Dillon stood up and put a hand out to her.
“I suppose that I’m expendable at the end of the day. Well not this time, Dunstan. Find yourself another fool.”
“Not to me, you’re not,” Havelock said, with as much sincerity as he could muster. “I thought we had a good working friendship, and in all the years that we’ve known each other, I’ve always tried to ensure that you were paid the highest rate. You can hardly say that I’ve been using you.”
“It’s never been for the money; you know that, Dunstan.”
“I know it’s not the money.”
“So tell me then, why would I be interested this time? As yet you’ve not even told me what’s on offer.”
“Only more money, I’m afraid. And, of course, the thanks and appreciation of HM Government.”
“They can stick that where the sun don’t shine.”
“When you were in the Intelligence Corp it was Government money that trained you. When you dropped in and out of all of those exotic locations for weeks on end, who paid the enormous expense accounts that you managed to run-up? And who paid for the experience that you gained along the way that has made you what you are today?”
“The point is, Dunstan, I’m not really sure that I like who I am anymore, or what I do today.”
Underneath the table cloth, Issy slipped her hand in his and gently squeezed it.
Dillon turned his head slightly towards her and immediately saw the knowing smile that she was giving him.
Dillon looked across the circular table at Dunstan Havelock, adjusted his tie and said, “If you promise not to speak politico bullshit I’ll listen to what you have to say.” Havelock nodded and leant his stocky figure forward over the table as if he had stomach ache.
“A painting by Vermeer that was stolen along with others from a museum in Boston on March 18, 1990 has possibly turned up in a private collection in Dorset.”
“Dorset? Where exactly?”
“The Sandbanks peninsula. I’m informed that it’s allegedly in a private collection and that the man who has it lives in one of those very large architect designed properties located right on the ocean’s doorstep.”
Havelock leant back, took off his jacket and hooked it over the corner of his chair. As he looked at Havelock sitting across the table, the bland expression on Dillon’s face was impregnable.
“Sounds intriguing. Go on.”
“Well, that’s it really. Except that the person who has it is known to associate with certain criminal elements, both here in the UK and the US.”
Dillon remained silent; taking in the details that he’d just been given.
After a while, he said, “If you know where this painting is, why don’t you simply pay this character an early morning visit and ask him where he got it from and from whom?”
“Good point, Jake. But, unfortunately, it’s not that simple. You see, he’s extremely well-connected in certain quarters of the city, as well as in India and Pakistan, and the trade that he generates for the UK is vast. The Home Secretary would rather we avoided any form of high-handed approach or official enquiry.”
Dillon leant back in his chair, looked at Issy, who smiled reticently back at him, and said, “It’s beyond my remit, I’m afraid. Dunstan lost me about five minutes ago, and now I’m as confused as you are.”
“So what makes you so sure that I’d find out anything more?”
Havelock sipped his Champagne and eventually said, “Your dumb-wittedness will not put me off, Jake. You’ve got contacts from all walks of life, and they’re dotted around all over the place. And I know from old that you can call them to arms when required to.”
“What you mean, Dunstan, is that I know numerous people with dubious talents, and some of those just happen to be villains and fences, is that it?”
“You make your world sound so seedy, Jake. And no, it’s not just because of your acquaintance with those individuals of a criminal persuasion. It’s much more than that.”
“I’m not happy about the Americans being involved, Dunstan.”
“Oh come now, Jake. They’re not really involved and they’ve promised not to interfere. You’ve simply got to look at the broader picture — if we turn them down and don’t help out, they’ll simply send in their own people covertly. But if we do, it will bank a large number of brownie points with them and that’s always a positive thing, isn’t it?”
“You’ve slipped back into that politico speak, Dunstan. Cut the crap.”
“I’m sorry. But try and look at it this way: suppose it’s not HM Government, but the person who benefits the most from our help? At the very least it’ll take away any suspicion that he may have been involved in one of the largest art heists of the twentieth century. And he’s British, which in itself is enough for us to get involved.”
“Is this painting valuable? I mean, is it really worth all the aggravation that it’s without doubt going to cause?”
“Priceless at today’s valuation. But it’s not just the phenomenal value that matters, but who stole it and how it got to the UK in the first place.”
Issy sat back, resigned. She already knew what was going to happen. And it had nothing to do with Dunstan Havelock, the Americans, a stolen Vermeer painting, any amount of money or any of these things. Dillon always had to think his way through the risk factors and the odds of achieving the objective.
Dunstan knew this, as she did, and that it would be Dillon’s own assessment of both of these factors, along with his insatiable curiosity that would make his mind up. It would merely be a question of how much he wanted to get involved. And, knowing that Dillon was always searching for his next rush of excitement, the answer was a foregone conclusion. The job sounded like it would be a walk in the park for Dillon, and something that could be cleared up quickly. She only hoped that the sudden sense of apprehension she was feeling, indicated the same.
“Why is it that you even bother to ask for my opinion when you’ve already made up your mind about something? Don’t get me wrong, Jake. I love the fact that you want my opinion, but you’re so annoying when you do that,” she said, and glanced sideward at Dillon. They were sitting in the back of a cab returning to Dillon’s converted warehouse loft apartment on the banks of the Thames.
“I love you.” The words sort of tumbled out of Dillon’s mouth, and were completely spontaneous.
“What?”
“I said I love you.”
“Are you drunk, or feeling unwell or something?”
“No. It’s just that I wanted you to know, that’s all.”
Issy’s arms went around Dillon’s neck, burning lips brushed lightly against his with impatient passion. And then, as quickly, she broke the embrace, gently caressing his face for a moment, before saying, “I wouldn’t want to lose you, Jake. Not for anything.”
“I know. And you don’t have to worry; I promise to be careful.”
“But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Understandably, I do worry, and it’s because the work you do is likely to get you killed one of these days. But hay ho; you’re the only one who can do anything about that.”
Dillon knew what was about to come and held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, I promise that I’ll have a quiet chat with Sir Lucius after this assignment. Perhaps he’ll take pity on me and give me one of those nice safe desks to sit behind.”
Before Issy could reply, the taxi pulled up outside the apartment building.
Dillon walked across the open plan living area, pulled back one of the large glass panels, went to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a single malt whisky before going out onto the terrace. He stood for a moment, listening to the sound of the city in the background and staring down at the river, six floors below him. Sitting on a lounger, he opened the file that Havelock had handed him after dinner and started to read the first page of a typed document. Since he’d got to know, and like, Dunstan Havelock, he had dropped a lot of the hard-man façade, and had over the years even started to trust him. More importantly, he trusted the man’s integrity.