Seven years previous, Malakoff had offered the former Legionnaire a job, immediately after he’d outwitted and survived the wealthy idiots who had each paid a large sum of money for a weekend of special hunting on his estate. They had spent two days trying to track down and kill the former Legionnaire. His cunning had been such that he now had a job for life, and lived permanently on board the cruiser.
Dillon sat high up on the flying bridge of the twentysix foot boat, enjoying the perfect weather conditions, and open sea. The sun shone down from a sky of brilliant blue, occasionally playing hide and seek behind the odd dash of white cloud as it floated by.
Passing Green Island on the port side, he pushed the throttle levers further forward, and the engine pitch changed as the powerful twin inboard diesels responded; a plume of spray shot up at the stern, and the bow of the sleek white craft lifted with the increased speed. On towards La Rocque Harbour where he rounded the point, and came around a few degrees, continuing up the most easterly coast of the island to the Royal Bay of Grouville with its sweeping expanse of sandy beech. Checking his watch for the first time since leaving St. Helier, Dillon saw that he was making good time, and eased back on the throttles as he passed Mont Orgueil Castle on his way to St Catherine’s Bay. Dillon gazed into the crystal clear water as it rushed by below him, it seemed to constantly change colour. One moment it appeared almost transparent over the shallow reefs, and then dark and foreboding where the fields of kelp grew on the seabed, and the water was much deeper.
Fifteen minutes later, Dillon rounded the headland at Belle Hougue. The chart for that area of the island coastline showed Bonne Nuit about half a mile up ahead of him. He approached the small harbour slowly and saw for the first time just how rugged and inhospitable the shoreline was. Jagged reefs of granite rose up out of the water, waves thrashed and foamed onto the rocks, only to stumble over themselves and then be dragged back out to sea again.
There were small fishing vessels, and cabin cruisers dotted around the harbour. A high sea wall jutted out like a finger pointing out to sea. The only protection against the ocean beyond. Cottages and houses dotted the hillside and Annabelle’s café nestled below, at the edge of a cobbled slipway.
On entering the harbour he soon found the bright yellow buoy of the swinging mooring that came with the property the firm had rented. He dropped the anchor and fastened the bow line to the buoy, and then went around securing all of the hatches before lowering the dinghy into the water from the dive platform at the stern.
The outboard coughed and spluttered into life, and a moment later the propeller bit the water, churning it up as the small inflatable craft made its way to shore. Dillon was on the sandy beach and in no time was tying the bow rope onto a heavy mooring chain.
As he walked up towards the slipway a woman somewhere in her late fifties came out of the doorway to, Annabelle’s café carrying a tray with cups, teapot and cakes on it. Dillon got to the top of the steps just as she was turning to go back inside.
“Excuse me,” the happy ruddy faced woman turned around. “Sorry to trouble you. But I’m looking for, Kate Jackson. Is she around?”
“You’re not troubling me sweetie. Kate, she’s in the back room sorting out the menu for tonight, who shall I say is looking for her?”
“Jake Dillon.”
“Oh yes, Mr Dillon, Annabelle phoned earlier to say that you’d be calling in for some keys. I’ll just go and get her for you, or you can come through if you like?”
“That’s very kind of you,” Dillon said, and held open the door for her.
Kate Jackson stood up in the tiny room as Dillon was shown through. He was greeted by a tall elegant and warm woman somewhere in her mid forties with shoulder length chestnut coloured hair. “It’s good to meet you, Mr Dillon. Annabelle has told me a lot about you.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Favourable, would best describe it.” She reached into the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a bunch of keys.
“These are for you, I think. The letting agent dropped them off earlier this morning.” Giving them to Dillon, she looked at him for a brief moment before saying in a breathless tumble of words.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but Annabelle is my best friend and one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known or worked for, and the point is, Mr Dillon. Well, the point is that she obviously likes you a lot.”
Dillon stood in the doorway, taking in what had just been said to him. “Does she now? Well, I like Annabelle, Miss Jackson.” Dillon fiddled with the bunch of keys that he was still holding in his right hand. “And your point is, Miss Jackson?”
“Well, my point is Mr Dillon. That Annabelle is extremely vulnerable at present and doesn’t need any complications in her life. If you get my drift?”
Dillon pushed the keys deep into his jacket pocket, turned, and walked out of the café. As he got to the slipway a voice from over his shoulder called after him.
“Mr Dillon, please wait.” It was Kate Jackson coming down the steps. “I’m so sorry, I was completely out of order back there, please forgive me?”
“Look, you don’t know me, and you really don’t have to apologise for anything. It’s simply a case of you misreading the situation, and although I don’t feel that I need to justify myself to you, Miss Jackson. I can tell you, that I’m very happy with the relationship that I’m in, thank you. Annabelle and I are quite simply just good friends. So you needn’t worry, really. ”
“Thank you, she warned me that you were disarmingly charming, and please call me, Kate.”
Dillon smiled, said goodbye and then walked off up the hill to find the rented property.
Kate Jackson went back inside to her tiny office, and made a phone call.
The Solitaire had cost Hugo Malakoff 1.1 million pounds, and was definitely one his favourite playthings. He spent as much time as his busy schedule would allow him to, on board the sixty-five foot luxury boat. Frequently entertaining friends and associates as well as the occasional female companion along the way.
The vessel’s outward appearance was that of any other and had every conceivable luxury needed for her size, a captain and four crew members to man her. The Solitaire however, was no ordinary craft. She was fitted with the latest computer hardware and intelligent software that not only controlled every system above and below water, but could also adjust and recalibrate them according to demand.
Malakoff sat at a table in the main salon enjoying a fine Cuban cigar, and a cup of strong black espresso coffee; Kurt sat at his side. And, sitting opposite was the power cruisers captain, Paul Armand. A stocky, grey haired man in a crisp white uniform, and like Kurt, he had been with Malakoff for many years, had frequently taken part in activities of a highly dubious and illegal nature.
“And that is our dilemma, Armand. This man, Dillon poses a very real problem to us, he’s cunning, extremely resourceful, and could jeopardise our success in finding the U-boat first. He will most definitely approach this archaeologist, and diver, Rob Chapman. If he hasn’t already done so. Our contact on Jersey tells me that Dillon, and one other person arrived this morning by private helicopter.”
“A notoriously bad place, Monsieur,” Armand said, using a remote control to expose a large plasma screen on the wall. A map of Jersey was shown on the screen, which he enlarged to show the northern coastline more clearly. “I know this island, Monsieur. Even the most experienced divers would find it almost impossible to dive in this area. As for finding a concealed tunnel entrance, well it’s not going to be easy, Monsieur. Even with all of our sophisticated equipment onboard. Not easy at all.”