A taxi pulled up in the drive of the Fisherman’s Lodge, a single passenger inside. The driver got out and lifted the tailgate to the estate car, and pulled out a solid heavy looking black suitcase. He opened the rear door, a tall willowy man in his late fifties got out and stood for a moment looking at the single storey building. He paid and tipped the driver, walked up to the front door and rang the bell. The dark pin-stripe suit was immaculate, as was the crisp white shirt and blue silk tie that had small red cricket balls running diagonally across it. The door opened, and Dillon’s mouth nearly dropped open.
“Thought I’d come down and give you a bit of a hand, old son,” Edward Levenson-Jones said. “Well don’t just stand there gawping, go and fetch my suitcase.” LJ said as he brushed passed Dillon, “Now where’s the fridge, I’m bloody well dying for a large gin and tonic.”
Chapter Ten
Dillon took a shower, and changed into a pair of stone washed denim jeans and a short-sleeved blue cotton check shirt. He went out into the garden, late afternoon sunshine and a warm summer breeze coming off the ocean had replaced the rain of earlier. LJ, had discarded his suit for something a little more casual, and was wearing a pair of casual khaki trousers, a white hand-made shirt under a dark blue blazer. And, was standing by the cliff top smoking a cigar, and gazing out across the bay as Dillon walked across the lawn to him.
“Ah, there you are,” he said adjusting his old school tie with one hand, and raising his empty glass with the other, and added. “You’re just in time for a refill, old son.”
“It’s so good to see that you’re not homesick, and that you’ve settled in so quickly. Gin and tonic is it?” Dillon said, taking LJ’s glass.
“Sarcasm, old son, is the lowest form of wit. And, before we go any further. I know you’re upset by my unexpected arrival, and I’ve no doubt you feel that I should have let you know I was coming. But unfortunately, Jake. I couldn’t tell anyone except young Roberts, who is I might add, unofficially keeping an eye on things for me back in London. It’s this damn Frenchman, Malakoff, you see. Every time we go to do something he’s there, one step ahead of us all the time.”
“Any ideas about who it is leaking information to him?”
“I’ve got a few irons in the fire, but as yet, absolutely nothing to link him to anyone involved with this assignment.”
Dillon walked back into the kitchen, poured two large gin and tonics and then went back out to LJ who was by now sitting in one of the old wicker easy chairs on the lawn.
“That large white power cruiser over in the next bay is the Solitaire.” Dillon said, passing a glass tumbler to his boss.
“I thought as much, and in keeping with the ego of the man who owns it, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, I suppose it is. But that’s no ordinary boat, you know?”
“What do mean?”
“While I was out diving with Chapman this morning, we passed her at anchor on our way back to Bonne Nuit. So I took the opportunity of having a closer look.”
“And what makes you think it’s been modified?”
“Well, the hull has almost certainly undergone a vast amount of modification. I had Vince look up the manufacturer website for the specification, and that boat has been adapted for high speed. The same goes for the deck areas. Although, the changes are much subtler, and are only minor in comparison to the hull. But when you look a little closer, you can spot them. That is most definitely not your run of the mill, gas guzzling, multi-million pound, ocean-going cruiser out there.”
“Are you sure about this, old son?” Dillon passed him the high powered binoculars, and LJ took a look. “I see what you mean about the hull, much sleeker than you’d expect on a craft of that size. Looks harmless enough, and that’s the impression it’s supposed to give, I’d say.”
“So it would seem, and I’ve got no doubt that she’s packing some heavyweight electronics on board, as well.”
LJ continued to look through the binoculars. “When I was just a young whipper snapper at MI5, I was assigned to a case that I’ve never forgotten, and probably never will. It was a particularly nasty hostage situation. In fact, by the time I’d arrived, two of the six hostages had already been executed. I can still see their blood soaked bodies now. After being shot through the head, the bodies had been callously thrown out of a first storey window onto the concrete below. I can vividly remember how the terrorists would watch us from behind steel shutters, while we watched them. It was just a game really, a particularly nasty game which would explode into violence every so often. Until that is, the SAS found a way in, and ended the siege with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. Forgive me for prattling on, but I have the feeling that Malakoff is watching us, and that he knows we’re watching him.”
“Watching? No, I’d say that he was stalking us. Biding his time, until we find the tunnel entrance. That’s when things will get really interesting.”
“Quite so, Jake. Now tell me how things have progressed and don’t leave anything out, not a single damn thing.”
When Dillon was finished, LJ paced up and down the lawn with his hands behind his back deep in thought. Dillon went and refilled their glasses, reappearing a moment later.
“So, what do you think our next move should be?” Dillon asked.
“Well, let’s see. I’m assuming of course, that you’ve brought along the usual array of weaponry. Which you no doubt obtained from that albino fellow in the East End?”
“I’ve brought along a little insurance, naturally” Dillon said. “Oh, and by the way, he also threw in Semtex and underwater detonators at no extra charge. You never know, we may need to blast our way into that tunnel.”
“Which we’ve got to find first, haven’t we?” LJ said. “If only Nathan hadn’t had the misfortune to have been run over. Life can be so unjust sometimes.”
“I’ll agree with that, but in the meantime we’ve still got to push on.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Chapman, we really do need him on our team.”
“So what’s it going to take, to get him to help us?”
“Well, he won’t be bought, if that’s what you mean. Money really isn’t his thing, and he makes that perfectly clear when you talk with him.”
“Oh dear, now that’s a shame. It really would’ve been a lot easier, if we could have simply offered him a lump sum of money. But never mind; we’ll just have to find out what floats Mr Chapman’s boat. And then do whatever it takes to convince him, that helping us is the right thing to do.” He stood up and glanced at his watch.
“Good heavens, it’s almost food time, Jake. Where are we eating this evening?”
“I thought we’d drive down to the harbour and have a bite to eat at Annabelle’s place. I’ve already booked us a table, and Chapman will be in there later. He’s in there every evening around ten-thirty for something to eat.”
“Excellent, that’s settled then. All that remains now is to drag Vince away from his computer for a few hours, and for you to put a jacket on, Jake. You look as if you’re going to a barn dance.” LJ said as he turned and walked briskly off inside.
As darkness fell on Bonne Nuit bay, an inflatable rib from the Solitaire came alongside Dillon’s powerboat, the only sound was the muted throbbing of the outboard motor. Kurt was at the helm and Pierre sat up in the bow. As they bumped against the hull of the sleek craft, he jumped up over the side rail and then made his way back to the stern, and the rear deck area. He skilfully picked the lock of one of the stowage lockers and lifted the lid into the upright position. From his pocket he took a small electronic disc, no bigger than a fifty pence piece and using the magnetic backing attached it to a metal strengthening bracket.