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

by Andrew Towning

  “Such as?” LJ asked.

  “Well, his favourite method was to pick out a fine

  male specimen from the SS, and behead him. Shocking isn’t

  it? Then he would use the head to communicate with. All

  very strange if you ask me.”

  LJ took out a clean white handkerchief and blew

  his nose loudly into it. “But that apart, it also remains a

  fact that in those last months of the war, many of the top

  Nazis were lining there own pockets. So why not Himmler

  and Donitz with gold bars. After all, it’s a currency that is

  acceptable anywhere.” LJ said.

  “Look, LJ, it’s getting late. Why don’t I get my

  assistant, Tom Attwood on to it, he’ll be here for at least

  another hour or so? Regular bloodhound.” He slipped the

  copies of the two letters back into their envelope and gave

  them back to LJ who put them into his briefcase. “That’s good of you, Oliver. But, as long as he can be

  trusted, I really do want this matter to be kept low key and

  between ourselves. You understand of course”

  “I’d have thought that after all these years, you

  wouldn’t actually deem it necessary to say that. You

  forget, I know how paranoid you are about secrecy. And of

  course I’ll be discreet with him. But, he will have to be told

  something?”

  “Okay, then tell him that the U-boat is one thought

  to have disappeared under dubious circumstances at the end

  of the war. And, you’re helping me look into it’s possible

  last known whereabouts, because it was carrying stolen

  antiquities and religious artefacts from France to South

  America. And of course, I apologise for even thinking that

  you would be anything less than discreet, old son.” “No need to apologise but just for the record who is

  actually involved?”

  “The only people who know the details apart from

  you and I are, Nathan Cunningham and of course the

  Partners of Ferran & Cardini. You do appreciate that I

  had to brief them about this revelation. It will be at their

  sole discretion, as to whether the firm will get involved

  any further with this matter or if the whole thing is simply

  shoved over to the Ministry of Defence. If the answer is

  a yes, then I’ll see how quickly before we can mount an

  assignment down to Jersey.”

  LJ stepped out of the British Museum into a clear

  bright evening. Guy Roberts was waiting outside with the

  engine of the luxury Mercedes already running. It was

  eight-twenty, just enough time for him to collect Nathan

  from the flat, and drive the short distance to the Ritz Grill

  for dinner at nine.

  Both men decided on sirloin steak, sitting opposite

  each other at the small circular table in the dining room,

  with coffee and cigars in the bar afterwards which was

  where the manager found them.

  “Ah, there you are Mr Levenson-Jones. Lord

  Asquith’s chauffeur gave me this message a few moments

  ago, sir. He asked me to ensure that you received it before

  you leave us this evening.”

  “Thank you, Gerald.” The manager bid them

  a good evening, and left. LJ ripped open the envelope

  without ceremony. He read the brief hand written message

  that Oliver had sent. “Well, that’s a turn up for the book.

  He wants us both to meet him at the museum first thing

  tomorrow morning. I really didn’t think that he would

  be interested, you know. After all, he was all in favour of

  handing it to the ministry to be covered up and forgotten

  about. Must have had a change of heart, I suppose.” Nathan said, “Does he say why he wants to see us?” “No, just to be there promptly at eight o’clock, and

  to make sure that you’re with me.”

  70 * * *

  * * * The next morning they were driven to the British Museum and escorted down to Oliver Asquith’s office.

  Professor Asquith was sitting behind his desk when security showed them in. “LJ, and Commander Cunningham, it’s so good to meet you at last.” He got up, and came round the desk to shake hands with the two men. “Please come in, and have a seat.” A moment later Tom Attwood, Asquith’s assistant, entered the room. He was a good-looking young man in his late twenties with brown eyes and shoulder length dark hair. “Ah, there you are Tom, what have you got for us?”

  “No further revelations about the missing U-boat, or its movement during those last days of the war, I’m afraid Professor. But, I am waiting to hear back from one of my sources in Berlin.” He glanced down at his watch. “And, in fact he should have sent the email by now. If you’ll excuse me, professor, gentlemen? I’ll just go and take a look.”

  Tom Attwood left the room, and Asquith said, “Gentlemen, while my assistant is out of the room, I would like to tell you something of the history and myth that surrounds the Spear of Destiny, and it’s many imitations.”

  “Forgive my ignorance, but why are there so many replicas of the spear in existence?” Nathan asked.

  “To be precise, Commander, there not really replicas. In fact, there are three or maybe four other spears that are all said to be the original. One is kept in Kracow, Poland, St. Louis took another to Paris, following his return from the Crusades in Palestine in the thirteenth century. The third was sent to Pope Innocent VIII by the Ottoman Sultan Bajazet II in 1492 and is now encased in one of the pillars supporting the dome of St. Peters Basilica. Hitler would have almost certainly had a forth replica made. And that accounts for the one that the Americans captured. I would put money on it and say that the real spear was most definitely in the hands of Adolf Hitler between March 1938 and May 1945. Some historians even believe that it was because of the protective power of the spear that enabled him to rise to power, and sweep through Europe at the speed he did.” Oliver said.

  Tom Attwood returned, and Asquith stopped talking. Letting him continue, “I want you all to take a look at these.” He opened up the box file and laid out a series of photographs. “I took the liberty of digging around in the U-boat archive files late last night. Initially, there were hundreds of images, which I whittled down to just a few. Now, based on the limited information that I was given, I decided to take a closer look at U-683. In fact, what I was actually looking for, were official photographs taken of it, if any, at around the time that she was supposed to have left St. Nazaire. But, during the course of my search, I found this.” He pointed to the first image on the desk. “This is U-683 taken by the look of it while she was undergoing a refit at St. Nazaire.” He pointed to the next image. “Now this is one of a small number of official photographs that were saved by a Kriegsmarine rating and handed over after the war, it’s also where things start to get confusing. Take a very close look at this image, and in particular the U-boat’s water line.” He produced a magnifying glass. “Notice how high the submarine is sitting in the water at the dockside.”

  “So what are you getting at?” Asked LJ.

  “This last image tells a completely different story. This forms part of a collection taken by a member of the French Resistance, and handed over to the war museum in nineteen forty-nine. This shot was apparently taken while the area was being reconnoitred prior to being bombed by our boys. Unknowingly, he or she captured U-683 leaving the pen. I would have missed this one, had it not been for the number sequence of the frames and the date mark. Which incidentally is the same as the official photograph, but taken ten hours later.” The young assistant pushed the photograph in front of LJ, and handed him the magnifyi
ng glass.

  “Great heavens above.”

  “What is it?” Cunningham and Asquith asked in unison.

  “Here, see for yourselves?” LJ, pulled out a packet of cigars from his coat pocket, extracted one and lit it with a gold lighter. Before getting up in a billowing cloud of smoke, and walking around the office.

  Oliver Asquith studied the black and white image through the large lenses, before saying, “You’ve done a good job, Tom.”

  “It might have helped, if I’d known exactly what was it was I should have been looking for Professor!”

  “Later Tom, you’ve done a great job, thank you. Now, off you go back to your dusty old artefacts.”

  Tom Attwood departed with a smile. and Oliver Asquith turned to LJ and Nathan.

  “You say that there was only a skeleton crew on board that sub, and therefore only minimum stores would have been required. Which means that even if we take in to account the amount of fuel required for the entire voyage, there would still be no way on earth that a VIIC submarine would be sitting that low in the water. Unless, that is, there was something of immense weight on board. Like I said before, gold bullion bars, gentlemen?”

  “You my Lord, have an over active imagination,” LJ replied jovially. Oliver Asquith smiled urbanely, from across his desk.

  “It’s only a theory, the gold I mean. That may never be proven one way or another if the Ministry of Defence or the Home Office gets wind of it. Which brings me to my question of what the Partners think. Have you spoken to them about this matter yet, LJ?” Oliver inquired.

  “Yes, I spoke with both of them late last evening. They eventually gave me the green light to organise an assignment, once I’d fully explained the situation and convinced them that it wasn’t some practical joke that Nat was playing. But they do agree that absolute secrecy has got to be maintained and that the best policy for the time being is to keep this whole affair as far away as possible from any Government agency. As for sending anyone to Jersey, that will be entirely at my discretion. There was just one stipulation that they made, they insisted that I run the whole thing past Sir Lucius Stagg”.

  “As luck would have it, we had to pass by his house last night on our way back from dinner, and left the letters and diary with him. What an amazing character he is, do you know even at the age of seventy-three he still only needs three hours sleep a night?”

  “Anyway, I digress, after he’d read and fully digested the contents of both letters and the diary, he decided to phone me at five o’clock this morning to inform me that he would give us whatever backing was required to solve the mystery. But insisted that I keep him up to speed with any discoveries that we make. But let’s all be very clear about one thing, gentlemen. It’s the thought of Nazi gold bullion that got us the go ahead, not the belief that we may discover the original Spear of Destiny inside that U-boat.” LJ continued to pace the office, blowing cigar smoke into the air as he walked.

  “That’s excellent news, LJ,” Nathan exclaimed, adding. “But tell me, do you really think the Nazis had Gold on board U-683?”

  “One can only guess, but my theory runs something like this. Hitler knew that his body was failing him, just like his armies had failed him and that the war was all but over, except for the Russians running amuck through his beloved Berlin. He would have ordered Himmler to get the Spear of Destiny as far away as possible from Germany and the Americans. I would imagine that while Donitz was aware of the basic details regarding the mission, and of course able to ensure a method of relatively safe passage for the spear. He probably didn’t know that there was to be other cargo on board the submarine. I would hazard a guess that the cavern beneath Jersey was Himmler’s secret place of hiding, not only for the spear, but whatever else that U-boat was carrying. The likelihood is that he was feathering his own future and only his. But I’m sure that the cavern would have been originally accessed from the land and not the sea tunnel. One thing is certain, though. They would have needed expert assistance, because the seabed would have almost certainly had to be specially cut using explosives to allow the submarine with her extraordinary weight, to gain access. Himmler thought that cavern to be so well hidden, as not to be found. Need I say more, gentlemen?”

  “If that is the case, then what you are suggesting is that an attempt should be made to recover what is inside the cargo hold as well as anything else in the tunnels leading to the cavern. Before anyone else does?” Nathan said plainly.

  “Yes, that would seem the sensible thing to do. And I know just the man to handle such an assignment.” LJ got up from his chair. “And now you really must excuse us Oliver. I have an extremely tight schedule.”

  “Of course. Nathan it was good to meet you. LJ, I must insist that I’m included as a part of the team you put together. As a consultant of course.”

  “I’ll be in touch Oliver, count on that, old son.”

  The three men walked back up from the basement, through the main entrance of the museum, and paused at the top of the steps. They shook hands with Oliver Asquith, who reinforced his request to be a part of the team sent to Jersey. “And remember to call me as soon as you know anything, LJ,” he said as he watched them walk away.

  Nathan and LJ walked along the pavement in front of the British Museum towards Guy Roberts who was waiting patiently in the Mercedes. Once they were sat in the rear of the luxury car, Nathan said. “Is he always that pushy?”

  “Not usually, and to be quite truthful, Nat, I’ve never seen him like that before.”

  “I suppose he’s married?”

  “No, not at present. As a matter of fact he’s been married at least three times.

  “Good God, man must be a glutton for punishment.”

  “Well, that may be the case, Nat. But, you see he has rather a weakness for young homosexual men. Which, unfortunately for Oliver has been his undoing. It’s all rather sad really, he’s never been honest enough with himself, to come right out of the closet, and tell everyone. All of the wives have found out eventually, and have left him. Imagine all of those divorces, must have cost him a fortune. Has a magnificent pile of bricks in North Dorset, though. That is, when he gets the time to go down there.”

  “So how did you meet him.”

  “Shortly after University as it happens. He’s always wanted to be a spy you know? But because of his little secret, the firm has always rejected him. We met up one wet evening in a pub in East London, and it all started from there. Unofficially, he was a very useful chap, feeding me anything that he thought would be helpful. His father the late Lord Asquith, knew many powerful people and of course introduced Oliver to them as a matter of course. I was carving my way up the ladder at MI5; imagine, to have someone like Oliver in my pocket, and in his position was worth its weight in gold. We’ve been friends ever since.”

  The Mercedes came to a silent halt at the side entrance of the Ferran & Cardini International building. The two men arranged to meet for lunch at one o’clock, at which time LJ would confront his friend as to the exact location of U-683 and afterwards drop Nathan off at the city Heli-port for his return flight to Jersey. Guy Roberts drove the retired Royal Navy Commander back to the apartment so that he could pack, and have the rest of the morning free to do a spot of shopping at his favourite store, Harrods.

  * * * Outside the sun was shining when Nathan Cunningham came down the front steps of the Belgravia apartment building. He decided that the quarter mile walk to Harrods would do him good, and help clear the headache that he’d had since leaving Oliver Asquith’s office. It was good to be back in the city, he thought. The sounds and smells all so familiar to him as he strolled along without a care in the world, and thinking how well things were going. At the pedestrian crossing, he pushed the button and a moment later, the traffic light changed to red and he stepped off the pavement. He didn’t see the black BMW saloon coming from his right, start to slow down and then accelerate again, in one smooth action. Nathan Cunningham was half way across the ro
ad when he was hit by the oncoming vehicle, thrown high up over the bonnet into the air, and landed heavily at the side of the road.

  Inert and unconscious, his body landed awkwardly some fifteen feet up the road. A passer-by, that had witnessed the accident, went to the nearest phone box, and dialled the emergency services. An ambulance was dispatched from the nearby City Hospital, and arrived two minutes later. Twenty feet up the road, the BMW stopped, and the driver took one brief moment to glance up into his rear view mirror, before driving off up the road towards Sloane Street, which as usual was busy with mid morning city traffic. The black car disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

  Chapter Four

  In Jersey, Annabelle Cunningham walked down the hill to the café, and went up the steps to the front terrace where holidaymakers and locals alike, were leisurely sitting and having a mid morning coffee. As she made her way to the rear of bar area, Kate Jackson came out of the kitchen holding a tray in her hands; she looked over and smiled.

  “Annabelle, am I glad to see you, we’ve been rushed off our feet ever since we opened, the sunshine seems to have brought everyone out to Bonne Nuit today. Have you heard from Nathan yet?”

  “No, but that’s not surprising. Especially when he meets up with his friend LJ in London, he completely loses all track of time. He said that he’d phone just before flying back. Which should be just after lunch today. I dare say that if he’s got a spare moment this morning he’ll be doing a little shopping at Harrods, of that I’ve got no doubt.”

  Annabelle’s mobile phone started to ring. The small screen showed her the number of the person who was calling, and she smiled instantly. “So you eventually found the time to call me then,” she said sarcastically.

  Annabelle walked to the back of the bar where it was quieter. The smile that was there a moment ago had disappeared, and she suddenly slumped down on to a nearby chair.

  Kate put down the tray that she had been carrying, and went over to where her friend was sitting. “What is it, Annabelle?”

  “There’s a policewoman ringing me from Pop’s mobile phone in London,” Annabelle said quietly. “He’s been involved in a hit and run accident and is in hospital in a coma. They’re saying that he’s in a critical condition.” Tears started to roll down her cheeks and then she started to cry helplessly.