At the house, Annabelle had gone to bed, and Dillon was downstairs. He was standing in the shadows, by one of the windows that overlooked the road, watching for any movement outside. Five minutes later his patience paid off, and he spotted what he was looking for. Using his mobile phone, he dialled a local Jersey number.
Making his voice sound convincingly like an elderly man, Dillon spoke slowly and clearly. “Hello, I’d like to report a crime.” He said to the operator, and then waited briefly while his call was transferred. “Hello, there are two rough looking men, snooping around one of the houses on the hill at Bonne Nuit. No, I don’t wish to give my name, and this is not a hoax call. I’m simply trying to be a good citizen, that’s all. You’d better be quick, because they look as if they’re breaking into the house, and I think they’re armed.”
After saying the magical, ‘armed’ word. Dillon immediately hung up, and put the small mobile back into his jacket pocket.
He then went and poured himself a healthy measure of Nathan Cunningham’s single malt whisky, and positioned himself in a comfortable looking swivel chair, that not only afforded him a clear view of the spacious living room, but also though the wall of glass to the outside deck area and the road below. Taking the Glock from its holster, he placed it on the small round side table next to him, making sure that the safety catch was in the off position. And waited.
Dillon had expected the police to take longer to arrive, especially as they would have had to get an armed unit up to Bonne Nuit from the other side of the island. There were no sirens, and only one flashing blue light could be seen at the very top of the hill.
Outside, Dillon could hear a voice shout a warning, as Kurt and Pierre broke cover to come across the road towards the house. From under his leather jacket, the big German pulled an Uzi machine pistol. But before he could use it, was thrown face down, hard onto the ground, by two officers dressed in black uniforms, and was immediately handcuffed.
Pierre had tried to run away, heading down towards the harbour, but was instantly brought down by one of the other officers, with a Taser stun gun. After he’d recovered enough from the electric shock of the Taser, the officer roughly pulled the Frenchman’s arms behind his back, and handcuffed him. A moment later, and completely bewildered at being ambushed and arrested, they were both tossed into the back of a police van and driven quietly away. From where he was sitting, Dillon had heard the commotion outside. He took a gulp of the whisky, and smiled to himself in the darkness. Annabelle’s plan had worked without a hitch, but how effective and long lasting it would be, only time would tell.
It was six-thirty the next morning, when Dillon told Annabelle about the police, and how, after an anonymous tip off, they’d foiled an armed burglary attempt.
Annabelle smiled ruefully, and said, “Well let’s hope that they’re both safely locked up in a cosy little cell somewhere.”
“We shouldn’t hold out too much hope of the police keeping them in custody for more than a few hours. Once Malakoff hears about what’s happened, he’ll have his lawyers go in and get them out on bail. But it’ll still give us a bit of a head start.” “I suppose anything is better than nothing?” “And with that in mind, we ought to get up to the Fisherman’s Lodge, and tell the others.”
At the lodge, Dillon brought the others up to speed, and then went into the bedroom and got the holdall from the cupboard. He took everything out, the Semtex and chemical fuses, the MP5 carbine and half a dozen hand grenades. LJ came in as he was finishing, wearing a blue Guernsey sweater, a pair of mustard coloured trousers, and leather deck shoes.
“It’s good to see you’ve come prepared, Jake. Let me guess, where you obtained the means to start a full scale war. The albino?” Dillon nodded. “I thought as much.”
Dillon put everything back into the holdall. “Given the situation we now find ourselves in. I’d say, that Chapman and I are going to have enough problems with diving through this tunnel. At least you and Vince will have some sort of edge, should the need arise.”
“Do you really think this dive is possible?” “We’ll just have to wait and see.” Dillon said, as he pulled on a sweater. “LJ, about what happened to Roberts. I just wanted to say…”
“I know, Jake. We’re all upset by what’s happened.” LJ looked pale. “But we’ll have our day, I promise you. Now I suppose we should get going. Chapman will be waiting on the dock.”
Down at the harbour, Chapman was already on board the power cruiser, he had stowed six full tanks of air in the rear rack, and was just making a pot of coffee when he heard the others coming alongside in the dinghy.
LJ shouted up from where he was sitting in the bow, “Chapman, what a fine fellow you are. That coffee smells absolutely bloody marvellous.” And with that, he jumped onto the rear dive deck like a man half his age.
Once on board, Dillon went below to stow the holdall with the weapons in. As he was about to go back up on deck, Annabelle came in with two steaming mugs of black coffee.
Dillon took one of the mugs from her, and noticed how tired she was looking. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine Jake, really. I haven’t been sleeping very well, that’s all.” She said.
“Well, we’re very close to solving this mystery now.”
“And then what happens?” she asked.
Dillon didn’t know what to say, because he didn’t know the answer. Instead, he simply said. “What happens next, I really don’t know. That your father gets well, and then we can tell him this yarn, about a hidden Kreigsmarine U-boat, Nazi gold bullion, and a priceless religious artefact, called the Spear of Destiny.”
Dillon picked up a Walther PPK, and handed it to Annabelle. “Here, put this somewhere handy. And don’t tell me you don’t know what to do with it. Just release the safety catch, point and fire.”
Annabelle gingerly took the weapon, and slipped it into one of her jacket pockets. “Do you really think that I’m in that much danger?”
“For whatever reason, Malakoff is determined to find that submarine, and just because his two monkeys are locked up, doesn’t mean that he hasn’t got others on board that floating gin palace of his, to take their place.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I know I’m right, Annabelle. And another thing. When you get back to shore, stay in the Café. It’s public, and there’s less likelihood of Malakoff’s men trying anything where there are other people.”
Annabelle, gave him a kiss on the cheek, before jumping back down into the dinghy.
“Take care, my dear,” LJ called from the wheelhouse.
“Good luck.” She called back, and waved as she steered the dinghy back towards the beach.
Chapman throttled up the in-board diesel engines. Dillon untied the bow mooring rope, as the automatic winch brought in the anchor line. The boat drifted back, then Chapman spun the wheel and pushed both throttles forward.
Dillon looked back at Bonne Nuit, spotted Annabelle on the beach, and waved at her. She raised her arm and waved back, the power cruiser’s bow lifted, and they started to move out to sea. The next moment, they’d rounded the sea wall, and were in open water. As the power cruiser disappeared out of sight, Annabelle turned and walked away.
Her watch showed just after seven o’clock, she walked up the slipway and straight past the entrance of the café. A few of the local fisherman had returned to harbour, and were stood talking on the dockside. she waved at them as she started up the hill towards her house.
Kurt and Pierre had watched the power cruiser leave the harbour, and saw Annabelle return to shore in the dinghy from high up on the hill. “Luck is certainly with us today, Frenchman. It looks like the girl is walking home on her own. And without those fools around, we can have a nice quite chat with Miss Cunningham.”