“Alas no, Oliver. That is not here, I’m afraid.”
You could have heard a pin drop in Asquith’s bedroom, “But, that’s what this has always been about, Hugo. Retrieving that bloody diary.” Asquith’s voice was full of despair.
“You are fretting over nothing Oliver. I’m sure that if the diary were down there, like you said it would be, then Dillon would have almost certainly have found it, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. But what about these ledgers, you say they make interesting reading?”
“Oh, they do, Oliver. Quite fascinating.”
Asquith snapped, “Hugo, the last thing I really want at this unearthly hour, is to be toyed with. Just get to the bloody point, will you?”
“So be it, Oliver.” The Frenchman, spoke quietly and deliberately slowly, “What I have in front of me, are four hand written ledgers. They are official Nazi documents, and contain many notable names, which correspond to details of numbered bank accounts in Europe and South America. Both, your father and mine, are named, Oliver.” Malakoff stopped talking, while he let Asquith comprehend the enormity of what he’d just said.
“No, no, no. This can’t be true?” Asquith screeched down the phone. A sudden cold sweat breaking out over his entire body, making his pyjamas cling to him uncomfortably. “Please tell me that this isn’t true, and that I’m having some sort of horrible twisted nightmare, Hugo?”
“I’m afraid, that you’re not having a nightmare, Oliver. And, as we both know, in the wrong hands, this will almost certainly finish both of us. So, it’s just as well that I have possession of this information, and nobody else does. My advice to you is simple, my friend. Taisez-vous! Mefiezvous!”
“Of course I’ll keep my mouth shut, and I’ve been on my guard ever since this whole dreadful affair started. Promise me, Hugo. That you’ll get rid of them.” Asquith said, and then added, “Immediately?”
“Oliver, you know that I’ll take care of everything.” Malakoff got up, walked across the study to the wall of glass, and gazed out across St. Aubins bay. He stood there in the darkness for a moment, before saying, “I always do, don’t I?” And immediately disconnected, replacing the phone back on its cradle on his desk.
Asquith, lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling. Contemplating his life, should it ever become public knowledge that his father had been a Nazi supporter and collaborator. And after an indefinable amount of time, he fell back into a restless slumber.
Malakoff was standing in front of his desk, gazing down at the spearhead when Captain Armand came in.
“Unless you have any other further orders, Monsieur. I will remain on the bridge until daylight.”
Malakoff looked up at the clock hanging on the wall in front of him. It was just after two fifty-five a.m. “There are no orders, Captain.”
Armand turned to leave, and Malakoff said, “Ensure that everyone is alert, Armand. And make sure that the deck areas are patrolled every ten minutes, just in case our friend Jake Dillon decides to pay us a visit.”
“Of course, Monsieur. But, I don’t think we need to worry. We have every deck light on, as well as the underwater lights. We’d spot him a mile away, but we’ll still take every precaution.”
“Good, because I don’t think we should underestimate, Dillon.” Armand nodded, turned and left.
Malakoff waited a moment or two, before removing a small remote control from the top drawer of his desk. He gathered up the letters, the spear and the four blue ledgers, and placed them all inside the silver chest. A painting hanging on the wall behind him silently slid back as he pushed one of the buttons on the small black device, to reveal a safe. He punched in a six digit code, opened the solid looking door, and put the silver chest inside.
Malakoff stood for a moment, admiring his newly acquired masterpiece, and then he suddenly started to laugh loudly. He’d paid twenty million pounds, a drop in the ocean for someone with such wealth, to have it stolen from the Tate in London. But, it wasn’t just for art’s sake that he’d wanted it, he thought. And then took a look around with equal fervour, at all the other masterpieces that adorned the oak panelled walls. It was simply because, he wanted it.
Switching off the lights, He walked along to his bedroom, thinking of the gold bullion, still convinced that it was on board the U-boat. It was the one thing about this mystery that had not been resolved. Before retiring to bed, he made a mental note to return to the Devil’s Hole area, before sailing for France the next day.
Chapman, rowed them silently through the marina, and out into the main harbour channel. Staying close to the dockside, they crept round to the seaward side, past the ferry terminals and on to the deep water anchorage. Dillon put on his fins, and rinsed out his face mask, in readiness to go over the edge. Chapman, pulled in the oars, and looked at his watch. “Two fifty-five. Check?”
“Agreed.” Dillon replied, his voice just above a whisper.
“When do you want to go?”
“Five minutes.”
“Okay. Now Jake, the water’s about fifty feet here, very clear, and the bottom mostly sand with only a scattering of vegetation. So, with the moonlight, you’re not going to have much cover down there, and don’t forget, they’ve got their underwater lights on. You’re going be an easy target if they spot you.”
“They won’t, and it’s a good to know that you’re going to be the focus of their attention then, isn’t it?” Dillon smiled. “And like you said, you’re good at playing a drunk in a boat. So do just that, stay out about forty or fifty feet on the starboard stern quarter for about five minutes, and make a lot of noise while you’re out there. That should distract them long enough for me to get on board. When the lights go out, get away as fast as you can. Understand?”
“Yes. But, what if it doesn’t work?”
“Have no fear, it will. Those boys on board the Solitaire are going to be on edge and very nervous, like cats on a hot tin roof. They’ll want to see what all the commotion is. So make the performance good, because, I don’t want you getting yourself shot on my account.” Dillon gave Chapman a pair of night vision goggles, and placed another pair into his dive bag.
“It’s three o’clock.”
“Time to party.” Dillon placed the mouthpiece between his teeth, bit down on it, and started to breathe the compressed air. He gave Chapman the okay sign, moved over to the starboard side, and rolled backwards into the black ink like water. He was gone in an instant, only a rush of phosphorescent bubbles racing to the surface were visible in the moonlight.
Chapman waited a second, dropped the oars back into the water, and started to row. He rounded the point, and was on the seaward side of the harbour in no time. Letting the inflatable drift for a moment, while he took stock of the area through the night vision goggles. There were ocean going yachts scattered here and there and a few large power cruisers. The Solitaire, by far the largest craft at anchor, was two hundred metres away, at the other end of the pontoon.
Malakoff laid in his bed, not able to sleep, the spear and its mythical powers upper most in his thoughts. He felt elated that it was now in his possession and that things had gone better than planned with the added bonus of obtaining the Nazi ledgers. He got out of bed, put on a silk dressing gown, and went back along the gangway to his study. Went straight to the bar in the corner of the spacious room, and poured himself a large brandy. The Frenchman walked over to the wall of glass, and pulled back one of the sliding panels. The hardwood deck felt good under his bare feet, as he stood savouring the cool night air. Leaning against the stern rail, he looked up into a clear star-filled sky. Raised his glass and took a swig of the fifty year old brandy, and thought what an exceptionally lucky man he was.