Shroud of Concealment (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (24 page)

He thought that some of the paintings he’d found, and had told Havelock about, were possibly connected to a number of high profile robberies from museums and art galleries throughout Europe and the United States. He neglected to say that he thought the art objects could have come from the looting of an Iraqi museum in Baghdad after the fall of Saddam Hussein in 2003. As far as he knew MI5 had no idea he had found any of it. He would have Vince Sharp investigate this possibility using the Most Wanted Stolen Works of Art database, compiled and held by the FBI.

After ending the call with Havelock he drove around a bit more, found another parking space in a supermarket car park and rang Grace, hoping she would be home. “It’s Dillon. I’ve got no news about Issy, but my hunch is that she might be safe. I hope I’m right, but that’s all I’ve got at the moment. I don’t suppose anyone has called, have they?”

“No. But a large white envelope has come for her. It doesn’t have a stamp on it, so I’m assuming it was delivered by hand. Do you want to see it?”

Dillon drove the Porsche across town and arrived at Grace’s apartment about twenty minutes later having used every side street he knew to get there as quickly as he could. Grace poured him a drink after handing over the letter, which he opened immediately.

It turned out to be a bundle of legal documents from the partner who was standing in for her at the firm. The note inside simply apologised for having to send it by motorcycle courier, but it required her urgent attention and return. Dillon was disappointed, but at the same time relieved to find it wasn’t anything sinister. Dillon thanked Grace for the drink and was about to leave when his mobile phone started to ring. It was Vince Sharp. He walked out into the hall, out of earshot of Grace, and answered the call.

“Jake, I just wanted to let you know that I’ve exhausted every avenue of enquiry concerning Rosie Poulter. And I’m afraid, chap, that I can’t find anything that connects her, in any shape or form, to Charlie Hart.”

“I thought that might be the case, but thanks for trying. Forget about that for now. I want you to concentrate on the photos I took at the house in Lyme Regis. In particular those images of the small figurines, seals and artefacts. See if any of them tally with those stolen from a museum in Baghdad in 2003. I’d also like you to dig around in the FBI database and check if any of the paintings I found in the wooden crates down there are on the list.”

“Only a small task then?”

“It’s nothing to a big fella like you. This is only a hunch, but I think I’ve discovered the key to what is so important to Hart and those other cronies; Trevelyan, Hammer and Latimer. If you can confirm this, we’re moving in the right direction.”

Dillon hung up and went back through to the living room and was standing for a moment, thinking about Rosie Poulter. He thought he was going mad and was aware of Grace looking at him strangely. What had any of this to do with this woman, Issy and a hidden cache of stolen gold bullion and works of art in Dorset? He was side-tracking. Whatever Hart’s interest in Rosie Poulter, it could make no difference to the real issues of the assignment. What were Hart and Trevelyan really up to?

“I’m sorry. You must wonder why Issy hangs about with a liability like me?”

“Because she’s madly in love with you.” Grace smiled wickedly.  “But there’s no accounting for taste, of course and I suppose it’s the danger that surrounds you. It’s extremely attractive to some women, I guess.”

“Is it? Well I will get her back, you know?”

“I have no doubt about that. I wish someone would come along and look after me like that.”

Dillon felt slightly self-conscious and was left wondering why such a beautiful woman was still single. Back at The Old Colonial Club, Dillon put a call through to an old friend from his army intelligence days who was now working for the Metropolitan Police Art and Antiques Unit.

“Steve, can you run a routine check for me on a private collector by the name of Charles Hart? He has a penchant for Vermeers. I just want to tidy up something. I’ll send you a crate of that Burgundy red you like so much. And you can contact me on this mobile number.”

Steve Kirkwood was the only man outside of the firm who Dillon would give the number to. He hung up to Steve’s laughter; they had been serving intelligence officers together.

He had gone as far as he could for that day, and the frustration of inactivity set in as he went in search of a meal somewhere close to the club. All he could do was wait for information and, apart from being deeply worried about Issy, on a purely practical level he missed her help.

The small hours of night-time, unless he could go exploring, were becoming difficult to bear. He felt that things were on the move and yet he had to exercise a degree of patience until the moment was right. He really had nothing in terms of real knowledge, but there were all sorts of bits and pieces, and from experience he knew that they would all eventually come together. But there was one big factor missing – he felt he had come close to it but had somehow missed it. He was as satisfied as he ever would be that Trevelyan did not have Issy. If he had he would have wasted no time in letting him know through the grapevine. That MI5 most likely had her only showed how seriously they were taking this affair, to go to the lengths of abduction. But he couldn’t be absolutely sure and MI5 would know how to play it out.

There were times when he felt he should play ball with them, but he knew them too well and didn’t like the way they operated. They had snatched Issy, taken her hostage just to get at him and what information they thought he could give them – like spoilt children stamping their feet because they couldn’t get their own way. But there was a much larger question hanging over him: Just what business was it of MI5’s to search for a cache of painting and artefacts? Unless, that is, they believed that those people involved were involved in the generating of large sums of money to support terrorists in the UK. Only then would they have every right to be involved. Otherwise this would be left to the customs boys who would also work closely with the serious crime squad to deal with the matter. Unless MI5 really knew nothing and were just following up their own hunches and suspicions. But what sort of suspicion?

Dillon sometimes thought he was chasing shadows. There were so many things that could not be clearly assessed, not least Hart himself, who was particularly difficult to place in context. His association with Trevelyan was strange; as was that of Latimer, but Hammer was a wealthy man and money always made the way easier.

The next morning Dillon weighed up his options. After some deliberation and rummaging around in the canvas holdall, he pulled out a pair of white trainers, blue overalls, and a wig. From a pocket on the side he took a small leather-bound file and flicked through the plastic inserts until he found what he was looking for. The forged identity card had a photo of him wearing the wig on one side of it, and the name of a telecom engineering company down the other. The telephone number shown went straight through to a maze of options offered by the automated switchboard number at Ferran & Cardini.

Dillon left his rooms at The Old Colonial Club and went down to the car park. He put on the disguise he had chosen in the car and five minutes later drove off towards Julian Latimer’s apartment. He parked the Porsche in a multi-story car park two streets away and walked the remaining short distance to Latimer’s apartment block. It took him only a few minutes to locate the main terminal box for all of the apartments in the building. And only a few seconds for him to access it and disable the phone line to Latimer’s penthouse apartment. He pushed the intercom button and then stood back and waited for a reply.

“Peverill Telecom, Mr. Latimer. Our system has detected that you have a faulty line, sir. I’ll need to come up and check that everything is okay with your installed devices.”

“There’s no problem here. I’m afraid you’ve been sent on a fool’s errand. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Dillon jumped in quickly, “I think you will find that your phone line and broadband are both down, sir. It will only take up a moment of your time.”

Latimer huffed down the intercom, went and tried his phone and then came back. Dillon could hear him pick the handset up again.

“Damn and blast it. You appear to be right – the bloody thing is completely dead. Bloody inconvenient.”

There was a short buzzer sound and then the front door catch was released. A moment later, Dillon entered the familiar entrance hall. The heavy door closed automatically behind him and it was a stark reminder of the risk he was taking by trapping himself in this way. He took the lift all the way up to the top floor and Latimer’s penthouse. As the door slid back he remained inside, listening for any noises that shouldn’t be there, but it was uncannily quiet. Anyone who worked would already be out by this time, but Dillon had taken the chance that Latimer would not leave for the House until later that morning, if he went at all.

The front door to the penthouse was ajar, but Dillon still rang the bell and then stood well back from the door. Latimer pulled open the door and stood there in a silk dressing gown, his right hand tucked in a pocket, in which Dillon was convinced he was holding a small handgun.

“Identity card,” Latimer asked bluntly, holding his free hand out. He studied it carefully, looked up once to verify the image on the card matched up with the man stood in front of him. And then after a moment said, “I’ve never heard of this company and they are most certainly not my telecom supplier.”

Dillon thought quickly.

“We’re contracted to carry out emergency repairs for this building by the freeholder. All I was told was to get myself down here as fast as the traffic would allow, and fix the problem. Time is money, see?”

Dillon remained calm and nonchalant, however he seriously suspected that his cover had been blown, and that Latimer had suddenly recognised him from their brief encounter before.

“Well, as far as I’m aware no one has informed me or the residents’ committee about this arrangement. But I suppose you’d better come in and do whatever it is you do,” Latimer said, his hand shifting in the pocket of the silk dressing gown.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Dillon remained in character and gave the politician no indication that he’d spotted the weapon pointing at him as he was shown into the kitchen. Latimer opened the door of one of the wall cabinets to expose the penthouse control and distribution server unit which was located inside. Dillon went through the motions of taking off the cover and checking the connections with a small amp meter. All the time Latimer was watching him intently over his shoulder. Two minutes later Dillon told him that everything appeared to be okay, and that once the main junction box outside was reset the phone and broadband would come back on line.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Latimer. The office will send you a conformity notice that will tell you what work was carried out and give you a reference number should anything go wrong in the future.”

Latimer made no comment, except for a derisory huff of dismissal.

Dillon saw an expression of contempt and distain cross the politician’s face, but he became more relaxed at the front door as he realised Dillon was leaving after such a short time. Dillon knew he would not get another opportunity. He moved forward quickly, hit Latimer hard on the jaw and then caught him as he collapsed. He pulled the unconscious body inside the hall and closed the door before pulling the handgun from Latimer’s dressing gown pocket.

He dragged the politician into the living room and man-handled him onto a chair. He then went to the kitchen and returned a moment later with a jug of cold water which he threw in Latimer’s face, and then sat down on a dining chair opposite and waited for him to come round.

Latimer shook his head and gasped for air as he started to come round. The colour had drained from his face and his jaw had started to swell; the immaculate Latimer suddenly looked more than his age and his usually well-groomed silver-coloured hair was now thoroughly soaked, clinging partially to his scalp. His eyes were glazed, unable to focus on Dillon who thought the older man was going to be sick. Latimer had always lived a comfortable life, had never been on the wrong side of violence and was now finding it an extremely uncomfortable and painful experience. He tried to pull himself upright and at the same time his right hand delved into the dressing gown pocket.

“Is this what you’re looking for?”

Dillon held up the small Russian PSM pistol, holding it by the trigger guard between forefinger and thumb.

“I hope you’ve got a licence for this thing. Or did dear old Tommy Trevelyan supply it from what, one can only imagine, would be his considerable armoury? But I do congratulate you on your choice of weapon, Latimer. The PSM, or Pistolet Samozaryadnyi Malogabaritnyj to give its full name, is one of the thinnest small calibre self-defence guns ever made. As favoured by the KGB plain clothes operatives back in the bad old days when Mother Russia had them standing on every street corner.”

“You must be Dillon. My God, you’re a distasteful piece of slime.”

The words were slightly slurred and it must have been extremely painful for him to talk.

“That’s right, Latimer. But if I’m distasteful, I’m not sure what you’d be. But priceless, you are. It’s rich coming from someone who takes the taxpayers’ hard-earned money and gives so little in return. You’re a rotten apple, Latimer. Everybody knows that you’re a waste of space and as corrupt as they get, but I’m the one who can bring you down and in the process, I’ll stamp on your head – hard.”

“What is it you want? And you didn’t have to hit me like that.”

Dillon watched carefully as Latimer tried to move into a more comfortable position. Dillon held up the gun again.

“You might have shot me. You should think yourself a very lucky man that I decided to punch you instead.”

Dillon pulled out the Glock from his jacket pocket.

“I could have simply killed you with this. I dare say that my reflexes are a lot quicker than yours. I’ve been in this room before, you know?”

Latimer was shaken by this revelation.

“That’s impossible.”

“Not at all. Went through everything, including your safe – the one hidden behind that full-length mirror in your bedroom. I found some very interesting documents and was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind giving me some background information on them.”

“You’re lying, there’s nothing missing from that safe.”

Latimer’s voice was bristling with anger and resentment. But he sounded unconvincing and was now worried that Dillon knew exactly where his safe was located.

“This might come as a bit of a blow, Julian. But at that time I was in no particular hurry and managed to photograph everything. Where else do you suppose I got the Lyme Regis address from? Has Trevelyan worked that out yet? Because if he hasn’t, rest assured, he will.”

Dillon was trying his best to compromise Latimer – to put just enough fear into him to make him talk.

“I just need a little more information to fill in the gaps, that’s all.”

He took a chance, knowing full well that it could easily backfire on him.

“I know you got that list in 1983. I also know that you were sitting on a number of Parliamentary committees at the time. But the one that interested me the most was the one concerning independent security firms. In particular, Brinks Mat. Now I’m only guessing you understand, but I would imagine it went something like this: From sitting on that committee, you were then offered a small, unofficial retainer by the directors of Brinks Mat. I’d guess that it was for prior warning of any moves by the Government, which might be, let’s say, detrimental to their business. I’m sure that with your charm and a well-placed, impressionable young secretary, you would have been able to wheedle out all sorts of highly sensitive information – including timetables. That you did – and have, since that time, abused your position as an MP solely for the purpose of personal financial gain. I don’t know where that stands in the eyes of the law, but as sure as hell the tabloids will have a field day with you whatever else happens. I dare say that wouldn’t please Trevelyan either. Let’s face it, Julian. You’re in the shit right up to your fat little neck and however you look at it, there’s no escaping for you, old son.”

Latimer was recovering, rubbing the painful swelling on his jaw. But his eyes were not yet fully alert and the years of experience in evasion, lying and bending facts to suit his own end, were forming a formidable barrier in his mind. There was also another aspect to give him comfort, but he would have to hold his corner first.

“Your imagination is an extremely furtive one, Dillon. You’re also completely wrong about everything and have no idea what you’re messing with here. As for me being in deep shit, you’d better find a good lawyer, because you are guilty of breaking in and entering, as well as theft. As for your pathetic attempt to intimidate me, well it hasn’t worked. Now get out.”

As he stood up, Dillon punched the politician hard in the stomach. Latimer instantly doubled up and started to retch. A moment later, he was sick over the living room carpet. Dillon leant against the back of a sofa, waiting for him to recover.

“I suppose you’ve conned so many people for such a long time that you genuinely believe you can get away with it forever. Well how would you like both your kneecaps blown off? I only ask because it’s most likely what you’d expect from someone like me. I now want you to tell me what those lists of names and addresses mean.”

Dillon pulled out the Glock and slowly attached the specially made silencer.

“I can make a guess, but I want to be one hundred percent sure. Now, tell me what they represent.”

Dillon slipped off the safety catch.

“This is loaded with hollow point bullets, Julian. So that you’re under no illusion as to what they are, I’ll tell you. I like to use them because they don’t travel too deep into the flesh, but cause maximum tissue damage. Which means that you will most certainly never walk again if, indeed, you actually live through the ordeal.” Latimer was again sitting upright, but had both his arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

“You’re bluffing, playing with that thing. You wouldn’t dare do anything to me and you certainly won’t fool me into saying anything.”

Dillon sat back down on the chair in front of the politician, being careful not to tread in any of Latimer’s breakfast now lying on the carpet.

“Did Trevelyan tell you that he had at least three people killed to protect those lists of names? Did he tell you that he’d sent five men down to the house in Lyme Regis? That I killed three, possibly four, if they didn’t get him to a hospital in time for a blood transfusion? And that I deliberately let two of them live to go back and tell the tale. Or does he protect you from the blood and guts end of his business and just give you the edited version? No, I’m definitely not bluffing, Julian. But you most certainly are. Please feel free to call the police. I won’t try and stop you.”

Dillon levelled the gun.

Latimer went as white as an Egyptian cotton sheet. It had now dawned on him just how much trouble he was in and that he wasn’t going to be able to slither his way out of this crisis by bluff or procrastination. Latimer now realised that Dillon wasn’t just another blunt instrument – that he had nerve and was tenacious. His audacity knew no boundaries and his ability to control was like nothing he’d ever encountered. It struck him that he’d most likely just heard the truth about the deaths in Dorset.

“If I tell you I’m dead anyway.” The voice wavered.

“Who needs to know? How would anyone else ever find out? What I hear in this room stays in this room, as far as I’m concerned.”

Latimer was now fully conscious and extremely nervous. His eyes flitted around the room, not really focusing on anything in particular.

“It would soon become evident that I was the one who told you.”

Where were Trevelyan’s men? He had phoned for help before letting Dillon into the building. He realised he was beginning to panic, but he couldn’t help the feeling of foreboding that was now weighing heavily upon him. Dillon had the expressionless features of a hardened professional. Latimer’s head was spinning. Was he going to blow both his kneecaps off, or was it just an idle threat? The incredible steadiness of the gun pointing at him confirmed it would be the kneecaps.

He added, “If I tell you, I’m finished. Trevelyan’s men will be outside by now. If I were you I’d get out of here as quickly as possible.”

Although the statement was spoken with bravado, it was quite obvious that Latimer was as nervous as a man can get without wetting himself. However, Dillon did manage to pick his way through and pull the truth out of it. Latimer was waiting for something to happen and had reconciled himself that it was about to go down on his own doorstep. The politician was not only scared of him, but of what he might have started in order to protect himself.

Dillon slowly moved across the room and stood with his back to the wall behind the door.

“So tell me, what exactly have you done?”

“I phoned Trevelyan for help from my mobile phone. I wasn’t sure at first when you were standing downstairs in front of the CCTV. The image on the screen wasn’t clear enough. But once you were outside the front door in the hallway, I was sure. Trevelyan is many things that I dislike in a person, but he is thorough. You see, he issued everyone with your photograph. Otherwise I would have sent the cancellation text. But it’s too late now. You’re trapped with nowhere to run.”

“And you are very close to leaving this world for good. How will they get in? You haven’t released the front door.”

He saw the uncertainty and fear return and added, “You’re not bullshitting a group of committee members now, Latimer. This is as real as it gets – your life or mine.”

“They’ll use the emergency fire escape – it’s at the rear of the building and runs all the way up to the roof garden. Once they’re up there they’ll be able to access the penthouse through the French doors in my bedroom, which I unlocked earlier.”

“Well it looks like there’s going to be some blood spilt then. That should go nicely with these cream carpets.”

“Oh, God.” Latimer buried his head in his hands.

“Is there anything you can do to call them off?” Dillon was listening intently for any unwelcome noises from above.

“It’ll be too late, and anyway, they’ll be here by now. Why did you risk coming here like this? You’re a bloody fool and you’ll be outnumbered ten to one at least. Getting past them is going to be impossible.”

“I’ve been in much tighter situations than this, Julian. And to be honest, ten to one are pretty good odds. But I’m forgetting something. You’re the one that does the talking and who likes taking the money, just as long as you don’t have to get your hands dirty.”

Latimer was still sitting with his head in his hands.

“I strongly suggest you stay exactly where you are, keep your eyes closed and pray to whatever God it is you believe in that you don’t catch a stray bullet when the shooting starts. I hope you’ve got the number of a firm of good cleaners, because you’re going to need them, old son. Anyway, what’s a few dead bodies between friends?” Dillon added.

He gazed contemptuously across the room.

“Are you so naive to think that there isn’t a physical side? There’s always the physical side where there’s vast amounts of illicit money – if not from you, then from someone else, like Trevelyan, who you had to go to for expertise and muscle. He’s only got to whisper the right words and there’s always extreme violence. You’re a weak lily-livered, conceited, self-obsessed arsehole Latimer. Damn everybody else. Well, your free-loading ticket has just expired, old son. If they’re out there, you are almost certainly one of the frontline targets. You’d better tell me how to get out of here, and quickly.”

Latimer shook his head in despair.

“There’s only the fire escape and they are sure to have it covered. As I said before, it runs up from the street at the back of the building.”

“Okay, we’ll try it. And you’re going first.”

“You must be mad. I’m not going anywhere. If you’re right, then Trevelyan will have given instructions to have me killed as well. The minute they set eyes on me they’ll simply shoot me.”

“And you’re not scared of me shooting you? Because I won’t hesitate.”

“Oh, I have no doubt that you would kill me. But I’m more scared of them, you see? I never wanted you dead and definitely not here in my home. By the way, the gun you took from me is empty; I couldn’t shoot anyone.”

“Don’t fret, I could tell it was empty by the weight of it. The problem is that you’ve spent your entire life bluffing and double bluffing. And you do it very well. I reckon we’ve got a bit of time still. If we sit it out long enough, you never know, they might even get bored of waiting and leave. So you can fill in time by telling me what those names and addresses are all about.”

“I thought we’d covered that. It’ll not be you who has to stand in front of that ruffian Trevelyan after they’ve got you.”

Dillon smiled ruefully.

“You do realise that Trevelyan won’t believe a single word you say to him after this. He knows that you’re a hustler and a conman, and also knows that to be a truly brilliant conman you have to firstly con yourself into believing. Your usefulness expired a long time ago, Julian. You may have produced the goods back in 1983 and for that he took you into his fold. But you are simply a liability to him now and as sure as sugar is sweet, he will put a bullet in your head rather than run the risk of you talking. At least you’ll get half a chance of staying alive with me. At least, we should try.”