Shroud of Concealment (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (7 page)

“Tell him the truth, of course. That you feel compromised by a conflict of interest.” He sighed heavily. “This damned traffic is doing my bloody head in.”

Issy gazed at him.

“Jake, you’re being unreasonable and far too controlling. You, more than anyone else, should know that I’m quite able to make my own decisions. What’s the point? We can’t just disappear off the radar.”

“I’m sorry if you see it like that, Issy. But disappear is exactly what we’re going to do. Because as it stands right now, every time you or I make a cup of coffee they know about it. Hart has managed to be one step ahead every time. So I’ve arranged for two of our junior field agents to stay in the apartment, and I’ll be staying at one of the firm’s apartments. Can you stay with your friend Grace what’s-her-name?”

Issy started to dial her friend’s number, holding the mobile phone with a mixture of anger and fear. She resented her life being disorganised like this. She stared at Dillon again, trying to break his concentration.

“It’s no good looking at me like that, you know? Hart is going to come after me one way or another. And if he can’t get at me he’ll simply get at you. Believe me.”

“But what about my clothes? I’ve got nothing with me.”

“She’s got a broadband connection, hasn’t she?

“Yes, I think so.”

“Well then use your laptop and spend your time buying a new wardrobe on line. Think of it as compensation, you can use my credit card to buy everything.”

Dillon glanced sideward, and gave her a boyish grin.

“How long will this imprisonment last and how do I contact you?”

“As long as it takes for me to sort this mess out. You don’t contact me. I’ll contact you by email, and you must promise not to use your mobile phone. You’re safer if you keep it switched off, just in case they’re running any GPS triangulation software. And don’t worry.”

She wanted to say she wished he had a normal nine-to-five job, but if he had she doubted she would be sitting beside him now; he wouldn’t be the same person. But she would never get used to moments like these and they terrified her.

“Jake, is it really so bad?”

“I’m afraid it is.”

For a split second, he turned to face her and she saw his expression.

“It is,” he repeated.

More than his grim expression, it was the thought of what might happen that gave her an empty sick feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. Dillon never exaggerated, but he always kept something back. She entered the final digits into her mobile phone, had a brief conversation with her friend Grace, and hung up almost immediately. She felt numb from the toes up, as if she’d left her physical body and was looking back at herself. What she saw was a distressed and fearful reflection.

CHAPTER SIX

“Come in, Mr. Dillon. I’ve been expecting you.”

Dillon drove the Porsche Cayman through the gated entrance and pulled up in front of the house. Mrs. Pringle gave him a straight hard-faced look and closed the front door as Dillon went up the sweeping staircase. Hart came and stood at the head of the stairs as he had done the last time the two men had met. Only this time, he was dressed in a dark blue business suit that had a thick chalk stripe running through it, a silk shirt and a deep maroon silk tie.

“You know the way.” Hart stood aside for Dillon to enter the drawing room, he crossed to the mini-bar and poured them both a large bourbon with ice.

Dillon had chosen a seat facing the view of the harbour, but was also able to view the door.

“You must have someone with a lot of technical knowledge researching my background, and a lot of friends in very high places.” He raised his glass. “To you.”

Hart was smiling quietly as he sat in the chair opposite Dillon.

“You’re a wise man who has survived a long time in a precarious and often highly dangerous environment. But at the end of the day it’s sometimes better to come second than to not finish at all.”

“Your riddle has lost me, I’m afraid,” Dillon confessed.

“I’m sure it hasn’t.”

“You must have a lot of video footage of me by now. But what’s the point of it all?”

“And much sound recording as well. It’s been very worthwhile, and makes extremely good viewing. Now what’s on your mind? It’s a long way to drive for a social visit, although I do appreciate you having called first.”

“The speed at which you operate, Charlie. Faster than any man I can recall. Far too fast for me. In fact, so fast that I certainly can’t keep up and would like to call a truce. This entire thing was never going anywhere and was a monumental waste of my time, anyway.”

“You’ve driven all this way to tell me something I already knew? Listen, the reason it hasn’t gone anywhere is because there was never anything to find out.”

Dillon had the strangest feeling, almost like he was standing on the platform of a station waiting for a train that might never arrive. He couldn’t leave because it might turn up, but then if it did turn up, where would it take him?

“If I’m wasting my time, why all the surveillance and why see me at all?”

Dillon gazed at Hart who wore the unreadable expression of an experienced and successful card player, barely a twitch of an eye or even a smile. Yet, he managed to convey that whatever Dillon said he could have said it for him. Dillon thought it wasn’t anticipation, but rather the power of knowledge. It was starting to get under his skin and that was something he had never allowed in all the time he’d worked in intelligence.

“I like my beliefs confirmed. So far, you haven’t said or done anything to contradict or allay those beliefs.”

“In which case, I suppose that’s my cue to leave,” Dillon said irritably, putting his drink down. “My mistake; I apologise.”

He was halfway to the door when Hart said, “For heaven’s sake, come back and sit down, Jake. Let’s get rid of all this bullshit. After all, you’ve come here to tell me that you and the firm you work for are willing to drop the investigation into my personal and business affairs, in exchange for me allowing you to get back to a normal unhindered life. Isn’t that about the size of it?”

Dillon nodded. “Yes. That’s about it. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“Nothing wrong with that, Jake. If the intention were genuine, that is. I’m bored with all of this pussying around on tiptoes. You know what I’ve done to you and you also know why. You’ve had a few warnings in quick succession and it’s made you think twice. All of a sudden I’m too hot to handle. Well, at least you’ve found that out.”

“How succinctly put. I think that we should leave it at that, don’t you?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. You see, Jake, it’s not that I’m trying to conceal anything of any importance, or that I’d be overly worried if you found out that I’d got one or two skeletons in my wardrobe. Because everything of any importance is all on record. It’s the fact that someone in a position of authority has deemed it acceptable to let you barge into my life and pry into my affairs. I won’t tolerate that sort of bullish behaviour. It’s a bloody outrage and is spoiling the tranquillity of my life. It’s for these reasons that I can’t leave it at that, as you put it.”

“And you’d go to the extreme of killing just to protect that, would you?”

“Believe me. If I’d set out to kill you, you would already be dead. But why say that?”

“Because I was under the impression that we weren’t pussy footing around anymore. How else do you expect to stop me, unless we both agree to call it a day?”

Hart laughed. He took a sip of his bourbon, placing the glass down onto the arm of the chair he was sitting in.

Dillon sensed that Hart was someone who never gave more away than he wanted, or had, to give. He wondered if Hart ever dropped his guard, or even became confused sometimes as to whether he was playing out the role of the aggressive hard man or just himself. Questioning killing was simply smoke and mirrors, when he had deliberately left it as the only course to take if he continued. As Hart picked up his glass again, his eyes told a different story – they were slightly bloodshot with the tell-tale signs of a few sleepless nights. He suddenly looked much older and for one fleeting moment Dillon would have sworn that Hart had tuned-out. He didn’t even notice Dillon sitting almost opposite him; there was a sudden panic in his eyes. And then it was gone and although he appeared weary, his eyes were suddenly alert as he saw Dillon staring at him from where he was sitting opposite.

“Now, where were we? Oh yes,” said Hart. “You’re saying that you do not want to continue prying into my affairs. And, I do not believe you.”

“You’re calling me a liar?”

“No, I’m not.” Hart dismissed Dillon’s comment with a wave of his hand.

“I figure that your integrity is without doubt, Jake. Which is the point that I’m making. On the one hand, you want to terminate the investigation for the safety of the lovely Isabel Linley. But it’s not in your nature to give up so easily, is it? And even if by some strange quirk you did, sooner or later your curiosity would be aroused again. And that, Jake, is the problem. It’s the real reason why I agreed to see you. So that you know which way I’m running with this situation, and the reasoning behind any decisions I may make. I’m sorry; I like you, but that’s how it is. And I’ve never let personal feelings get in the way of my gut instinct about someone. It’s a hard life, I’m afraid.”

Dillon gazed out through the wall of glass at the uninterrupted view of the Purbeck hills cutting across the horizon. He’d driven back down to Dorset without telling Issy or even LJ, with the notion of coming to some sort of understanding with him. But it had served no purpose and it now disturbed him that Hart knew far more about him than he did himself.

“Nothing to say, Jake? You mustn’t beat yourself up over this. After all, we all meet our match sooner or later.”

Hart stood up and went and refilled his glass. He returned to the chair he’d been sitting in and relaxed back into the luxurious seat.

“Still nothing to say? I’m surprised. But then, I shouldn’t be. Ever since your employers, whoever they might be in London, decided to embark on this vendetta against me, you’ve been scratching around in the dirt and you’re still no wiser about who I am or what I do,” Hart said triumphantly.

Dillon stood up, finished his drink and slowly placed the glass down on to the side table by the chair.

“Ah, now there you have me, Charlie. It’s true to say that I’ve drawn a bit of a blank where you’re concerned. But I see it like this. In your crusade to, how shall I put it, persuade me to give up, I’ve learnt a lot about you and far more than you give me credit for.”

As he crossed the room, he said, “Thanks for the drink. That’s an excellent bourbon.” Almost at the door, he added, “I believe your son is at Cambridge?”

Hart’s cobalt blue eyes hardened; his manner became wooden.

“You stay well away from my son; he has nothing to do with any of this. You’d do well to remember that.”

“And the same rule applies to Isabel Linley. So you had better remember that. If anything happens to her, I’ll come after you one way or another.”

Hart quickly recovered his composure. “You don’t impress me, Jake. And neither does the Glock you carry under your right arm. In fact, it’s a bit of overkill, isn’t it? After all, you’d hardly be stupid enough to use it in here, now would you?”

“Why not? It’s as good a place as any.”

“I have no doubt whatsoever that you would kill me if you had to. But not with Mrs. Pringle around. I’m sure that you would find that quite impossible to do. So I am perfectly safe. Why do you think I let you keep the weapon? But you couldn’t resist letting me see it, could you? Tucked in its holster under your arm. It’s all becoming rather boring and pathetic, Jake.”

Dillon grinned. “I have to admit to you, Charlie, I did like the way that your tame gunman showed me his in the London pub. I thought very much the same as you.”

By now, they had reached the hall downstairs.

Dillon said, “There is one thing though, Charlie. I’ll stake my reputation on the fact that I’m a bloody better shot than either of you. Now I wonder if your researchers managed to dig that up.”

When Dillon drove out through the gated entrance he was expecting Hart’s men to follow him, and he wasn’t disappointed – a dark blue Vauxhall Astra two-door coupe with two rough-looking characters sitting inside. As he made his way along the sea road with the other traffic heading off the peninsula towards Poole, he made no attempt to lose his followers, but did decide to take them through the streets of Canford Cliffs, Westbourne, around Bournemouth and out in the general direction towards Ringwood and the M27 Motorway, taking turn-offs at a whim and keeping to the speed limit all the way. He took such an erratic route that he guessed the driver of the following car would by now have decided that his presence was known. It was always disconcerting when a tail knew that, because they didn’t know whether to pull back, keep on following, or give up. They decided to stay with him until he deliberately lost them.

Dillon knew Bournemouth and the surrounding area well from his last visit. He zigzagged his way across town, taking side roads that were so narrow the Porsche only just squeezed through. He chose his area – a complication of one-way streets that would confuse even a local driver. At a crossroad, he used the sports car’s powerful 3.2 litre engine to its full effect with a burst of speed. He shot across the busy main road, leaving startled drivers to brake abruptly, curse and blow their horns in his wake. Dillon glanced up in the rear-view mirror and grinned. He turned up another side road, came back down another, and, a moment later, was sitting right behind the Vauxhall Astra’s tail. He could see the drivers head turning this way and that as he tried to locate Dillon’s car in one of the turn-offs.

Dillon made a note of the car’s number and then took the next turning left; heading back towards Poole and the rented apartment at Salterns Marina in Lilliput. He took the long route back towards the coast, constantly looking in his rear-view mirror for the Vauxhall Astra. It had disappeared; the driver had obviously lost interest. Dillon came to the crossroads at Penn Hill, turned left and found himself travelling along tree lined roads with multi-million pound luxury properties sitting behind gated entrances; the norm in this affluent suburb of Poole.

After two or three minutes, he joined the peninsula road again, and, a moment later, was pulling into the covered parking space that went with the waterside apartment. Dillon stepped out of the Porsche and took a minute to take in the view of the harbour, the nearby marina and hotel facilities. He locked the car, went into the modern building and used the lift to take him up to the fourth floor. The apartment was not as big or expensively furnished as his own, but it had the luxury of its location and was not too far from the Sandbanks peninsula and Charlie Hart.

He went into the darkened hall, switched most of the lights on and then used his mobile phone to call Dunstan Havelock at his home. Rachel answered and they chatted as old friends do when they’ve not seen each other for some time. There was a bond between them. Dillon had been the one who had helped her overcome a cocaine addiction that nearly ended her life. Had introduced her to Havelock, who fell hopelessly in love and ended up marrying her six months later. The drug addiction was something which was never mentioned, but Rachel knew what an immense thing he’d done for her and would never forget it. She took down the mobile number he gave her and assured him that Havelock would be in touch. Dillon’s next call was to Vince Sharp at Ferran & Cardini. He read out the Astra’s registration number and Vince told him he’d phone back as soon as he’d located the details. In the meantime, Dillon made himself a strong black filter coffee. Ten minutes later, Vince was reading out the information that Dillon had asked for.

Dillon looked at his wristwatch, early enough for what he had in mind, he thought. He left the apartment and went down to the Porsche. He turned left at the main road, heading towards the old part of Poole and passing the civic centre on his way. Five minutes later, he was crawling at a snail’s pace along the quayside looking for a parking space, he found one and walked back to where the Vauxhall Astra was parked. It was almost outside of the address that Vince had given him. He tried the car doors, not surprised to find them locked, looked up at the converted warehouse, saw lights on at one of the ground floor windows and went up the steps. He pushed the doorbell for the ground floor apartment.

An attractive woman in her late thirties opened the door on a security chain. Dillon produced a false police ID card and asked if he could see Mr. Robert Norton.

“He’s only just got home from work. Can’t you come back later? He’s having a shower.”

“No, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I don’t mind waiting, and I promise not to take up too much of your evening.”

Dillon was shown into a small cramped living room, where a fifty-inch plasma television seemed to take up most of one wall and looked ridiculous in the tiny room. The woman switched it off as she caught Dillon looking closely at it.

“Don’t worry, I’ve not come to nick you for having such a big TV,” Dillon said with good humour, but the woman didn’t find it in the least bit funny.

“Have a seat; I’ll go tell Bob to hurry up.”

She went through to the back of the apartment, returning a moment later.

“I’m his wife, Elaine. Anything I can do to help? I mean, what does your lot want with him?”

“Routine enquiries, that’s all. I’ll need to speak with your husband in private, if that’s okay with you?”

“Oh, of course. I’ll make myself scarce when he comes in here.”

Norton took his time, which told Dillon that he’d obviously had dealings with the police in the past; innocent people wanted to find out quickly. When he did eventually come in, it was with an abundance of arrogance and swagger, until he saw Dillon sitting on his blue leather sofa, smiling up at him, and his expression changed to one of utter shock.

He was dressed expensively but lacked taste and coordination, just like the property’s interior decor. Dillon was immediately drawn to his dark brooding eyes and clean shaven head – he put him somewhere in his early forties.