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

by Andrew Towning

  Vince came out of the main cabin carrying the MP5 carbine, was struggling to release the stock when Chapman came down the ladder from the wheelhouse, and took the weapon off of him.

  “Here let me have that. You go and get the extra clips.”

  He released the safety catch, and fired at the inflatable. Kurt was trying to get Pierre away from the wheel, Mazzarin and Zola had hit the deck. Chapman fired carefully, not wishing to kill anyone, and this time hit the inflated bow section, which immediately started to deflate.

  Dillon had manoeuvred himself around the power cruiser to the seaward side and was treading water. He could just make out Kurt in the inflatable as he brought a clenched fist down hard across Pierre’s shoulders, knocking the Frenchman down onto the deck. The big German took control of the rapidly deflating craft, turned in a wide circle and raced off at full speed.

  LJ looked anxiously through his binoculars, surveying the area for Dillon. “Can anyone see him?”

  Dillon shouted and waved his arms a little distance away. It was Chapman who spotted him first, put down the MP5, and went back up to the wheel, and took the boat towards him. Dillon swam in at the stern, and Vince and LJ quickly got down on to the dive platform to haul him on board.

  “Hell, what was all that about?” Dillon said, as he unzipped and shrugged off his dive suit.

  “It was that French troglodyte, Pierre. He’s obviously taken quite a dislike to you, old son.” LJ told him.

  Vince passed Dillon a towel, and as he was drying himself off saw the MP5 down on the deck. “Couldn’t resist a little fun, eh?” Dillon said amiably, looking up at Chapman.

  “Never could stand bully-boys,” Chapman said. “Do you want to carry on, or shall we call it a day?”

  “Let’s carry on. After all we have a hell of a lot of coast to cover yet.”

  “I don’t think our friends will be bothering us again today.” LJ said, peering through his binoculars.

  “That’s a fact, not with a flaming great rip in that inflatable. I wouldn’t be surprised if they hadn’t sunk by now.” Chapman said laughing.

  “What’s the weather forecast like for the rest of the day?” Dillon asked Vince.

  “Shipping forecast indicates that there’s a storm rolling in from the west, and that a force six or seven will be blowing by late afternoon.”

  “Damn. Well in that case, we’d better make the most of what fine weather we’ve got left.” Dillon said.

  Chapman, settled into his seat, powered up the inboard diesel, and headed back towards the shore.

  * * * The inflatable slowed as it reached the headland at Les Mourier, not more than half a mile away, Kurt raised the binoculars to his eyes and watched the power cruiser making its way slowly along the coast in a northerly direction away from them. He looked down at the GPS screen and checked that the homing bug was still working.

  “They’re moving north along the coast.” “What are they doing?” Pierre asked.

  Kurt got out his mobile phone, and called Captain

  Armand aboard the Solitaire. He spoke briefly to him, and then waited while Armand checked the database for all dive sites along the northern coast of Jersey. Kurt broke the connection and stood silent for a moment.

  “I think that they’re just coasting.” Pierre said. “My thoughts exactly, Frenchman. In which case, we’ll let Herr Dillon get on with whatever it is he’s doing, while we do some running repairs to that deflated bow section. We can always pay them a surprise visit later.” Kurt said, with a malicious smirk.

  “But, what if they find the location of the tunnel?”

  “I doubt if they will. Armand informs me that all of the charted dive sites on this side of the island are visited on a regular basis. If that tunnel entrance was that obvious, it would have been found long before now.”

  “I think Monsieur Malakoff is right. Chapman doesn’t know anything. He’s simply taking them along the coast, because he has nothing better to do.” Pierre said.

  “Of course he’s right, Frenchman. Herr Malakoff is a wise man; he has the gift to look inside people’s minds. Be warned, if you doubt this, he will know and you will find yourself out of favour. He has always thought that Chapman is a nobody and that the Cunningham girl holds the key to this mystery.”

  “I’d like to teach those sons of bitches a lesson they’d never forget.”

  “You like being shot at, do you Frenchman? That was an MP5 carbine Chapman was firing, I’ve heard and seen them being used by the SAS. Believe me; he could have killed all of us with one burst if he’d known how to use it properly. Now, let’s get on and repair this boat, and I don’t want to hear any more of your foolhardy talk again. Do you understand?”

  Pierre shrugged nonchalantly. “Well he didn’t, and we’ll be ready for them next time.”

  * * * The power cruiser was at anchor, lifting in a heavy swell, in a place not far from the Devil’s Hole called Les Reuses. LJ was sitting in the main cabin watching as Dillon and Chapman got into their dive suits. Chapman opened up his kit bag and took out a spear gun.

  “Going fishing?” LJ asked. “No, this is just for insurance, Edward. You never know, we may have another visit from our friends again.”

  “Well, Vince and I will keep our eyes peeled while you’re down. And Jake, have you reloaded that carbine?”

  “Yes, I’ve also shown Vince how to open the stock, and change the clips should the need arise.”

  “Good, we’ll see you in half an hour then.” LJ said as he went up to the wheelhouse.

  Chapman went in first, stepping off the dive platform, swam to the line and went down quickly, the spear gun in one hand. He turned as he neared the bottom and saw Dillon following about ten feet above him. He pointed to his left, and then moved off in that direction, pausing as he approached an outcrop of rocks on the edge of a ridge.

  The water was crystal clear and Dillon could see a long way ahead, the rocks rising all the way up to the surface. Chapman beckoned again, and they continued over the ridge and down the twenty or thirty feet on the other side. An undulate ray lethargically passed by in the distance and suddenly a reef conger shot out of the rocks and then disappeared as quickly when it saw the two divers. Chapman turned, made a gesture for Dillon to follow and started to make his way to the other side, skimming over the thick carpet of kelp growing on the bottom.

  LJ and Vince had swapped the open wheelhouse for the comfort of the main cabin as the wind got up and the swell increased. Chapman had brought sandwiches and a thermos flask of coffee, and LJ poured them both a mug full of the hot black liquid. He stood looking out at the rolling sea, and in the distance a large sailing yacht could be seen, as it tacked its main sail billowing in the wind.

  The inflatable kept close to the yacht, hidden on the port side. And as the forty-six foot sailing boat started to tack round the inflatable raced out from its cover, and made a straight line for the power cruiser.

  LJ swore to himself, as he watched the inflatable break cover, and had immediately put down the mug of coffee. He shouted for Vince to get the MP5 from the kit bag and then went up to the wheelhouse to power up the engine and wind in the anchor. From his vantage point he could now see clearly that it was Kurt in control, with Pierre by his side.

  The German pushed the inflatable up to full speed as it hurtled toward them and, as it passed by, he lobbed the grenade that he’d been holding in his hand over the side. At the same time the Frenchman opened fire with a machine pistol. LJ ducked down out of sight, and within seconds, Pierre had emptied the clip at the power cruiser. By the time Vince had the MP5 out they were long gone, the sound of the engine rapidly disappearing back in the direction they’d come from.

  LJ said, “Well I’m damned. They’ve just emptied an entire clip of ammunition at us, and yet there’s not one single bullet hole to be found anywhere. How extraordinary!”

  And then the grenade detonated, the explosion, even though it was deep underwater, was loud and sent a
high plume of water up into the air just off the port side.

  “Fucking hell, what was that?” Vince said, dropping to the deck.

  “A hand grenade, if I’m not mistaken, Vince.” LJ said, from where he was crouching.

  Vince stood up again, and watched the inflatable move away in the distance, and scratching his head, said. “Why have those nasty bastards just tried to kill Dillon and Chapman with a grenade in the pond? But, shot at us with blank ammo? It doesn’t make any sense, boss.”

  “They’re not using live ammo, because Malakoff doesn’t want us dead. Well not yet anyway. He’s most likely told them to keep an eye on where we’re diving, and not to have any contact with us. It’ll be that first mate initiating these opportunistic attacks for a bit of sport, almost certainly.”

  “You mean that the Frenchman is trying to get even with Jake for breaking his nose?” Vince said.

  “Quite so, old son. But, we must always remember that Malakoff is merely toying with us, just as a cat would play with a mouse before killing it. I’m afraid that he’s very much underestimated his quarry on this occasion.” LJ walked off into the main cabin, poured himself a large tumbler full of whisky and emptied half of it in one gulp.

  Dillon glanced up, and became instantly aware of something happening on the surface. He saw the keel of the inflatable moving fast towards the power cruiser, it circled the twenty-six foot craft once, slowed on the port side, and then raced off again towards the shore. He didn’t see the small object enter the water and start to drift down towards them.

  But Chapman did see it, and knew exactly what it was. He tugged urgently at Dillon’s arm, pointed up at the falling object, and then gestured for him to get behind a large rock formation twenty feet away. The archaeologist moved like lightning, and it was as much as Dillon could do to keep up with him. As they reached the safety of the rocks, the grenade detonated near to the bottom.

  Dillon felt the shock waves wash over him, and instantly felt the piercing pain in his eardrums. He glanced up, aware of movement overhead, and saw to his horror that the rocks directly above, were about to come down on top of them.

  The two divers only just managed to get clear as the rocks started to tumble down on to the spot where they’d just been taking cover from the grenade blast. Chapman turned to Dillon, pointed at the anchor line, and motioned for him to follow and led the way. Dillon followed, keeping low to the kelp, and only rising as they reached the anchor.

  Dillon surfaced at the dive platform beside Chapman and hauled himself on board. He pulled off his mask, and then the heavy buoyancy jacket complete with air tank.

  “How’re the ears?” Chapman asked.

  “Painful, but I’ll survive.” Dillon replied.

  “I suppose that was our friends again?” Chapman asked, looking up at LJ.

  “You suppose right, old son. The crafty bastards used the cover of a large yacht under full sail to get almost on top of us. And as it started to tack round, they shot out from behind it and came straight for us at full speed. By the time I’d realised what was about to happen, and Vince had got the MP5 out, they were already shooting at us. He didn’t even get the opportunity to fire a single round.”

  “What type of weapon were they using?” Dillon asked LJ.

  “Well, that’s the strangest thing. It was a machine pistol, and they emptied an entire clip at us, but there’s absolutely no damage whatsoever to the boat. Not even a scratch. And after they’d circled us once, they were gone in a blink. They were obviously using blanks, and I’d say that the gun fire was merely done to frighten and distract us from seeing that grenade go into the water. All very childish, if you ask me.”

  Chapman dried himself and put on a polo shirt and a pair of shorts. “Well I’d like to know how they knew we were in this cove. After all, we’re completely shrouded from the main stretch of coastline by those two outcrops.”

  He went up to the wheelhouse, and engaged the automatic anchor winch, a moment later the power cruiser was drifting on the heavy swell. Chapman engaged the forward gear and headed back out to sea.

  Dillon went to the forward stowage locker to retrieve the Glock. As he put his hand into the pocket to pull it out, his fingers brushed against one of the metal strengthening brackets. Dillon paused, ran his fingers over the metal, and on finding the small fifty pence shaped bug, pulled it away from its hiding place. LJ came into the main cabin and saw what Dillon was holding in the palm of his hand.

  “Well, we both know what that is. Don’t we?” LJ said, “So they’re playing with gadgets are they?”

  Vince joined them, and had a close look at the tracking bug. “Very nice. Digital of course and very expensive.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re right, Vince. But what sort of range has it got?” LJ asked impatiently.

  “About five miles, boss.”

  Dillon took the bug up to the wheelhouse and held it out for Chapman to see. “Attached to a metal bracket in one of the stowage lockers. We’ve been bugged, so it was no wonder that they knew where we were. They’ve probably done the same to the Wave Dancer, just in case we used that.”

  “But she went off in the opposite direction and out into deep water.”

  “Exactly, they knew that both boats had gone. Took an educated guess and followed us.”

  Chapman shook his head in disbelief. “I think it’s about time that these thugs had a taste of their own medicine, don’t you?” He said, pushing the throttles forward.

  * * * On the way back to Bonne Nuit the sun disappeared completely behind the dark heavy rolling clouds, and the wind had picked up to a force six. The inflatable, which was well ahead of them, came alongside the Solitaire and Kurt went up the ladder and found Malakoff in the aft day cabin taking afternoon tea.

  “You look extremely pleased with yourself,” he said, looking at the big German bodyguard. “Can I assume that you’ve been inflicting harm on Mr Dillon and his friends?”

  “We have been diligent in our efforts, Mien Herr.” Kurt related the morning’s events.

  When he’d finished, Malakoff remained silent for a moment, before saying, “As annoying as it might sound, I’m sure that Mr Dillon is in perfect health. Unfortunately, it will take much more than a solitary hand grenade exploding underwater to harm him. As for this Chapman fellow, well, he knows his business far too well.” He sighed, and then stood up. “We’re wasting our time here, I think that Chapman has been giving us the run around today, and it’s now starting to bore me. There’s nothing to be gained by staying here, especially with this storm blowing up.” He walked to the window and looked out across Gifford Bay towards Rob Chapman’s place.

  “Have Captain Armand take us down to the marina at St. Helier, and ask him to report to me when we’re under way.”

  “Will you be dining on board this evening, Mien Herr?”

  “No, have Armand call Francois Cocteau at the Pomme D’Or Hotel. I’ll be dining there this evening.”

  The German left, and Malakoff went back to his chair and poured himself another cup of tea.

  * * * With the near gale force wind, came high rolling waves streaked with caps of white foam. The rain that had started as a fine drizzle, was now much heavier and persistent. In the wheelhouse, Chapman had reduced their speed and was concentrating on keeping the power cruiser on a safe course back to harbour.

  “This won’t last long,” he said to Dillon, who was stood next to him.

  “Are you going to attempt getting back into harbour?”

  “No way. It’s far too dangerous with waves this size, and anyway, these summer storms usually blow themselves out in a couple of hours or so. We’ll sit it out until the worst has blown over, and then go in.”

  “I agree it’d be suicide.” Dillon said.

  LJ came up the ladder with a bottle of whisky and three glasses in his hands. “I thought you might like a little something to warm you up.” He said passing the glasses around, and then poured a generous measure in
to each of them.

  “I don’t normally drink during a trip, but as we’ve got a bit of time to kill, I’ll accept this gratefully once again.” Chapman grinned.

  “God, that’s good. There are times when a good single malt whisky is the only thing.” Dillon said.

  After an hour of drifting on the swell, the storm had all but blown itself out, just as Chapman had said it would.

  “Sky’s clearing now. We’d better head back.” Chapman said, as he took the engines from an idle to full ahead, and set a course back towards Bonne Nuit bay and the harbour.

  Five minutes later, Chapman spotted the Solitaire steaming towards them.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” Dillon said. “If it’s not our dear old friend Malakoff. I wonder where he’s going?”

  “St. Helier and the Pomme D’Or hotel, if I’m not mistaken.” Chapman commented.

  LJ climbed the ladder to the wheelhouse to join the others. Chapman took them in close to the luxury craft, and as they passed by, Dillon leaned over the rail, and waved at Malakoff and Kurt who were standing on the stern deck. LJ raised his glass to them, and Malakoff responded by lifting his own, and said to Kurt, “What did I tell you? That hand grenade stunt was a complete waste of time, you fool. It will take more than that to harm Mr Dillon.”

  At that moment Pierre came through from the main day cabin with a portable phone in his hand.

  “What is it, Pierre?”

  “A call for you Monsieur. Lord Asquith.” “Oliver,” Malakoff said. “How are you?”

  “I was wondering whether there had been any developments, Hugo?”

  “No, unfortunately not Oliver. But, I can assure you that everything is under control.”

  “Only, something has just occurred to me. I’m most likely worrying about nothing, of course, but...”

  “What is this thing you’re fretting about Oliver?”

  “Remember the house my father owned on the island.”

  “What about it?”

  “I can’t imagine it would be a problem now. But it was something my man Jenkins, said this morning. You see, there used to be a local Jersey couple who looked after the place during the war years. They had a son, who he reckons would be around seventy, give or take a few years. I mean, they may even all be dead by now of course.”