Dillon went out through the back door, down the garden and through a gate in the far wall. He then checked around the narrow street at the side of the property and ended up at the front of the house a moment later. Whilst Dillon collected the canvas holdall from the boot of the Porsche, Havelock stood at the front door watching him. He carried it up the path to where Havelock was standing and brushed past him. Havelock came inside and closed the door behind them. Dillon placed the holdall on the floor and unzipped it, took out one of the plastic containers and peeled back the top, revealing the white powder inside.
“That is what street-ready cocaine looks like. Now try, if you will, to calculate the extent of human misery that this lot could cause.”
Dillon took the holdall and placed it in the cupboard under the stairs.
Havelock was not at all happy about it, but until they met Morgan, could see no alternative. They went into the living room and Rachel poured drinks. Before Dillon sat down he said, “Rachel, would you mind pulling the curtains in all of the rooms facing the front of the property?”
“Do you think that Trevelyan’s men could have followed you here?” Rachel handed Havelock his drink.
“I’d be very surprised if Trevelyan knows I’m here. His problem is that he can only see what he wants to see. His mind gropes around in mist and the semi-darkness. I doubt if it’s ever seen the sunshine. It would never occur to him that I would know someone like you, Dunstan.”
“Who then?”
“Who knows? Dillon knew that he had confused Havelock even further. Havelock liked to keep it simple and always had difficulty in believing the depths that some people will sink to. He collected his drink from Rachel and then drifted over to the window overlooking the street. He went to one side and lifted the side of the curtain with a finger. He stood there for some time, his thoughts interrupted by Havelock asking, “Well? Is there anyone lurking in the shadows out there?”
“If they are, they’re not watching you.” Dillon raised his glass. “Here’s to us and the good times.”
Morgan rang the door bell at exactly 8.30.
Rachel said, “I’ll go and let him in and then disappear to the snug, and watch television.”
Morgan came into the living room with a rush of cold air, handed Rachel his coat and without invite, sat himself down in a vacant armchair. He saw Dillon but gave no sign of surprise.
“If that is your wife, Mr. Havelock, I must compliment you. She is a very lovely lady.”
“Thank you. Please call me Dunstan. After all, we are out of working hours. You’ve already met Jake Dillon, of course.”
“Oh, yes. He’s the chap who roams around England carrying a gun as if he’s the Lone Ranger, blowing holes in Government property and frightening the life out of my men who had been assigned to protect him. I suppose that’s your 911 outside. You’re getting lax, Jake.”
“Bollocks,” Dillon said with a smile. “If they’d told me, I might have believed them. As it was, they even denied that they’d been following me. They’re lucky that I only put a bullet in their radiator.”
Havelock, who knew nothing of the finer details, looked a little perturbed.
“Can I offer you a drink?”
“A brandy would be good, thank you.”
Morgan glowered at Dillon with something approaching a quiet rage.
“You virtually destroyed that car,” he accused. “They had to be towed ten miles to the nearest garage. Running around the countryside shooting at anything that takes your fancy, is not on. And I’ll wager that you’ve not got a licence for it either.”
“No. But as I’m officially down on record as a personal bodyguard to Sir Lucius Stagg, it’s never been an issue.”
Morgan’s features suddenly cracked and he couldn’t resist a smile. He took the drink Havelock handed him.
“You are a born bullshitter, aren’t you? What a load of rubbish. But you know that we would have a hell of a job to prove otherwise.”
His smile broadened and in a completely different tone, “Well done, Jake. You’ve done a brilliant job.”
Dillon placed his drink on the side table next to his chair.
“Well, I never thought you’d be gracious enough to say that.”
“I think that evens everything, gentlemen,” Havelock said as he sat down.
“Now, shall we get down to the real issue in hand?”
Dillon said, “Tell me, Brendon. How did you know? I’ve only told Dunstan, which means you’ve still got his office phone tapped.”
Morgan dismissed the very idea with a shake of his head.
“We’ve been involved with this affair for a very long time. It’s an ongoing investigation which first came to light after the nine-eleven atrocity and a few intercepted phone calls. All the agencies are caught up in it, but without much success. Until, that is, you came on the scene, Jake. Now that we have some pretty concrete evidence we can start to make moves to dismantle the whole enterprise. There are teams already being put together as we speak.”
“What are you saying? That what I discovered in Dorset is the first real evidence you have?”
“Well, you must admit it was well-hidden and you did have to look hard for it. It’s why we had to have you working with us. You can go where we dare not to tread. Unlike you, Jake, we have to work to the letter of the law.”
Dillon couldn’t help but laugh and Havelock had some difficulty in repressing a smile himself.
“So you’re admitting that a maverick gun-toting cowboy has his uses.”
“Obviously we could not condone your methods publicly. And in less experienced hands there could be real problems. You know this as well as anybody, especially as you’ve been threatening almost everyone you’ve come into contact with since embarking on this enquiry.”
“That’s because almost everybody has either been threatening or wanting to kill me. So where does this thing go from here?”
“There is nowhere to go. There are over forty remaining addresses which we have established as being used as part of the distribution pipeline for the stolen property and drugs. We already knew that Tommy Trevelyan was the catalyst who had brought some of the largest crime syndicates throughout Europe together for this project. Julian Latimer was useful in many ways to the enterprise, not least, in obtaining vital intelligence that would otherwise have not be available to them. Paul Hammer is able to move freely around the globe with his hotel chain. This is obviously the ideal cover to attend clandestine meetings with the syndicate partners. Charlie Hart — now there’s the enigma. We know that he has a global network of trading contacts and is still operating heavily in India. His organisation is so well-run and the people involved so loyal to him, that so far we have been unable to get anything on the man. Except, perhaps, that he owns an outstanding, yet dubious, copy of the most famous painting by Vermeer, which is hardly illegal, and it’s not a viable reason to arrest someone as wealthy and prominent as he is. The frustrating thing is that we’ve had all of these men under surveillance for many months and they’ve not made one single wrong move in all that time. The same goes for the locations, and until today we’ve not seen, sniffed or retrieved one ounce of any illegal substance. By the way, did you manage to bring any of the drugs you found in Lyme Regis away with you?”
Dillon had the distinct feeling that Morgan knew full-well that he did.
“Naturally. Otherwise there would be no evidence. But the majority of the stuff had already been moved to another location before I arrived down there.”
“How much did you get?”
“All that was left. It was in three plastic containers hidden inside one of the wooden crates. Each had around five kilos of cocaine in it. I left the crate there.”