Shroud of Concealment (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (5 page)

Dillon pulled up in the street outside of the firm’s side entrance. Except for those personnel working in the Special Projects Department, nobody else ever used the solitary doorway at the base of the high-rise building; one of many that rose up high into the sky from the dock area like a bizarre film set.

He placed his right hand onto the black panel in the wall, a moment later, the system had confirmed his biometric profile and the metal door slid back. Dillon went down to the department in the lift, stepped out into the busy artificial environment and headed straight for Vince Sharp and his verdict on the letter bomb. Vince was an overweight Australian with an enviable happy disposition that never faltered. He’d been saved by LJ from a lengthy prison sentence for hacking into HM Revenue & Customs’ computer database, which he did for no other reason than to prove that it could be done. It took him just two hours to crack the passwords. But the contents of the Jiffy bag were proving to be far more difficult.

“I’m afraid I’ve had no luck with that package, Jake. The explosive could have been obtained from any number of criminal sources. The clever little device they used for the switch is obtainable from virtually any retailer who sells musical birthday cards and the like. And as for the Jiffy bag, well the same applies, available virtually anywhere.”

“I thought that might be the case, Vince. But thanks anyway for trying. Mind if I borrow one or two items from the prop’s room?”

“No, you help yourself chum. But don’t forget to sign for everything you take out.”

Dillon walked through to an area where an array of uniforms was hanging neatly on rails. He walked round them and selected the uniform of a Colonel in the Queens Royal Hussars Regiment. From another section, he picked up an assortment of theatrical props, including various wigs, false beards to match, and an assortment of hats, jackets and trousers. He placed everything into a large canvas holdall, and walked back out to where Vince was sitting on a swivel chair at a long workbench.

“Strewth mate, you must be worried,” he said, delving his pudgy hand into the holdall. “Where are you going, a fancy dress party?”

“Let’s just say that Jake Dillon may need to disappear for a while, and quickly, without any hassle,” Dillon remarked.

He picked up the holdall, and walked off to his office to phone Issy. He asked her to run a check on Hart through the national legal database to see if he might have an involvement, or sit on the board of directors, of any UK companies. He hung up before she had a chance to say no or argue with him. He logged on to the firm’s secure server and instantly,the computer screen in front of him opened with the Ferran & Cardini home page. He clicked on one of the icons and was immediately viewing the latest update of ‘who’s who’ in the UK and Europe, but found nothing on Charlie Hart. It was becoming clearly apparent to Dillon that Hart was something of an enigma and most likely wanted it to stay like that.

Dillon drove back across the city to his home, parked and carried the canvas holdall inside, dumping it in the guest bedroom in case Issy saw it. He went round the apartment checking all window locks, and tested the alarm; he was becoming paranoid, which annoyed him.

He went into his study and mused over the plans for the next stage of the theatre’s refurbishment. That evening he cooked pasta, finding this an immensely enjoyable way to unwind at the end of a busy day.

When Issy came home she found Dillon in the kitchen, went straight to him and gave him a big hug and kiss and then led him through into the living room for a well-deserved pre-dinner drink.

“Dinner will be another five minutes, I’m waiting for the Pappardelle to cook.”

“Pappardelle?”

“Tagliatelle to you. Got it fresh from Max at the Italian restaurant round the corner.”

“And what do you call this dish of yours?”

“I hadn’t really thought of naming it. It’s simply Pappardelle, with skinless fillets of smoked trout, flaked into large chunks, tomatoes and garlic. Oh, and a tad of what Max calls ‘his secret seasoning’.”

“Sounds interesting, but I’ve got something important to tell you. Charlie Hart had one of his people contact me today.”

Dillon almost choked on his single malt whisky. Before he’d recovered, Issy added, “He, through his intermediary, wanted to know if I would be interested in taking on some work for him.”

Dillon didn’t say anything for a while, then he asked, “And what did you say?”

Issy laughed.

“He’s really got to you, hasn’t he? And I do believe that he’s actually outsmarted you, Jake Dillon.”

She sipped at her gin and tonic and then added, “That element of uncertainty that you like to have over your opponent. He’s playing the same game.”

“Then he will not be expecting you to turn him down, will he? And be in no doubt about one thing: he’ll compromise you if you do anything for him. You know as well as I do that he’s only approached you for one reason – to antagonise me.”

Dillon took a gulp of his drink

“Well, he’s certainly done that, hasn’t he? Just listen to yourself and the state you’re getting into over it all.”

“It simply doesn’t add up, Issy. Why is he taking this all so personally and what’s he got to hide? Because that’s the real issue here.”

“I agree, he is an odd one. But to be honest with you, Jake, I like the sound of what he wants me to undertake. It’s right up my street, and the fee income wouldn’t go amiss either. One or two of the more senior partners have been rattling their sabres at my lack of new client input. Apart from Ferran & Cardini, I haven’t really bought in anyone of any calibre since I joined just over a year ago.”

Dillon was irritated. “I thought the firm had people who looked after that side of things?”

“Oh, they do. But when someone approaches a partner directly, there’s an obligation to assess what is best for the client and the firm. Hart has been recommended by an existing client, which puts a slightly different perspective on things. He’s also willing to pay twice our usual fee if we take him on.”

“And by the sound of it he’s as good as taken on. But you’re wrong to have anything to do with him.”

“It all seems to be straightforward and legitimate, Jake. After all, he’s got to use someone, so why not me?”

“But why has he approached your firm and, in particular, you? He doesn’t even know you and yet he’s asking for you personally. Don’t you find that just a little bit odd? The way I see it, Issy, you’re not thinking this thing through.”

Issy leant back into the luxuriously soft leather of the sofa and spread her arms along the back of it provocatively.

“I think it’s you, Jake, who’s not thinking it through. There’s no valid reason why I should turn Charlie Hart away. It’s work. I’m told that I’ve been recommended by one of the firm’s best clients and to be perfectly honest with you, it would look very odd if I didn’t accept.”

“But Hart without a doubt knows that you’re close to me. He’s simply having a go at me from every possible angle simultaneously. I have to admit, it’s the vehemence with which Hart has reacted that astounds me more than anything. And all over a painting that could have been stolen from a Boston museum more than ten years ago. But when you talk to Hart you realise that this isn’t the type of man that would normally do that sort of thing. He’s trying to stop me looking closer and is setting out to show me just how swiftly he can organise and implement things. As we’ve already seen, he can. For what it’s worth, my advice is for you to keep well away from this thing, or you may find yourself in over your head.”

“And if I say no he’ll know that you’ve warned me off. And who knows how a man like that will react? I know you’re only looking after me, but I’m going to use my professional instinct and say that I would guess I’m much safer accepting his offer than by refusing and insulting him.”

“Bloody hell, Issy. You can be stubborn when you’ve a mind to be. But if that’s your final decision, I’ll have to deal with it.”

Dillon felt he was losing control of the situation.

“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see what else he comes up with.”

However, he was talking to himself, and gazing across the city through the wall of glass.

“Did you get the chance to take a look at his business holdings?”

“I’m sorry, Jake. I had to pass it to one of my clerks, but he’s a real gem when it comes to digging around in the dirt. It shouldn’t take him too long in running Hart down. And if there is anything to find, rest assured he’ll find it.”

Dillon was in no doubt what he’d find and so it came as no surprise a couple of days later when he was told that Hart was not listed anywhere. The man was truly an enigma, with not so much as a parking ticket offence found. And yet Dillon couldn’t help thinking why someone would go to such extreme lengths in order to keep their affairs completely private. Or perhaps it was simply that he liked to keep his money under the mattress, and every now and then invest it in priceless paintings.

The following day Issy discovered, through one of her contacts at Revenue and Customs, that Hart had been in the past associated with a large company under investigation for alleged illegal importing and money laundering. But that was where the trail ran cold. Hart had withdrawn the investment capital that he’d put in almost six months prior to the investigation getting under way.

Dillon was kept busy at the theatre for most of the day, going over the building works with the site foreman whilst these enquiries were being made, and nothing out of the ordinary happened to cause Dillon any problems. Issy had taken on some of the work that had been introduced by Hart, but was still not dealing directly with him. When she spoke to Dillon on the phone, she told him that what she’d been asked to undertake was perfectly straightforward and legitimate, but at the same time very mundane. This may have been Hart’s objective all of the time – simply to demonstrate that there was nothing underhand about his affairs.

The heating was shot to pieces and the lighting rigs were hanging on nothing more than the remnants of thin electrical cable over the stage area. Otherwise, the old West End theatre was slowly taking shape, although not at the pace Dillon had hoped for. And then there was the ever-present building mess everywhere that knew no boundaries. Words of appeasement did little to reassure him.

When the builders had left for the day, Dillon climbed the rickety old steps that led up from the orchestra pit onto the main stage, and immediately felt his heart race with excitement at the feel of the old, worn boards under his feet. And even though the old place was run down, there was still an electrifying presence of long-ago actors and productions, making the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He stood centre stage, turning around slowly, gazing up at the high vaulted ceiling and at the private boxes that looked austerely down at him. For a moment, he pondered Charlie Hart.

So here was an obviously wealthy man, influentially connected throughout India, who had senior UK politicians treading on eggshells whenever his name was mentioned. Yet, he wasn’t listed anywhere and didn’t appear to play the stock market, either. He had to make his substantial wealth work for him somewhere. Perhaps he’d put it in off-shore holdings. That would be a nightmare to look into and take far too much time. Especially as many are nothing more than elaborate and complicated façades, and that these would be guarded by a tangled mess of confusing companies, holding companies, false names and Dillon knew that even with a large team looking into them, it would still take months, if not years, to get a full account.

A few days later everything had settled back down to something like normality. Dillon hadn’t heard anything more from Charlie Hart and Issy had begun working on the extra workload that she had taken on. It seemed that Hart was a man who liked to make his point forcefully and with exceptional speed. Once he was sure that the message had been received and understood, he stepped back and left well alone.

At the end of the week, Dillon spoke to LJ and told him that he thought the firm should not proceed with the assignment against Hart on the grounds that there was not any real evidence against the man. From the offices of Ferran & Cardini, he drove back across town to the theatre and had a meeting with the architect. Afterwards, he stopped in the foyer and had a chat with some of the builders. He was stood talking to one of the electricians when an enormous explosion blew the front doors clean off their hinges and sent everyone, in the immediate area of the blast, reeling backwards.

CHAPTER FIVE

As Dillon was blown off his feet he heard the other men shouting behind him and the crash of falling glass. The building seemed to groan with the blast and then the erected scaffolding closest to the door was hurled sideward and sent crashing down onto the floor.

There were scaffold poles and lengths of timber planking strewn everywhere. Some of the men standing nearby had caught the full brunt of the platform as it crashed down on top of them, and were now pinned under the debris. Dillon was amongst them, laying flat on his back and looking up at the hanging plaster above him. He shook his head in an attempt to sharpen himself up, and then tentatively touched a tender spot at the back of his head. He must have fallen backwards onto the concrete floor, for it felt as if it was about to split in two and his mind was a jumbled mess. He tried to pull himself up into a sitting position but the effort was only inside his head.

Then there was movement all around him and a man’s voice shouting orders at others, trying to pull the debris off him. Dillon felt a surge of energy flow through him and managed to move a little. It was the site foreman’s determined voice that made Dillon strive further to free himself.

“He’s alive, he’s coming round. Quickly man, go and fetch a coat or something from my office. Oh, and you’ll find a bottle of Jack Daniel’s inside the top drawer of my desk. Bring it with you.”

Dillon slurred, “What the hell was that?”

“It’s okay. There was some sort of explosion just outside the front of the theatre.”

“Explosion?” Dillon pushed away the remaining debris and with a lot of help from the site foreman, heaved himself up off the floor. His memory was returning as quickly as he was finding his balance again.

He gazed blearily around at the devastation in the foyer.

“What a bloody mess. What could have caused such a blast? Has anyone called the emergency services?”

“The fire brigade are already on their way, and so are the paramedics, but no one has called the police yet.”

“And that’s the way I want it to stay for the moment.”

Dillon wandered shakily towards the entrance. Through the haze of dust, he saw the big double doors – one had been blown completely off, the other hanging off one hinge at a peculiar angle.

“I want those doors made good and secured immediately. If they’re still standing, get our own carpenters to do it.”

He felt weak, but his survival instinct was much stronger. He had a bad feeling about what had just happened and reiterated to the site foreman that the doors were to be made good immediately.

Dillon thought, as he stepped out into the narrow side street, that apart from the doors, which could easily be fixed and the general mess caused by the collapsing scaffold, things were not nearly as bad as they first appeared.

He could feel the intense heat even before he could see where it was coming from. The smell of burning rubber from the raging fireball that was ensuing, and smoke still spiralling from the wreckage, made his stomach churn. He surveyed what was left of the Porsche 911 Carrera, sank down on to his haunches and started to take in what had caused the explosion. He looked on in despair and disbelief at the pile of smouldering scrap that had once been his beautiful car. The bomb that had been planted somewhere on the underside must have been of a substantial size to have caused so much damage.

Dillon stood up as he heard the sound of sirens approaching at speed. The fire engine pulled up at the end of the street, not able to enter it because of its size. A moment later, the crew were jumping out and running towards the burning wreckage of the Porsche with hoses trailing behind them. Within seconds, the burning car had been completely submersed under a blanket of thick white foam. The only sound that could be heard was the metal contracting as it cooled off.

For a while, he didn’t move; he was shocked and angry, and was using every ounce of self-discipline that he possessed to control the anger that he could feel rising within him. He eventually walked back inside the theatre to find two carpenters working to put the doors back onto their hinges. The site foreman came up and asked when he was going to call the police. Dillon ignored him, but took out his mobile phone and dialled the firm’s special number that was used for this type of emergency. He hoped that Vince would be there and was relieved when he eventually answered.

“Dillon,” he said quietly. He glanced around the foyer, making sure that no one was within earshot of his conversation.

“My Porsche has been bombed. Blown to bits outside the theatre. Fifteen minutes earlier, and I would have been in it. Now listen carefully, Vince. The police are going to be here in a moment, along with the press; I have no doubt. What should I tell them?”

“Absolutely nothing; is that clear?”

“Okay.”

“Give them Dunstan Havelock’s number at the Home Office and tell them to call him immediately. If they don’t, tell them that the next call you make will be to the Chief Constable.”

Vince gave Dillon the number to call if that became necessary.

“Don’t forget to call Dunstan the minute you hang up.”

“Understood. Thanks, Vince.”

Dillon disconnected and immediately called Dunstan Havelock. He answered almost immediately, and Dillon wasted no time in coming to the point.

“Dunstan, my car has just been blown to bits outside the theatre. I’m okay, but I’m going to have the police crawling all over this place within minutes.”

The question had no sooner been asked when two police cars pulled up and four Constables got out and headed straight for the burnt out wreckage of Dillon’s Porsche. They stood talking to the lead fire fighter for a moment, who pointed towards Dillon and then walked off inside the theatre.

“Do you think it was Hart?” Havelock asked.

“Who else do you think it would be? Look, I don’t mean to be abrupt, Dunstan. But I’ve got two burly coppers heading towards me and they’re going to want some pretty good answers to their questions. Now, do you mind if I give them your direct line number at the Home Office?”

“By all means give them the number. In the meantime, I’ll speak with the Chief Constable and get him to slap a news blackout on the incident. I’m assuming you’ve already updated Edward Levenson-Jones or someone at Ferran & Cardini?”

“Vince Sharp, I phoned him before I called you.”

“Good, because Sir Lucius Stagg will need to be kept in the loop on this one. We’re almost certainly going to need his political clout if Hart starts throwing his weight about with those MPs who think the sun shines out of his arse. I’m very sorry that this has happened, Jake. Now, are you sure you’re okay? Do you want me to call a doctor?”

“That’s the best you can come up with, is it? To be blunt, Dunstan, I’m thoroughly pissed off with the way this Charlie Hart thing is evolving.”

“Just stay calm, Jake. The police will be taken care of. Remember, you tell them that you don’t know of any reason why your car would have been blown up. And that you don’t have any enemies, or have had any disagreements with anyone that would warrant such an act of aggression. Simply state the facts as you know them. Oh, and Jake, please don’t think for one moment that if it was Hart who did this he’ll get away with it.”

Dillon disconnected the call and had slipped his mobile phone back into his jacket pocket, just as the two police officers walked up to where he was standing.

“Quite a mess,” the first policeman commented dryly as he gazed back towards the bulk of twisted metal, and then added, “Is that your vehicle, sir?”

“It was,” Dillon replied. “Thankfully, I wasn’t in it at the time.”

* * *

Dillon met Havelock at Slinky Joe’s, a club in Soho frequented by the more dubious elements of the London criminal fraternity and located below the offices of a film company, a Chinese restaurant on one side and a lap dancing club on the other. The polished brass plate alongside the film company’s door stated that they were in the business of making movies of an artistic and erotic nature for the discerning client. Havelock, feeling completely out of place, was sitting with Dillon in the furthest, darkest corner of the bar. Realising from the glances cast at him that he was making a few of the regulars feel uneasy, possibly even cramping their style.

The Champagne was remarkably good and so was the coffee.

Dillon said, “Chill out, Dunstan. You will not come to any harm in here. I know most of these people and Joe and I served together in the intelligence corp. He opened this place with the pay-off the army gave him when he took early retirement. He’ll even make sure you don’t get mugged on your way out.”

Dillon laughed and sipped his Champagne.

“As reassuring as that may be, Jake, for someone in my position to be found in an establishment such as this would cause an awful stir in Whitehall. Couldn’t we have met somewhere else?”

“No, not really. Your home is almost certainly bugged from top to toe; Issy is working from my home and I certainly don’t want her involved with any more of this stuff. She obviously knows a certain amount, but I don’t want her frightened with details of what’s gone on this morning. I told her that I’d be at the office until early evening.”

Havelock nodded in understanding; he would have exactly the same problem with his better half.

“What was the outcome with the police?”

“They were sceptical, to say the least. Then they tried to run me through their database and were immediately blocked because they didn’t have high enough clearance. One of them was rather pissed off about this, and was so narked that I thought he was going to arrest me. That’s when I thought it best to hand them your telephone number. The more senior officer called it and after you’d spoken to him, he remarked that I must be some sort of spook to have that much protection. He told me that they’d have to file a report and inform the bomb squad along with the anti-terrorist unit, who more than likely would want to pay me a visit and inspect the wreckage. Eventually, they packed up and drove off.”

“Could it have been anyone else other than Hart, do you think? I mean, whoever is trying to soften you up.”

“You don’t like the idea that it could be Hart. Don’t try to play games with me, Dunstan. It was not someone from my past, because if it had been, I would almost certainly be dead by now. A terrorist or professional mercenary would have used something a little more sophisticated and much more precise to blow up my car. And they would have made sure that I was securely belted in before remotely detonating it.”

“It’s damned lucky you weren’t killed.”

“That’s the big question, isn’t it? Was I meant to be? I suppose I’ll never know. If the bomb had been on, let’s say, a mechanical timer, there was no way that anyone could guarantee that I would be inside the car at the right time. If it was a remote detonated device it tells me that someone would have had to be in the vicinity of the theatre, and able to watch me arrive and get out of it. But I would have seen someone if I’d been followed. Unless I’m losing my touch. It wasn’t connected to the ignition or I would have been blown to bits the moment I turned the key.”

“So you think it was merely a warning?”

“Well, if it was, I’ve had a few of them these last couple of days. And, to be honest, if it was a warning then it was bloody extreme and you owe me a new Porsche. Maybe whoever it was deliberately used more explosive to make sure that there wasn’t going to be much left for the forensic boys to piece together.”

“I’m not in such a position that I could countenance a seventy thousand pound Porsche, Jake. I’d never get away with it, so I’m afraid that you’ll have to claim on your own insurance.”

Dillon glowered at the Home Secretary’s personal aide.

“Well, I’m most definitely in a position to tell you, Dunstan, that one way or another you most certainly will be footing the bill for a replacement. That car was only nine months old, and you can bloody well pay for another one.”

Havelock looked embarrassed and awkward.

“Oh now, Jake. I’ll never be able to convince them that it was a result of something a Ferran & Cardini field officer was doing for the Home Secretary, thereby for HM Government. Needless to say, I’ll obviously do my best, but it won’t be easy. In the meantime get yourself a hire car and have it charged to me personally.”

He was unable to meet Dillon’s piercing gaze as he added, “You know that if it were down to me I would not hesitate. I’m very sorry, Jake.”

He then lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I suppose you will not be going any further with the investigation?”

“When I spoke to LJ earlier he was all for dropping the assignment and, you personally, from a great height. But I don’t think that Hart will let this go now. I think that what has got him all fired up, is that he got wind of us snooping around into his commercial background and didn’t like it. But the ironic thing is that we didn’t really find out a bloody thing about him.”

Havelock reached for the ice bucket.

“Well, it tells me one thing, though: That there is without any shadow of a doubt something quite interesting to find at the bottom of all this. The question is though, what is he trying to hide from the world? Interesting, wouldn’t you say?”

* * *

Dillon walked Havelock the short distance from the club to his car, searching it from the tyres up for anything that resembled a bomb. He got down on his hands and knees to check the underside; then searched the inside of the boot and engine compartment areas. Satisfied that there was nothing to be found, he waited until Dunstan had driven off. He was conscious that someone may be watching and without too much movement scanned the immediate area for anyone. Once satisfied that there was no one obvious, he made his way back to Slinky Joe’s and instead of going back in he hailed a black cab and went straight home. On the way he occasionally glanced out of the rear window to see if there was anyone tailing behind. By the time he’d arrived at his apartment, Issy had finished working on the papers for Charlie Hart, and as he stepped out of the lift her warm smile immediately lifted his spirits.