Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (24 page)

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.