Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (14 page)

At two fifteen, Dillon stepped out of a black London
cab, paid the driver and made his way through the crowds of
tourists towards the Peer’s entrance of the House of Lords.
LJ was already waiting for him at the security checkpoint
when he arrived. Two men stood a short distance away,
looking directly at them. Dillon turned around, and spotted
them immediately, but in the same moment they disappeared
into the sea of sightseers.

They entered the main entrance hall, and were asked
to wait there until Lord Asquith came to meet them. Dillon
said, “Those two men in the red Ferrari who I spotted this
morning. Well, I’ve just seen them again outside.”

“Really? Are you sure?”
“As sure as I’m standing here beside you. One
minute they were stood over by the railings just staring at
us, and the next they’d been swallowed up by the throngs
of people milling around out there. But, I’m positive that it
was them.”
Oliver Asquith came through a doorway marked,
Private - Peers only. Looking around he spotted LJ, and
walked over to greet him.
“Oliver, let me introduce to you, Jake Dillon.” LJ
said shaking the other man’s hand.
“Good to meet you, Mr Dillon.” Asquith’s handshake
was limp and his palm sweaty. “I’ve arranged for tea to be
sent up to one of the private meeting rooms, if that’s alright
with you gentlemen?”
“Lead on Oliver, that sounds like a splendid idea to
me.” LJ replied.
Dillon kept quiet, allowing LJ to talk for them both
while he studied Asquith, who appeared to be jumpy and
on edge all of the time. After about five minutes, a stout
woman in her early sixties came into the oak-panelled room
carrying a large tray, laden with tea and biscuits .
Once she’d left, Asquith said, “Has Commander
Cunningham regained consciousness yet, Edward?”
“No, unfortunately he’s still in a coma. But the
doctors do say that his condition is stable, and that it’s
simply a matter of waiting now.”
“So does this mean that you’re still no closer to
locating the cavern in Jersey?” Asquith had taken out his
white handkerchief, and was dabbing the sweat from his
forehead with it.
“I’m afraid, that’s still the case at the present time.
However, it’s not going to stop me sending Jake and my
technical operations man, Vince Sharp down to Jersey
tomorrow by helicopter.”
“Do you really think that they’ll be able to actually
find the location of the cavern. What I mean is, where will
they start?”
“Suffice to say Oliver, that if Jake Dillon, can’t find
it. Then no one will be able to.” LJ glanced over at Dillon,
and smiled mischievously at him.
“And what do you think, Mr Dillon?” Asquith
asked. Dillon noticed how the archaeologist was constantly
wringing his hands.
“Oh, I’d say that we have a fair chance of finding
it, Lord Asquith. Even with the odds stacked somewhat
against us. But tell me what is your interest in all of this?”
“My interest,” Asquith’s voice had risen, and taken
on an aggressive edge, “is solely with the Spear of Destiny,
Mr Dillon. I’m sure that your employers have told you this
already, but if the diary kept by the U-boat Commander,
Otto Sternberg is proven to be correct, well I think it’s fair
to say, that we should find the spearhead somewhere inside
that submarine. This is beyond doubt the same one that
Hitler stole from the Hofmuseum in Vienna on the 12th
March 1938. The day he annexed Austria. I don’t know what
your religious beliefs are, Mr Dillon. But it’s the spearhead
that the Roman Centurion, Gaius Cassius Longinus used
to pierce the side of Jesus. I won’t bore you with a history
lesson, but trust me when I say, that this would be truly the
discovery of the century, and that is why I am taking such
an avid interest in this matter.”
“So it has nothing to do with the U-boat or the cavern
itself then?” Dillon looked, Asquith in the eye as he spoke.
Asquith’s reaction was exactly as he had expected,
completely controlled. But Dillon had hit a nerve.
“Absolutely not, Mr Dillon.”
“No of course not, please forgive me. But your
father the late, Lord Asquith was a foremost authority on
religious antiquities, and in particular the Spear of Destiny,
was he not?”
“Yes, Mr Dillon, he was. My, how you’ve done your
homework, haven’t you?” Walking over to the window
he stared out of it, and after a brief moment he added,
“However, I must correct you on one point. My father
wasn’t merely a foremost authority. He was the only person
in the world at that time that could authenticate the genuine
spearhead.” Asquith paced around the room, agitated by
Dillon’s questioning and his own lack of self-control.
LJ put his cup down on the highly polished surface
of the desk and looked at his watch. “Good God, is that
the time already. Oliver, old son, we’ve got to get going.
Damned meeting to go to, you know what it’s like.” He
got up off his chair and put his coat on, Dillon was already
standing by the door.
“But I really did want to discuss what it is you intend
to do next, Edward?”
“Sorry, old son. We’ve really got to dash, but I’ll
give you a call when I’ve got something to report, say in a
day or two.” LJ and Dillon left, Asquith went over to the
telephone, picked up the receiver and dialled a number.
Walking down through the austere corridors Dillon
said. “I don’t trust him, he sweats too much, has a limp
handshake, and constantly wrings his hands. I’d say that
he’s either a nervous wreck, which I very much doubt, or
he’s a man with something to hide. I’ll stay with the latter.”
“I agree, perhaps a quite chat off the record with
Simon Digby over at MI5 would be in order?”
“Is that little rodent still there?”
“Married the DG’s youngest daughter. Smart boy.”
LJ remarked as they walked through the Old Palace Yard
towards Cromwell Green. Big Ben struck four o’clock as
they got in to the rear seat of the Mercedes and were driven
away.

Simon Digby was sitting at his MI5 desk, and on
the flat-screen monitor in front of him, a satellite image of
London. He was so engrossed with what he was doing, that
when the intercom sounded, it startled him. “Yes Sarah?”
He said, still studying the moving image.

“Mr Levenson-Jones is on his way up to see you,
sir.”
“Thank you Sarah.” He switched off the monitor,
got up from his desk, and walked towards the sliding glass
door, which moved silently to one side as he approached it.
Stepping out in to the corridor, he adjusted his tie just as
Edward Levenson-Jones came around the corner towards
him. “Edward, long time no see. How are you?” He said
shaking the other man’s hand vigorously.
“It must be six months, Simon, and I’m extremely
well thank you.” LJ said with a smile that masked what he
was really thinking. Dillon is quite right, you really are a
smarmy loathsome little rodent.
“I see that there have been a few changes made since
the last time I was here, Simon?”
“Oh, you know what it’s like. The top brass insists
that we move forward with the times, away from the old
ways and image of your time, Edward. Quite frankly, the
changes that have been made to the service since you left,
have virtually made it unrecognisable.” Digby led the way
back into his office, going straight behind his desk and
sitting down, he said, “So tell me, Edward, to what do I
owe the pleasure of this visit?”
“Information, old son.” LJ pulled out a cigar from
the half empty pack, and absent-mindedly lit it. Smoke
swirled around him as he exhaled and then hung heavily
in the air until it was carried away by the air conditioning
system.
“That’s one of the changes, Edward. No smoking
inside the building, I’m afraid.”
LJ apologised, and immediately looked for something
to stub the brown pencil like stick out in to.
“But I won’t tell if you don’t. So, what information,
and on whom?” Digby said.
“Extremely sensitive, and it’s Lord Asquith. Past and
present.”
Digby smiled superciliously. “It’s jolly good to see
that you haven’t lost your sense of humour, Edward?”
“What do you mean?”
“The Asquith file has been sealed. Nobody except
the DG and the Prime Minister can get into it. Why that
should be, I haven’t got a clue, but it must be something
very sensitive to warrant that level of security.”
“I see, how extraordinary. When was the file given
that sort of protection, can you tell me that, Simon?”
“Exactly three days ago, Edward. Why, what’s
Ferran & Cardini’s interest in Lord Asquith?”
“Oh, nothing really, he’s being considered by Sir
Lucius and the Partners for an advisory role on one of the
firm’s current assignments, that’s all. Sir Lucius would like
a little more in-depth background information on Asquith’s
father. I’m simply trying to cover our position should things
go sour. You know how these things work, Simon.”
“Certainly do, Edward,” he glanced down at his
wrist watch. “Now if that’s all, you’re going to have to
excuse me I’ve got a meeting to go to.”
“Of course and thank you for your time, Simon. I’ll
see myself out, old son, I know the way. Thankfully that’s
one thing they haven’t changed yet.” LJ got up, shook hands
with Digby, and left through the sliding glass door.
Ten minutes later Simon Digby was standing in
Oliver Asquith’s office at the British Museum.
“I’ve just had a visit from Edward Levenson-Jones,
and do you know what he wanted, Oliver old chap?”
Asquith remained composed, sitting behind his large
desk. “Does he know that I still do the occasional job for
your lot?”
“Good God, Oliver. I’m sure that he wouldn’t be
surprised at that. No, what he wanted was a look at not
only your file, but your father’s as well.”
Asquith’s face went very pale, and standing up he
said. “Is this some sort of practical joke, are you getting
some sort of a jolly from this, Digby?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Asquith walked over to a long bench that ran down
the entire length of one wall. Picking up one of the artefacts
he held it up to the light. “Did he get a look at the files?”
“Absolutely not, Oliver. Lucky for you, he wasn’t
able to, it was sealed by the DG, at my request, three days
ago. Of course, that’s because you’ve resumed your work
for the Government in the Middle East from time to time.”
“Good, in that case we have nothing to worry about
then, do we Simon?”
Asquith carried on studying the artefact that he was
holding, while thanking his lucky stars that Digby had not
come to see him about anything other than LJ wanting to
take a look into his personal file. He obviously had no idea
about the U-boat in Jersey or that he’d spoken and seen
Hugo Malakoff, who was known to both MI5 and MI6.
However, he never underestimated Simon Digby. Especially
as he knew from bitter experience that he was as slippery
as a snake.
Turning he said matter of factly. “Is there anything
else, Simon? Because if there isn’t, I’m very busy and need
to get on with dating all of this by five o’clock,” he gestured
with the sweep of his arm over the bench. “So if you’ll
excuse me,” and he turned back to his work.
“I’ll see myself out, Oliver. But, please do be careful
with whatever it is you are involved in with Ferran &
Cardini. The Partners are both hardened professionals, and
they do not take prisoners you know?”
Asquith turned quickly around, “What do you mean,
they don’t take prisoners?”
“Just that. If you cross them, they’ll make sure that
you are held to account. So be sure to tread carefully. That’s
all.” Digby picked up his briefcase and walked across the
office to the door, and placing his hand on the handle,
hesitated, before saying. “I know that we haven’t seen eye
to eye in the past, Oliver. But if you should need my help
you know where I am.”
Asquith stood staring blankly at the door as it swung
back quietly and closed. In the quiet of the office, the only
sound that could be heard; was the fall of Digby’s footsteps
outside on the flagstone floor of the corridor, as he walked
away.

At his château on the outskirts of Paris, Hugo
Malakoff listened patiently while, Asquith gave him details
of the meeting with, LJ and Dillon at the House of Lords,
as well as his visit from, Simon Digby.

“Quite astonishing,” he said when Asquith had
finished. “This man, Dillon sounds like a loose cannon,
Oliver. Definitely not the sort to have as an opponent, I’d
say. As for this, Digby fellow he is just scavenging for any
scraps of information that he may be able to pick up.”

“I really don’t know, Oliver, we’ll simply have to
wait and see. I’ll be in touch.”
He put the phone down momentarily. Picked it up
again and rang Slater in London, and when he answered
told him exactly what he wanted him to do.

It was just after seven o’clock, and Annabelle was sat
at her father’s bedside. A doctor who she’d not seen before
came in to the room with a clipboard in his hand, and the
customary stethoscope dangling around his neck.

“Good evening, Miss Cunningham. I hope our
patient is comfortable this evening,” His accent appeared
to be public school. Although, Annabelle wasn’t completely
convinced by the man’s syntax or his smart expensive suit.

He walked around to the other side of the bed,
checking the monitor leads that were attached to her father,
every now and again, he’d look up and smile.

“Is there anything wrong, Doctor?” Annabelle asked
anxiously.
“Nothing to concern yourself with, Miss
Cunningham. The Commander is doing just fine.” He
continued to check the monitoring machine that Nathan
was attached to.
Slater prided himself as being a master of disguise
with the ability to act out any part with absolute perfection.
He put his hand inside the left pocket of the white coat that
he was wearing, gently clasping his fingers around the grip
of the small Beretta automatic pistol.
“Oh, it’s just that I haven’t seen you here before, are
you new?”
“No, Miss Cunningham, I’m not new here. I usually
work the night shift, but today I’m filling in for a colleague
who has fallen ill.” Slater lied easily.
Annabelle felt a shiver run through her. There was
something not quite right about his manner, or the way in
which his eyes seemed to flit around the room. She stood up
and moved towards the door, saying, “I won’t be a moment,
I’m just going to get a coffee from the machine at the end
of the hall.”
Slater had the silenced Beretta pointing at her
stomach, before she could open the door and alert the armed
police officer, whom was on guard outside in the hallway.
“Please sit back down, Miss Cunningham.” Annabelle
stood with her hand on the handle, panic stricken, and she
held Slater’s gaze for the merest second, before complying
with his order, and then sat back down on the chair.
“No harm will come to you, as long as you do nothing
heroic or stupid and you answer my questions quickly and
truthfully. Do I make myself clear, Miss Cunningham?”
“Yes.” she said nervously.
“Good, then we understand each other. Now, where
is the U-boat located?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer, Miss Cunningham.” Slater swung
the gun round, and pressed it against Nathan’s temple.
“Now, I will ask you one more time, and please do
not be in any doubt as to whether I would pull this trigger.
Where is the U-boat located?” At that moment there was a
knock at the door before it opened, and the police officer
who had been standing guard outside entered the room.
Seeing Slater stood there with the Beretta pointed
at Nathan Cunningham, he lifted his gun, but Slater
responded with lightening reflexes, putting two bullets into
his forehead in quick succession.
The officer dropped like a stone onto the hard vinyl
flooring. Blood slowly spread across the light coloured
surface, like the petals of a rose bloom. Slater knew that
the first bullet had killed him instantly, and that the second
was simply for good measure. He stood over the dead body
and glanced down, savouring the moment as he always did
after a kill.
Slowly he looked up, and saw that Annabelle had
got away. Furious with the policeman who now lay dead
at his feet for ruining his plan. He raised the Beretta, and
pumped another two silenced bullets into the uniformed
body before turning around and staring at the comatose
body of Nathan Cunningham lying peacefully in the bed.
Malakoff’s instructions had been explicit; to finish
Cunningham off; but he’d never kill anyone who couldn’t
defend himself, that was simply bang out of order. Instead
he took out his mobile phone and called up Black who was
waiting outside in the Ferrari.
He would spin the Frenchman a story later.
Annabelle crouched in the cupboard for what seemed
like an eternity, praying that the gunman hadn’t harmed
her father, and trying to get her breath back. All that she
could think of was getting to the safety of other people. But,
she had to get out, couldn’t breath, and had to get outside
quickly.
Standing up she tentatively opened the door to the
storage cupboard so that she had a clear view up through
the hallway. Seeing that it was clear, she ran straight to
the fire exit stairway at the far end, and went through the
door taking the stairs two at a time all the way down to the
ground floor.
The staircase had brought her to a side entrance.
Pushing the panic bar on the outer door it gave way easily,
and the next moment she was standing in an alleyway that
was completely deserted.
Slater smashed the glass of the fire alarm, and then
walked calmly and quietly out of Nathan Cunningham’s
private hospital room, quietly closing the door as he left.
When he reached the end of the corridor he pushed open
the heavy fire door, and checked the stairway.
He looked over the rail and could see all the way
down to the ground floor. The panicked sound of a
woman’s shoes could be heard clip-clopping quickly on the
tiled steps moving in a downward direction, and were at
least four floors down. When he went back through to the
corridor there were nurses and doctors rushing around in
all directions.
He pushed the button to call the elevator and a
moment later sauntered out through the main entrance
towards Black who was illegally parked a short distance
away up the road. Getting into the passenger seat of the
Ferrari, Black looked round and gave him an incredulous
look, before saying, “What the fuck have you gone and
done, Slater?”
“Don’t start, Black. I did everything as we agreed,
I used the old doctor routine right down to the white coat
and bleedin’ stethoscope around my neck. One minute I had
it all sussed, and was in total control of the situation, the
next all hell lets loose. If only that Cunningham girl hadn’t
gone and got all suspicious like. Making some excuse about
going to get a coffee from the machine, and getting up to
leave and all. I wouldn’t have had to pull the Berretta on
her and order her to sit back down. God, everything was
going so well up to that point, I’d even asked her about the
whereabouts of this U-boat, and then in barges this hulking
great copper complete with a nasty looking machine pistol
strapped around his neck. Well it was me or him Black, and
no prizes for guessing who won.” Slater gave a nasty little
snigger, “Oh, and while this is going on the bloody girl gets
up, and legs it down the corridor, doesn’t she. But I’m pretty
sure that she’s not far away.” Slater tapped Black on the
shoulder. He looked round just as Annabelle was coming
out of the side entrance in to the alleyway.
“Look - over there, Black. There she is.” Black
started the engine and pulled slowly away from the kerb.
Annabelle ran out of the alleyway, and then hurried along
the pavement a few feet in front of them, jumping into one
of the black cabs waiting outside of the main entrance to
the hospital.
“Stay with her, Black. Don’t you bloody well loose
that cab.” Slater said, fastening his seat belt.
The London cab that Annabelle Cunningham was
sitting in the back seat of, weaved its way though the early
evening traffic towards Docklands. After the shock of what
had just taken place in the hospital. Her mind had gone
a complete blank, and it was as much as she could do to
speed dial LJ’s mobile telephone number. He answered
immediately, and she explained what had taken place, the
best she could between sobs. He instructed her to give the
driver the address of the Ferran & Cardini building, and
then told her that he would take care of everything else.