“We’ve got one of the small conference rooms for an hour, courtesy of that man over there.” Dillon looked in the direction of the concierge.
“That’s great, are the others here?”
“They’ve gone up to the room. Come on, I’ll lead the way,” and Dillon walked off.
“This had better be good, Roberts.” LJ said soberly, and then added. “Because, if you’ve dragged me away from the exquisite lobster, that I was about to tuck into. You’ll be returning to MI5 sooner than you’d expected.”
Guy Roberts pulled out his computer, placed it at one end of the large conference table, and switched it on. A moment later the screen came to life. He then typed in a command that threw up an image of a large country house.
“Gentlemen, I’ll cut to the chase. This property is located here on the island. It was built for the Birkett family in 1871.”
“Birkett, you say?” LJ repeated.
“Yes, that’s right. The Birkett family. Mr and Mrs Birkett had a daughter, Emily.”
“Where is this going, Roberts?” Dillon asked irritably.
“If you give me a moment, Jake. I’ll tell you, and you’ll then see why this is so important.”
“Okay, off you go.” Dillon said, rocking on his chair.
“Thank you. Now, when Emily got married to a Mr Westcott. Mr Birkett gave the newlyweds the house as a wedding gift. A year later, Emily gave birth to a daughter called Amelia Westcott.” Guy Roberts paused a moment while he referred to his notes.
“So, let me see if I’ve got this. Miss Birkett became Mrs Westcott who had a daughter called Amelia Westcott.” Dillon said sarcastically.
“Quite so. Only Amelia Westcott then became Lady Amelia Asquith.”
You could have heard a pin drop in the room, as Roberts left this revelation hanging in the air.
“Are you quite sure about this, Roberts?” LJ asked.
“Absolutely, and without any doubt whatsoever, sir.” He replied, adding, “Oliver Asquith junior would have been five years old.”
“There would presumably, have been staff in a house of that size?” Dillon said.
“Yes, there was a local Jersey couple by the name of Bishop, who looked after the place, and they had a son, Albert. From what I’ve been able to find out so far. They died about six years ago. But, the son is about seventy now, lives not far from St. Helier. Before leaving London, I took the liberty of phoning him earlier this afternoon.” He handed LJ a sheet of paper with Albert Bishop’s address and a detailed personal history on.
“Excellent work, Roberts.” LJ said, excitedly.
“Thank you, Sir.” Roberts said, handing LJ a folder containing all of the information, and photographs that related to the property.
“Before you go. Was there any mention of the Nazis using the property?” Dillon asked.
“During the time of the Nazi occupation, many of the larger houses were used by high ranking officers, according to the official archive. And yes, this property was commandeered for that use, why?”
“Because, certain things are now falling into place.” Dillon said, looking at LJ.
“Great Scott. I see what you mean, Jake.”
“Would someone please explain to me, why this is all so important?” Chapman asked.
“Well, it’s like this, old son. Just before the outbreak of the Second World War. The Late Lord Asquith, as we already know, was not only a prominent archaeologist of his time, but also the foremost authority on the Spear of Destiny. It was for this reason, that he was summoned to a meeting with Adolf Hitler.” LJ, stood up and started to pace around the room with his hands resting in the small of his back, as he always did when delivering rhetoric.
“It was after he’d been given the okay from our Government that he could meet with Hitler, that he went to Germany to authenticate the spear that Hitler had in his possession. He was in no doubt about its authenticity, especially after conducting a number of tests. Hitler must have been elated that he had the original spear head, which was used by the Roman centurion at the crucifixion. I would guess that he would almost certainly have been introduced to Himmler at this time. You can see where I’m going with this, Rob?”
“I think I’m getting the gist of it, Edward.”
“Good, because now it starts to get very confusing. You see, we then have old Malakoff. Who owned a dormant mining company that was registered on this island. This has been niggling the hell out of me, as to why. And just a minute ago, it struck me why. Old Malakoff was a civil engineer. Lord Asquith was an archaeologist. And Jersey is made up of granite rock. I’d state my reputation on it, that they were both Nazi sympathisers. Put these factors together, and you have a pretty formidable team with enough expertise to co-ordinate the excavation of a tunnel big enough to accommodate a very large submarine.”
“But how did the two meet, do you think?” Vince asked.
“Who knows? They could’ve met at the meeting with Hitler. Or they may have known each other long before that. Either way, it doesn’t really matter. The most important fact is that we now know where Malakoff has been getting his information. And this revelation about Asquith owning a house on the island. Well, it leads me to believe that our Lord of the Realm, from one of the oldest families in England has something to hide.”
“There were many people back in the thirties, and even before war broke out, who sympathised with Hitler and actually thought that he had the right ideas.” Dillon said.
“It certainly all fits together, that’s for sure. But there’s one thing that I’m very concerned about, on reflection.” LJ said thoughtfully.
“What’s that?” Dillon asked.
“MI5. Why haven’t they picked up on this. Or have they, and are keeping it quiet? Roberts, when you get back to London. Speak to Tatiana about this development with Albert Bishop and Asquith.”
“Certainly, I’ll make it a priority, LJ.” Guy Roberts said his good-byes and left. Leaving the others to return to their dinner.
Francois Cocteau, the restaurant manager appeared as Dillon, LJ, and the others were re-entering the dining room. “Monsieur, Levenson-Jones, Monsieur Malakoff has just arrived, and has asked me to inform you that he would very much like you all to join him for a drink in the bar.”
The bar adjacent to the dining room was now busy to capacity with people drinking aperitifs, eating nuts and stuffed olives from small colourful bowls on each of the tables. The room was buzzing with conversation and laughter, and a large group of wealthy Americans dressed in black dinner suits, and crisp white shirts were just about to go into dinner as Dillon and the others entered.
“This should prove interesting, if nothing else.” Dillon said.
LJ laughed out loud, and Malakoff who was seated with his back to them, talking to Kurt, turned around to look at them. He stood up and extended his hand urbanely.
“My dear, Levenson-Jones, what a pleasure to see you.”
“Monsieur Malakoff,” LJ said formally, but with the warmth of a fridge. “I’ve been looking forward to this meeting.” He looked across at Kurt, and added disdainfully. “But, is it really necessary for your pet rottweiler to be here? I mean couldn’t he go and do some harm to himself or something?”
The big German looked as if he were about to lurch forward, and rip out LJ’s throat where he stood, but Malakoff laughed it off, and said, “Kurt does have that effect on most people he meets, I fear.”
“He’s a naughty boy.” Dillon shook his head at the German, in mock admonition. “To my way of thinking dogs who behave badly should be sent to their kennel, without dinner.”
Malakoff turned, and said to Kurt in German, “There is plenty of time to have your say. Now go and sort out that little problem.”