Constantine Legacy (Jake Dillon Adventure Series)

by Andrew Towning

  Rumple saw to the forward and aft lines. I gently eased the Phantom out into the harbour, both of her powerful inboard diesel engines gurgling, waiting to be unleashed. The water foamed at the stern and we headed out into the English Channel as the twin screws bit the sea. Once we were in open water I gave Rumple the helm and went down to the cabin. The jamming device that had been fitted was hidden from view in a locker, but the red activate light glowed faintly in the dark. I switched on the sonar and radar and went back up to Rumple. “I’ve activated both the sonar and radar, so keep an eye on them both especially as we approach the dive site. I’ll be below with the others, so if you need me, just holler.”

  Rumple nodded his OK. “The radar also has a viewing monitor below, sir.”

  “You’ll find it in a concealed dropdown compartment over the dining area.”

  “Thank you, Rumple.” I then called Charlie and Miss Price to join me below for a final briefing. Afterwards, I took Rumple up a hot chocolate, for which he was extremely grateful.

  We were heading steadily westward, keeping close to the shore, the green black sea rolled gently beneath us, only to meet with a violent foaming end as it hissed and crashed onto the white rocks. Rumple pointed out how each individual rock or formation that we were passing has its dangers and its name. We saw Old Harry Rocks, Dancing Ledge, but I knew the most dangerous rocks were the ones that are completely covered at high water.

  Those enormous flat slabs of stone around Dancing Ledge were where many a small vessel had been smashed to smithereens.

  I watched the two screens intently for a few minutes. Charlie was on the aft deck smoking one of the cheroots he favoured. Miss Price was also there, but she was huddled in the corner under layers of clothing and a large waterproof jacket. Rumple had turned the sleek craft ninety degrees away from the shoreline; we were now heading straight out to sea towards the Gin Fizz.

  We started to pull on our wet suits and arrange the equipment to hand.

  Rumple called down as he swung the boat round in a large arc. “We’ve missed it, I’m afraid. I’m going round and across again. I could have put a marker buoy down yesterday but…”

  “No, you did right Rumple,” I told him. “Let’s keep it discreet.”

  Charlie was keeping an eye on both screens yelling out as we passed over the wreck. Rumple killed the engines and then immediately reversed the thrust, bringing the forty-six foot craft to a stop. With the engines idling, the automatic anchor winch cut in splashing overboard and Rumple let it go until the multi prongs snagged on the bottom.

  Miss Price adjusted her air-bottles. Under the wetsuit, her profile showed a slender, fit body tone. I tapped her arm.

  “I don’t want you down there until we’ve retrieved what it is we’ve come here for, do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly clear Mr Dillon, I’ll stay on deck with Mr Rumple. But please remember my own orders are perfectly clear too. That logbook must return to London with me, or questions will be asked.”

  I turned to Charlie, who was listening, “Check the anchor line first thing when you descend. Mr Rumple - Miss Price is under your personal supervision, she goes down only when and if you say.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  “Oh, and Rumple any sign of trouble break out the little toy in the forward rack and alert us immediately on the comm. please.”

  “Very well sir, understood. Good luck down there.”

  Charlie eased his feet into the large fins, pulled his facemask into place and carefully put one leg over the side of the dive platform. In spite of the sunshine during the day, the English Channel is always cold, whatever the time of year. Charlie grimaced behind his mask, then he gently dropped overboard, waters surging over his shoulders, and he was instantly gone in the darkness of the water.

  Rumple hit a switch and the entire bottom of the boat lit up. For an instant, I could make out Charlie’s blue wetsuit as he swam towards the anchor chain and then down into the darkness. His lean silhouette shattered into a dozen blue moving patches as he sank, and a gush of white bubbles ripped to the surface. In parts of the Caribbean one can see well over one hundred feet but we were armed with just a few feet of visibility at most.

  Charlie had quickly gone.

  The sea was making background music; our boat was handed from wave to wave like a hospital patient between specialists. At its highest peak I could just see the lights of the cross channel ferry making its way over the horizon towards Poole. Miss Price tried to light a cigarette, but the gusting wind and movement foiled her each time until she flicked the long white shape away.

  The weather was coming in fast from the West. Rumple came down towards me and by the look on his face it was not good news.

  “The weather’s closing in, the Met Office is warning of a force eight blowing up, and by this swell I would say we only have limited time here.”

  From the corner of my eye I caught Miss Price waving her arms at us frantically and shouting something, but her words were carried away on the wind. She pointed at the anchor chain which was juggling up and down, dark blue patterns danced in the powerful lights under the boat and then glued themselves into one shape as Charlie’s blue rubber head broke the surface.

  He swam round to the stern and grabbed hold of the dive platform rail. He unstrapped the big torch from his wrist and passed it into the boat. He removed his dark blue fins under water and threw those into the boat. They landed with a wet thud. Then he grasped the rail with both of his gloved hands. With one great heave he came unstuck from the wave-tops and toppled onto the dive platform. Rumple had the Thermos flask of hot sloe gin ready, and Charlie emptied the metal container in one gulp and held it out for a refill. Blood was trickling down the outside of the wetsuit from a deep cut on his right hand. Rumple produced antiseptic from the boat’s first aid box and dabbed at it with cotton wool. Charlie stamped around the deck with pain as the antiseptic hit his bloodstream and the dark coloured liquid ran off his fingers.

  After that we all went into the cabin, and Charlie went off to get out of his wetsuit. He took a hot shower and changed into a pair of casual cargo pants, an old rugby shirt and dark blue fleece before returning to where we all sat listening to the Met report on the radio. He turned to me and said, “It’s pretty bad down there, the bottom is just a maelstrom, visibility is zero.”

  He said there was no point in Miss Price or I diving tonight, and lit a cheroot.

  Rumple went up to the helm and spun the engines and wound in the anchor.

  Disappointment showed on all our faces. We were going to have to return and try again the next day. Weather permitting.

  * * *

  Wednesday: 9.30am After breakfast Charlie set up the laptop computer for his presentation, connecting this to the large cinema screen that came with the house. A secure line video link was also established to LJ’s office in London to enable him to get a live OPs report showing the position and angle at which the Gin Fizz was lying.

  “A factor we were not aware of is that the wreck is perched on the edge of a rock sided trench. There is what I judge to be a six-knot current pressing the hull into a vertical formation…”

  Charlie was always on firmer ground when dealing with reports like this. He made arrow marks across the screen.

  “The Gin Fizz is approximately forty foot in length, and she has a broad beam, which makes her a good-sized boat. But all this…” On his side view of the craft Charlie now drew a line along the middle of the virtual image and indicated the area forward of the main cabin area and below his line, “…is filled with what looks like small packages, possibly explosives. They’re floating all over the place inside this main area. To go inside the boat in that storm would, I felt, have been almost certain suicide. But, the hull looks intact, as is the deck areas and control cabin. There are no bodies down there either which, even with the strong currents, I feel is very odd. But I suppose they could have been swept away?” I noticed that the cut on the back
of Charlie’s hand was bleeding again.

  I leaned over to him and said quietly, “Why don’t you let Mrs Rumple take a look at that hand of yours? She’s very proficient with a needle, you know.”

  “LJ, can you hear all of this.” I said.

  “Loud and clear, Jake. Dammed strange all these packages floating about though, I’ll get on to our friend at the ministry and find out why the hell we were not advised about this. I was certainly not told about them being on board. I’ve heard and seen enough for the time being. Either Tatiana or I will call you back later with an update on the situation. Charlie thank you for this information, you’re all doing a good job.”

  He broke the connection, but Charlie continued: “The boat is lying at a slight angle, just as Mr Rumples’ photographs showed. As I’ve already said, it’s lucky for us that she is intact. But where the current has dragged it around; some of the deck areas have some extremely sharp and jagged projections, as I found out to my cost. The way in is straightforward enough as we can go through the main cabin hatch. But there is one potentially hazardous problem. If she has been rolled around the ocean floor in that storm last night, her hull may have been crushed or she may now be upside down in the trench. We’ll find out later, when we dive back down to her.”

  Chapter 6

  Wednesday: 2pm We decided to dive during daylight hours. Charlie and I went down first, and found the Gin Fizz in the position she had been the night before. Charlie worked methodically, checking her entire structure for any signs of further damage. Using our comm, we kept in touch with Rumple on the surface.

  We soon came to the decision that pussyfooting around and being cautious wouldn’t do, especially with the potential hazards waiting to greet us.

  Charlie went in through the main cabin hatch and I followed moments later.

  On entering the boat, the packages that Charlie had seen through the portholes the night before were everywhere, floating like inert jellyfish. I gently pulled one towards me, for a closer examination; it felt like Semtex, but I couldn’t be sure through the coarse material covering it. “I’m taking this one up to the boat for a closer look,” I said, my voice sounded metallic through the microphone.

  * * * On deck Rumple and Miss Price looked on as I took my knife and proceeded to carefully cut away the wax covered material that sealed whatever was inside. I unfolded layer after layer until the contents were displayed. No one spoke for a full minute, as we took in what was laid out before us. Miss Price was the first to speak, in just above a whisper. “Well, Mr Rumple, since we’ve not been blown into space, would it be safe to assume that it’s not a highly volatile explosive? So, what is it?”

  “That, Miss Price,” Rumple said matter of factly, “if I’m not mistaken, is raw opium. Once this dark brown chunk is processed in a lab and ‘cut’ ready for distribution onto the streets as heroin, I’d guess this pack would be worth approximately a million pounds. But that is only a guess, you understand.”

  “I would say that was a fairly accurate guess, Rumple. There are probably fifty of these inside the main cabin area. I think someone has some explaining to do back in London.” I looked up. “Don’t you Miss Price?”

  The three of us spent the next half-hour bringing the waxy packages up to the surface where Rumple stowed them safely in lockers out of sight. After this was completed, I located the safe. LJ’s information about where it was positioned and the entry codes were correct. Fortunately for me it had a backup battery power source. I punched in the numeric code but nothing happened. I took off one of my gloves, tried again and this time my bare fingers carefully tapped in the numbers correctly. I could hear the lock mechanism click into place.

  Pulling at the door, a large bubble of air escaped as I strained it open and water gushed inside. I shone my torch in. We had been told there were two flattish packages wrapped in what looked like black velvet. I assumed these were the counterfeit plates - together with two small white brick-shaped parcels. The cocaine packs were both in clear waterproof bags, everything was present and correct, so I placed all the items into the clear zip top bag that I had with me and hooked it on to my belt.

  The only other item tucked right at the back of the safe was the boat logbook. Looking around I made sure that the others had gone back up to the surface, and then pushed it carefully inside my wetsuit for safe keeping, and a little light bedtime reading later.

  As I pulled myself through the hatch into open water, Charlie and Miss Price reappeared over my left shoulder. Over the comm I told Charlie that everything we’d come for was accounted for.

  “What about the log book?” Miss Price broke in. “Well, it wasn’t in the safe, and I’ve had a thorough look round the entire boat, but it doesn’t appear to be here. Be my guest take a look for yourself – you have exactly ten minutes.”

  She slipped through the hatch and inside the boat.

  We had one last thing to do, and that was to get rid of the existence of the Gin Fizz. Charlie started packing the charges on to the hull as Miss Price swam back out, searching the surrounding area.

  “What are you doing?” She asked.

  Charlie was first to respond. “Our instructions are quite explicit Fiona. We have to blow it, once we have what we came for.”

  “But I don’t have the logbook.” The panic in her eyes and edginess to her voice said it all. “I must have that logbook. London will not be happy if I don’t take it back with me.”

  “Miss Price,” I said, “we have looked inside and out, as you have. We do not have the time to mess about further, so would you please surface now.”

  We watched her ascend, and then turned and continued to place the charges over the deck area. “By having the charges on the deck as well as the hull,” said Charlie, “we should be able to create a blast that will generate the minimum disruption on the surface, although there will still be a fair bit of spray. Or that’s the theory, anyway.”

  “If you say so,” I replied.

  We broke the surface and I passed the clear bag up to Rumple, who took it from me, disappearing below. He carefully placed the contents in an aluminium briefcase. I changed into a pair of khaki trousers and an open neck shirt, going back up on deck where the others were congregated in the cockpit. Miss Price was obviously not happy at the thought of having to return to London without the logbook.

  Ignoring her I went straight over to Charlie, “What’s the maximum range on the Detonator?” I asked.

  “About half a mile, in these conditions,” he replied.

  “Good, that should be far enough away from the explosion not to attract too much attention from any other craft that may happen along.”

  It was four thirty by the time we had stowed all the equipment away. The sun was still shining, clouds were flitting around it like moths around a candle, and there was a bite in the air whenever the sun vanished.

  In the distance, a small powerboat was coming towards us at speed.

  Through the binoculars I could just make out three occupants dressed in dark clothing behind the windshield. Rumple had seen it too; he had increased our speed and altered course by a few degrees as a precaution.

  They came straight at us, moving quickly over the water. Everything happened in a flash as they opened fire with machine pistols aiming for the cockpit but strafing bullets everywhere. We all slammed ourselves down on to the deck as the windows exploded into infinity above our heads. Glass shattered everywhere; air rushed through the opening with such a force, the noise was deafening. They raced past on our starboard side, emptying their magazines as they went.

  “Who the hell is that?” shouted Charlie, his body pressed tight to the deck, covered in debris.

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” I shouted. “What I said on the beach, remember – goats in a tiger trap.” I looked up. “Rumple, are you all right.”

  He was slumped in a sitting position against the bulkhead. I carefully moved over broken glass and splintered timbers towards the
helm.

  Reaching up I fumbled around for the switch to activate the autopilot.

  “I think I’ve taken a hit in my shoulder, sir.”

  He’d gone a ghastly shade of grey, and there was blood covering his right arm. I crawled over and took a quick look. Satisfied that it was a clean shoulder wound, I took off my shirt, ripped off a sleeve and used it as a tourniquet. “You’re lucky, Rumple, the bullet seems to have gone right through; you sit here and don’t move. Miss Price will look after you. Charlie, take over the helm and steer us back over the dive site, I’m pretty sure those goons will follow us. I’m going forward to even up the odds. When I give you the signal, detonate the explosives.” He nodded his understanding.

  The small dart-like craft turned as I was making my way to the forward rack. The crack of their machine pistols sounded from not too far away, bullets whizzing overhead, the occasional thud as one slammed into the fibreglass structure. Lying face down, I struggled with the forward hatch shackle, but eventually managed to pull out what I’d had Rumple so carefully stow on board for me. The latest toy that the MOD had to offer, on loan courtesy of a favour I had called in. The KZL300 laser is capable of blasting a hole right through a tank at a mile.

  Charlie was taking us back towards the dive site. As we passed over the Gin Fizz, I brought my arm up and down again. The next second, the explosion could be heard as the other boat came up fast behind us; the upward pressure plumed seawater high in to the air.

  After two seconds, full power was indicated on the laser’s display. I locked the sight on to the small boat as they came around from swerving to avoid the great wall of water that had suddenly appeared in front of them. I squeezed the trigger very gently; the tiny craft burst in to a fireball as the beam hit them square amidships. There was no sound and nothing visual to warn them of what was coming.

  “Inspiring!” I whispered to myself.

  Our attackers, who ever they were, had died instantly. The heat generated by the laser canon and the explosion from their fuel tank that ensued had been so intense that there was nothing left on the surface. Charlie circled the area a couple of times, but there was nothing to retrieve.