“I think his pride took more of a battering than he did, Sir Lucius. Apparently they jumped him on his way back to the rented house.”
“Well, the point is Edward, a man like Malakoff, is not someone you want around when you’re trying to find a World War Two German U-boat. Especially given his high profile. Hell, some snap happy photojournalist has only got to spot him, or that large boat of his, and before you know it we’ve got a hoard of them down there. That sort of attention is something, we most definitely do not want.”
“I can pull Dillon and Sharp out, if that’s what you wish…”
“…but what would that achieve?”
“I personally think that we have the best man for this particular job. To be quite frank, Sir Lucius. It’s a dirty one, and it’s already become apparent since we last spoke that there are people he will have to deal with, who play very dirty indeed.”
“I’m in total agreement Edward, and your comments have been duly noted. I’ll of course leave it to your own good judgement, but watch your back. Remember, this Frenchman is infamous for being ruthless and playing dirty.”
“I will, Sir Lucius,” LJ said, and withdrew.
Guy Roberts was waiting in the Mercedes. As it drove away he glanced up into the rear view mirror, and said, “Did your meeting with Sir Lucius go well, Mr LevensonJones?”
LJ told him. “He’s got a point, of course. But, what do you think, Roberts?”
“Sir Lucius is a wise and well informed man, Mr Levenson-Jones. I’d say that he’d not be concerned unless there was something to be concerned about. Personally speaking, from what I’ve read about Hugo Malakoff, I’d not trust him an inch.”
“Um, you may be right, Roberts, and please call me LJ. I think you’ve been with the department long enough, don’t you?”
“Thank you, I will.”
“Interesting thing though, is that Malakoff’s not at all bothered about concealing his presence in Jersey. In fact, quite the reverse, and now Dillon’s guard is up. Well, it makes me wonder what his game is?” LJ said, extracting a mobile phone out of his briefcase. He then dialled Oliver Asquith’s office at the British Museum. He wasn’t there; he was at the House of Lords.
“Could you please, pass on a message to him,” LJ instructed Asquith’s assistant. “Tell him I need to see him urgently, and that I’ll meet him in the bar of the House, at nine o’clock.” He hung up. “You can come with me, Roberts, you’ve never been to the House of Lords, have you?”
“No, but what’s going on, Sir?”
“Wait and see, Roberts, wait and see.”
On the Thames, pleasure boats passed by the House. Eager sightseers could be seen on the decks, jockeying for the best position from which to get a decent photograph of the imposing building. LJ and Roberts stood at the bar, coffee in hand.
“Doesn’t it make you proud to be British, Roberts? Just the majesty of this place is simply awe inspiring, wouldn’t you say?”
Before Guy Roberts could answer. Oliver Asquith came into the room, and immediately headed towards them. Roberts craned his head around his boss, and LJ automatically turned around to see what was so interesting.
“Ah, there you are, Oliver.” LJ said.
“Got your message, LJ. But, I’ve got to say that I’m struggling with time. What with this lot here, and then I’ve got another day’s work back at the museum to contend with. Hell of a day, I say.” Asquith caught the attention of the waiter.
“Let me get you a strong black coffee, Oliver. Good for the system, so I’m told.” LJ ordered a double espresso coffee for Asquith, and then all three men went to a quiet corner table.
“Look, LJ. I don’t mean to be rude, but can we make this quick. I really don’t have the time for a cosy chat right now, you know.”
“As you wish, Oliver. I had a meeting with Sir Lucius Stagg earlier this morning, and I’m extremely concerned about the Jersey project.”
“Why, what’s wrong?” Asquith asked, concern in his voice.
LJ paused long enough to allow the tension to rise sufficiently. “Well, it’s like this, old son. There appears to be someone leaking information.”
Asquith’s eyes flickered like a butterfly, and he’d broken out into a sweat across his forehead and upper lip.
“What do you mean, a leak?” His voice had become edgy, and it was quite evident that he was fighting to control himself as he glanced at Roberts. “I’m really not in the mood for your little games, LJ.” Asquith said, adding, “Who’s this?”
“Let me introduce you to Guy Roberts, Oliver. He’s on loan to Ferran & Cardini, and in particular my department, courtesy of MI5.”
“Bit irregular, isn’t it?”
“No, not really, Oliver. Why do you say that?”
“Oh, it just strikes me as odd, that’s all. Anyway, can we press on? As I say, I’ve got a million and one things to do, and very little time to do them in.”
“Of course, Oliver. Dillon discreetly arrived in Jersey yesterday, and was attacked late last evening by two crew members of Hugo Malakoff’s boat, the Solitaire. They weren’t content with simply duffing him up, and running off. No, these two were very thorough. After they’d knocked him unconscious, they pushed him over an embankment that led down to the cliff tops, and then opened fire with silenced machine pistols. In fact, had it not been for him landing in a ditch. He would almost certainly be dead.”
“My God!” Asquith said in genuine horror. “Is he alright?”
“Oh, yes, Dillon is as tough as old boots. Personally I think they were trying it on, hassling him. Of course the interesting thing is how come they actually knew that he was there?”
“Now look here,” Asquith began, “I hope that you’re not suggesting any lack of discretion on my part?”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Oliver. All I’m saying is that someone who is in the know, is most definitely feeding Hugo Malakoff information. The question is, who and why?”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to take a short holiday,” LJ told him. “You know, a little rest and relaxation? They say that Jersey is at its most lovely at this time of the year.”
Asquith nodded. “You’ll keep me posted?”
“Of course, old son.” LJ smiled, and turned to Roberts. “We must be going, we’ve lots to do.”
On the way back to Ferran & Cardini, LJ told Roberts to pull the Mercedes into the side of the road. Down by the Thames, and creating a spectacular backdrop, the London Eye loomed up high into the air.
“Come on, Roberts. I’m going to show you where you can get the best cup of coffee in London.”
The two men walked a short distance up the road towards a small brightly-lit café. As they entered the owner looked up, and greeted LJ as an old friend.
“Beautiful day out there, Mr LJ.”
“It could be worse, Jim. How’s the wife, and family?” LJ enquired, as he walked with his cup of coffee to a tiny round table in the corner.
“My boy has just been accepted into Sandhurst,” Jim said with pride.
“That’s excellent news, Jim. And how’s your other half, well I hope?”
“My wife is very well, thank you, Mr LJ. She’s still a peacock in everything but beauty. But I love her to bits and wouldn’t be without her.” Jim said with a mischievous smile.
Roberts, who was sitting opposite LJ asked in a quiet voice, “Is he always so rude about his wife?”
“Don’t worry, old son. He only makes the joke about her, because she was once a beauty queen, and is still an extremely good-looking woman at the age of sixty.” LJ looked up at the counter, adding. “In fact, Jim is a totally devoted husband. Like nothing I’ve ever seen, and most refreshing in this day, and age, if you ask me.”
“And why didn’t he charge us for the coffee?”