Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (13 page)

The front door to Dillon’s converted loft apartment,
grudgingly opened against the mountain of circulars and
free newspapers that had been pushed through his letter
box over the last three weeks. Dragging his suitcase into the
dark cold hallway, he turned on the light, and flicked the
central heating switches to constant. His watch showed just
past two o’clock in the morning. In the kitchen, he boiled
the kettle, ground a small quantity of Colombian beans,
and made himself a strong black coffee. The answering
machine showed a number of messages had been left for
him, two were from a double-glazing company offering him
a special deal on a conservatory and three from Romerez in
Florida asking him to call her the instant he got in. “In the
morning.” He said to himself.

Under the railway arches in the east end of London,
the fake drain-testing engineer who called himself Sean Black
turned the bright red Ferrari into the alleyway that led to
the lock-up. As he approached the old rundown Victorian
building he pointed a small black remote control at the solid
looking double doors. They opened, and the stolen Italian
sports car was driven inside. Dean Slater was sat in front of
a small laptop computer watching the images on the screen,
downloaded from the three bugs in LJ’s apartment along
with the telephone conversations that had been intercepted.
The entire content of which was Annabelle Cunningham
coming and going at various times during the day.

The only phone call was from LJ who left a message
informing her that he was catching the three o’clock British
Airways flight from Los Angeles to Heathrow. He finished
by telling her that there was someone he wanted her to meet
the following day over lunch. Slater checked his shorthand
scribbling that he’d made in the small notebook. He then
typed in the text, and saved it to disk before turning the
small silver machine off.

“Anything interesting?” Black asked.
“No not really, the girl is there on her own at the
moment. This Levenson-Jones bloke has flown off to the
States for some reason. The only phone call was from him
telling the girl that he was on his way back, and that there
was someone he wanted her to meet tomorrow over lunch.
Anything your end?”
“I think, that I must have walked all over bloody
London today. She shops for England, that one, I can tell
you. Then after lunch, she spent the whole afternoon at
the hospital with her old man. That must have been a
stimulating conversation.” Black said, smirking.
“You, Black, have a sick sense of humour. Have they
still got a police guard outside of his room?”
“You bet, twenty four hours a day, and he’s armed.
So what do we do now?”
“Now, Black we go and get some sleep. Nothing
is going to happen until tomorrow when Levenson-Jones
gets back. So in the morning you can go back to Belgrave
Mews, and keep an eye on him and the girl. If they leave
the apartment, you call me on my mobile phone, and I’ll
come and join you. I’ll email Malakoff the images and
sound files from the bugs, and the phone tap as well as a
progress report. Oh, and Black, leave the Ferrari here, will
you? We don’t want to attract any attention to ourselves
now do we?”
“If you say so, Slater. But I’m not happy, you know?”
“What aren’t you happy about?”
“About being ordered around. But most of all about
having to change the colour of my hair to this shitty dull
brown colour. It’s not on, Slater. In fact, I wish we’d never
taken this Malakoff’s money or ever set eyes on him.”
“You know as well as I do, that if Malakoff hadn’t
come along when he did. We’d most likely be stony broke
by now. Anyway, it’s only for this one job, and then we can
bleach our hair blond again, and take a little holiday on the
proceeds. Somewhere like Ibiza. How does that sound?”
“Well okay I suppose, but it’s only because I trust
you, Slater.” Black said pushing his hands deep in his trouser
pockets and walking off.
Slater switched off the lights, double bolted the doors
to the lock up and followed after his lifelong friend.

Dillon arrived at the riverside restaurant early, and
went straight to the bar, ordering a large gin and tonic. The
headwaiter came over to him, and Dillon got up off of his
stool, and greeted the Frenchman. “It’s good to see you,
Pierre.”

“Likewise, Mr Dillon, we have missed the pleasure
of your company, I think?”
“I’ve been working overseas, Pierre. But I’m very
glad to be back in London.”
“You are dining this lunchtime with, Mr LevensonJones, I believe. Please let me show you through to the
dining room. I’ve taken the liberty of giving you your usual
table overlooking the river.”
“Pierre, you are a very gracious gentleman, thank
you. And what would you recommend from today’s menu?”
“As you well know, Mr Dillon, everything on our
menu comes highly recommended. Although chef tells me
that the lobster will most definitely not disappoint even the
most sophisticated, and critical palate.”
The headwaiter led him to the table and a few
moments later LJ and Annabelle Cunningham joined him.
“Jake, let me introduce you to, Annabelle
Cunningham.”
Dillon was instantly taken by her beauty. “It’s a
pleasure to meet you, Annabelle. I was sorry to hear about
your father, how’s he fairing today?”
“About the same I’m afraid, but at least his condition
is stable now, and thank you for asking.” She noticed how
his whole face radiated charm and warmth when he smiled.
“I suppose we might as well have a drink,” LJ said.
Dillon caught the wine waiter’s attention and
ordered a bottle of Krug Champagne. He smiled amiably
across the table at LJ, who looked back at him with a stiff
reprimanding glare.
“LJ, has told me a lot about you, Jake.”
“Has he now, all bad I’ve no doubt?” Dillon said
looking across at LJ who was sat opposite him.
“On the contrary, he tells me that you’re a man with
a reputation.”
“Really. Well I only hope that I can live up to it.”
“I’m sure you will. But tell me, what is it you actually
do?”
The headwaiter came over, and informed LJ, that
there was a telephone call from his office, and that he could
take it at the bar. Somewhat embarrassed, he excused himself
from the table. when he was out of earshot Annabelle gave
Dillon a lopsided smile, and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean
to pry, my father is always telling me that I ask far too many
questions for my own good.”
Dillon smiled back at her, “Annabelle, I must ask
you a question, and please forgive my directness. Is there
anything that you are holding back about the location of
the U-boat that your father found?”
“As I told, LJ. My father has always been exceptionally
good at keeping secrets. All that he really said to me was
that under normal sea conditions it would be extremely
difficult, if not impossible, to dive there. Which means that
it’s somewhere around the northern coast of Jersey. Which
also means, that you should be able to narrow it down
considerably once you get over there.”
“That is, unless your father regains consciousness,
my dear, in which case we’ll know exactly where to look.
That was Guy Roberts on the phone just now. Apparently
the hospital left a message with him, Nathan is making
good progress and improving by the day which is the best
news we could have wished for.” LJ said as he sat down in
his chair. “Now, shall we order?”
Annabelle and Dillon both ordered large wild field
mushrooms followed by the headwaiter’s recommendation
of lobster. LJ had best Aberdeen Angus steak, Pierre knew
exactly how he liked it to be cooked, briefly shown the
flame on both sides to seal in the flavour, and rare through
the middle. All through lunch, Dillon chatted to Annabelle
about her life on Jersey, treading carefully around the
subject of her father’s discovery. But, subtly fishing for any
snippets that she might be able to remember. After an hour
of listening to them, LJ said that he had a meeting to go to
on the other side of town, and left. Dillon smiled, knowing
only to well that his boss would have invented the meeting,
so that he could legitimately leave Dillon alone with the
girl. The wily old fox was still as sharp and astute as ever,
Dillon thought to himself.

There were five people in LJ’s office the following
morning. Annabelle sat between Dillon and Vince Sharp on
the old leather Chesterfield sofa, while LJ paced around the
room like a caged tiger. The upright man, sitting at the head
of the long boardroom table, looked comfortable wearing
a charcoal grey pinstripe suit over a white shirt and old
school tie. Sir Lucius Stagg opened the file before him, and
then raised his gaze towards the other people in the room.

“Now then, to business. I see from the report in front
of me, that you are no closer to ascertaining the location of
the cavern in Jersey. Edward, what the bloody hell is going
on man? Why isn’t Dillon already there, doing whatever it
is he does? And what is this I see from Mr Sharp’s report
that three snooping devices were found at Belgrave Mews
as well as your bloody phone being tapped?”

“Yes, we do seem to have picked up a snooper, Sir
Lucius. Extremely annoying and unfortunately we are still
completely in the dark as to who it might be or what it is they
actually want. My guess is that it’s most definitely connected
to Nathan Cunningham. I’ve got Guy Roberts scanning all
of the wartime databases for any possible connections. In
the meantime we’re pushing on, and Phil Allerton will be
flying Jake and Vince down to Jersey tomorrow afternoon. A
property has already been rented at Bonne Nuit bay, which
will serve as an ideal base to work from, and their cover
story has already been activated. Obviously, if Commander
Cunningham were to regain consciousness, he’d be able to
tell us exactly where that cavern is located, and of course
that would change everything.” LJ looked over at Annabelle
and gave her a fatherly smile.

“Very good, Edward.” Sir Lucius turned to look
directly at Annabelle. “Miss Cunningham, I knew your
father when he was a serving officer. He’s a good man and
you’ve only to ask if there’s anything that I or Edward here
can possibly do to help.”

“Thank you, Sir Lucius, you’ve all been so kind and
helpful already. I’m very grateful to you all.”
“It’s the least we can do in the circumstances.” Sir
Lucius glanced down at the open folder in front of him and
then closed it.
“Mr Dillon, it would appear that you and Mr Sharp
now have the onerous task of locating that cavern, before
I might add, anyone else does.” The old man looked at
Dillon, and then got up from his chair. Picking up the file,
he tucked it under his arm.
“Miss Cunningham, it was a pleasure to meet you,
gentlemen I wish you luck. Edward, keep me posted.”
“Yes sir, I will.” LJ opened the door for the former
British Prime Minister as he left.
As LJ came back in to the room, Dillon said, “So,
Phil Allerton is flying Vince and I down to Jersey tomorrow
afternoon is he? That doesn’t leave us much time to sort
out the special equipment that we’re going to need for this
assignment.”
“Such as?” LJ asked.
“Explosives; of the underwater variety and of course
weapons.”
“Weapons, old son?” LJ said, disturbed by the very
suggestion.
“Yes, weapons. I’ll require a Glock automatic pistol,
and for good measure a machine pistol with extra rounds.
Oh, and a twelve gauge shotgun, preferably sawn off, for
Vince.” Dillon knew his boss from old, and added. “Only
joking, but we will require the underwater explosives just in
case the entrance to the tunnel is blocked.”
“Okay, I’ll speak to my contact over at the Ministry
of Defence, I shouldn’t think that will be a problem. But
as for the firearms the answer is definitely no, do I make
myself clear, Jake?”
“Absolutely crystal clear, LJ.” Dillon and his boss
had this conversation every time he embarked on an
assignment for Ferran & Cardini. As long as LJ had voiced
his disapproval, and rejected Dillon’s request in front
of witnesses, he could report to the Partners with a clear
conscience. A case of what he didn’t know, didn’t worry
him. Dillon as always would procure the weapons that he
wanted from his usual source in the East End of London.
Dillon walked out of the Ferran & Cardini building
into brilliant sunshine and stood smoking a cigarette by the
wharf side. LJ and Annabelle joined him a few minutes later.

Slater and Black were sitting in the Ferrari, patiently
watching from a short distance away. They had a clear
view of the two men in dark business suits, and the young
attractive woman standing by the water’s edge talking.
The flash Italian sports car stood out like a brassy street
prostitute at a Downing Street drinks party, surrounded by
the array of sober executive saloon cars that were parked
around it.

Dillon said to LJ, “Don’t look round, but are you
aware that we’re being watched?”
“Who by, and where?” LJ asked.
“The red sports car parked forty metres up the road.
Looks like two men inside.”
“What are they doing?”
“Nothing, they’re just sat looking this way.”
At that moment a traffic warden came around the
corner and started to walk up the road towards the bright
red sports car. Black started the engine, and pulled out from
the kerb, turned right at the next side road and was gone.
LJ glanced round, “Well they’re not there now.”
“Trust me, my instincts tell me that they were
definitely watching us.”
“Perhaps you’re right, Jake. On the other hand you
could just be a little paranoid?”
“Is that a fact? Well I’ve only lasted this long by
trusting my gut instincts, and they tell me that we’ve got
ourselves a couple of bad guys there.”
The Mercedes drew in to the pavement by the dock
area and Guy Roberts got out, and walked over to them.
“Are you ready to leave, sir?”
“Yes Roberts, Miss Cunningham and I will be
stopping off at the hospital to visit her father. Jake, we will
continue our chat later, now let’s get moving,” and he led
the way back to the car.
As the Mercedes was driving over Westminster
Bridge towards Parliament Square, LJ’s mobile phone
sounded, Roberts glanced up at the rear-view mirror, but
paid no attention to the bright red Ferrari four cars back.
“Oliver, good to hear your voice.” LJ said, and
listened without interruption.
“Of course, Oliver, I’d be delighted to meet with you
later. What, you’ve got to do your duty this afternoon have
you, well I can think of worse places to spend time than the
House of Lords, old son, how does two-thirty sound. Good,
well that’s settled then, I’ll come straight over immediately
after I’ve visited Commander Cunningham in the hospital.”
He hung up and twisted around slightly to face Annabelle
who was sitting in the rear seat with him.
“I’m sorry for that interruption, my dear, that was,
Oliver Asquith the archaeologist fellow over at the British
Museum who I told you about. He’s a useful chap, but very
nervous, though.”
The Mercedes pulled up outside of the City hospital
main entrance.
“Roberts, contact Mr Dillon, and tell him to meet
me outside of the House of Lords at two fifteen prompt.
Please inform him that this is non-negotiable, and please be
back here at two o’clock sharp to collect me.”
“Yes sir,” and then he plucked up the courage to
add. “Please forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, sir. But
is it a good idea, taking Mr Dillon to meet Lord Asquith?”
“Roberts, you are an astute young fellow, but let
me tell you this. By the time you get to my age, you will
hopefully understand the old saying of, putting the cat
amongst the pigeons. The knack, however, is to know how
far to stand back while watching the feathers fly.”
LJ and Annabelle went into the hospital. Roberts,
none the wiser and totally confused by what his boss had
just said to him engaged drive, and eased the Mercedes
silently out into the traffic. At the same time the red Italian
sports car pulled into the kerb a short distance up the road
behind it. Sharp remained seated behind the wheel, while
Black got out and casually walked into the hospital.