Rounding the corner at the back of the building, Dillon found Vince sat on the terrace in a robust looking wooden steamer chair. Resplendent under the dangling corks of his Australian bush hat. He was now in a state of languor, sipping his second or possibly third gin and tonic of the day. Looking up briefly, he sipped his drink before settling back in the chair to resume his lethargy, and worship of the sunshine that was filtering through the trees. Dillon laughed aloud, knocking the old leather bush hat off his friend’s head with a flick of his hand, as he went by on his way to the kitchen. Returning a moment later with the bottle of chilled Bollinger in one hand, and two slender glasses in the other.
They sat outside until it was dark, drinking the Champagne, discussing the assignment. By the time they’d emptied the bottle, and finished off most of the food from the hamper, millions of tiny stars were clearly visible in the clear night sky. But they didn’t see the Solitaire as she came around the headland at Belle Hougue, and dropped anchor about five hundred metres away in Gifford Bay.
Malakoff stood on the bridge of the luxury yacht with, Captain Armand beside him.
“So, they’ve rented one of the properties on the hill, Monsieur?”
“So it would seem, Armand. That in itself is very interesting.” He thought about it, stroking his chin between forefinger and thumb, and then made a decision. A moment later, Malakoff entered the salon where, Kurt was leaning over the long oak dining table, a detailed map of Jersey was laid out on the polished surface in front of him.
As his employer walked into the room he immediately stood up and snapped to attention, Malakoff breezed past him and sat down heavily in one of the leather easy chairs.
The former German special forces sergeant poured out a large brandy, and took it to where Malakoff was sitting. Placing it on the arm of his chair, he withdrew back to the table without saying a word.
Malakoff looked up at his bodyguard, and said. “I would like you to go ashore tonight. Take one of the others with you.”
“What is it you require of me, Mien Herr?”
“Firstly, I want you to take a little look at Dillon’s boat. See what equipment is on board. Then go and find out where he and this other fellow Sharp are staying. Should Mr Dillon go out then follow him. The same applies to his oversized friend of course, and do not underestimate him, Kurt. Don’t forget, he is with Dillon for a reason.”
“Should I introduce myself to Dillon, Mien Herr?” Kurt asked optimistically.
“Only if the opportunity arises, Kurt,” Malakoff smiled. “Oh, and if it does, please ensure to make a lasting impression.”
“It will be my pleasure, Mien Herr.” Kurt said pouring himself a mineral water.
Dillon felt restless as he always did at the start of an assignment. Had showered, and slipped into a pair of casual linen trousers and a soft blue cotton shirt. He’d walked the short distance down the hill to the harbour, went up the steps, glanced quickly around the room full of people as he entered and was now sitting at the bar of Annabelle’s Café and Bistro.
The atmosphere inside had completely changed since his earlier visit. With the evening darkness came intimate lighting, and tables that now had red and white chequer covers upon them. He’d never cared for the usual beer or lager so he settled for a vodka, lime and soda which the genial Portuguese bartender promptly mixed and placed on a small round wooden mat in front of him.
A small group of men and women were finishing their meal at one of the tables overlooking the bay, and way out to sea he could see the lights of passing ships on the horizon. It always made him feel good inside, almost to the point of forgetting why he had been sent to Jersey, and the job that he had to do. As he finished his drink, Vince walked in and ordered two more.
“Thought I’d come and keep you company, chap. Shall we eat?”
“But we’ve already eaten.”
“What? That was merely a snack, and a man must have sustenance, Jake. Just smell that garlic, and the lobster looks exquisite.”
Dillon had to admit, the food did smell and look delicious and eventually gave in to Vince’s persistence. They ordered the lobster, no Champagne but a fine bottle of Italian Pinot Grigio white completed the experience.
Kurt waited patiently on the sea wall, concealed by one of the small wooden huts While Pierre took a closer look around the outside of the café. Five minutes later he reappeared out of the darkness.
“Well, did you see him?”
“He’s inside with the other one, and from the look of it they’ve just finished eating.”
“Sounds like they may be leaving soon, Frenchman. Perhaps we should introduce ourselves as they come out?” Kurt said with a malicious smirk.
They started to make their way along the sea wall towards the beach. Kurt suddenly halted, putting an outstretched arm across Pierre’s chest, and pushed him sideways into the shadows of a nearby hut.
“Wait, that man going up the steps of the café, it’s Chapman the diver. What is he doing here?” The tall German peered around the corner of the hut, Rob Chapman had gone inside, and was now sitting at the bar.
“This changes things completely, Dillon could be in there for hours if he starts talking to him. Herr Malakoff will not be at all pleased with this development.”
“How do you know that it’s Chapman?” Pierre asked.
“Never mind how I know, Frenchman. Just do as I say, and stop asking stupid questions, you asshole. Now follow me, we’re going inside for a drink.”
Dillon noticed Rob Chapman walk in, and go straight to a vacant stool at the end of the bar and wait until the bartender was free to serve him.
“I’ll have my usual please, Afonso.”
“No problem, Senor Chapman. One Jack Daniel’s on ice, coming up.”
The barman placed the drink in front of him, and then went and served another customer. Chapman shifted slightly on his stool, looked around the busy bar, and then as he turned back to reach for his drink, became aware of Dillon staring in his direction and frowned.
Dillon walked over to the bar, and ordered two brandies, turning to the man sat on the stool, he said. “You’re, Rob Chapman, right?”
The other man looked wary. “And you are?”
“Jake Dillon. I’m renting the old Fisherman’s Lodge up on the hill. Annabelle told me to look you up, and to say hello.”
“Annabelle?” Chapman frowned. “When did you see, Annabelle?” He asked, with more than a little surprise in his voice.
“This morning in London. In fact it was just before my friend,” Dillon pointed across the room at Vince, who was still sitting at the table, “and I left to come down here.”
“I see, known Annabelle long, have you?”
“Long enough.” Dillon said, and then changed the subject. “You’ve heard about her father’s accident?”
“Yes of course, very unfortunate Nathan being run over like that. Annabelle phoned me a couple of days back, and told me all about it. So how is he?”
“Still in a coma, I’m afraid. But the doctors seem to think that he’s going to be just fine. I believe you taught him to dive as well as introducing him to the mysteries of archaeology?”
“Nathan could already dive, long before he came down to Jersey. All I did, was help him to rediscover how enjoyable it can be.”
“And how did you manage to get him interested in scratching around in dirt?”
“By that, I take it you mean, archaeology. Well that just happened. I was looking for help on the excavation that I’m working on, over at St. Lawrence. Nathan and I had got to know each other pretty well, and he was bored doing nothing. So, he came along with me one day, and that was well over a year ago. Anyway, that’s enough about me. So what brings you to Jersey, Mr Dillon?”