Cursing the Englishman, he took a pace forward, and tried to kick Dillon in the side of the head. Missing his skull by a hair’s width, but clipping his right ear in the process. Dazed from the kicking that he was receiving, Dillon tried to crawl to safety over the grass bank, but felt himself being roughly manhandled, and then lifted up off the ground by two hands around his ankles and another pair tightly grasping his wrists. Silently, he cursed himself for being so sloppy. Seconds later, and in a daze, he had the strangest feeling that he was flying, as they threw him over the bank and down the grassy slope towards the cliff top below. He landed heavily on his side, rolling over and over into dense brush, bounced down into a shallow ditch, and came to an abrupt halt on his back.
Gasping for breath, and with a searing pain down his left side, and ringing in his ear he lay perfectly still in the grave-like hollow. From the roadside above he heard laughter and then a heavily accented voice called out, “Welcome to Jersey, Mr Dillon.”
A moment later, they started to shoot at him with silenced machine pistols set on fully automatic. Bullets scythed through the dense brush, whizzing a few inches over his head. Only to eventually end their lethal journey by thudding harmlessly into the trunks of the surrounding trees.
After they’d used up all of their ammunition, Kurt and Pierre strolled off back down the hill to the harbour. Dillon remained motionless for another fifteen minutes before struggling to his feet. After making sure that they’d left, he very slowly made his way back along the cliff top path to the Fisherman’s Lodge.
It was just past two o’clock, when the phone at the side of Edward Levenson-Jones bed in his London flat started to ring. He came awake instantly, and picked up the receiver.
“Levenson-Jones.”
Dillon was sat in the sitting room of the Fisherman’s Lodge with a large brandy in one hand, and his mobile phone in the other. “It’s Dillon” he said, “Down here in sleepy Jersey.”
“Good God man, do you know what time it is?”
“About two in the morning, if my Omega is still telling the correct time. I thought you’d like to know that I’ve just had the pleasure of meeting two of Malakoff’s hired goons.”
“What?”
“Yes you heard me; they tried to play football with my head.”
LJ was fully alert, and sitting up he tossed the bedclothes aside. “Are you absolutely certain that they work for Malakoff? After all they could have simply been drunken yobs after your wallet?”
“Without a doubt, and definitely not.” Dillon grimaced with the pain running down his left side. “Listen, they knew me by name, and they knew exactly what they were doing. Even down to how far to go without actually killing me. I’d say they’d been tipped off that Vince and I were staying here. But how do you suppose that could have happened? It’s time for you to start filling me in on those little details that you like to hold back, don’t you think?”
“I really don’t know, old son,” LJ told him. “That’s all I can say at this point in time. How’s Vince, has he settled in?”
“LJ, if my ribs weren’t hurting quite so much, I’d laugh. But yes, Vince is settling in, and I’m sure he’d be touched by your concern for his well being. The lodge is fine, and I’m supposed to be diving with Rob Chapman first thing this morning.”
“In which case, I’d say that you’ve already made excellent progress, old son. Now, if you don’t mind, I would rather like to get back to my slumber. You should do the same, and from now on watch yourself.”
“Is that it, is that the best you can do?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Dillon. Stop whinging,” LJ snapped at him. “It’s because you’re more than capable of looking after yourself that you were chosen for this assignment. No bones broken, are there?”
“No.”
“Well then, what’s your problem? Malakoff is simply trying to intimidate you, that’s all there is to it. You’ve encountered far worse than the beating his two thugs gave you this evening, I’m sure. Treat it as the warning it is, and don’t go doing anything rash. Oh yes, and try not to get caught off guard again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal.”
“I’ll look into things at this end first thing in the morning. Goodnight Jake.” LJ put the phone down, and switched off the bedside light. He lay there mulling it all over. After a while he drifted into sleep again.
Dillon walked across the sitting room to the low drink cabinet, and poured himself another large brandy. Over the granite mantel of the open fireplace hung a picture in watercolours of Bonne Nuit Bay dated 1871. Standing in front of it, his thoughts drifted as he studied the detail of the calm scene before him.
There was much more to this whole affair than he’d been told, of that he was sure. The silenced machine pistols confirmed that, and he was furious with himself for having been taken down so easily on the road earlier. But that would be the one and only chance they would ever get.
He finished his drink in one gulp, put the glass down on the table, and went into his bedroom, gently closing the door behind him. Going over to the bed he reached into his holdall, and pulled out the Glock automatic pistol, still in its leather shoulder holster. He stood there for a moment, listening to the sound of the ocean waves coming through the open window as they crashed onto the rocks below, and from the adjacent room the sound of Vince snoring loudly.
Sliding the weapon out, he held it up in the darkness, running the palm of his hand slowly over the barrel and caressing the cold steel. The game had commenced, and he was on guard, but now the odds were even he thought.
In Gifford Bay, Kurt and Pierre climbed the sea ladder that was situated at the stern of the Solitaire. Once aboard the big German went straight to Malakoff in the main salon to report on the evening activities. When he had finished Malakoff said, “You did well Kurt. But, I hope that you were discreet in your ministrations?”
Kurt said, “Naturally, Mien Herr. But there is one concern, should he go running to the authorities?”
“I can assure you that he won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I am. It will interfere with his quest to find the U-boat, and that is the last thing that he or his boss would want right now.” Malakoff had suddenly grown very tired, dismissed his bodyguard, and before retiring to his quarters went out onto the main deck for some fresh air. Raising his glass towards the Fisherman’s Lodge, he said, “Good luck Mr Dillon. Because you’re going to need it,” then threw the empty glass over the side, turned and went back inside.
Chapter Nine
It was seven-thirty the following morning, when Edward Levenson-Jones arrived at the home of Sir Lucius Stagg. He was immediately taken upstairs and shown into the study, where the former Prime Minister was seated at his desk, surveying a large bound document. “Edward, good of you to come at such short notice.”
He said, looking up.
“You asked to see me, Sir Lucius?”
“Yes, and I’ll come straight to the point. I have been reliably informed, that this French fellow Hugo Malakoff is now moored in Gifford Bay. Not only is this news disturbing, to say the least, but he could jeopardise the whole project down in the Channel Islands just by being there. Between you and me, I’m still trying to fathom out how he appears to be so well informed. Is Malakoff a problem, Edward?”
“I’m afraid he is, Sir Lucius, and it certainly does seem as if he’s there to stir up trouble. In fact, Dillon has already had a little run in with two of his hired help, late last evening.”
“Nothing he couldn’t handle, I hope?” Stagg said, pushing the heavy looking document to one side.