“Okay, that sounds like a good idea.”
“But, I’ll drop the act and come running the minute you need me.”
Vince opened up one of his aluminium cases, and pulled out four tiny objects.
“We’re going to need these, by the sound of it.” He said handing them around to everyone.
“What is it?” LJ said, rolling it around with his forefinger and thumb.
“Do you want the full technical description, boss, or an abbreviated version?”
“Make it the quick version.”
“Well, in its simplest form. It’s a digital communication device. Completely waterproof to one hundred feet, with a range of up to two miles radius of my laptop computer. Simply pop it into your ear, and talk, the rest of us will be able hear simultaneously.”
“What a marvellous little gizmo.” LJ commented, and put the tiny device into his right ear. The others all did the same, and after a minute or two, Vince had synchronised them all with his computer. Adjusting the levels of sound in each one. This done, they were then ready to talk to, and hear each other through the tiny devices.
Dillon, opened up his holdall and took out two Heckler and Koch MP5 machine guns, both with thirty round clips attached. He passed one to Vince, and the other to LJ, “Insurance.”
“Well, let’s hope we don’t need it, old son.” LJ placed the weapon on the seat next to him.
Dillon took the Glock out of its holster, thoroughly checked it, attached the silencer he’d had specially made, and put it into a watertight dive bag. Then he unzipped an inner pocket of the holdall and pulled out two circular limpet mines complete with remote detonators attached.
“By the looks of it, you’re about to start World War Three. Is all of that really necessary, old son?” LJ said, pointing to the dive bag.
“Yes.” Dillon said bluntly.
For the next few hours Dillon lay dozing on one of the beds. Chapman and LJ stayed in the main saloon of the power cruiser, drinking coffee and discussing Chapman’s work at the St. Lawrence site of the underground war tunnels. While Vince kept himself busy with his computer equipment at the dining table. It was two thirty the following morning. Dillon was sitting next to Vince, concentrating on the images that kept constantly changing on the computer screen in front of them.
“Bloody hell, Vince. I don’t know how you sleep at night?”
“Sleeping, like eating, my dear Jake. I find very simple. However, hacking into the harbour master’s main computer system is quite a different matter. Especially, as it controls the CCTV system for the entire dock area. Ah, there we go, we’re in. Thank heavens for wireless broadband.” Vince said smugly.
“Umm, I’m sure you’re right. Can you control the cameras from here?”
“Of course, I can override any of the original commands. But first, I’ll freeze the images that they’re currently viewing on their screens. That way, they won’t know we’re messing around inside the system.”
“Good, well in that case. Let’s take a closer look at the Solitaire, and see if Monsieur Malakoff is still up and about.”
Vince typed in the command, and almost immediately the Solitaire appeared. Using the mouse, he panned the camera around and then zoomed in, the next moment the luxury craft filled the screen with amazing clarity.
“By the look of all those lights, I’d say that he’s still up and about, and most definitely not taking any chances, is he?” Vince said soberly.
“Oh, Malakoff likes taking risks, Vince. Just by staying here in Jersey tonight, proves that. No, the lights are on, because he knows for sure that I’ll try and recover the spear head and everything else that’s inside the chest.” Dillon said matter of factly, adding, “But, what he won’t be expecting is the power to be cut on that pontoon.”
“Think of it as done. But, don’t forget what I said earlier. That boat, will most definitely have a backup generator on board. And, I’d give you no more than sixty seconds before it cuts in.”
“Well, I’d better make sure that I’m damn quick getting up the anchor line then, hadn’t I?” Dillon said over his shoulder, as he turned, and left Vince to his gadgets.
He went and got into his wetsuit and, after checking that everything was working correctly, he placed his buoyancy jacket and air tanks into the inflatable. He gathered up his fins and mask, together with the dive bag and stepped out onto the rear dive platform. A moment later, Rob Chapman came out and stood beside him.
“Time to go, Rob.” Dillon casually glanced at the omega watch strapped to his wrist. Then looked with amazement, at what clothing Chapman was now wearing. “Good God, I thought you were a tramp.”
“More importantly. Would you recognise me in the dark, from say fifty feet away?”
“Honestly. No, if you walked past me in broad daylight, I wouldn’t know that it was you.”
“Well, that’s that taken care of then!”
Dillon unzipped the holdall, reached in and took out another MP5 and half a dozen extra clips and handed them to Chapman. He then pulled out a two green egg shaped objects, and stuffed them into the coat pocket of the old dishevelled man standing in front of him.
“What are those for?”
“Stun Grenades, standard SAS issue. Very simple to use, just pull the pin and throw it over arm, like this.” Dillon demonstrated the throw. “Make sure you’re close when you throw one, and don’t forget to look away. These babies will immobilize anyone in close proximity to them for about three to five seconds. Got all that?”
Chapman nodded, and the two men then got into the inflatable, Dillon untied the bow line and pushed off from the side of the power cruiser. Chapman took the two wooden oars from the bottom of the boat and fitted them into the rowlocks. He was a skilled rower and, even though he was wearing a cumbersome thick sweater and heavy overcoat, in no time he was moving them silently out across the marina towards the main harbour.
The Solitaire was tied up alongside a pontoon constructed of solid granite, on the seaward side of the marina, where the deep water could easily take a vessel of her size. Hugo Malakoff was sitting in his study at the stern, reading the documents from inside the silver chest for the second time that day. The Spear of Destiny, lying on the bed of vivid purple silk, remained within his reach on the highly polished desk top. Every so often, he would stretch out his hand and gently touch it. He’d never felt so invigorated, so confident, in his entire life. He examined the letters, and then one of the four blue hardback ledgers, these interested him the most. All those names, many eminent members of the British establishment, who together with people like his own, and Oliver Asquith’s father, were secretly in support of the direction in which Germany was taking during those early years of Adolf Hitler’s rise.
He picked up the telephone and called Captain Armand on the bridge. “Get me Lord Asquith at his London residence.”
It was two forty-five, and Asquith was asleep at his Kensington home, when the phone rang on his bedside table. “Oliver? It’s Hugo.”
Asquith rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Hugo, do you know what time it is?”
“Of course, Oliver. It’s two forty-five in the morning.”
“Exactly. What the bloody hell can be so important that you have to call me at this unholy hour?”
“Oliver, we have possession of the spear.”
“What? When did this happen?” Asquith was now fully awake and listening intently.
“This afternoon. I have the silver chest, the spear, and a number of small blue ledgers that make extremely interesting reading.”
“And, my father’s diary?”