Kurt looked directly at Dillon, held his gaze for just a second, and then turned and left.
“Well, I have to say, Malakoff. Such a gesture deserves a glass of Champagne.” LJ said.
“How quaint you English are.” Malakoff snapped his fingers, and instantly caught the attention of the barman. A moment later, he arrived with a bottle of Champagne and five glasses. “Of course there’s no reason, why one cannot be civilised, is there?”
“Well, I suppose there’s always hope.” Dillon took a sip of his Champagne. “Sixty four, Bollinger. An excellent choice.”
“The hotel has a very fine, and well stocked cellar.” Malakoff raised his glass. “To you, Levenson-Jones, to the England cricket team, and the continued success of Ferran & Cardini International. A company filled with little surprises around every corner. Not least of those being, Mr Sharp here. Who, I’m led to believe is one of the best computer hackers in Europe.”
“How very well informed you are, Malakoff.” LJ said.
“And you, Mr Chapman, what a colourful character. Your archaeological exploits in Peru during those early years after graduation, were to say the least, adventurous. And a diver, of great skill and experience, as well. I’m surprised, that someone hasn’t written a bestseller about your exploits?”
“Who knows, Malakoff? Perhaps one of these days, someone will, or I may even write my memoirs, and tell it myself.” Chapman told him.
“Jake Dillon. What can I say, your background is, to say the least, somewhat lacking in detail. In fact you’re more like a chameleon, and obviously one of those people who seem to pop out of the woodwork, when one is least expecting it.”
“Well, I must say, Malakoff. You have been doing your homework, haven’t you?” LJ said. “And, although very impressive. All that it proves is that you must want whatever is on that U-boat, and very badly too.”
“Let me just say, gentlemen, that what you seek should be in the cargo area of U-683. The Spear of Destiny is on board, amongst other things.”
There was a pause, and then it was LJ who said, “And what are you looking for, Malakoff?”
Malakoff’s face remained impassive. “The spear and the myth that surrounds it, holds no interest for me, but there’s gold…”
“And it’s the gold you’re after, right?” Dillon asked, bluntly.
Malakoff, held Dillon’s gaze, and smiled debonairly at him. “Guilty as charged, Mr Dillon. I admit I’m nothing more than a treasure hunter.”
“Really?” LJ commented. “I’d never have mistaken you for that, Malakoff.”
“Well, that as may be, Levenson-Jones. But, the simple fact is, that we’re both looking for the same thing.”
“I very much doubt that, Malakoff.” LJ commented.
“The U-boat. My dear, Levenson-Jones. Albeit, you seek the Spear of Destiny, for the simplest of reasons. You and your superiors do not want it falling into the wrong hands. The worse case scenario, would surely be fanatics using the myth that surrounds the spear, to devastating effect, I’m sure you would agree with this? Equally as damaging would be the media who would have a field-day, and neither the British or the American Governments would be able to do anything to stop it getting into the public domain. As I say, we both want the same thing. I, like you, want this whole affair to remain a well kept secret.”
“The problem is, Malakoff. If there is Nazi gold bullion on board that submarine, however tempting it may be, will — I’m afraid — have to be given up to the authorities.”
“Come now,” Malakoff told him. “Is that really necessary, after all these years?”
“I’d say it was. After all, that gold bullion represents Hitler’s ill-gotten gains. Amassed from the suffering and slaughter of many millions of innocent people throughout Europe.” LJ stated.
“And your point is, Levenson-Jones?” Malakoff asked, raising his left eyebrow.
“My point is, Malakoff. That it doesn’t belong to any of us.”
“But, it’s not only the gold that you’re after, is it, Malakoff,” Dillon said with rancour. “Is there something else hidden on that U-boat or inside the cavern. Something, from your past, perhaps? Otherwise why would you be going to so much trouble to find that sub?”
“My dear, Mr Dillon. What an overactive imagination you have. But, you’re entitled to your opinion.” Malakoff got up out of his seat. “I thought that we might be able to work together. But, I fear that is not going to be possible. No matter, I have my own divers, and an array of extremely sophisticated equipment on board the Solitaire.”
“You’ll soon discover, Malakoff. That ‘finding’ isn’t enough. Because, once you’ve found the location of the tunnel entrance. That’s when the fun and games will really start.” Dillon said.
“We’ll see, Mr Dillon.” He smiled. “But, this is of small consequence to me. And I would still be honoured, if at least we can eat together like civilised men.” Malakoff said as he gestured towards the dining room.
The Porsche Carerra, slowed to a halt, and parked across the gateway of a field. Kurt, sitting behind the wheel of the silver coloured car, had a clear view of the old granite stone cottage opposite. He remained inside the car, until he was absolutely sure that Albert Bishop was at home.
Satisfied that Bishop was there. He casually walked across the lane to the front gate. Before pushing it open, he stood for a moment, taking in the splendid isolation of the place. He knocked loudly on the front door, and then waited on the step, for what seemed like minutes. An elderly man eventually appeared from around the rear of the building, carrying a wicker basket full of freshly picked apples. On seeing the big German, he started along the gravel path towards him.
“No good knocking on the door like that. I’ve been out the back, at the bottom of the garden, you know?” Albert Bishop was an upright, dapper looking man, somewhere around seventy with thick cropped silver coloured hair, that stood up on end. He was slim for his age, dressed in tan coloured corduroy trousers, and a jacket, that had seen better days with leather patches on both elbows. The check shirt that he wore was buttoned at the collar, and his tie had a tight Windsor knot in it.
“If you’re selling something then you can be on your way, I’m not interested.” Albert said his voice was both polite, and firm.
“Are you Albert Bishop?”
“Yes, I’m Albert Bishop. Who wants to know?” “My name is Mayer; I’m a writer researching a novel.
Please accept my apologies for disturbing you like this. But, can you please tell me if your parents kept house, here on the island for a Lord Asquith?” Kurt asked.
“My God, I haven’t heard that name spoken in over sixty years. And now, you’re the second person to ask me this very question today.” “There was someone else, asking about Lord
Asquith?” Kurt’s voice was edgy.
“No, he only wanted to know about the house that he owned, here on the island.” Albert stared momentarily, at the big blond haired German, who was standing before him. And then added, “He was a nice polite young man.” “So tell me. What did this nice young Englishman, want to know?” Kurt sneered. This was all it took for
Albert to recognise that something was not quite right with the big German.
Albert Bishop began to feel uncomfortable. “Well, let me see now,” beads of sweat began to break out on the old man’s forehead. “He simply wanted to know if the Nazis had used the house during the time they were here, and whether any high ranking officers had ever stayed there. But
I’m going to tell you, like I told him. I really can’t remember
I was only five years old at the time.”
“What else did you tell him, old man?” Kurt asked abruptly. He took a step forward.