Dead Men Don't Bite (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (8 page)

The next morning they were driven to the British
Museum and escorted down to Oliver Asquith’s office.
Professor Asquith was sitting behind his desk
when security showed them in. “LJ, and Commander
Cunningham, it’s so good to meet you at last.” He got up,
and came round the desk to shake hands with the two men.
“Please come in, and have a seat.” A moment later Tom
Attwood, Asquith’s assistant, entered the room. He was a
good-looking young man in his late twenties with brown
eyes and shoulder length dark hair. “Ah, there you are Tom,
what have you got for us?”
“No further revelations about the missing U-boat, or
its movement during those last days of the war, I’m afraid
Professor. But, I am waiting to hear back from one of my
sources in Berlin.” He glanced down at his watch. “And, in
fact he should have sent the email by now. If you’ll excuse
me, professor, gentlemen? I’ll just go and take a look.”
Tom Attwood left the room, and Asquith said,
“Gentlemen, while my assistant is out of the room, I would
like to tell you something of the history and myth that
surrounds the Spear of Destiny, and it’s many imitations.”
“Forgive my ignorance, but why are there so many
replicas of the spear in existence?” Nathan asked.
“To be precise, Commander, there not really replicas.
In fact, there are three or maybe four other spears that are
all said to be the original. One is kept in Kracow, Poland, St.
Louis took another to Paris, following his return from the
Crusades in Palestine in the thirteenth century. The third was
sent to Pope Innocent VIII by the Ottoman Sultan Bajazet II
in 1492 and is now encased in one of the pillars supporting
the dome of St. Peters Basilica. Hitler would have almost
certainly had a forth replica made. And that accounts for
the one that the Americans captured. I would put money on
it and say that the real spear was most definitely in the hands
of Adolf Hitler between March 1938 and May 1945. Some
historians even believe that it was because of the protective
power of the spear that enabled him to rise to power, and
sweep through Europe at the speed he did.” Oliver said.
Tom Attwood returned, and Asquith stopped
talking. Letting him continue, “I want you all to take a look
at these.” He opened up the box file and laid out a series
of photographs. “I took the liberty of digging around in
the U-boat archive files late last night. Initially, there were
hundreds of images, which I whittled down to just a few.
Now, based on the limited information that I was given, I
decided to take a closer look at U-683. In fact, what I was
actually looking for, were official photographs taken of it,
if any, at around the time that she was supposed to have left
St. Nazaire. But, during the course of my search, I found
this.” He pointed to the first image on the desk. “This is
U-683 taken by the look of it while she was undergoing a
refit at St. Nazaire.” He pointed to the next image. “Now
this is one of a small number of official photographs that
were saved by a Kriegsmarine rating and handed over after
the war, it’s also where things start to get confusing. Take a
very close look at this image, and in particular the U-boat’s
water line.” He produced a magnifying glass. “Notice how
high the submarine is sitting in the water at the dockside.”
“So what are you getting at?” Asked LJ.
“This last image tells a completely different story.
This forms part of a collection taken by a member of the
French Resistance, and handed over to the war museum in
nineteen forty-nine. This shot was apparently taken while
the area was being reconnoitred prior to being bombed by
our boys. Unknowingly, he or she captured U-683 leaving
the pen. I would have missed this one, had it not been for
the number sequence of the frames and the date mark.
Which incidentally is the same as the official photograph,
but taken ten hours later.” The young assistant pushed the
photograph in front of LJ, and handed him the magnifying
glass.
“Great heavens above.”
“What is it?” Cunningham and Asquith asked in
unison.
“Here, see for yourselves?” LJ, pulled out a packet
of cigars from his coat pocket, extracted one and lit it with
a gold lighter. Before getting up in a billowing cloud of
smoke, and walking around the office.
Oliver Asquith studied the black and white image
through the large lenses, before saying, “You’ve done a
good job, Tom.”
“It might have helped, if I’d known exactly what was
it was I should have been looking for Professor!”
“Later Tom, you’ve done a great job, thank you.
Now, off you go back to your dusty old artefacts.”
Tom Attwood departed with a smile. and Oliver
Asquith turned to LJ and Nathan.
“You say that there was only a skeleton crew on
board that sub, and therefore only minimum stores would
have been required. Which means that even if we take in to
account the amount of fuel required for the entire voyage,
there would still be no way on earth that a VIIC submarine
would be sitting that low in the water. Unless, that is, there
was something of immense weight on board. Like I said
before, gold bullion bars, gentlemen?”
“You my Lord, have an over active imagination,”
LJ replied jovially. Oliver Asquith smiled urbanely, from
across his desk.
“It’s only a theory, the gold I mean. That may never
be proven one way or another if the Ministry of Defence
or the Home Office gets wind of it. Which brings me to my
question of what the Partners think. Have you spoken to
them about this matter yet, LJ?” Oliver inquired.
“Yes, I spoke with both of them late last evening.
They eventually gave me the green light to organise an
assignment, once I’d fully explained the situation and
convinced them that it wasn’t some practical joke that Nat
was playing. But they do agree that absolute secrecy has
got to be maintained and that the best policy for the time
being is to keep this whole affair as far away as possible
from any Government agency. As for sending anyone to
Jersey, that will be entirely at my discretion. There was just
one stipulation that they made, they insisted that I run the
whole thing past Sir Lucius Stagg”.
“As luck would have it, we had to pass by his house
last night on our way back from dinner, and left the letters
and diary with him. What an amazing character he is, do
you know even at the age of seventy-three he still only needs
three hours sleep a night?”
“Anyway, I digress, after he’d read and fully digested
the contents of both letters and the diary, he decided to
phone me at five o’clock this morning to inform me that
he would give us whatever backing was required to solve
the mystery. But insisted that I keep him up to speed with
any discoveries that we make. But let’s all be very clear
about one thing, gentlemen. It’s the thought of Nazi gold
bullion that got us the go ahead, not the belief that we may
discover the original Spear of Destiny inside that U-boat.”
LJ continued to pace the office, blowing cigar smoke into
the air as he walked.
“That’s excellent news, LJ,” Nathan exclaimed,
adding. “But tell me, do you really think the Nazis had
Gold on board U-683?”
“One can only guess, but my theory runs something
like this. Hitler knew that his body was failing him, just like
his armies had failed him and that the war was all but over,
except for the Russians running amuck through his beloved
Berlin. He would have ordered Himmler to get the Spear
of Destiny as far away as possible from Germany and the
Americans. I would imagine that while Donitz was aware
of the basic details regarding the mission, and of course
able to ensure a method of relatively safe passage for the
spear. He probably didn’t know that there was to be other
cargo on board the submarine. I would hazard a guess that
the cavern beneath Jersey was Himmler’s secret place of
hiding, not only for the spear, but whatever else that U-boat
was carrying. The likelihood is that he was feathering his
own future and only his. But I’m sure that the cavern would
have been originally accessed from the land and not the
sea tunnel. One thing is certain, though. They would have
needed expert assistance, because the seabed would have
almost certainly had to be specially cut using explosives to
allow the submarine with her extraordinary weight, to gain
access. Himmler thought that cavern to be so well hidden,
as not to be found. Need I say more, gentlemen?”
“If that is the case, then what you are suggesting is
that an attempt should be made to recover what is inside the
cargo hold as well as anything else in the tunnels leading to
the cavern. Before anyone else does?” Nathan said plainly.
“Yes, that would seem the sensible thing to do. And
I know just the man to handle such an assignment.” LJ got
up from his chair. “And now you really must excuse us
Oliver. I have an extremely tight schedule.”
“Of course. Nathan it was good to meet you. LJ, I
must insist that I’m included as a part of the team you put
together. As a consultant of course.”
“I’ll be in touch Oliver, count on that, old son.”
The three men walked back up from the basement,
through the main entrance of the museum, and paused at
the top of the steps. They shook hands with Oliver Asquith,
who reinforced his request to be a part of the team sent
to Jersey. “And remember to call me as soon as you know
anything, LJ,” he said as he watched them walk away.
Nathan and LJ walked along the pavement in front of
the British Museum towards Guy Roberts who was waiting
patiently in the Mercedes. Once they were sat in the rear
of the luxury car, Nathan said. “Is he always that pushy?”
“Not usually, and to be quite truthful, Nat, I’ve
never seen him like that before.”
“I suppose he’s married?”
“No, not at present. As a matter of fact he’s been
married at least three times.
“Good God, man must be a glutton for punishment.”
“Well, that may be the case, Nat. But, you see he
has rather a weakness for young homosexual men. Which,
unfortunately for Oliver has been his undoing. It’s all rather
sad really, he’s never been honest enough with himself, to
come right out of the closet, and tell everyone. All of the
wives have found out eventually, and have left him. Imagine
all of those divorces, must have cost him a fortune. Has a
magnificent pile of bricks in North Dorset, though. That is,
when he gets the time to go down there.”
“So how did you meet him.”
“Shortly after University as it happens. He’s always
wanted to be a spy you know? But because of his little
secret, the firm has always rejected him. We met up one
wet evening in a pub in East London, and it all started
from there. Unofficially, he was a very useful chap, feeding
me anything that he thought would be helpful. His father
the late Lord Asquith, knew many powerful people and of
course introduced Oliver to them as a matter of course. I
was carving my way up the ladder at MI5; imagine, to have
someone like Oliver in my pocket, and in his position was
worth its weight in gold. We’ve been friends ever since.”
The Mercedes came to a silent halt at the side entrance
of the Ferran & Cardini International building. The two
men arranged to meet for lunch at one o’clock, at which
time LJ would confront his friend as to the exact location of
U-683 and afterwards drop Nathan off at the city Heli-port
for his return flight to Jersey. Guy Roberts drove the retired
Royal Navy Commander back to the apartment so that he
could pack, and have the rest of the morning free to do a
spot of shopping at his favourite store, Harrods.

Outside the sun was shining when Nathan
Cunningham came down the front steps of the Belgravia
apartment building. He decided that the quarter mile
walk to Harrods would do him good, and help clear the
headache that he’d had since leaving Oliver Asquith’s
office. It was good to be back in the city, he thought. The
sounds and smells all so familiar to him as he strolled
along without a care in the world, and thinking how well
things were going. At the pedestrian crossing, he pushed the
button and a moment later, the traffic light changed to red
and he stepped off the pavement. He didn’t see the black
BMW saloon coming from his right, start to slow down
and then accelerate again, in one smooth action. Nathan
Cunningham was half way across the road when he was hit
by the oncoming vehicle, thrown high up over the bonnet
into the air, and landed heavily at the side of the road.

Inert and unconscious, his body landed awkwardly
some fifteen feet up the road. A passer-by, that had witnessed
the accident, went to the nearest phone box, and dialled the
emergency services. An ambulance was dispatched from the
nearby City Hospital, and arrived two minutes later. Twenty
feet up the road, the BMW stopped, and the driver took
one brief moment to glance up into his rear view mirror,
before driving off up the road towards Sloane Street, which
as usual was busy with mid morning city traffic. The black
car disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

In Jersey, Annabelle Cunningham walked down the
hill to the café, and went up the steps to the front terrace
where holidaymakers and locals alike, were leisurely sitting
and having a mid morning coffee. As she made her way to
the rear of bar area, Kate Jackson came out of the kitchen
holding a tray in her hands; she looked over and smiled.

“Annabelle, am I glad to see you, we’ve been rushed
off our feet ever since we opened, the sunshine seems to
have brought everyone out to Bonne Nuit today. Have you
heard from Nathan yet?”

“No, but that’s not surprising. Especially when he
meets up with his friend LJ in London, he completely loses
all track of time. He said that he’d phone just before flying
back. Which should be just after lunch today. I dare say
that if he’s got a spare moment this morning he’ll be doing
a little shopping at Harrods, of that I’ve got no doubt.”

Annabelle’s mobile phone started to ring. The small
screen showed her the number of the person who was
calling, and she smiled instantly. “So you eventually found
the time to call me then,” she said sarcastically.

Annabelle walked to the back of the bar where it
was quieter. The smile that was there a moment ago had
disappeared, and she suddenly slumped down on to a
nearby chair.

Kate put down the tray that she had been carrying,
and went over to where her friend was sitting. “What is it,
Annabelle?”

“There’s a policewoman ringing me from Pop’s
mobile phone in London,” Annabelle said quietly. “He’s
been involved in a hit and run accident and is in hospital
in a coma. They’re saying that he’s in a critical condition.”
Tears started to roll down her cheeks and then she started
to cry helplessly.

Kate took the phone from her. “Hello, are you still
there?”
“Yes, I’m still here,” the voice was soft but
professional. “I’m very sorry if I upset Miss Cunningham.
Unfortunately there’s never an easy way to do this.”
“Please don’t apologise, after all you’re only doing
your job.”
“Look, we have Mr Cunningham’s wallet and of
course his mobile phone, but would it be possible to find
out where he was staying in London?”
“Staying? Yes, just a minute.” Kate crouched down
beside Annabelle. “The Police want to know where Nathan
was staying in London.”
Annabelle, absent mindedly pulled a small piece of
paper out of her bag, and handed it to Kate who read out
the details to the Policewoman.
It was just before twelve o’clock, when Edward
Levenson-Jones received the telephone call from the Police.
Informing him that his friend was in a critical condition at
the City Hospital intensive care unit. On the way there he
telephoned the Chief Constable of the Metropolitan Police
and called in a favour, by asking for a complete press blackout
of the incident. He told him that Nathan Cunningham had
been a Royal Navy Commander. Who for many years had
been involved in many joint intelligence missions, and
that he thought the accident may be connected to possibly
something from the past or an extremely sensitive matter
that Ferran & Cardini had been asked to look into by
Commander Cunningham.
“Edward, one of my constables has spoken briefly to
his Daughter in Jersey. She’s obviously upset, but said that
she will fly over this afternoon.”
“Thank you, I’ll take care of her when she arrives.”
LJ broke the connection, as Guy Roberts pulled up outside
the hospital

LJ walked into the outer reception area. A nurse came out
and escorted him to a small side ward, which had harsh
fluorescent lighting that bounced off the white specially
lined walls. There was only the one bed in the room, which
Nathan was laying in. To one side of him there was a
machine to assist with his breathing and another monitoring
his heart rate. He had tubes coming from his mouth, arm
and another that was draining excess fluid from his right
lung, punctured by one of the three ribs broken when the
vehicle struck him.

Outside the room a Policeman stood guard, his
orders were to stay there and to only phone the Chief
Constable the instant Nathan became conscious. A tall thin
man came in wearing a smart navy blue pin striped suit and
a stethoscope around his neck. He introduced himself as the
consultant surgeon in charge of Nathan.

“And you are?” He asked LJ in a clipped tone.
“Edward Levenson-Jones, Commander Cunningham
is my friend and was staying with me while on business here
in London.”
“Well your friend, Mr Levenson-Jones, is a very
lucky man. He’s in a state of coma, common in severe head
trauma cases of this kind. It’s the brain’s way of coping with
it all. I believe he has a daughter. Has she been informed?”
“Yes, and she’s flying up from Jersey this afternoon.”
“Good, the sooner she gets here the better. I’ll speak
with her when she arrives then.”
“He is going to be alright?”
“Only time will tell, Mr Levenson-Jones. Only time
will tell. Goodbye.” He turned, and left the room as quickly
as he had arrived.
From the back seat of the Mercedes, LJ instructed
Roberts to drive straight to the British Museum.

“Well this does leave us in a bit of a quandary, doesn’t
it?” Oliver Asquith said, he was wearing a white disposable
overall and peering into a large metallic looking urn from
some ancient period of long ago.

“What concerns me, Oliver, is that it would seem,
that this wasn’t an accident. The eyewitness who telephoned
for the ambulance, gave a statement to the Police, and
she is in no doubt whatsoever. That the car came out of a
nearby junction, and apparently started to slow down as it
approached the crossing. But at the last minute accelerated
instead. According to her, Nathan was half way across
the road when the driver of the car hit him square in the
middle of the bonnet. Anyway, whether it was an accident
or a deliberate attempt on Nathan’s life, it’s still a hell of a
shock. I sincerely hope that he pulls through quickly. But
needless to say, it leaves us in a bit of predicament all the
same.”

“The location of U-683. We still haven’t a clue where
it is.” LJ said.
“But what about his daughter. Do you think she
might know?”
“What? Oh Annabelle. She might, but I wouldn’t hold
out much hope there, old son. Nathan had had a lifetime of
keeping secrets. And this was probably the biggest. No, at
best he would only have sketched out where he’d found the
sub. But I’ll ask her this afternoon when she arrives.”
“Well let’s hope she has the answer to the problem,”
Asquith said.
“And if she hasn’t?”
“Then you will have to think of something else.”
“I wonder what Sir Lucius will make of all this?” LJ
paced up and down the office, a look of despair on his face.
“I’d better bring him up to date. Keep the old chap happy,”
and turning, he left.

Oliver Asquith made a brief telephone call; locked
the door to his office and immediately drove his Porsche
Cayenne 4x4, in record time, from London to his country
house on the outskirts of Sherborne in North Dorset. He
was through the front door and mounting the wide sweeping
staircase that led all the way up to the third floor. Opening
a small door at the end of the long landing, he took the
rickety wooden stairs two steps at a time all the way to the
top. On the landing, he stood for a moment leaning against
the old timber door while he got his breath back. Hinges
protested noisily under his weight, at having their slumber
interrupted, but gave in and allowed access to an enormous
attic space.

The frail old man who was kneeling in front of a
large travelling trunk, stood up on hearing Asquith enter.
“Lord Asquith. I wasn’t expecting you for another forty
minutes sir.”

“Is that so, Jenkins. Well thankfully, there was only
light traffic coming out of London, and I had a clear run
down the motorway. Have you found any of my father’s
diaries yet?” He lit a cigarette, and walked over to a small
skylight window, and peered out of the dirty glass.

“I’m afraid not, sir. It would seem that the late Lord
Asquith was fastidious about not keeping records of any
kind.”

“Damn and blast him. Well, can you tell me about
the war years, Jenkins?”
“What would you like to know, sir?”
“Well, weren’t there whisperings in certain Whitehall
circles that my father had Nazi sympathies. That he actually
thought about going over to the Germans before the war
started. You were with him throughout, Jenkins. Tell me,
was this true?”
“Yes, the rumours were true my Lord. But then there
were many of the aristocracy who had the same feelings.
Adolf Hitler had charisma, and believe me that was like a
breath of fresh air. Not only to the people of Germany, but
to many Englishmen as well. Your father met with him, you
know? Just before England entered the war properly.”
“No, I didn’t know that, Jenkins, but go on I’m
intrigued.”
“Well, sir, he went to Germany at the personal
request of Hitler. The British Government knew of course,
and asked him to find out as much as he could while he
was there. This was an extremely unusual situation that he
found himself in. You see, he was asked to go to Berlin
because of his immense knowledge of Middle Eastern
religious antiquities, and of course because of the standing
your father had within English Society.”
“Do you remember what it was that Hitler wanted
my father to look at, Jenkins?”
“To tell you the truth, sir. I wasn’t there at the private
meeting they had. But, I did on one occasion overhear part
of a conversation that his Lordship was having at breakfast
one morning. I believe it was with one of senior party
members. I do recall that this chap spoke fluent English, and
was saying something about a religious artefact that Hitler
had a particular obsession with. Apparently he always kept
it securely hidden in a vault, and had it guarded day and
night. It had come into his possession when he annexed
Austria. Hitler wanted your father to authenticate it, sir.”
His voice faded, and he went and sat on one of the other
wooden trunks. The old retained servant looked tired and
exhausted as he sat there in the gloomy light of the attic.
“Austria, Jenkins?” Asquith came over to where the
old man was sitting, and crouched down in front of him.
“I’m very sorry, my Lord, but I really can’t remember
much more about that time, it was such a long time ago,
and my memory isn’t as good as it used to be.”
“It’s okay, Jenkins, please take your time. I know
that you have a memory like an elephant. So, you’re going
to have to do a lot better than that. Tell me, did my father
ever have any dealings with the Nazis at any other time
during the war?”
“My Lord, there are certain things that should be
left well alone.”
Asquith pressed the old butler harder for more
information. “Did he, Jenkins? It’s vital that I know.”
“Your father was, like you are my Lord, passionate
about archaeology, and in particular, myths and legends
that surround certain artefacts. There was a period during
those dark years of the war when he would disappear for
weeks on end. Your mother never really knew where he
was, she simply assumed that he was on a dig somewhere.
And, at the risk of sounding impertinent, sir, I was sworn to
secrecy by your father.”
“That as may be, Jenkins. But that was a long time
ago, and something has now cropped up that makes it
imperative that I know whether or not my father was at
any time during the last months of the war involved with
Heinrich Himmler?”
“Heinrich Himmler, my Lord?” The old man
looked pale, and was physically rocked by the mention of
Himmler’s name. He averted Asquith’s piercing blue eyes by
looking down at the dusty wooden floorboards of the attic.
After a brief moment he composed himself, looking up and
continuing, his voice had taken on a renewed vigour.
“Alright my Lord, I’ll tell you what I know. The
conversation, which I overheard that morning in Berlin,
was between your father and Heinrich Himmler. That was
when his lordship swore me to secrecy. Apparently, the two
men had met a few years before at a political rally that
Hitler was holding. Your father had just graduated from
Eton and was on holiday with a group of acquaintances. As
I understand it, they met afterwards in a bar and instantly
became firm friends…” His thoughts were wandering a
little.
“Carry on, Jenkins, I’m listening.”
“Those were such difficult times, sir. Before the
war, Himmler used to often spend time here. He was such
a gentleman then. Your mother and father spent hours
listening to his tales about how Germany was going to
be saved by Adolf Hitler.” The old man’s voice trailed off
again, as he became lost in his own thoughts and memories.
“Did Himmler ever contact my father during the
war, Jenkins?”
“Yes my Lord, that’s when you father would
disappear. A messenger would arrive with a package,
and then leave immediately, usually without a reply. His
Lordship would then instruct me to pack his travelling
things, and a day later he would leave. But, I’m afraid that
I was never told where his Lordship was going or how long
he would be gone for. Now if you’d forgive me, my Lord, I
really must get back to my duties downstairs now,”
“What? Yes of course Jenkins,” Asquith was lost in
deep thought as the old man got up off the trunk, patted the
dust off his black trousers, and slowly walked to the other
end of the attic towards the small door.
“Just one other thing Jenkins?”
The butler turned, his hand about to turn the
tarnished brass doorknob.
“Did my father ever visit Jersey in the Channel
Islands?”
“Why of course, my Lord. Your family owned a
large residence on the island for many years. I believe, it
was sold shortly after the war.”
“Thank you Jenkins, you’ve been very helpful.”
Asquith closed the door gently, and went downstairs
to his study. He poured himself a large gin and tonic, and
sitting at his desk began thinking about it all.
The revelation about the discovery of the
subterranean cavern had shocked him beyond measure and
it was remarkable that he had kept his composure in front
of Edward Levenson-Jones, but now he knew for certain
what he had always suspected. It was not really surprising
that his father, a member of the British aristocracy had had
empathy with the Nazi Party, if only to be different. But a
friendship with Heinrich Himmler, one of the most feared
of Nazi party members. Now that was something else.
Jenkins had said, that his father had met Himmler
some years prior to the outbreak of the War. Which almost
certainly meant that by the time Britain had joined in the
fight, his involvement would have been more considerable
than ever thought. The regular trips away, and the mysterious
messenger turning up, the family residence in Jersey and
that private meeting with Adolf Hitler to authenticate his
religious artefact. It was all pointing towards the U-boat
and her precious cargo, still tied up in the Cavern.
He got up from behind his desk and went and poured
himself another large gin and tonic from the drinks cabinet,
adding more ice and lemon for good measure. Asquith had
never liked to be cooped up inside, so he walked over to the
French doors, and throwing them open he walked out onto
the terrace. Taking in the magnificent unspoilt view across
his estate. The fields and woods stretched for as far as the
eye could see, as they had done for the last four hundred
years or more. His famously patriotic ancestors would turn
in the family mausoleum if they knew that one of them had
been a traitor, he thought.
If LJ sent someone to Jersey, who then managed
to locate the underwater tunnel entrance, and get to the
U-boat. Well, there was absolutely no doubt in his mind
about what they would find. His father had helped the
Nazis find the cavern, and would have shown them how
to create the sea tunnel to allow the submarine into the
subterranean harbour. Asquith knew from his days as a
childhood eavesdropper, ear pressed against firmly shut
doors. That his father’s obsession with the Spear of Destiny
was as intense as Hitler’s had been, and that was the real
reason why he had been asked to authenticate it. The last
thing that he would have wanted was for the priceless
artefact to fall into the wrong hands.
But what concerned Oliver Asquith more than
anything, was the whereabouts of the one thing he knew
would be easily found somewhere inside the cavern.
Although his father wasn’t interested in keeping documents
of any kind, he had always kept a personal diary of any
important dig that he was involved with. This was usually
a daily record of the work carried out, and an eccentric
habit that Asquith had also inherited from his father. He
had believed that a written account left at the site would
be invaluable to anyone finding it in the future. There was
no reason to doubt that his father’s name would eventually
come to light as a Nazi collaborator, and traitor to the
British realm. The scandal would finish him. Not only
would he have to say goodbye to his lucrative position at
the British Museum, but he would almost certainly have
to leave his beloved England. A shiver ran through him. It
really didn’t bear thinking about, but what was to be done?
He stood at the top of the limestone steps deep in
thought, looking down on the raised pond that was the
central feature of the beautiful Italian garden. An ornate
fountain in the middle, shot plumes of water high into the
air, and large carp swam just beneath the glinting surface in
the sunshine. The solution was very simple. Hugo Malakoff,
Hugo would know what to do. He used his mobile phone to
dial up the number of Malakoff’s French château.
“Sabine, this is Lord Asquith here, I wish to speak to
Monsieur Malakoff.”
“Lord Asquith, what a pleasure. I’m afraid that
Monsieur Malakoff is not in residence at the château. He’s
currently on a business trip to Tangier. But he’s due back
tomorrow. Can I take a message for him?” The feminine
French voice purred down the telephone line at him.
“No message, but I really do have to speak to him
urgently. I’ll try him on the mobile number that he gave me.
Thank you Sabine.”
“You’re very welcome Lord Asquith, goodbye.”
The line was broken and Asquith immediately
dialled the number. He breathed a sigh of relief when Hugo
Malakoff himself answered the phone at the other end.
“Malakoff.”
“Hugo this is Oliver. I’ve got to see you; it’s imperative
that I see you as soon as possible. Something disastrous has
happened here, the implications of which will finish me.
Hugo, you are the only person on earth who can help me.”
“Oliver, you must calm down. It really isn’t good for
your heart. Now where are you calling from?”
“My country home in Dorset. Why?”
“If I remember correctly, you have a private airfield
nearby. Charter yourself a plane and a pilot this afternoon
and fly down to the château. You’ll be there in no time.
I’ll phone Sabine and inform her that you will be staying
overnight. We can have dinner together and you can tell me
all about it. And Oliver, please stay calm. Everything will
be alright.”
The phone clicked, and the connection was broken.
Asquith went back up to his study, and phoned the airfield
to book a twin engine plane for later that day. From the
safe he took his passport and a wad of Euros, then went
upstairs to his bedroom and packed an overnight bag which
he left behind the door of his dressing room so that Jenkins
wouldn’t find it.
The old butler had instructed cook to prepare a
light lunch for him. After which, he then walked his two
favourite gun dogs and met with his gamekeeper for an
update of how things were going generally on the seven
hundred-acre estate. This took up most of the afternoon,
but still gave him enough time to go back to the house and
change. His overnight bag in hand Asquith came down the
sweeping staircase just as Jenkins entered the hall from the
drawing room. “Leaving us so soon, my Lord?”
“Yes Jenkins, official museum business, I’m afraid.
Won’t be back for a day or two. I’ll give you a call and let
you know when I’ll be down next. Say my goodbyes to Mrs
James will you, and tell her that she’s still the best cook in
the land.”
Jenkins opened the door for him, he got into the
Porsche 4x4 and drove away.