Shroud of Concealment (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series)

by Andrew Towning

  “Obviously. But she had no idea about that, and Rosie had only told her the barest details about you. I filled her in on one or two things, of course. Told her that I was a freelance writer researching you for a new book I’m writing about your life as a successful businessman. She was sceptical at first, but warmed to my charm. One thing that was quite evident, Charlie – she’s looking forward to meeting you.”

  “That may be, and the time will come when we do meet. But first we’ve got to get out of here and you’ll have to trust me.”

  Hart suddenly stood up and stretched his back straight.

  “I’m going to disappear for a while. I’ve been preparing for some time. Wherever I’ve been, I’ve always had an escape plan ready and I have one now. However, this time it will have to be for some time. I need a favour, Jake. There are certain things that will need to be taken care of, and I’d be greatly pleased if you would take care of them for me.”

  “If it’s within my scope and not illegal, Charlie, of course I will.”

  “Firstly, I’d like to sort out your current car problem. My sources inform me that you’re driving around in a hire car and that your Porsche was beyond repair after the bombing outside that old building you’re having restored. When you get back to London, go and see the sales manager at the West End Porsche Centre. I’ve already set up a facility that will allow you to purchase a new 911 with the specification of your choice. I would also like to make a donation to your theatre restoration fund. I know you’re well off, Jake, but I’m awash with the filthy stuff. I’m also reliably informed that you’re not restoring that old building merely for your own amusement. It’s commendable that you’ve set up a trust fund to help underprivileged children get off the streets and into theatrical projects instead. But that is going to require vast sums of money just to give it a sporting chance – money that I have and would like to donate to your project.”

  “But why, Charlie?”

  “There’s no catch. Except for one. I would be extremely grateful, Jake, if you would look out for Daniel. Of course he’s most likely able to look after himself at his age. Although, I’d feel a lot happier knowing that you were there should he need someone. Your girlfriend can handle the legal side, but a power of attorney in your favour has already been drawn up and signed. I know I’ve been presumptuous and please forgive me for being so. But you see he took an immediate liking to you when you paid him a visit at Cambridge. I’m afraid that he saw straight through your cover story, but that didn’t matter, because he found you very easy to talk to. There will be provision for Rosie and Sarah – they’ll be puzzled, but they’ll be okay. There is also more than adequate funds for disbursements and fees along the way, and I think that I’ve thought everything through.”

  “Just how long are you going away for, Charlie?”

  “It could be a few months or even a few years. I might have to build up another history background. I won’t be able to administrate my affairs if I’m to be untraceable, not even the Internet will be safe.”

  “What am I supposed to tell Daniel?”

  “I’ve already written a personal letter to him.”

  Hart went to a writing bureau and produced a thick envelope from the drawer. He walked back to where Dillon was sitting and handed the package to him.

  “Have your girlfriend go over the contents – she’ll know what to do. Everything is in there. Everything. Keep it safe and guard it with your life. The zoo life outside would love to get their grubby little hands on it, most likely expecting you to turn up, so I hope your exit plan is a good one.”

  Dillon slipped the brown envelope into the inside waterproof pocket of his sailing jacket.

  “So what happens now, Charlie?”

  “My best chance of safety is not to be seen leaving the house.”

  Hart walked out on to the balcony. He gazed across the harbour, and without turning said, “You are aware that they may be watching on the harbour side as well?”

  “When surveillance teams are watching you can always bet that they’ll have all sides of a property covered. It all depends on how many they are. I would say that there are no more than four of them from the security service and maybe a couple more from Trevelyan’s crowd. Neither knows about the other, but I know where they are and how I’m going to get past them.” Dillon got up. “But more importantly, how are you going to get out?”

  “Well it’s me they’re watching and they won’t be expecting me to try anything. My plan is very simple, Jake. The best ones always are. But I need you to create a small diversion before you leave, if you wouldn’t mind?”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m assuming that you’re carrying a gun?”

  Dillon nodded.

  “Good, because I’m also assuming that you’re leaving by water. And if that’s so, I want you to leave the back door ajar and fire off a couple of rounds once you’re outside. That should hopefully bring them running up the driveway and around the back. It is extremely important that they do, or my plan won’t work.”

  “They should do. But it will depend largely on where the shots are fired from. So what’s the idea, Charlie?”

  “Once they hear the shots, they’ll come running in. And by leading them around to the back entrance that will give me plenty of time for what I have in mind.”

  “And what do you have in mind? Once they’re inside, how do you propose to get out and away without being spotted?”

  Hart offered a secret smile. “This house was built to my personal and very exacting design.” He crossed over to shake Dillon’s hand. “If only we could have met in different circumstances. I shall miss you, Jake.”

  “Likewise Charlie,” Dillon said sincerely.

  “So, enough said. But there is just one more thing that I need to impart to you. Details of the entire drug operation and the stolen works of art racket. It’s all in there stored on a memory stick. Along with every scrap of information that I’ve ever chronicled about Trevelyan, Hammer and the late departed Julian Latimer. I’m going to start again, but this time I want to be free of all that crap. There are separate copies for the drug squad, the anti-terrorist unit and the Police Art and Antiques Unit. Do not under any circumstances give anything to MI5 or MI6. The Vermeer, by the way, has been sent to the museum in Boston. As to whether it’s a truly remarkable fake or the genuine article, well…” He paused, this time a little awkwardly, and then said, “I’ll try to get in touch some time.”

  Dillon was about to leave, hesitated, then turned back to Hart and said, “What about the gold, Charlie?”

  “What about it?”

  “Where did it come from?

  “Brinks Mat, just as you worked out, Jake. That was Latimer’s one and only major contribution to the Trevelyan business empire, and why Trevelyan put up with Latimer’s annoying idiosyncrasies for so long.”

  “The bars that I found in Lyme Regis - were they the last?”

  “God, no. There’s a mountain of the stuff still hidden around and about.”

  “Blood Alley for instance, Charlie?”

  Hart studied Dillon for a moment, and then said, “The wonderful thing about gold is that it can be kept forever and it will not decay, or deteriorate, even under the most harsh conditions. Blood Alley is just over there, Jake.” Hart pointed towards Brownsea Island. “Now, I wonder which little birdie told you that?”

  “Does it really matter?”

  “No, not really. Not now, Jake. But it is the reason why I moved here, paid five million pounds for a derelict building and after knocking that down, had this house built for the same amount of money. You see, I could easily afford it, but living here allowed me to dive at my leisure from the shore at night. And yes, the gold bullion is down there all right. I found it after my third dive. It’s so well-hidden that
I’ve only ever brought back to the surface what I need, one or two bars at most. The rest is still there, about fifty bars. It’s yours, Jake. And I won’t tell anyone if you don’t. Call it a personal gift from me to you. Something for a rainy day.”

  Dillon didn’t comment, simply turned and went down the stairs, hesitated in the hall. He looked back up, but there was no sign of Hart. He went through to the rear of the house, opened the back door just a fraction so that he could see if there was anyone outside, looked back once more and stepped out onto the decking, leaving the door wide open as Hart had instructed. Nothing stirred around him.

  From inside the house there was a single un-silenced pistol shot. The sound was like the crack of a bullwhip breaking the otherwise quiet night air, carrying out to where Dillon was standing in the rear garden.

  Dillon had covered the ground quickly, running across the lush green lawn and was laying prone at the water’s edge by the time the two men appeared down the side of the house. He eased himself silently into the cold water of the bay and started the swim away from shore. Every now and again he looked over his shoulder, had a clear view back to the now fully illuminated house. He stopped about twenty metres from the shore, treading water for a moment, watching as dark figures ran lightly to the back door as Hart had predicted. They paused at the open doorway before entering the house, weapons drawn, safety catches off. Only then did Dillon realise he had been duped by his own kind of wordplay. He had believed Hart. The coldness which now seized him told him he should not have done that. He was feeling sick to the core and knew for a certainty that Hart had at last escaped the world he’d come to despise so much.

  One of the security service men came running out again and shouted for someone to call an ambulance. Dillon looked back one last time as more dark-clad figures appeared, and then sirens sounded from the road outside Hart’s luxury home.

  At the same time he could hear the low throbbing of twin inboard diesel engines nearby. Frank Gardner’s sleek power cruiser slipped out of the darkness, and seconds later Dillon was grabbing hold of the rear ladder, pulling himself out of the water and onto the dive platform at the stern.

  He leant back against the bulkhead, legs leaden, mind numbed. He slowly closed his eyes and was almost unaware that the boat was now powering away from the shore at high speed, back towards Salterns Marina.

  And then, through a mist of melancholy that had descended upon him, almost as if Charlie Hart himself had planted the thought there and then, he decided that it was time to take a much needed break. Somewhere he could recharge his batteries and get his head together, without the constraints and pressures of everyday life.

  THE END

  Until next time…