“Diving, Mr Chapman, lots of diving.” Dillon savoured his brandy, and looked around the room. Kurt and Pierre were drinking beer at a small round table by a window. They were not looking directly at him, apparently engaged in conversation. Dillon’s eyes barely paused, moved on and yet something registered in his mind about them, perhaps it was the cropped hair or the hard battle scarred faces that they both sported.
“And what are you two up to?” Dillon murmured, for he had seen trouble many times before during his time in army intelligence, and never believed in coincidence.
Chapman finished his drink in one gulp, and put the glass down onto the bar, ready to order another. His eyes flashed bright blue in the tanned face as he grabbed the attention of the Portuguese bartender.
“I’ll have a refill when you’re ready please Afonso, and another of whatever Mr Dillon is drinking.”
“Coming up, Senor Chapman.”
Afonso brought the Jack Daniel’s and the brandy, and Chapman said, “So you’re here for the diving are you?”
“That’s right. My friend and I arrived here this morning.”
“Would that be your twenty-six footer parked in the harbour?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Well it’s not your run of the mill sport fisherman, now is it?”
“Point taken.” Dillon said wryly.
“Is it the wrecks you’re looking for?”
“Something like that.” Dillon lit a cigarette. “The thing, is I’m interested in doing a little diving, and Annabelle suggested that I spoke to you. Said you were the best, and that you know where all of the best sites are located.”
“That’s Annabelle, always saying nice things about people.”
“She also said that you’re the only diver on the island who her father would ever trust to dive with.”
“Is that so?” Chapman took a swig of his drink. “Nathan is certainly a good diver, foolhardy, but still a good diver.”
“Why do you say foolhardy?”
“Diving alone is a dangerous and sometimes fatal pastime, and not to be recommended. Nathan is one of the worst offenders. I’ve known him to get up in the morning get on board the Nautical Lady, and just go. That’s his boat over there.” Chapman pointed towards the middle of the harbour. “The problem is that accidents can happen no matter how well you plan a dive. The waters around here are treacherous in the best of conditions, what with the tidal movements and the strong currents.” Chapman drank some more of his Jack Daniel’s, and looked Dillon in the eye. “But, then I’d say you’re the sort of man who already knows this, Mr Dillon.”
He had the easily likeable personality of someone who accepted life as it was, and not as it should be. There was no hurry in either his voice or his movements, and everything he said was carefully considered.
Dillon said, “It’s ironic isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“That in all the time that Nathan dived alone in a potentially lethal environment, he should then be run over on a pedestrian crossing in London. Doesn’t seem right somehow.”
Chapman said calmly, “You’re right, it’s a bit of a raw deal. But, do you know what? Nathan has a favourite saying. Treat each day as your last, because one day you’ll be right. You see, Nathan Cunningham is a pragmatic man, Mr Dillon, he knows exactly what risk he runs when he dives alone, and that’s the reason he does it.”
“And you, Mr Chapman is that how you view life?”
Chapman smiled. “So, you want to do some diving?”
“That’s right.”
“Are you any good?”
“Oh, I manage,” Dillon told him, “but I’m always willing to learn from a good teacher.”
“Good, then I’ll meet you at the St. Helier marina at seven-thirty in the morning.”
“Okay.” Dillon swallowed his brandy. “I’ll see you then.” He hesitated before turning to leave.
“Tell me, have you ever seen those two men sitting over in the corner before?”
“Never, they’re not holiday makers, that’s for sure. They could be off of that big power yacht that moored up in Gifford Bay earlier this evening.”
“Gifford Bay?” Dillon’s ears instantly pricked up. “Why not anchor in Bonne Nuit?”
“Not deep enough for this beauty, she must be sixtyfive to seventy feet long. By the look of the flags being flown, whoever owns it is French. Also, Gifford is a lot quieter, and there’s room to manoeuvre something of that size without fear of snagging on the bottom or colliding with another boat.”
“I suppose you see these luxury cruisers coming and going all the time from your place?”
“Yes, and I’ve got a clear view across both bays from my piece of rock, but I’ve never seen this one moor up before though.”
Dillon said goodnight, and walked out through the main door of the café. The bartender came up to where Chapman was sitting.
“Would you like another drink, Senor Chapman?”
“No thank you, Afonso. But I could murder a beef sandwich. That is, if it’s not too late for chef?”
“For you, Senor. This is no problem.”
Chapman reached for his glass and at the same time noticed the two rough looking characters from the corner table get up and leave.
“Those two men that have just left, have you ever seen them before, Afonso?”
“Only once before, Senor. When I worked at the marina in St. Helier. They are in the employ of a wealthy Frenchman, I believe his yacht the Solitaire is moored in Gifford Bay, Senor. The smaller one, I think he’s the first mate. The other is the Frenchman’s personal bodyguard, and please excuse my language, Senor. But he is a real mean bastard.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because he’s a cold blooded killer, that’s why. He stabbed a man outside one of the bars in St. Helier about six months ago. The man bled to death in the gutter because no one had the courage to help him. The police couldn’t press charges because there were apparently no witnesses, so he walked away a free man. I would say that he’s the kind of animal to keep well clear of, Senor.”
“I’d certainly agree with you, Afonso. And, I do remember reading about that.” Chapman almost got up to go after them, but remained seated. After all it was nothing to do with him, and anyway they hadn’t caused any trouble. Dillon was more than capable of looking after himself in any event. Of that he was in no doubt, whatsoever.
Dillon walked away from the harbour, and started the climb up the steep hill towards the Fisherman’s Lodge, thinking about his impromptu meeting with Chapman.
He’d liked him straightaway, a charming man with a sharp mind and tenacious character, but then remembering what young, Roberts had discovered about his background. And, with this in mind, he was in no doubt that he would have to keep his guard up around him.
Keeping tight into the verge, Dillon made his way steadily up the unlit road, which was made more hazardous by having no pavement to walk on, and numerous potholes to dodge along the way. Rounding the bend he became suddenly aware of footsteps coming up the hill behind him. There were at least two people he thought, possibly other diners from the café who were walking to the car park.
He reached the entrance to the narrow gravel lane, and stood for a brief moment, waiting for whoever had been coming up the hill behind him, to walk straight past. They didn’t, and as he stepped out from the shadows to confront them, was knocked expertly to the ground with one heavy blow in the middle of his shoulder blades, and he knew immediately that he was in trouble.
Rolling over, he looked up and caught a brief glimpse of Kurt’s triumphant face, illuminated by the light of a full moon. As Dillon attempted to get up the steel toecap of the big German’s boot made contact with his ribs. Instinctively he recoiled, rolling over towards the edge of the lane.