Chapter Eight
The Bell Jet Ranger touched down in Jersey exactly fifty-five minutes after taking off from London. Outside the sun was shining, puff-ball clouds floated lethargically by in the brilliant blue sky, and the temperature was a pleasant twenty-four degrees.
Dillon felt his spirits lift as he stepped out of the helicopter cabin onto a neatly mown blanket of grass, and strode off across the great expanse of the private airfield towards the waiting Range Rover. Leaving the heavy luggage for Vince to carry. As Dillon reached the luxury four-wheel drive vehicle an attractive woman in her mid thirties with tousled hair of the deepest auburn, got out of the driver’s side with an officious looking clipboard in her hand.
She smiled. “Welcome to Jersey Mr Dillon, my name is Charlotte, but please call me Charlie. I’m here on behalf of the rental company that’s supplying you with this Range Rover and the Powerboat that is berthed at St. Helier. I’ve also been asked by Mr Levenson-Jones, to escort you both across the island to the marina, and to ensure that everything is satisfactory for you.”
“Umm, I’m sure you have, Charlie.” Dillon said, taking off his blazer and throwing it onto the rear seat. He then walked around to the other side of the Range Rover rolling up the sleeves of his light blue shirt as he went and got into the passenger seat. Peering through the open driver’s window he said, “Well let’s get going then, you drive and we’d better go and rescue my assistant before he has a heart attack carrying the luggage.”
She jumped into the driver’s seat, showing off firm tanned legs as her linen skirt rose up. Her eyes sparkled, a mischievous smile on her face as she slid the gearshift into drive, and then confidently moved off at speed across the airfield to where Vince was waiting.
Five minutes later she was driving them away from the helicopter along narrow twisty lanes with high banks on either side towards the island’s capital, St. Helier. The Range Rover pulled up on the concrete standing above the twenty-six foot power cruiser. It was berthed at the end of a long line of much smaller sport fishing craft, and slightly incongruous because of its sleek lines and newness.
A man in his late fifties in red overalls was standing on the stern deck. He looked up and introduced himself as George, and immediately helped Vince with the bags containing additional diving equipment onto the boat, commenting, “I’ve given her a full service, and gone over her with a fine tooth-comb. In fact I took her out first thing this morning, and she’s fast this one, sings as sweetly as a songbird when you open up her throttles.” “I’m sure the boat’s just fine.” Dillon said.
George slid back the saloon door, and threw the bags in one at a time. Complaining about how heavy they were, and how he had to be careful as he had a recurring back problem.
“Of course the doctors can’t do anything…” “So tell me, George what gadgets have we got on board?” Dillon said, butting in, and completely ignoring the little man’s whinging.
“Gadgets, if you mean onboard electronic devices? You have all of the usual equipment, radar, sonar and of course a digital radio set. Plus a depth finder and a full colour satellite navigation system. In fact, everything you’d expect on a craft of this quality, but should you have any problems with any of these. The phone number to call is in the handbook.” George then picked up his toolbox ascended the metal ladder up to the dock, and walked off in a bit of a huff.
“I’m terribly sorry about that Mr Dillon. Only, George is usually so polite. I really don’t know what could have got into him.”
“Don’t worry about it Charlie, I assure you that no offence was taken, and I’m sure none was intended.”
“Well then, all that remains is for you to sign the receipt for the car and boat hire. Do you know how long you’ll be staying on the island, Mr Dillon?”
“Well I’ve got no immediate plans to return to London, it could be as little as a few days or as long as a month, it all depends on how good the diving is.” Dillon said as he signed his name, and handed her back the clipboard.
“Thank you, Mr Dillon that all looks in order, if you require any assistance during your stay here in Jersey, please feel free to call me on my mobile number, anytime day or night.” There it was again, that same mischievous smile and the glint in her eyes.
“Thank you, I might just have to keep you to that, Charlie.”
She laughed demurely, went inside the cabin, and returned a moment later with a file which she handed to Dillon. “This folder contains detailed information about the local waters as well as weather forecast information for the week ahead. The trip around to Bonne Nuit Bay is about nine miles and shouldn’t take you more than thirty-five minutes.” She glanced at her watch, and then added, “You should be there by one-fifteen.” She turned and stepped up onto the dock, disappearing from sight as she got into her car and drove off.
Five minutes later, Vince was on his way in the Range Rover. Driving across to the other side of the island, and leaving Dillon to take the powerboat around the eastern coast to Bonne Nuit. He backed away from the berth, the harbour master instructed him to hold his position; while a cross channel ferry lumbered into the main port area. There was a short wait before he was given the signal to go, and then he eased the twenty-six foot power cruiser gently forward. Moved slowly out of the marina, and then into the busy main channel.
He left the harbour entrance behind him as he opened up the throttles and the twin inboard diesel engines roared into life as they powered the sleek white craft out into open water.
Hugo Malakoff arrived at the French port of St Malo two hours after speaking with Oliver Asquith. The chauffeur driven Mercedes limousine that he was travelling in came to a halt on the concrete standing, alongside his sixty-five foot yacht, the Solitaire. He sat in the rear seat for a moment, gazing out of the darkened window at the high sides of the luxury boat.
The German bodyguard who was sat in the driver’s seat watched him in the rear view mirror.
“Is there something wrong, Mien Herr?”
Malakoff laughed. “You must have a sixth sense for trouble, Kurt. You seem able to hone in on it.”
“This is why you employ me, Mien Herr.”
“This is true, Kurt.” Malakoff closed his attaché case and released his seat belt. “But you are also my friend. Of course you’re quite right, there is a problem looming over the horizon. His name is, Jake Dillon.”
“Would you like this problem erased, Mien Herr?”
“All in good time, Kurt, all in good time. Dillon is a very devious and clever Englishman and you will need to know all about him if you are to eventually kill him. The key to success is to get inside his head, Kurt. You will have to be patient, pick the time and the place carefully, and then strike him when he’s least expecting it. But this discussion will keep, and we will have ample time to talk about it over dinner this evening.” Malakoff then got out of the car and walked off towards the boat, while Kurt took care of the bags and followed moments later.
As Malakoff reached the top of the gangplank, a member of the crew piped him aboard the luxury vessel.
“At your command, Monsieur Malakoff.” The uniformed man said in French.
“It’s good to see you again, Pierre,” Malakoff said to the first mate. “The arrangements have been made as I requested?”
“Yes, Monsieur. I personally saw to everything this morning, and the captain has asked me to inform you that he is waiting for you in his cabin, Monsieur.”
“Thank you, Pierre. Oh, and by the way, the boat is looking splendid.” Malakoff said as he was walking away.
Pierre stood to attention and saluted his employer. the cropped black hair and facial scarring gave him a sinister look. A disfigurement left by an unknown sniper, who had taken a pot shot at him while he was serving with the French Foreign Legion and had left him with a constant reminder of how lucky he was to be alive. Pierre’s outward appearance wasn’t particularly large, five foot eight or nine, but it belied just how strong and agile he really was.