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

by Andrew Towning

  “That would not be a problem, Monsieur. We have various types of explosives and detonators on board, and both men are fully trained to deal with any situation.” Captain Armand said confidently.

  “Excellent, gentlemen,” Malakoff stood up, and then said. “I would wish you luck tomorrow, but I’m extremely pleased to see that you’re not relying on luck alone. Goodnight.”

  Armand remained on the bridge, staring out into the night time, and Pierre slipped out of the shadows.

  “Forgive me, Monsieur Malakoff. But can I go with the others in the morning?”

  “So, you want to get even with Mr Dillon, do you?” Malakoff laughed. “Why not. And enjoy it while you can, Pierre.” Malakoff patted the burly Frenchman on the shoulder and walked off to his private quarters, still laughing.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was a bright sunny morning when Dillon, LJ, and Vince walked down to the harbour. The Wave Dancer was moving out to sea with six or seven people seated in the stern.

  “Perhaps he changed his mind,” Dillon said thoughtfully.

  “No I don’t think so.” LJ said, adding. “He’s got far too much moral fibre running through his body for a change of heart.”

  At that moment Chapman came around the corner in his pickup, got out and dropped the tailgate. He lifted out a rack of three air tanks and then another two racks after that. Placing them all onto sack trucks, he pushed it along the dock towards them.

  “Sorry I’m late, Jake. I’m afraid that little incident over at my place last night spooked my sister. I’ve just had to arrange for a friend to come over and keep her company.”

  “We thought you’d changed your mind, Rob,” Dillon said looking out towards Wave Dancer.

  “No way. I’ve said I’ll help you, and I will. That was one of the other divers who I sometimes work with going off with a group of tourists for the morning. Unfortunately, his boat developed an engine problem, and as he’s gotten me out of the hole on more than one occasion. Well, I felt duty bound to lend him mine for the day. I’m sorry, and I know that I should have called you, to ask if we could take your boat out today?” Chapman said.

  “That’s fine with me, Rob. Let’s waste no more time, and get the air tanks and kit bags on board, and then we can get going.” Dillon said, slightly annoyed at Chapman’s lack of professionalism.

  “Of course you know that I’ll want a reduction in your fee for using Dillon’s boat, don’t you Rob?”

  “I’ve got no problem with that, Edward.” Chapman said amiably.

  They all got on board the power cruiser, Chapman immediately stowed the air tanks into the racks at the stern of the twenty-six foot craft. Dillon climbed the ladder to the wheelhouse where he sat on one of the swivel chairs, while Vince busied himself checking the instruments and computer hardware that he’d brought on board with him. When Chapman had finished, he went up and joined LJ, and Dillon.

  As they eased back away from the mooring buoy, Dillon slipped out of his seat to allow Chapman to take over, while he went below to check his dive gear. He’d put everything into a big camouflaged army type holdall, underneath his equipment was one of the MP5 carbines, fully loaded and ready for action plus extra clips. There was also his Glock automatic which he always carried when he was on assignment. Dillon looked around the main cabin, and eventually found what he was looking for. A pocket, just inside one of the forward stowage lockers with just enough space to hide the holstered weapon.

  He went back up the ladder and joined the others. “How long before we get there?”

  “No more than ten minutes.” Chapman grinned at LJ, who was looking a little worse for wear as the boat rose up and dropped down with each wave. “You okay, Edward?”

  “I’ll let you know. I’m assuming of course, that our new found friend, Malakoff is on our trail somewhere back there?” LJ said pointing behind them, “No doubt stalking us at a distance from that oversized gin palace, the Solitaire?”

  “I’ve been checking every so often, and as yet I’ve seen nothing but clear blue sea and a few sailing boats back there. Any way, Malakoff wouldn’t be able to follow in the Solitaire, Edward. Simply because it’s far too large and cumbersome, he’d be more likely to use that inflatable rib that he came ashore in last evening. That’s the ideal boat for these waters, and fast too, it’s good for twenty-six or twenty eight knots.”

  Dillon said, “Vince, break out the rations, will you?”

  A moment later, Vince appeared at the bottom of the ladder holding a bottle of single malt whisky, and four glasses. He passed them up to Dillon, who poured out four good measures and then passed them around to the others. LJ raised an eyebrow and gave Dillon a look of despair.

  “I know it’s early, but it’s good for sea sickness, and all other ailments known to man.” Dillon said toasting his boss, and then promptly emptied his glass in one gulp. Chapman followed suit, and so did Vince. LJ gingerly swigged at his, and then proclaimed that he was feeling a little better.

  Dillon got out the binoculars, focused and checked astern. There were a number of yachts, and the cross channel car ferry on its way back to Poole on the English mainland, but no sign of the inflatable rib anywhere.

  “There’s not a sign of them.” Dillon said.

  “I find that just a little bit odd, don’t you?” LJ mused.

  “You’re worrying for no reason, Edward. After all, had it been lurking back there, Jake would have spotted it through the glasses.” Chapman told him. “Now, just so you know, I’m going to take us out about a mile, and then head back to shore just as the U-boat may have done. So let’s get this tub moving, shall we?” He pushed both throttles forward and took the power cruiser out to open water fast.

  The inflatable was there of course, but at least a mile behind, Kurt at the wheel, his eye occasionally looking down at the GPS navigation screen that showed an intermittent blip of light that was Dillon’s power cruiser. Pierre stood beside him, and Mazzarin and Zola busied themselves with their diving equipment in the stern. Pierre didn’t look good. He had two black eyes and his nose was swollen and bruised.

  “We won’t lose them, will we?”

  “Definitely not, Frenchman,” Kurt said. “Here let me show you.” He spun the wheel and raced off in the direction they’d just come from. The GPS adjusted to this change, and automatically reset the course. “See how easy it is?” Kurt said, and took the inflatable round in a wide arc, straightened and sped off towards Dillon and the others.

  “Good.” Pierre said.

  “Anyway, how are you feeling, Frenchman?”

  “Well, let’s put it this way. I’ll feel a whole lot better when we’ve sorted out Dillon and his friends, once and for all.” He said, and went back to join the others.

  Chapman brought the twenty-six foot power cruiser about in a wide arc, cut the engines and drifted in the heavy deep water.

  “What’s going on, Rob? Why are we drifting?” Dillon shouted up from below in the cabin. A moment later, he came out onto the deck.

  “No problem, Jake. We’re about a mile off shore here. I’m just taking a moment to get my bearings, that’s all.”

  After about a minute, he powered up the engines, pushed the throttles half way forward, and started to make their way back to shore. All the time Chapman kept one eye on the depth finder and sonar screens.

  Dillon went back up to the wheelhouse, they were about a quarter of a mile offshore. Chapman pulled back on the throttles, and continued at slow speed towards the dangerous looking coastline.

  “This is about as far as we can safely go,” Chapman said. “Any closer and we’ll run the risk of gouging the hull on those rocks.” He manoeuvred the boat, and engaged the automatic anchor winch. The line slid out, and down into the crystal clear water below. Chapman cut the engines, and then went below to get changed into his dive suit.

  “What’s the plan, Rob?” Dillon asked as he fastened his weight belt.

  “Well, I don’t reckon we’
re going to find anything down there, but if we search the bottom methodically, we may still get lucky and find the channel that runs up to the tunnel entrance. But be warned, there’s a thick forest of sea kelp on the seabed, and that’s going to make it far more difficult for us to spot anything out of the ordinary.”

  “What’s the depth here?”

  “It’s about fifty-five feet on average, but drops down to around eighty in places. We’ll do a sweep around the general area first, and then move in towards those rock formations and the general reef area. The visibility looks excellent, and as long as this heavy swell keeps up, we’ll be safe enough down there. Now where’s my knife?”

  “You put it in the locker on board the Wave Dancer yesterday.” Dillon said.

  “Damn, I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare one, have you?”

  “There’s one in my bag. Help yourself.” Dillon said.

  Chapman rummaged in Dillon’s kit bag and found the MP5 carbine. “Holy cow, what’s this?” He said, holding it up in both hands.

  “That’s insurance,” Dillon said as he rinsed out his mask.

  “A Heckler & Kosh, is considerably more than that.” Chapman unfolded the stock and looked at it thoughtfully.

  “I’d remind you, Rob, that Malakoff’s henchmen fired the first bullet, that night they attacked me.”

  “Are you familiar with this type of weapon, Rob?” LJ asked, taking a long pull on his cigar.

  “Only from what I’ve read, Edward. They’re favoured by the UK police and the Special Air Service, I believe. But, I’ve never fired one, and don’t have the wish to do so, either.”

  Chapman folded the stock, replaced the weapon back in the kit bag, and then finished getting his diving gear on. He stepped down onto the dive platform and sitting down at the edge, he dangled his legs in the water. After slipping on his fins he stood up again and turned.

  “I’ll see you down there,” he said to Dillon, inserted his mouthpiece and stepped off the dive platform into the water.

  Kurt watched Chapman, and then Dillon enter the water from about one thousand meters away through a pair of high powered binoculars. Mazarin and Zola were both wearing dive suits, and sitting on the starboard side.

  “What are they doing?” Pierre said.

  “They’ve dropped anchor, and Dillon and Chapman are now in the water. Only Levenson-Jones and the overweight computer geek are on deck.”

  “What do you intend to do now?” Pierre asked.

  “Now, Frenchman. We’re going to get close up and personal. I’ll move in fast, catch them by surprise; you make sure that those two are ready to go over the side on my command.”

  Kurt pushed the inflatable rib up to twenty knots and as it got under way, Mazzarin and Zola got the rest of their equipment on.

  Chapman hadn’t been exaggerating. There were jewel anemones in every shade of the rainbow on the reef, soft coral and sea fans, and fish of every description, but it was the clarity of the water that was so remarkable. It was sparkling crystal clear, and the visibility was excellent, even at fifty feet. A school of small blue fish drifted lethargically with the swell overhead as Dillon followed Chapman and a couple of reef congers that had shot out of the rocks to one side of them.

  But Chapman had been right about the forest of kelp growing on the seabed. It made looking for anything, even a twenty-five foot wide channel, big enough to take a submarine almost impossible. Dillon followed him along the reef and then back around the base of the rocks until Chapman turned and made a thumbs up sign, and then pointed in the direction of the boat. Dillon understood the gestures and started to make his way back up to the boat, and at the same time saw Mazzarin and Zola to their right and closer to the surface. He and Chapman hovered motionless; watching them, and then the archaeologist gestured forward and led the way back to the anchor line. They paused twenty feet below the surface, and looking up saw the keel of the inflatable rib moving at speed in a wide circle. Chapman started up the line with Dillon following close behind, and a moment later they surfaced at the stern.

  “How long have they been here?” Dillon asked LJ as he took off his dive jacket and draped it over a safety rail.

  “They appeared about five minutes after you went down. Came out of nowhere at a hell of a speed, didn’t even stop, just dumped those two divers over the side and has been circling ever since. Looks like it’s the big German at the wheel.”

  “We saw the divers just now.” Dillon took the rest of his gear off, and stared across at the inflatable. “Yes, that’s the German alright. Doesn’t look very happy, does he?”

  “That as maybe, but I’ll give them full marks for staying out of sight and for finding us.” LJ said, adding. “Any luck down there?”

  “No, nothing. Rob was right, but it was worth a look anyway.”

  “Jake, while you’ve been down there. I’ve had another look at the chart for this area, and I’m convinced that we’re on the right track. Maybe not right here, but definitely along this stretch of coast.” Vince said enthusiastically.

  “What do you think, Rob?” Dillon asked.

  “I agree with Vince. Mainly because this whole area, would have been out of bounds during the years of Nazi occupation. And that would have enabled them to carry out all manner of things up here completely unobserved.”

  “That’s a sound theory, old son.” LJ said.

  “So, what next?” Dillon asked Chapman.

  “What extra equipment is fitted to your boat?” Chapman asked, and pointed at the array of electronics and small monitor screens in the console.

  “That’s a depth finder, and that one is a digital plotter, for mapping the seabed.” Dillon switched on both machines and the screens instantly lit up.

  “Good, in which case we’ll run along the coast and see what the seabed has to offer us further along. It’ll be a hell of a lot quicker to search from up here initially, and then if we do spot anything, well we can then go over the edge and take a closer look.”

  “I’m in full agreement with that. Let’s get the anchor up and get under way, Vince you take charge of the equipment, and keep your eyes peeled on those screens.” Dillon said.

  Mazzarin and Zola surfaced about twenty feet away from the inflatable. Kurt spun it around and went to pick them up; they heaved themselves in just as Chapman engaged the anchor winch. The slack on the line was immediately taken up by the electric motor, and then it jammed with a sharp jerk. He immediately shut off the power to the winch, and the line slackened off again.

  “What’s the matter, Rob?” LJ asked.

  “We’re snagged on the bottom by the look of it.”

  Chapman pulled back on the throttles and the boat slowly edged backwards. The line went taught, and the inboard diesels started to rev under the resistance. He cut the power, and the twenty-six foot cruiser relaxed on the swell.

  “Jake, I reckon the only way we’re going to free that anchor, is for one of us to dive down and have a go at it, what do you think?”

  “Okay, I’m on my way.” Dillon said pulling on his jacket and tank.

  “When you’ve managed to free it, make sure you’re well clear of the bow area as the winch takes up the line.”

  “No problem.” Dillon checked the amount of air left in his tank, and satisfied that he had enough, tumbled backwards into the water.

  Kurt watched Dillon go back into the water through his binoculars, and said, “Now what are you up to, then?”

  “Ha, I’d say they were hooked up on the bottom.” Pierre said maliciously.

  “How very unfortunate for them.”

  Dillon reached the anchor, and sure enough, it was wedged tight in between two large pieces of granite. On the surface Chapman skilfully eased the boat this way and that using the minimum power, and as the line slackened off Dillon was able to pull the anchor free. The next moment the winch cut in, and snatched the anchor out of his gloved hands and dragged the heavy piece of metal along the sea floor before it start
ed up. He swam away from the boat and then started his own ascent, becoming immediately aware of the strong current that was pushing him further out to sea. Relaxing he drifted up slowly and then surfaced about thirty metres away from the power cruiser, once he’d got his bearings he inflated his jacket, and waited for Chapman to come and get him.

  LJ had been watching to see where Dillon surfaced, spotting him off the starboard bow as he bobbed up and down on the heavy swell. At the same time, Mazzarin stood up and shouted excitedly from where he’d been sitting in the stern of the inflatable, and pointed to where Dillon had surfaced. But it was Pierre who responded by taking the wheel, “Now then Englishman, it’s payback time.” He pushed the throttle fully forward, and the small craft raced through the water at high speed towards its target.

  The inflatable carved its way through the water towards Dillon, who had started to swim with his jacket still inflated in the general direction of the power cruiser.

  As it bore down on him, Dillon quickly slipped out of the buoyancy jacket, jack-knifed, and dived beneath the surface. He only just managed to avoid being hit as it raced over the surface, no more than five feet above his head. Looking up, he saw his jacket and air tank take the full force of the inflatable rigid hull before getting mashed by the propeller. A moment later he surfaced, and saw Chapman no more than fifteen metres away. LJ was already leaning over the side with a long gaff pole in his hands, ready to pull Dillon on board at the first opportunity.

  Chapman spun the wheel hard over to port, bringing the cruiser around in a wake of foaming water before it came to rest on the swell. The inflatable swerved in again, and then went around in a wide arc before heading straight for Dillon again. Pierre, eyes glazed, was throwing the small craft around like a toy; he gripped the wheel proprietarily, laughing like a hyena which could be heard clearly across the water.