Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (16 page)

Dr Rousseau, pealed off the surgical gloves, and
went over to a small wash basin in the corner of the room
to wash his hands.

“So gentlemen, why is it that you cannot stay away
from trouble? Does, Malakoff know that you are here, I
wonder? Seeking my expertise, and then there’s the question
of who’s going to pay my bill this time? Malakoff or you?”

“Malakoff doesn’t know anything about this, and
that’s the way we want it to stay, Rousseau. As for your bill,
I’ll pay you in cash here and now.” Slater said.

“I thought that might be the case, I was only speaking
with him this afternoon. But your secret, Mr Slater is safe
with me. Shall we say two thousand pounds as it’s cash?”

“What, two grand, you must be joking mate?”
“I never joke about money, Mr Slater. Two thousand
pounds is a very small charge, believe me, for the service
that I have just rendered to you and your friend over there.”
“This is daylight robbery Rousseau, and you know
it. Dick Turpin used to wear a mask when he did what
you’re doing to us.” Slater protested, but took out a bundle
of fifty-pound notes from his jacket pocket, and counted
out forty onto the desk.
The two men went out of the room, slamming the
door behind them, and down the stairway to the rear
entrance. Rousseau went through to one of the smaller
clerical back offices, and watched them walk to the Ferrari
and drive off.
Going back to his consulting room he picked up the
phone and dialled Hugo Malakoff aboard his luxury power
cruiser. That was anchored just off the Jersey coast.

Dillon leaned against the balcony of the sixth floor
apartment, gazing out across an illuminated City of London.
Annabelle, who appeared to be in much happier spirits
now, was sat on a wooden steamer chair drinking a large
Jack Daniel’s with ice. The two of them casually chatted
about everything and nothing for what seemed like hours,
Dillon listened while she told him about her childhood, and
how her mother had virtually brought her up alone due to
Nathan’s long spells at sea.

Dillon waited for an appropriate opportunity before
asking. “I assume that you’ll stay on here until your father
regains consciousness?”

“Yes, and hopefully that won’t be for to much
longer. The doctors say that he’s already made remarkable
progress, and could come out of the coma at any time. I’m
just so glad that he’s alright after that poor policeman was
murdered in his room, I’m sure that if he hadn’t come in
when he did. Well, it would have been Pops lying there with
a bullet in his head.”

A tear appeared in the corner of her eyes, which she
wiped away with the back of her hand. “So, what about
you. When are you flying down to Jersey?”

“Phil Allerton will most likely fly Vince and I down
in the company helicopter early tomorrow morning, or
possibly the day after.”

“Well if you need any information, and I mean
anything about the coastline or tidal movements around the
Island you should speak to Rob Chapman.”

She said. “Tell him that you’re a friend of mine, and
that I sent you, and don’t forget to introduce yourself to
Kate Jackson she’s my best friend and absolutely adorable.
As a matter of fact she’s running the café for me while I’m
here in London.”

“I’ll do that, and I gather that they both live quite
close to Bonne Nuit Bay. As you know, that will be our base
while we try to locate this U-boat.”

“Rob lives in the most amazing old place right on a
peninsular overlooking the bay. Apparently it was used by
the Nazis during the last war as a gun emplacement.” She
noticed Dillon’s puzzled look, and added, “It was originally
built to be a sea defence castle.”

Kate lives a little further up the hill inland but you’ll
be able to catch her at the café every day though. In fact, I’ll
give her a call first thing in the morning and tell her to make
sure that you’re both fed properly. How does that sound?”

“It sounds great, but be careful what you say to her,
we don’t want anyone getting inquisitive.”
“Well you’d better have a watertight cover story,
because in a place like Jersey, gossip spreads like the plague.
Believe me.”
“I really should be going, Annabelle.” Dillon said
looking down at his mobile phone, and the text message
that had just been sent to him, and then added, “I’m being
summoned back to the office by LJ. But, I’ve enjoyed our
little chat.”
“Well, you’re a very interesting man do you know
that, Jake Dillon?” She stood up and kissed him lightly on
the cheek. “Scary, but very interesting, and I’m extremely
pleased that I’ve met you. Thank you for listening.”
“Goodnight Annabelle.”
Outside in the car park, Dillon looked up towards
the sixth floor of the modern apartment building where
Annabelle was looking down, and waving at him. He
waved back before getting into the convertible Mercedes.
He smiled to himself at the thought of how he’d just found
a new friend.

It was a little after ten thirty that evening when
Dillon arrived at the Docklands building of Ferran &
Cardini International. He stepped out of the lift, and into
the artificial environment of air conditioning and fluorescent
lighting. In the department it was the usual hive of activity
with men and women working away at computer screens,
and talking on telephones. In LJ’s office he was offered and
poured a strong black filter coffee by his boss. “Jake, this
French chap Malakoff?” LJ moved around uncomfortably
in his seat.

“Well, as you know I’ve had young Roberts digging
up information on him all afternoon.”
“And?”
“Don’t underestimate him, that’s all. He’s connected

at the highest level of both the French and British
Governments, and because of this the Partners want us to
tread with extreme care.”

“Is that it. Is that the reason for dragging me half
way across London?”
“Not quite, Jake. You see after the Second World
War there were rumours that Malakoff’s father collaborated
with the Nazis in some way. Of course there appears to be
no one alive today who could verify this, and the authorities
have never been able to prove it. But, there is one thing
though that I think could prove this theory to be potentially
true, which is not just sour grapes on the part of the French
and UK Governments, and it’s this...”
“...Malakoff’s vast estate and grandiose château was
most definitely used as a weekend retreat by some of the top
Nazi party and military brass. The official documentation
that actually survived, relates to it as a rest and relaxation
facility. Anyway all through the war years, not only did the
building remain completely intact but so did the wealth of
treasures that abound the place inside, even to this day. You
see, it was left absolutely spotless, and unharmed. When the
Americans arrived they apparently couldn’t believe what
they saw. The place hadn’t been bombed or looted. The
French then handed it back to the Malakoff family after
liberation.”
“Okay, I accept that there could be a possible
connection here which means that Malakoff must think it’s
pretty damned important to find that U-boat before we do.
Furthermore, he must also know by now that he is taking
an enormous risk for a man in his position, and that he
may even lose everything in the process. But really, if those
two goons are the best that he can come up with then you
should tell the Partners not to worry. Anyway, they should
know by now that I’m the epitome of diplomacy, and always
tread carefully.” Dillon let a smile cross his face as he took
a sip of his coffee.
“Um, unfortunately I do know how you work and
making light of this situation is not helpful. What we do
not want is an international situation on our hands or the
world’s tabloid press converging on the Channel Islands.
Please remember, that the primary functions of this
organisation are secret intelligence, counter espionage and
the evaluation and synthesis of intelligence. So, please try
not to start World War Three while you’re down there,
that’s all I’m saying, Jake.” He stood up, and tucked a
pile of files under his arm, “I’ve now got a supper meeting
with Sir Julius at his home, and a breakfast meeting with
the Partners at five thirty to bring them up to speed with
the department’s various projects, including this one. So if
you’ll excuse me, I’ll say good night, Jake.”
“Good night, LJ.”

At the lockup, Slater was on his third large vodka.
The strong painkillers that Rousseau had given him earlier
in the evening were already wearing off, and he was feeling
a lot like a football that had been kicked around for a
full ninety minutes. Black was in a similar state, and both
men were now suffering from the rough treatment that Dr
Rousseau had handed out when resetting their noses. Slater
was pouring them another drink when the phone started to
ring.

Hugo Malakoff said, “Slater, what have you got for
me?”
“Nothing as yet, Mr Malakoff.” Slater’s mind had
gone a total blank with the effects of the pills and the
booze, and he couldn’t think of anything else to say, and
then blurted out. “But I feel we’re making progress with the
Cunningham girl, maybe tomorrow we’ll get lucky.”
“I’ve been speaking to Dr Rousseau, he tells me that
you have been to see him this evening, and that you have
both had your noses broken and that Black may even have
a fractured skull. I assume from what the good doctor tells
me that it was Jake Dillon who did this to you?”
“We were unlucky, that’s all, Mr Malakoff. The girl
was just about to talk, when that mad bastard Dillon, jumps
us from out of nowhere waving a gun like Billy the Kid.”
“Was he really, Slater?” Malakoff mocked, “And did
he simply beat you both up, and walk off or did he stop and
want to have a cosy chat about who you were both working
for?”
Slater lied easily, “We didn’t tell him anything,
Mr Malakoff, honestly.” He sensed that Malakoff didn’t
believe him. “Okay I’m sorry, Mr Malakoff, but he would
have blown us away, if we hadn’t told him who you were.”
Malakoff remained completely silent at the other
end of the telephone line, allowing the tension to build up,
and then suddenly said, “I seem to have not only misplaced
my trust in you Slater, but also your friend, Mr Black. You
have also taken a considerable cash advance from me which
I want back. You are a bungler and a liar Slater, and this is
most disappointing.” The phone clicked and the connection
broken.
Slater put down the phone, and took a large swig
of the vodka, emptying his glass with a single gulp. He
knew exactly what that meant. Nudging Black who woke
suddenly from a dozing sleep, he quickly told him what
Malakoff had just said.
Frightened more than they’d ever been before,
the two men quickly gathered and an old cash box with
eighteen thousand pounds in. What was left of the money
that Malakoff had advanced to them a week earlier. Shoving
everything into two canvas holdalls they squeezed them
both into the Ferrari’s tiny luggage space, Black jumped
in behind the wheel, and started the engine, easing the red
sports car out into the narrow side street.
Pulling away from the lockup he remotely closed
and locked the double doors, and a minute later they had
disappeared up the road. Stopping off briefly at their flat
they threw whatever clothes they could lay their hands on
into a black dustbin bag, made sure everything was locked
up and secure, and then headed south out of London.
Slater had an old Aunt who had retired down to the
New Forest in Hampshire. He’d always been her favourite
nephew so she wouldn’t mind them turning up out of the
blue and staying for a while. At least until the dust had
settled, and it was safe for them to return to London again.
Hugo Malakoff was in his study sitting at his desk,
the telephone receiver to his ear. After what seemed like an
eternity of time having passed. A gruff Irish accented voice
answered the phone at the other end. “O’Rourke. Malakoff
here. I have a little disposal job for you and your boys, and I
would like it to be taken care of this evening. Yes I know it’s
short notice, O’Rourke, but it’s extremely important. Now
stop complaining, and please take down these details.”
Malakoff then gave him the names of, Slater and Black,
who the Irishman already knew of from the East End, told
him about the stolen Ferrari, and then gave him the name of
the contact, who would be able to retrieve the GPS position
of the sports car.
“Phone this man, O’Rourke, and he will get you the
tracker information together with its last known position.
Yes, O’Rourke, the payment will be made through the usual
channels, and placed in your Cayman Island account as
usual. The same amount as before on successful completion
and there’s an additional fifty thousand for your trouble,
if you take care of it tonight. Good, that’s settled then.
Phone me when the job has been successfully completed.
Goodnight, Mr O’Rourke.” Malakoff replaced the receiver
back on its cradle, turned off the light to his study and went
to bed.

So far so good, Slater thought to himself as they
accelerated down the slip road onto the M25 motorway.
Since driving away from their flat, he’d kept a constant eye
out for anyone following them, but had seen nothing to
make him suspicious. His face throbbed where the broken
nose had been reset again and he imagined that Black would
be hurting as well, and looking at his friend, he thought
what a sorry state they were in.

By the time they were approaching the intersection
and turn off for the M3, it was raining quite hard, and the
traffic moving more slowly because of roadworks. Black
indicated to move over into the inside lane, but a large red
and white breakdown truck had moved up alongside and
now barred their way.

Black overshot the turning, and cursed out loud at
the big vehicle with a string of expletives, he shifted down
to second gear, and accelerated hard across and out into the
outside lane towards junction thirteen at Staines.