“The old fool intends to let the Englishman get on with it and do all the work. We’re to wait for further instructions, but it looks like he wants them back on dry land, before we make a move.”
“What? Does he expect us to do this alone?”
“Don’t be a stupid bastard. Mazzarin and Zola will come ashore to help us. In the meantime, we’re going to find a chemist, and get you sorted out with painkillers, antiseptic, and something to cover up those wounds.”
Laying in his hospital bed, and still in a coma; Nathan Cunningham looked very pale, made no movement, even as the doctor examined him. The young nurse who was stood next to him said, “What do you think, Doctor?”
He gently lifted Nathan’s left eyelid, and shone a bright light into the retina. “I really can’t say, Nurse. There are signs of him making a recovery. His brain scan shows no abnormalities, and all of his vital signs are stable. So it’s still a waiting game, I’m afraid. But, the brain will tell him when it’s ready to wake up. Oh, by the way, any idea when his daughter is returning to London?” “I believe it’s either later today, or tomorrow.”
“Good. Well let me know when she turns up, and I’ll call back in to give her an update.”
The doctor went out and the nurse put a chair by the bed, sat down, and held Nathan’s hand. “You’re doing well, Commander. We just need you to wake up now,” she said softly, stroking the back of his hand. After a minute, she got up and left Nathan to sleep in peace.
It was just after nine-thirty, when Chapman killed the power to the two inboard diesels. The bow of the power boat relaxed, causing a wake as it settled back into the water. And a moment later, he was dropping the anchor line, just fifty metres off shore.
Rising up out of the ocean the cliffs of jagged granite, that form part of the Devil’s Hole, loomed up high behind them. A foreboding backdrop, with each wave rolling in against the black wall of stone, crashing to it’s journey’s end, only to be replaced by another.
“We’ll stay out here in the deeper water,” Chapman said, and catching the look that Dillon was giving him, quickly added, “There’s less chance of us drifting onto those rocks that are hidden just below the surface over there.” And he pointed towards the shore.
Dillon went below to the day cabin, and found LJ and Vince tucking into a plate full of toast, smothered with thick Jersey butter and strawberry jam. As he came through the hatch, they both looked up, and on seeing that it was him, carried on eating. A moment later, Chapman came down to join them.
“Um, that smells good,” he commented, pouring himself a large mug full of coffee. “I think now is a good time to talk about how we’re going to do this dive, Jake.” Chapman said matter of factly.
“What have you got in mind?” Dillon replied. “Well, this is about a sixty foot dive, so there’ll be no decompression stops, which means we’ll be good for fortyfive minutes.”
“And what about the depth inside the cavern?” Dillon asked.
“More than likely the same, but you never know, it could be that we descend further as we go through the tunnel. If that’s the case, then it’ll reduce our time down there.”
“Will that be a problem, Rob?” LJ asked.
“Only if we can’t pinpoint what it is we’re looking for. Or, we have to make a second dive.”
“So what’s the problem with a second dive?” LJ asked.
“Pressure. The deeper you dive, the more nitrogen the body absorbs. If you’re down too long or you come up to quickly, it’s likely to form bubbles in your blood vessels and tissues. A bit like shaking a bottle of Champagne, lots of bubbles, with the end result being the bends, or decompression sickness.” Chapman explained.
“So what can you do to avoid this?”
“Well, we can limit our time down. Best not to speculate though, we’ll see when we’re down there. After all, Nathan did this dive on his own, and without any knowledge of what he might encounter.”
Dillon lit a cigarette, and walked out onto the rear deck. A moment later, LJ joined him.
“So, what’s going to happen next, Jake?” LJ asked, keeping his voice light.
“Next? What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve got no doubts whatsoever, old son. That you and Chapman will reach the U-boat, but you’ve not once mentioned, since embarking upon this assignment, what you propose to do once you’ve located it.”
“As Chapman said, best not to speculate. And anyway, once we’re down there we’ll see soon enough, what we’re up against.”
“I suppose so. But, I am right in thinking, am I not, that Sir Lucius does want you to report to him before anyone else once you’ve located the Spear of Destiny, doesn’t he?” The former MI5 spy held Dillon’s gaze over the top of his round, gold wired framed spectacles. Like a headmaster, who’s just caught a schoolboy smoking behind the bike shed.
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dillon replied, casually.
“Well, let me put it another way. I’ve known Sir Lucius a very long time, Jake. He’s a complex and clever man, as many men like him are. But one thing’s certain, he wouldn’t have got the firm involved with this venture, let alone fund it, unless there was something in it for him personally.”
“What are you implying?”
“I’m implying nothing, old son. What I’m saying is that the old fox is up to something, and I want to know what it is. If it’s not the spear, then it’ll be the gold bullion.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree. Because he’s not confided in me.” Dillon said, and walked back inside to join Vince and Chapman.
“Jake, I figure that if we go in on the port side, and head for that group of rocks over there.” Chapman pointed a finger, just to the right of the Devil’s Hole, “We’ll then be able work our way along the cliff face, using the current to carry us along. Hopefully, it shouldn’t take us long to locate the tunnel that way. I’ll let you take care of the Semtex, just in case we have to open up the entrance.” Chapman grinned.
“I’ve already sorted it. How long before we dive?” Dillon asked.
“As soon as we’re suited and booted.” Chapman said, as he walked off out to the dive platform, and started to change into his dive suit.
In London it was just after nine-thirty, Oliver Asquith had just finished breakfast, when his mobile phone rang. He looked at the number flashing on the screen, and then answered the call.
“Asquith.”
“Oliver, it’s Simon Digby.”
“Bit early for you, isn’t it?” Asquith said sarcastically. “Wit, at this time of the day, Oliver? I’ve some very disturbing news to tell you.”
“Oh, and what would that be?”
“Do your remember that I mentioned a young graduate by the name of Guy Roberts?”
“No. Why should I?”
“Well, he’s been with MI5 for about two years, and on secondment to Ferran & Cardini, for the last six months.” “Look, Simon. What’s this all about?”
“It’s about Guy Roberts, Oliver. He’s been murdered in broad daylight. That’s what.”
Asquith, almost choked on his coffee, and immediately replaced the china cup back onto its saucer, before he dropped it.
“Guy Roberts, yes I remember him; he’s been acting as Levenson-Jones’ personal assistant, hasn’t he?” He managed to say.
“Shot at point blank, early last evening as he left the Ferran & Cardini building in Docklands. There’s no doubt, that it was a contract killing. The whole thing was captured on one of the CCTV cameras. The killer even had the cold blooded audacity to glance up at the camera, and smile into the lens, before casually walking up the street and driving away in a stolen car. Which, I’ve been informed, the police found abandoned near to the train station, later that evening. Inside they discovered a wig, and articles of clothing, which they say were the same as those worn at the scene.”