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

by Andrew Towning

  “Yes I agree, Oliver, they could be dead. But, then again they may just be alive. And, if that is the case, and Dillon puts two and two together. Then we will have a problem.”

  “Sorry, I should have thought of it before. I mean, they would have all been there when my father was in residence on the island. And more importantly when Himmler used to visit him, you see my point?”

  “I see your point, Oliver. And so you should be sorry, because this revelation of yours is most disturbing, to say the least. But never mind, I’ll attend to this matter in due course.” Malakoff broke the connection and turned to Kurt. “I’ve got a special job for you, but there’s no immediate rush. I’m going to have a nap. Come and wake me when we’ve docked.”

  On the rear terrace of the Fisherman’s Lodge Dillon was sitting on a lounger with a cup of strong Columbian ground coffee, smoking a cigarette. He was taking in the view of the bay. While also taking the rare opportunity of grabbing a quite moment to collect his thoughts about what had taken place so far, since he had arrived on the island, and when LJ had appeared through the French doors.

  “I’ve been thinking,” LJ said. “We ought to drive down to St. Helier this evening for dinner. Why don’t we book a table at this Pomme D’Or Hotel? Which by the way, all the travel guides rave about as the best place on the island for sea food. Might even be rather entertaining to have dinner there.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me,” Dillon said.

  “We’ll take Vince with us to drive, and we may even be able to cajole Chapman to join us.” LJ said as he walked off inside, reappearing a moment later.

  “Before you ring Chapman, I’ll give the hotel a call and make sure they have a table.”

  Within seconds LJ was speaking to the hotel dining room manager, Francois Cocteau. “Monsieur Cocteau? Edward Levenson-Jones here. My friends and I are down from London, and were wondering whether you have a table for four available this evening?”

  “I’m very sorry, Monsieur. I’m afraid we’re fully booked this evening. Although, I can offer you tomorrow or the next day?”

  “Oh, what a shame. Mr Malakoff will be disappointed.”

  LJ could hear a quite intake of breath at the other end of the phone. “You are friends of Monsieur Malakoff?”

  “Certainly, and if you’ve got his telephone number why don’t you go ahead and check with him.”

  “Just one moment, Monsieur Levenson-Jones.” The manager immediately phoned the Solitaire, and asked to speak to Malakoff.

  “I’m very sorry to disturb you, Monsieur. But, does the name Levenson-Jones mean anything to you. I only ask, because he’s trying to book a table in the restaurant for this evening, and informs me that you know him.”

  Malakoff laughed out loud. “What a priceless gem he is. Yes I know Mr Levenson-Jones, Francois. Please ensure that he is dining this evening, will you?”

  “Of course, Monsieur Malakoff. We look forward to seeing you this evening, goodbye.” The dining room manager hung up and immediately said, “Monsieur Levenson-Jones. We look forward to you and your friends dining with us this evening. At what time shall we expect you?”

  “Shall we say, seven-thirty to eight?”

  “That is fine.”

  LJ handed the mobile phone back to Dillon. “Call Chapman, and see if he’s available this evening. If he is, tell him that we’ll pick him up at his place around seven, and to make sure he’s wearing a suit with a proper shirt and a tie. All in all, this should be an enjoyable evening, and I think we’ll start it with Champagne in the hotel bar before we eat.” He said, and went back inside.

  “And what if Chapman doesn’t want to come?” Dillon called.

  “He will, once you’ve used your infinite charm on him, old son.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It was just after eight o’clock in the evening, when Annabelle Cunningham arrived back at the luxury apartment that Ferran & Cardini owned on the banks of the river Thames.

  She’d been at her Father’s bedside for most of the day, reading to him from the daily papers. She felt tired and drained from the days of vigil. But, as the doctors kept saying, Nathan was heading in the right direction, and the sound of his daughter’s voice was the best medicine in the world to aide his recovery.

  In need of a drink she went into the kitchen, and from the fridge pulled out the bottle of white wine that she’d opened the night before. Pouring herself a good measure, she went through into the living room, kicked off her shoes and flaked out on one of the long comfortable sofas.

  Her thoughts strayed back to Jersey. She picked up the phone, and dialled Annabelle’s Café in Bonne Nuit. It was Kate Jackson who answered.

  “Kate? It’s Annabelle.” “Annabelle, it’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?”

  “I’m good, how are things down there?”

  “Busy. But we’re coping just fine. How’s Nathan?”

  “He’s making good progress, but it’s a slow process Kate. Very slow.”

  “Well, I’m sure that he’s going to pull through. He’s a tough one, your dad.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s what the doctors keep saying.” Tears started to roll down her cheeks. “Anyway, how’s Jake Dillon? Have you seen much of him since he arrived?”

  “He’s been in a couple of times to eat. Oh, and he’s been out diving with Rob Chapman.” Kate said, and was about to elaborate about the fight that had taken place. But, decided that it was something that would keep until Annabelle returned to the island.

  “Kate, I’m flying back home tomorrow for a day or two, and I’d like you to give Jake Dillon a message.”

  “Really, that’s great, Annabelle. What’s the message?”

  “Tell him I’m coming back on the five fifty-five flight, and that I’m sure I know where it is.”

  “Where what is, Annabelle? Sounds a bit cryptic?”

  “He’ll know what I’m talking about. Just make sure he gets the message, Kate.”

  “It’s as good as done. See you tomorrow.”

  Annabelle put down the phone, and rested her head against the soft leather of the sofa. She felt excited, and yet at the same time guilty, about leaving her father, even though it was only for a day or two.

  * * * Vince, LJ and Dillon pulled up in the Range Rover at Rob Chapman’s place at seven o’clock. Dillon got out and walked across the gravel driveway to the front portico. As he was about to tug on the bell pull, the door opened and Chapman appeared, wearing a pair of chinos, navy blue blazer and an open neck shirt that had all seen better days. Dillon on the other hand, looked extremely impressive wearing an immaculate navy blue Hugo Boss suit, a crisp white shirt buttoned at the neck and a silk tie.

  As Chapman got into the Range Rover, he looked around at the others. LJ in blazer, charcoal grey trousers and old school tie. Vince, who was driving, wore a light grey suit, shirt and a tie that was loosely knotted at the neck.

  “Well, don’t we all look smart this evening? Thank the heavens above, that I didn’t wear shorts.”

  “Well, we are going to the most famous hotel in Jersey, are we not? So, I think that in the circumstances one should make an effort.” LJ said.

  “You’re quite right Edward. The Pomme is a hotel that’s not only famous, but also has a very colourful past. And the food, I’m told, is excellent as well.” Chapman commented.

  Vince parked the 4x4 in the nearest car park, and they all walked along to the hotel. When they entered the Pomme D’Or the front bar was already half full with the early evening trade. LJ went to the reception desk, and asked the concierge to point him in the direction of the restaurant. The dapper man in his late fifties, snapped his fingers and a uniformed porter was immediately to hand. He instructed him to escort the four men up to the first floor restaurant and bar area.

  LJ went to the bar and ordered a bottle of the hotel’s finest Champagne, with two more to be put on ice for later. As Dillon and the others were sitting down, his mobile phone started
to buzz silently in his jacket pocket. He excused himself, going out into the hallway to take the call. It was Kate Jackson calling from Annabelle’s place.

  “Jake? It’s Kate Jackson.”

  “Hi Kate, how’s things?”

  “Oh, fine thanks. Jake, Sorry to trouble you, but I’ve got a message from Annabelle. She said to tell you that she is flying home for a day or two, and that she’ll be on the five fifty-five flight tomorrow. And that if it’s not to much trouble, could you pick her up at the airport.”

  “Has something happened to Nathan?”

  “Nathan? Oh God, no. Nathan’s doing just fine, Jake. Annabelle was saying that, although he’s still in the coma, the doctors are now confident that once he’s regained consciousness, he’ll make a full recovery. Reading between the lines, I’d say that Annabelle simply wants a break from the hospital for a while. After all, London is only an hour away, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re right, Kate. And, of course I’ll pick Annabelle up from the airport.”

  Dillon was about to break the connection when Kate Jackson added, “Oh, there was one other thing.”

  “And what was that, Kate?”

  “Annabelle said to tell you, that she’s confident that she knows where it is. All very cryptic I’d say. But she said that you’d know what she meant.”

  “Well that’s very interesting, Kate. But, I haven’t got a clue what she’s talking about, although I’m sure she’ll enlighten me when she gets here tomorrow.”

  After breaking the connection, Dillon went back to join the others. While he’d been on the phone, they had emptied the first bottle of Champagne, with another already on the table.

  “Anyone interesting, old son?” LJ asked Dillon.

  “Kate Jackson.”

  “And?”

  “Oh, only that Annabelle is flying back down tomorrow for a couple of days, and has asked if I could pick her up from the airport.”

  “Nathan’s okay?” LJ asked, concern in his voice.

  “He’s not conscious yet. But the doctors are now sure that he’ll make good, once he comes round.”

  “Well, I think that deserves a toast.” LJ stood up, and raised his glass. “To Nathan and his full recovery.”

  “Hear, hear.” Dillon said, raising his glass along with the others, and then added. “There was just one other thing, though.”

  “What’s that, old son?”

  “Annabelle gave Kate Jackson a message to pass on to me. That she knows where it is.”

  “Good God.” LJ blurted out, just as he was about to drink some of his Champagne.

  “What, the actual location?” Vince asked.

  “That’s what she said, yes.”

  LJ raised his glass again, and made another toast. “To tomorrow then.” He emptied his glass. “Time for dinner, gentlemen,” and he stood up and led the way into the dining room.

  * * * The French barman who had served them when they’d arrived. Had, from that minute, been listening to their every word. And as they walked passed him standing at the bar drying glasses, he bid them a pleasant evening, and then immediately left through the rear door.

  He took the lift up to the top floor, and then went out on to the roof. Outside, the sky was unblemished and the sun just disappearing over the rooftops. Sitting down, he got out his mobile phone, and dialled the number that had been given to him earlier that day.

  On the bridge of the Solitaire Captain Armand was talking to Pierre, when the phone at his side started to ring. Malakoff was in his cabin getting ready for the evening when Armand knocked on the door and hurried in.

  “What is it Armand? Can’t you see that I’m getting ready for dinner?” Malakoff demanded irritably.

  “Forgive me, Monsieur. But, I’ve just received a telephone call from my informant at the Pomme D’Or. He’s just overheard Dillon and the others talking about the Cunningham girl. Apparently, Dillon has received a call informing him that she will be back in Jersey tomorrow evening.”

  “Intriguing,” Malakoff said. “Go on.”

  “There is something else, Monsieur; apparently she knows where it is.”

  Malakoff momentarily stopped knotting his tie, before saying. “Call your informant, Armand. Check every detail of what was said, and tell him that he has done a good job and that he will be rewarded well. And, that he is to continue to keep his eyes and ears open.”

  “Certainly, Monsieur.”

  “You see, Armand. I’ve always known that the Cunningham girl holds the key to the whereabouts of that U-boat. It is fate that brings her back to the island.” He said, and carried on knotting his silk tie.

  * * * Guy Roberts hurriedly crossed the tarmac at city heliport to the waiting Bell Jet ranger helicopter. As he stepped up into the cabin he placed the small black bag containing his laptop computer behind the front seat.

  “Hi Phil, thanks for this. I really do appreciate you dropping everything at a moment’s notice.” He said, as he strapped himself into the seat.

  “It’s no problem, Guy. I wasn’t doing anything, and anyway, it keeps my night-time flying hours up.”

  Phil Allerton finished his pre-flight checks, and then spoke briefly into his microphone. After a moment, the control tower gave him clearance for take off. The rotors were already turning, he pulled up on the stick, the engine pitch grew louder and the Jet ranger lifted gently into the air. They rose quickly above the tall buildings, and once clear, he dropped the nose forward, and headed out of the city in a southerly direction. Guy Roberts called Dillon on his mobile to tell him that he was flying down, and to find out where they were going to be. After breaking the connection, he gazed out of the window, looking across the rooftops of London in the fading light, and commented. “What a beautiful evening.”

  “It’s a full moon tonight, so we’ll have a crisp, clear sky with us all the way down to Jersey.”

  “How long will it take us to get there?” Guy asked.

  “The flight shouldn’t take more than an hour or so. Especially as we’ve got a bit of a tail wind behind us.”

  They met the coast at Southampton, and continued west towards Poole in Dorset. From here they flew over Old Harry rocks and then out over the English Channel and on down to Jersey. It was a perfect flight, and just over seventy-five minutes after leaving London Phil Allerton was passing over the green fields of the largest of all the Channel Islands.

  “I’m led to believe that this is a rich man’s paradise,” Guy Roberts said.

  “Well it certainly has its fair share of them, Guy. That’s for sure.”

  Phil put the Jet ranger down on the apron at Jersey Airport, and switched off. Guy Roberts stepped down from the cabin, and picked up the black bag with his laptop in.

  “I’ll be about two hours, Phil. We’ll be okay to take off the minute I return?”

  “Sure thing. I’ve already filed our flight plan back to London. So you take as much time as you need, after all we are talking about LJ. We could be here all night.” He said, laughing.

  Outside the terminal building, Guy Roberts got into a taxi and instructed the driver to take him directly to the Pomme D’Or Hotel. On the way he phoned Dillon again, and told him that he’d arrived with some interesting new information, and would be there in five minutes. He also asked if he could arrange for them to meet somewhere private.

  Dillon came off the phone, told the others that Roberts was on his way, and then went and saw the concierge, who after a little negotiation and fifty pounds in cash. Agreed to let him have the use of one of the conference rooms for an hour.

  Guy Roberts breezed through the main entrance of the Pomme D’Or to be greeted by the capricious Dillon, complete with attitude. “So what’s so important that you had to come all this way personally?” Dillon asked.

  “You’ll see, Jake. Have you managed to get us somewhere to talk?”

  “We’ve got one of the small conference rooms for an hour, courtesy of that man over there.” Dill
on looked in the direction of the concierge.

  “That’s great, are the others here?”

  “They’ve gone up to the room. Come on, I’ll lead the way,” and Dillon walked off.

  “This had better be good, Roberts.” LJ said soberly, and then added. “Because, if you’ve dragged me away from the exquisite lobster, that I was about to tuck into. You’ll be returning to MI5 sooner than you’d expected.”

  Guy Roberts pulled out his computer, placed it at one end of the large conference table, and switched it on. A moment later the screen came to life. He then typed in a command that threw up an image of a large country house.

  “Gentlemen, I’ll cut to the chase. This property is located here on the island. It was built for the Birkett family in 1871.”

  “Birkett, you say?” LJ repeated.

  “Yes, that’s right. The Birkett family. Mr and Mrs Birkett had a daughter, Emily.”

  “Where is this going, Roberts?” Dillon asked irritably.

  “If you give me a moment, Jake. I’ll tell you, and you’ll then see why this is so important.”

  “Okay, off you go.” Dillon said, rocking on his chair.

  “Thank you. Now, when Emily got married to a Mr Westcott. Mr Birkett gave the newlyweds the house as a wedding gift. A year later, Emily gave birth to a daughter called Amelia Westcott.” Guy Roberts paused a moment while he referred to his notes.

  “So, let me see if I’ve got this. Miss Birkett became Mrs Westcott who had a daughter called Amelia Westcott.” Dillon said sarcastically.

  “Quite so. Only Amelia Westcott then became Lady Amelia Asquith.”

  You could have heard a pin drop in the room, as Roberts left this revelation hanging in the air.

  “Are you quite sure about this, Roberts?” LJ asked.

  “Absolutely, and without any doubt whatsoever, sir.” He replied, adding, “Oliver Asquith junior would have been five years old.”