Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (39 page)

Armand said, “Kurt’s body was in the water just
off the stern platform. He’d drowned. I’ve retrieved it,
and placed it out of sight in the rear cargo hold. I found
Mazzarin with a broken neck, and Pierre was killed by a
single 9mm shot between the eyes. Both bodies had been
concealed behind a stowage locker. Zola is no where to be
found.”

“Never mind all that,” Malakoff told him. “Dillon
and Chapman are most definitely not going all the way back
to Bonne Nuit in that inflatable. Which means that Dillon’s
friends, Levenson-Jones and that computer man, are most
likely somewhere close by in their Range Rover.”

“I would agree, Monsieur,” Armand said.
“Turn on the radar, Armand. If my intuition is
correct, they will head straight for the airport, once they’re
ashore.”
Armand pressed the buttons, and a second later the
radar screen lit up. He was sitting in front of it, looking
for anything travelling at high speed across the harbour.
Through the panoramic windscreen, Malakoff could see
the security company’s patrol vehicle, coming towards them
along the pontoon. As they pulled up alongside the power
cruiser, Malakoff went and spoke to them. Returning to the
bridge two minutes later.
“Any problems, Monsieur?”
“No, Armand. They were just responding to an
anonymous telephone call. Apparently there’s been a report
of automatic gun fire coming from the Solitaire.” Malakoff
raised his right eyebrow, at the thought of Levenson-Jones
making the call. “I simply told them, that it was a mistake.
That it was most likely, the sound of one of our engines back
firing. And as we were sailing on the early tide, our chief
engineer was working through the night in an attempt to
repair it. As luck would have it, they were not the brightest
of individuals, and believed every word.”
“Monsieur, that blip. It’s almost certainly Dillon and
Chapman.” Armand, was pointing to a tiny dot rapidly
moving across the screen towards the inner marina on the
other side of the harbour.”
“Are you positive?”
“At this time of night. Yes, I’m positive, Monsieur.”
Five minutes later, the blip reappeared, but this time it was
heading away from the docks at high speed.
“They’re leaving, Monsieur. That’s the Range Rover
on its way to the airport.”
“Then we’ll wait and see where they go. LevensonJones will want to get to the airport to rendezvous with his
helicopter pilot as quickly as he can. And, if that is the case,
then we’ll track them from the bridge using our own radar.
One of our helicopters is already on its way to Jersey, and
will be here within ten to fifteen minutes.”
“And then what, Monsieur?”
“We go hunting, Armand.”
“With what, Monsieur?”
“Air to air missiles on the helicopter, and ground to
air missiles on board the Solitaire. Never under estimate
me, Captain. I’m not beaten yet, and I don’t intend to be,
ever.”
“Of course, Monsieur. I never meant to...”
“Never mind, Armand. We can’t afford to waste any
more time here in St. Helier, we’ll sail back to the north of
the island and position the Solitaire in readiness.” Malakoff
went silent, deep within his own thoughts and scheming,
and then suddenly said, “Let’s get moving, you get the
forward line and I’ll release the aft.”
They went down the ladder from the bridge. Armand
hurried to the prow, and untied the forward line. Malakoff
did the same in the stern. Once they were back on the
bridge, Armand started the large inboard Volvo Penta diesel
engines, and turned off all exterior and underwater lights,
except for the navigation lights. He checked that all of the
computer management systems were functioning correctly,
and then used the side thrusters to move the luxury craft
away from the pontoon and out into the main channel of
the marina.
“Don’t worry, Monsieur,” Armand told him from
his command chair. “We’ll be around this island in no time.
There’s no way that they’ll get out of Jersey airspace alive.”
And he turned back to navigate the sixty-five foot boat
through the harbour, and out into open water.

Chapman killed the power to the outboard, and spun
the wheel hard around, allowing the inflatable to gently
bump alongside the power cruiser. LJ leaned anxiously over
the side rail and grabbed the line that Dillon was handing
up to him.

“What happened over there. Did you get the chest?”
He demanded.
Dillon passed the solid silver chest up to him.
“Nothing happened, that you’d want to know about. And
yes, everything is inside the chest. Now I think we should
get the hell off this island as quickly as possible.”
LJ glanced down at his watch, “Phil Allerton should
have landed twenty minutes ago. I reckon, that by the time
we get to the airport, he should have refuelled the Bell, and
be ready to take off again.”
Dillon stepped up on to the dive platform, took the
inflatable’s line from LJ, and tied it securely to the stern rail.
Then went off to get changed into dry clothes, reappearing
from the main cabin a few minutes later and was immediately
aware that LJ and Chapman were stood on the upper deck
looking across the marina. In the distance, a large luxury
power cruiser was making its way out through the main
channel of the harbour and into open water.
“Well, what’s Malakoff up to now, I wonder?” LJ
said, peering through a night scope at the Solitaire.
“If he has any sense, he’ll be heading back to France.”
Chapman commented.
Vince was still sitting in front of his laptop in the
main cabin, still connected to the harbour master’s main
terminal. “You’d better come and take a look at this.” He
called to the others.
“What is it, Vince?” LJ asked.
“I’ve just intercepted a message from the harbour
master to the captain on board the Solitaire.”
“Well, what does it say?” Dillon demanded.
“The harbour master is instructing them to state their
heading and final destination before leaving the harbour.”
“And what’s so strange about that?” LJ asked.
“Well, it’s usual for any craft leaving the harbour
to notify the port authority of their heading and final
destination in advance. Especially with the ruggedness of the
coastline that we have in the Channel Islands.” Chapman
answered.
“So, what are you saying. That they haven’t disclosed
this to them?” Dillon asked.
“Absolutely right, Jake.” Chapman said.
“But surely, there would be nothing to gain by not
telling the authorities. Unless, that is, they’re not leaving
Jersey waters.” LJ commented.
“But there is a very good reason, if they’re going
after the gold bullion.” Dillon pointed out.
“Do you really think that’s what he’s up to?” LJ said.
“Well, we won’t find out standing here will we?”
Dillon said matter of factly, and then added, “I think that
we should follow the solitaire, and find out for ourselves.”
“I agree, it would be irresponsible not to.” LJ said,
and then added, “So, what are you suggesting, Jake?”
“You and Vince, take the Range Rover with all the
equipment, and the chest to the airport. Rob and I will
follow Malakoff in this boat.”
“And then what?” Vince cut in.
“You’re going to get Phil Allerton to fly you in the
Bell, up to the north of the island find a suitable cliff top
landing site, and wait for my instructions. Understood?”
“Absolutely, old son.” LJ said, taking a long pull on
his slim panatella cigar.
“Okay, then let’s get going, we don’t have any time
to waste. I’ll use the secure line on our mobile phones to
contact you when we know what he’s up to.”
Chapman untied the bow line, and Dillon did the
same at the stern. Chapman started the twin inboard diesels,
and a moment later they were out through the harbour
entrance and in pursuit of Hugo Malakoff and the Solitaire.

The bow of the power boat rose up with each rolling
white capped wave, as they ploughed forward into the hazy
light of dawn. The wind had freshened, a moderate force
three to four. Chapman sat in the swivel chair and Dillon
was leaning against the bulkhead beside him.

“The Solitaire, is moving some. It’s going to be very
difficult to outrun her, you know,” Chapman said.
“I don’t want to out run her, Rob. I merely want to
see where they’re going, and what they’re up to. And have
no doubt, when they spot us coming up behind them, I’ve
got a funny feeling that Malakoff will have something to
say about it. My advice to you, is be prepared for it, when
it comes.” Dillon said bluntly.
“He’ll try to kill us, won’t he?”
“I’m absolutely certain of it,” Dillon told him. “And
like all narcissistic megalomaniacs. He doesn’t like to lose.”
“Well, that’s a comforting thought.” Chapman said
with a sideways glance.
“Look, over there.” Dillon was pointing at the
outline of the Solitaire in the distance.
Chapman peered through the binoculars, “That’s
them all right. They must be about a mile ahead of us. What
do we do now?”
“We shadow them from back here.”
“He’ll have a sophisticated radar system on board.
And it won’t be long before they spot us, you know.”
Chapman said.
“Don’t think about it, just keep our course steady,
and at this distance from them.” Dillon said, “And leave
the worrying to me.”

Malakoff, on the bridge of the Solitaire, peered
through a pair of binoculars. “Got you,” he said, and
passed the glasses to Armand.

The captain focused them and immediately saw the
foaming bow wave preceding Dillon’s power boat. “Your
orders, Monsieur?”

“Turn around and run them down, captain. I want
that bastard Dillon at the bottom of the English Channel.”
“Are you sure about this, Monsieur?”
“Are you questioning my judgement, Captain?”
Malakoff snapped.
“No, of course not.” Armand replied nervously.
“Good, in that case turn us around, and full speed
ahead.”
Armand typed in the commands, and a second later
the Solitaire’s computer system altered their course, and
increased speed to full ahead. The luxury power cruiser
raced forward over the waves and Malakoff raised the
binoculars again, saw the outline of the other boat coming
straight towards them and smiled, “Come on, make your
move you bastard,” he murmured.
The explosion, when it came, was devastating,
tearing the bottom out of the Solitaire, and ripping through
the upper decks. What happened was so instantaneous
that neither Malakoff or Captain Armand had time to
comprehend it, their lives snuffed out in the blink of an eye.
And within seconds, the Solitaire lifted up, broke into two,
then sank beneath the ocean.

Dillon, stood beside Chapman on the cramped bridge
of the twenty six foot power boat. He peered through the
binoculars at the Solitaire, watched as the luxury cruiser
turned in a wide arc approximately one mile in front of
them, and then set a course directly at them.

“What the hell is that maniac playing at?” Chapman
shouted over the drone of the diesel engines.
“He’s going to try and run us down, Rob.” Dillon
replied. “But there’s no way that he’ll even get close to
us.” Dillon pulled out a small silver cased keypad from his
trouser pocket.
“What’s that?”
“You’ll see soon enough,” Dillon said, and walked
out onto the forward deck.
The sleek white craft ploughed forward at high
speed towards them. Dillon waited until he could clearly
see Malakoff standing behind the windscreen, on the bridge
of the Solitaire. And only then; did he hold up the silver
remote control, and push the button to detonate the limpet
mine that he’d attached to the hull amidships.
What they saw first was a brilliant white and orange
fire flash and then a second or two later, the explosion
could be heard. Shock waves skimmed over the surface of
the water towards them, and then it was all over. The fire
disappeared, extinguished as the two broken halves of the
Solitaire sank almost immediately under the waves.
Chapman killed the engine instantly, only the sound
of the waves slapping against the hull could be heard as
they both stood in silence on the deck. A seagull overhead,
squawked before diving down towards the water, snatching
something up and then flying off.
“About a hundred and fifty feet just here.” Chapman
commented casually.
Dillon looked at him briefly, before turning back to
gaze out across the water.
“One limpet mine, wouldn’t have done that much
damage on its own.” Chapman mused, adding, “So tell me,
what was it?”
“What was what?” Dillon replied.
“That caused an explosion capable of ripping a
sixty-five foot boat into two, and sinking her?”
“Well, not every private power yacht carries enough
ground to air missiles, complete with mobile launchers to
start a small war. Found them in a stowage locker while I
was snooping around. All I had to do was quickly locate
the nearest ventilation shaft, and lower all of them down
it. And as you’ve just witnessed, they must have found the
right spot, after all.”
“Do you think Malakoff would have used them
against us?”
“Bloody right he would have.” Dillon said.
The sound of the helicopter’s rotor blades beating
the air as it came towards them, was the first thing they
both heard.
“Must be LJ and Vince, coming to see what’s
happening.” Chapman said looking back.
“No, it’s not a Ferran & Cardini Bell helicopter,
Rob. It’s one of Malakoffs.” Dillon peered through the
binoculars at the fast approaching black bodied helicopter
with the red Malakoff corporation emblem blazoned down
each side. Then he spotted the two missiles in their special
pods strapped between the undercarriage skids, and felt the
grim reaper run his skeletal fingers up and down his spine.
“Start the engine, and get this thing moving back
towards land. Now!” Dillon shouted, and immediately
went below to get the Heckler and Koch MP5 from his
canvas holdall. By the time he got back out on deck, the
helicopter was virtually hovering above them.
“Keep the speed up, Rob. Hopefully, LJ and Vince
will be picking this up through their earpieces. But just in
case I’ll call them on my mobile phone, if they’re out of
range.”
Chapman, nodded his understanding, pushed the
throttle levers forward as far as they would go, and held on
tightly to the wheel. The power boat’s nose lifted a fraction
into the air, the white fibreglass hull skimming over the
waves as they raced back towards the shore.
Instead of attacking them, the helicopter pilot
maintained his distance high above, shadowing, but never
altering his course or height. And Dillon stood, bracing
himself, on the deck; the machine pistol held firmly in his
hands and the safety catch in the off position.
As they neared Gifford Bay, Chapman shouted to
Dillon, “What now?”
“Head for your place. There’s better cover there and
we can use your private dock to moor the boat.” Chapman
reduced their speed and steered a course straight towards
his place. And a moment later was expertly manoeuvring
the sleek craft alongside the sea castle’s dock, he killed the
engine and went and joined Dillon on the stern.
They stood watching, as the black outline of the
Malakoff corporation helicopter slowly descended to
within twenty feet above the surface of the water, facing
them, in a steady hover. The pilot stared out from behind
mirrored sunglasses, not more than one hundred yards
from where Dillon and Chapman were standing. The two
missiles pointing directly at them.
“What’s he playing at?” Chapman asked nervously.
“I’d take a guess, that he’s waiting for someone to
give him further instructions. But now that his master has
departed this world, he’s not really sure what’s he’s supposed
to be doing.”
“But, surely it’s over. Isn’t it?”
“Not until that helicopter, and those missiles are
flying off towards France, it isn’t.” Dillon said matter of
factly.
After a further thirty seconds, the pilot lifted the
helicopter into the air, veered off towards the south, and was
gone. Dillon leant the machine pistol against the bulkhead,
sat down on one of the benches, and ran a hand through
his dark hair. He let out a sigh of relief, and looked up
at Chapman, and said, “Thanks Rob. You’ve been a great
help, I couldn’t have done this without you.”
Before Chapman had a chance to say that he’d do it
all again willingly, if Dillon asked him to, the Bell helicopter
of Ferran & Cardini swooped in from over the cliff tops
and hovered above their heads. A rope ladder was tossed
out of the rear cockpit, and unravelled itself towards earth.
Dillon looked up and gave the okay sign. Shook the other
man’s hand, and then mounted the ladder. A moment later
the helicopter rose up into the air, Dillon quickly ascended
the ladder to the cockpit, climbed in and, before closing the
hatch, gave Rob Chapman a final wave.