“LJ,” Dillon said patiently, “That’s all fine, but have you any idea how I’m going to locate this German sub? The waters around the northern coast of Jersey are rough at the best of times?”
“You’ll think of a way, you always do, Jake. After all it’s the one thing of which I know you to have a special talent for.”
“Your confidence in me is very touching. However, I would still like to know whether you think Cunningham was run over deliberately or was it simply an accident?”
“Without a shadow of a doubt, I’d say it was most definitely an attempt to kill him. The eyewitness clearly stated that the BMW came out of a nearby turning and approached the crossing as if it were going to stop only to accelerate at the last moment. That’s why I’ve called in a favour from the Chief Constable and had an armed guard posted outside of his hospital room twenty four hours a day since it happened.”
“And what about this break-in at your apartment?”
LJ leaned forward. “Well, at first glance it looked straightforward enough, nothing had been touched. The police agreed with me, and I signed a statement to that effect, and they left. But it was afterwards, when I’d sat down with a stiff drink, and glanced up at the painting of Winston Churchill hanging above the fireplace. That’s when my suspicions were aroused. It wasn’t level, you see, and my paintings are always perfectly level. So I had Vince come round early the next morning, and sweep the place with one of his little gadgets. That’s when he discovered the bugs. He found one in my study, another in the living room and the third little bugger in the kitchen. He also discovered the phone tap, but only after he’d run a check through the firm’s computer system.”
“So, who would go to those lengths, and why?”
“The who, Jake. Now that’s a complete mystery. But, whoever it was, knew what they were doing and were using very expensive and sophisticated equipment. Vince thinks that the software for the phone tap came from the Far East, probably Korea and is not even on the open market yet. It apparently reconfigures a mobile phone network connection to break in to the land line which is being tapped, and then automatically records any outgoing or incoming calls. It then redirects the information back through a maze of connections all over the globe before it ends up back on a specified laptop computer via the internet. But the clever bit is that this particular software never uses the same network or mobile phone number twice. Which obviously makes tracing the source or location of the computer virtually impossible. The bugs use the same method for transmitting their sound and image files back to whoever is waiting for them in real time.”
“So, all of this has taken place since Cunningham came to see you in London, and told you about the U-boat?”
“That’s correct, and all of my instincts tell me that whoever is out there is most definitely linked in some way to that sub, and certainly up to no good. So you’d better watch your back on this one, old son.”
“Well that should make for some fun, shouldn’t it.” Dillon said sarcastically. “And how am I supposed to do that, when I don’t even know who it is?”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be alright, Jake. Now be a good chap and allow me to eat my meal in piece, will you?” LJ started to tuck into his evening meal of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.
Dillon turned in his seat and smiled, the urge to laugh out loud was irresistible. Perhaps it was something to do with the contempt he felt towards the condescending old fart sitting next to him. Instead, he ordered another glass of Champagne, reclined his seat and put his headphones on to watch a film on the small screen in front of him.
The front door to Dillon’s converted loft apartment, grudgingly opened against the mountain of circulars and free newspapers that had been pushed through his letter box over the last three weeks. Dragging his suitcase into the dark cold hallway, he turned on the light, and flicked the central heating switches to constant. His watch showed just past two o’clock in the morning. In the kitchen, he boiled the kettle, ground a small quantity of Colombian beans, and made himself a strong black coffee. The answering machine showed a number of messages had been left for him, two were from a double-glazing company offering him a special deal on a conservatory and three from Romerez in Florida asking him to call her the instant he got in. “In the morning.” He said to himself.
Under the railway arches in the east end of London, the fake drain-testing engineer who called himself Sean Black turned the bright red Ferrari into the alleyway that led to the lock-up. As he approached the old rundown Victorian building he pointed a small black remote control at the solid looking double doors. They opened, and the stolen Italian sports car was driven inside. Dean Slater was sat in front of a small laptop computer watching the images on the screen, downloaded from the three bugs in LJ’s apartment along with the telephone conversations that had been intercepted. The entire content of which was Annabelle Cunningham coming and going at various times during the day.
The only phone call was from LJ who left a message informing her that he was catching the three o’clock British Airways flight from Los Angeles to Heathrow. He finished by telling her that there was someone he wanted her to meet the following day over lunch. Slater checked his shorthand scribbling that he’d made in the small notebook. He then typed in the text, and saved it to disk before turning the small silver machine off.
“Anything interesting?” Black asked.
“No not really, the girl is there on her own at the moment. This Levenson-Jones bloke has flown off to the States for some reason. The only phone call was from him telling the girl that he was on his way back, and that there was someone he wanted her to meet tomorrow over lunch. Anything your end?”
“I think, that I must have walked all over bloody London today. She shops for England, that one, I can tell you. Then after lunch, she spent the whole afternoon at the hospital with her old man. That must have been a stimulating conversation.” Black said, smirking.
“You, Black, have a sick sense of humour. Have they still got a police guard outside of his room?”
“You bet, twenty four hours a day, and he’s armed. So what do we do now?”
“Now, Black we go and get some sleep. Nothing is going to happen until tomorrow when Levenson-Jones gets back. So in the morning you can go back to Belgrave Mews, and keep an eye on him and the girl. If they leave the apartment, you call me on my mobile phone, and I’ll come and join you. I’ll email Malakoff the images and sound files from the bugs, and the phone tap as well as a progress report. Oh, and Black, leave the Ferrari here, will you? We don’t want to attract any attention to ourselves now do we?”
“If you say so, Slater. But I’m not happy, you know?”
“What aren’t you happy about?”
“About being ordered around. But most of all about having to change the colour of my hair to this shitty dull brown colour. It’s not on, Slater. In fact, I wish we’d never taken this Malakoff’s money or ever set eyes on him.”
“You know as well as I do, that if Malakoff hadn’t come along when he did. We’d most likely be stony broke by now. Anyway, it’s only for this one job, and then we can bleach our hair blond again, and take a little holiday on the proceeds. Somewhere like Ibiza. How does that sound?”
“Well okay I suppose, but it’s only because I trust you, Slater.” Black said pushing his hands deep in his trouser pockets and walking off.
Slater switched off the lights, double bolted the doors to the lock up and followed after his lifelong friend.
Dillon arrived at the riverside restaurant early, and went straight to the bar, ordering a large gin and tonic. The headwaiter came over to him, and Dillon got up off of his stool, and greeted the Frenchman. “It’s good to see you, Pierre.”