as much pain as I can
possibly inflict on a living person. Do I make myself clear?”
Pierre glowered at the big German, thought about
retaliating, but ended up simply nodding his head. “So
what are we to do now?” He said grimacing at the searing
pain in his left shoulder.
“The old fool intends to let the Englishman get
on with it and do all the work. We’re to wait for further
instructions, but it looks like he wants them back on dry
land, before we make a move.”
“What? Does he expect us to do this alone?”
“Don’t be a stupid bastard. Mazzarin and Zola will
come ashore to help us. In the meantime, we’re going to
find a chemist, and get you sorted out with painkillers,
antiseptic, and something to cover up those wounds.”

Laying in his hospital bed, and still in a coma; Nathan
Cunningham looked very pale, made no movement, even as
the doctor examined him. The young nurse who was stood
next to him said, “What do you think, Doctor?”

He gently lifted Nathan’s left eyelid, and shone a
bright light into the retina. “I really can’t say, Nurse. There
are signs of him making a recovery. His brain scan shows
no abnormalities, and all of his vital signs are stable. So it’s
still a waiting game, I’m afraid. But, the brain will tell him
when it’s ready to wake up. Oh, by the way, any idea when
his daughter is returning to London?”

“Good. Well let me know when she turns up, and I’ll
call back in to give her an update.”
The doctor went out and the nurse put a chair by
the bed, sat down, and held Nathan’s hand. “You’re doing
well, Commander. We just need you to wake up now,” she
said softly, stroking the back of his hand. After a minute,
she got up and left Nathan to sleep in peace.
* * *

It was just after nine-thirty, when Chapman killed
the power to the two inboard diesels. The bow of the power
boat relaxed, causing a wake as it settled back into the
water. And a moment later, he was dropping the anchor
line, just fifty metres off shore.

Rising up out of the ocean the cliffs of jagged granite,
that form part of the Devil’s Hole, loomed up high behind
them. A foreboding backdrop, with each wave rolling in
against the black wall of stone, crashing to it’s journey’s
end, only to be replaced by another.

“We’ll stay out here in the deeper water,” Chapman
said, and catching the look that Dillon was giving him,
quickly added, “There’s less chance of us drifting onto those
rocks that are hidden just below the surface over there.”
And he pointed towards the shore.

Dillon went below to the day cabin, and found LJ
and Vince tucking into a plate full of toast, smothered with
thick Jersey butter and strawberry jam. As he came through
the hatch, they both looked up, and on seeing that it was
him, carried on eating. A moment later, Chapman came
down to join them.

“Um, that smells good,” he commented, pouring
himself a large mug full of coffee. “I think now is a good
time to talk about how we’re going to do this dive, Jake.”
Chapman said matter of factly.

“What have you got in mind?” Dillon replied.
“Well, this is about a sixty foot dive, so there’ll be no
decompression stops, which means we’ll be good for fortyfive minutes.”
“And what about the depth inside the cavern?”
Dillon asked.
“More than likely the same, but you never know,
it could be that we descend further as we go through the
tunnel. If that’s the case, then it’ll reduce our time down
there.”
“Will that be a problem, Rob?” LJ asked.
“Only if we can’t pinpoint what it is we’re looking
for. Or, we have to make a second dive.”
“So what’s the problem with a second dive?” LJ
asked.
“Pressure. The deeper you dive, the more nitrogen
the body absorbs. If you’re down too long or you come up
to quickly, it’s likely to form bubbles in your blood vessels
and tissues. A bit like shaking a bottle of Champagne,
lots of bubbles, with the end result being the bends, or
decompression sickness.” Chapman explained.
“So what can you do to avoid this?”
“Well, we can limit our time down. Best not to
speculate though, we’ll see when we’re down there. After
all, Nathan did this dive on his own, and without any
knowledge of what he might encounter.”
Dillon lit a cigarette, and walked out onto the rear
deck. A moment later, LJ joined him.
“So, what’s going to happen next, Jake?” LJ asked,
keeping his voice light.
“Next? What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve got no doubts whatsoever, old son. That
you and Chapman will reach the U-boat, but you’ve not
once mentioned, since embarking upon this assignment,
what you propose to do once you’ve located it.”
“As Chapman said, best not to speculate. And
anyway, once we’re down there we’ll see soon enough,
what we’re up against.”
“I suppose so. But, I am right in thinking, am I
not, that Sir Lucius does want you to report to him before
anyone else once you’ve located the Spear of Destiny,
doesn’t he?” The former MI5 spy held Dillon’s gaze over
the top of his round, gold wired framed spectacles. Like a
headmaster, who’s just caught a schoolboy smoking behind
the bike shed.
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dillon replied, casually.
“Well, let me put it another way. I’ve known Sir
Lucius a very long time, Jake. He’s a complex and clever
man, as many men like him are. But one thing’s certain,
he wouldn’t have got the firm involved with this venture,
let alone fund it, unless there was something in it for him
personally.”
“What are you implying?”
“I’m implying nothing, old son. What I’m saying is
that the old fox is up to something, and I want to know
what it is. If it’s not the spear, then it’ll be the gold bullion.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree.
Because he’s not confided in me.” Dillon said, and walked
back inside to join Vince and Chapman.
“Jake, I figure that if we go in on the port side, and
head for that group of rocks over there.” Chapman pointed
a finger, just to the right of the Devil’s Hole, “We’ll then be
able work our way along the cliff face, using the current to
carry us along. Hopefully, it shouldn’t take us long to locate
the tunnel that way. I’ll let you take care of the Semtex,
just in case we have to open up the entrance.” Chapman
grinned.
“I’ve already sorted it. How long before we dive?”
Dillon asked.
“As soon as we’re suited and booted.” Chapman
said, as he walked off out to the dive platform, and started
to change into his dive suit.

In London it was just after nine-thirty, Oliver Asquith
had just finished breakfast, when his mobile phone rang.
He looked at the number flashing on the screen, and then
answered the call.

“Asquith.”
“Oliver, it’s Simon Digby.”
“Bit early for you, isn’t it?” Asquith said sarcastically.
“Wit, at this time of the day, Oliver? I’ve some very

disturbing news to tell you.”
“Oh, and what would that be?”
“Do your remember that I mentioned a young

graduate by the name of Guy Roberts?”
“No. Why should I?”
“Well, he’s been with MI5 for about two years,
and on secondment to Ferran & Cardini, for the last six
months.”

“It’s about Guy Roberts, Oliver. He’s been murdered
in broad daylight. That’s what.”
Asquith, almost choked on his coffee, and
immediately replaced the china cup back onto its saucer,
before he dropped it.
“Guy Roberts, yes I remember him; he’s been acting
as Levenson-Jones’ personal assistant, hasn’t he?” He
managed to say.
“Shot at point blank, early last evening as he left
the Ferran & Cardini building in Docklands. There’s no
doubt, that it was a contract killing. The whole thing was
captured on one of the CCTV cameras. The killer even had
the cold blooded audacity to glance up at the camera, and
smile into the lens, before casually walking up the street
and driving away in a stolen car. Which, I’ve been informed,
the police found abandoned near to the train station, later
that evening. Inside they discovered a wig, and articles of
clothing, which they say were the same as those worn at the
scene.”
“I see,” Asquith said thoughtfully. “Any ideas as to
why he would have been killed?”
“No, it’s all a bit weird really. He’d not been in the
job long enough to make any enemies. But, there’ll be a
full MI5 investigation into the murder. Special Branch are
sending over one of their top people to assist us with the
process.”
“So, you’re conducting your own investigation?”
“Oh yes, you know what we’re like when one of our
own gets hit. And, I’m confident that we’ll find out who is
responsible. Are you free for lunch? I’ve something I need to
discuss with you about your forthcoming trip to Jordan.”
“Yes, but it will have to be at the museum. I’ve got
a meeting with a delegation from the Egyptian National
Museum, later this morning. And then I’m giving a seminar
this afternoon to a bunch of unruly undergraduates.”
“The museum is fine, I’ll see you around one-fifteen.”
Shaking with fear, Asquith dropped the phone back
down onto its cradle. He looked at his watch. He’d been
talking to Digby for just over five minutes, and was now so
frightened by the implications of what he’d been told. That
in his panic, his first instinct was to immediately pick the
phone up again, and contact Hugo Malakoff on board his
luxury yacht the Solitaire.
His intention was to warn Malakoff, that Simon
Digby was going to throw everything he could, at finding the
killer of Guy Roberts. But, he was told that the Frenchman
was not available, and to phone back later in the day. After
taking a few minutes to calm down, and to compose himself,
he left his London home and walked the short distance to
the British Museum.