“As I mentioned before,” Roberts interrupted, “His château is approximately thirty miles outside of Paris and he runs one of those big fancy million pound plus Sunseeker power cruisers out of an exclusive marina in Nice on the south coast of France. The latest report is that it set sail last night and is now heading for St Malo, and that’s very convenient for the Channel Islands.” He looked at his file, “The yacht is called the Solitaire. Captain and a full time crew of four.”
“Listen Jake, if Malakoff does turn up, you’ll simply have to do the best you can,” LJ said. “After all, you’re more than qualified for that sort of thing, aren’t you?” Dillon kept quiet, but shot him a look from the other side of the room that told him exactly what he thought.
“Your cover is quite simple. You’re a wealthy businessman, and Vince is your personal assistant. You own a company in London, computer software and the like. While you’re there you’ll have the use of a brand new Range Rover. Please don’t damage it. I’ve also managed to charter a suitable powerboat, and this will be waiting for you at the marina in St. Helier. Naturally it will be fully equipped with the latest electronics, and will have all of your diving equipment already stowed on board. Of course, you’ll be required to sign for all of this when you arrive in Jersey.”
“You think of everything,” Dillon said.
LJ passed him a folder. “Our forgery chap really has done you both proud this time. He’s produced new passports and driving licences along with a few other documents that may come in handy. As Phil Allerton will be flying you down to a private airfield on the island you won’t require the passports. However, better to have them on you just in case. You’ll find ten thousand pounds in cash in the envelope, which should be sufficient for any emergency disbursements, and will of course, require a signature. Now then, finally the property that has been leased is situated on top of the cliffs at Bonne Nuit Bay. This should enable you to keep an eye on the harbour when you’re in residence there. The keys are with,” LJ looked down at his notes, “Kate Jackson who manages Annabelle’s café.”
“One thing,” Roberts said. “The property has no telephone, so you’ll have to make sure that your mobile phone batteries are kept fully charged at all times.”
Dillon nodded. “So when we get there. Then what?”
“Well, that rather depends on you, old son,” LJ said.
“We had rather hoped that Nathan would have regained consciousness by now, and could tell us where the sub is located. But that hasn’t happened I’m afraid, which means that you and Vince are on your own for the time being. However there is this diver chap Rob Chapman, who may be able to help. He lives in a small-renovated castle not far from Bonne Nuit, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find him. Apparently he knows the island and especially the coastlines like the back of his hand. But be careful what you tell him; he’s got a very colourful background has Mr Chapman. Tell him, Roberts.”
“Born in Lincolnshire in 1953, spent much of his youth overseas. And, his father was a captain in the army. When he retired his commission, the family returned to England, and Rob Chapman went to Oxford and attained a degree in archaeology with distinctions and honours. After graduating, it didn’t take him long to discover that he could earn large sums of money by working for a wealthy private collector of antiquities. Who apparently packed him off all over the world in search of illegally obtained artefacts. This collector’s name isn’t on file, by the way. But, on at least one occasion, he sent Chapman to Peru, supposedly to explore an uncharted cave network that it was thought led to ancient Inca temples further inland. There was a hell of a rumpus with the Peruvian Government, who accused the team of looting, and sent in the troops to arrest them. Chapman and only two of the team managed to get out of the country with their lives. The other six members of the party perished. After that he went from one job to the next, and eventually ended up in Antigua where he met his wife and learnt to dive. Since then he has lived and worked in Jersey. He now lives on his own in an unusual sea defence castle that’s built onto a granite outcrop.”
“On his own?” Dillon repeated.
“Yes, wife and daughter were killed in a cliff top car accident a few years ago. That’s when he started the dive school, and now he splits his time between the German Underground War Tunnel project, where he supervises young archaeologists working on some of the tunnels that have been sealed up since the last war, and taking small groups of tourists to dive sites around the island.”
“If, what you’re saying is all true, then this Chapman character could be extremely useful to Vince and I. But I agree, we must be very careful what we say to him. Because it sounds as if he could be a bit of a loose cannon if we get off on the wrong footing with him.”
“He is most definitely your man,” LJ said.
“I don’t care what it takes or how much it costs. Within reason that is. But I want him on our side.”
Dillon smiled. “I’m amazed that you think money alone will sway a man like Chapman. From what I’ve heard so far, I’d say that he’s most likely to be a thrill seeker of sorts.”
“We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we? Because as we both know, Jake. Every man has his price.” LJ got up out of his chair.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I think that is everything gentlemen. Jake, call me the minute you arrive in Jersey.”
“Thank goodness that’s over with.” Dillon remarked as they emerged on to the street.
“What’s that, Jake?” Vince said as they walked towards the Mercedes.
“You know, all that crap back there. How he rambles on to us, before every assignment, as if we’re children. And, his pathetic attempts to get under my skin. But, do you know what the worse thing is? That I let him. Ah, what the hell, we’ve got a job to get on with. Come on, let’s collect our gear, and get over to the heliport. After all, we don’t want to keep Phil Allerton waiting, do we now?” Dillon said with a smile, as he pulled out of the car park.
It was shortly after midday that Edward LevensonJones met Oliver Asquith in the lounge bar of a public house called The King George, not too far from the British Museum. He ordered a double malt whisky for himself, and then found a quiet corner with two vacant chairs.
“Good of you to come, Oliver. As promised, I’ll bring you up to speed,” he said. “So much has happened since we last spoke.”
Asquith was sitting opposite him in an easy chair, “Well don’t dilly dally, LJ. Tell me everything, and don’t you dare leave out the interesting bits.”
So LJ did, about the two called Slater and Black who had attacked Annabelle in broad daylight in the side street, Malakoff, everything. When he’d finished, Lord Asquith was deep in thought, taking it all in, and then suddenly said, “This business with Malakoff — very interesting stuff. Your chap, Roberts must be a clever fellow, and may have stumbled upon a possible connection with the U-boat.”
“Well, it does all seem to fit together rather well. Almost too well in fact. However, I’m sure that there is still something missing, pieces of the jigsaw that I just haven’t spotted yet. But Guy Roberts will find it whatever it is. Of that, I have no doubt. It still doesn’t explain how Hugo Malakoff seems to be so remarkably well informed, though?”
“So what do you propose to do about him.” “Absolutely nothing that can be done, old son,” LJ said. “He’s a French citizen as well as being very wealthy, and in the eyes of the world he’s a highly respected businessman.”
“But what about all of that encrypted stuff in the Interpol files. Can’t that be used?”
“Great heavens above, most definitely not, old son. If anyone knew that Roberts had hacked into those files, well I mean, that would simply make things very difficult for everyone concerned. And not only Malakoff, you understand.”