“Put it down, or I’ll put a bullet in your thick head.” Dillon said calmly.
Kurt raised the cleaver above his head, but before he had a chance to move Malakoff intervened, “No Kurt, leave them. Get Pierre on his feet.”
“A wise move Malakoff. Now clear off, and take that scum with you.”
The German helped Pierre to his feet. He appeared dazed, blood on his face and he led him out. Malakoff stood glowering at Dillon for a moment, before turning and storming off.
Chapman hugged his sister to comfort her, tears rolled down her face as she sobbed on his shoulder. Still physically shaken and distraught from the encounter with Kurt. He led her back upstairs through the garden room and into the lounge area, where he made her lay on one of the large sofas. After covering her with a large throw from one of the other chairs, he led Dillon and LJ to the front door.
“Now you have my attention. And, if what’s just taken place, has something to do with Nathan laying in a coma. Then count me in on whatever it is you’re all involved in. But, I’d obviously like to know a whole lot more first. Now, if you don’t mind gentlemen, I think it’s probably for the best, if you leave now. Jake, Edward — it’s been interesting to meet you.”
He opened the big oak door and swung it back on its hinges.
“How about a dive in the morning, Rob. That is, If you’re up for it?”
“Be down by my boat at eight o’clock sharp.” Chapman said as he closed the door.
The drive back to Annabelle’s Café took no longer than two or three minutes in the Range Rover. Dillon was trying to think of a reason why Vince hadn’t phoned them to say that Malakoff had left the restaurant. Dillon parked the 4x4 a little way back up the hill at the side of the road.
As they entered the café, LJ discreetly tapped Dillon’s arm and pointed towards the bar. Dillon immediately noticed that the place was empty apart for Vince sitting on a wooden stool, talking to two men who were standing either side of him drinking and laughing loudly.
On seeing the two men, Vince Sharp slipped off the stool and motioned for them to join him at the bar. It was obvious to Dillon that he was very drunk, and probably the reason why he’d not noticed Malakoff and Kurt leave earlier. He introduced Mazzarin and Zola and beckoned the Portuguese barman to bring another round of drinks for everyone.
“Vince, I’m sorry to be the party pooper, but we’ve really got to be up at the crack of dawn in the morning. So if you’ll excuse us gentlemen.”
As Dillon turned to leave he felt a hand grab his shoulder, and as he turned, Mazzarin punched him hard in the stomach.
“But the party’s only just begun, Englishman.” Mazzarin said with a malicious sneer.
Dillon recoiled away from the blow, knocking tables and chairs over as he fought to keep his balance in vain. Zola stood leaning against the bar sipping his beer, he’d been joined by Pierre who was now sitting on the stool still holding a wad of tissue to his broken nose. Malakoff had positioned himself at the far end of the bar and was whispering into the ear of the barman, and handing over a large wad of fifty pound notes to him.
Kurt had joined Mazzarin, and the two men moved in fast. Vince ducked the first blow and with surprising agility, punched Mazzarin in the stomach, and half turning, he reverse elbow punched the big German just below the sternum, who automatically doubled over with the pain. Zola came at Vince from behind with a kick to his right leg, just behind the knee. Vince went down like a sack of Jersey Royal potatoes, and rolled around on the floor clasping at the pain. Zola was fast, and kicked him hard in the back to ensure that he wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry, as Kurt got up and stood menacingly over him.
“So my little fat Englishman, let’s teach you some manners.”
Dillon was already up on his feet and went at the German on the run as Kurt raised a foot to stamp down on Vince’s face. Dillon sent him sprawling onto the floor with the sound of splintering furniture, the big German’s head smashed against the edge of a table, rendering him immobile. He then took care of Zola with a sideways punch to the jaw. Vince was already on his feet. Kurt was on the floor, and only semi-conscious, but when Mazzarin moved in to help the others it raised the odds, and Dillon and Vince prepared to defend themselves again.
There was the sudden loud clang of a ship’s bell from behind the bar that rang out and stopped everyone in their tracks. LJ was standing by the bell with one hand still grasping the rope, and the other holding Dillon’s Glock automatic.
“If you’ve quite finished, gentlemen?” He said looking around the room.
There was silence for a moment, and then Malakoff said in French, “Back to the Solitaire.”
Malakoff’s men left unwillingly, Mazzarin and Zola supporting Kurt who still looked dazed, and Pierre still trying to stem the bleeding from his broken nose.
“Until the next time Mr Levenson-Jones,” Malakoff said in English and followed them.
Vince wiped away the blood at the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. “What the hell was all that about?”
“That Vince, was to show us that he is able to do whatever he wants. Because, he believes that he is safe in the knowledge that we won’t go running to the authorities.”
“But what about all this damage?”
“Oh, already been paid for, old son. I saw him give the barman a wad of fifties just before the fighting started. Compensation no doubt, for the damage and loss of business.” LJ looked at the barman, and added, “You will make sure that the money goes into the till, won’t you?”
The barman flushed with embarrassment, went to say something, but thought better of it and carried on cleaning the place up. At that moment, the door opened and Rob Chapman walked in.
“Bloody hell, what’s happened here?” Chapman said as he walked through the devastated room to the bar.
“Malakoff.” Dillon said.
“Well would somebody like to tell me now what the hell is going on then?”
“Follow me, Mr Chapman, we need to talk. Somewhere private.” LJ said, and they all went back to the Fisherman’s Lodge.
Chapman said, “The most amazing story I’ve ever heard.”
“But you agree that it could be true?” LJ asked. “I’ve got translated copies of all the documents, including the personal dairy of the Korvettenkapitan with me here in my briefcase. You’re most welcome to take a look, if you like?”
“The U-boat being found here is quite plausible,” Chapman said. “After all, the Nazis did occupy these islands from 1940 to 1945, and there are many locals who’ll tell you stories about how they used to restrict access to the northern side of Jersey.” He stood up and stared out of the window into the darkness outside. “Of course I’ve read many locally written accounts about the occupation, and some do make reference to U-boats coming and going. But to think that Donitz and Himmler, who were two of the most powerful men in Nazi Germany, hatching a plot or whatever. Right here under the island. It’s quite remarkable.”
“So, you believe that U-683 could be tied up in a cavern under this island?” Dillon said.
“Yes. Anything is possible, Jake.”
“Good, but where is it most likely to be?”
“Have you got a chart of the island?” Chapman asked.
LJ went out and came back with one which he unrolled. It was the Channel Islands’ chart for Jersey.
“Here is Bonne Nuit Bay,” he said indicating a point on the northern coast. “Now, there are numerous coves and small inlets that lead to caves all the way along this area of the island.” He drew his index finger from one side of the map to the other. “But from what you’ve told me, we’re not looking for anything as obvious as that, are we?”