The names and addresses that Dillon had given him meant very little to Edward Levenson-Jones. At first he’d not known what to do with the information. He had made notes as Dillon had outlined the bare bones of what he had found out so far, taking particular interest in the various locations across the south coast. He was frustrated at the slow progress his number one field operative was making; Dillon wasn’t usually so cautious. But this assignment was all wrong — there was something not quite right about this whole affair. He was well aware that Dillon was now in a precarious position. It worried him that he’d had to go to ground in order to evade the people he was investigating. This in itself wasn’t unusual, but the open contract on Dillon’s life was.
He sought out an old friend in MI5 who he had worked with on numerous occasions in the past. They met for lunch in LJ’s club and were shown to a table in a quiet part of the restaurant. LJ faced the tall Georgian windows with his back to the room, and Robert Marriott sat opposite him.
LJ had memorised most of what Dillon had told him and Marriott allowed him to speak without interruption. When he’d finished, LJ was sitting there thinking how far-fetched and ridiculous it all sounded. He was asking for the senior spook’s help in finding out information about certain people at specific locations in the south of England. Marriott was enjoying his lunch and was savouring every mouthful of the perfectly cooked Aberdeen Angus steak.
“So what are you saying, Edward? That there might well be some sort of connection between all of these names and locations?” Marriott asked.
He was in his early fifties, hair the colour of steel, with a good-looking firm face and clear green eyes. He wore a two piece charcoal grey suit with white shirt and an All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club tie.
“I really don’t know. I thought I’d bounce them off you and see what you make of them.”
Marriott gave a twisted smile.
“Well, let’s see now,” he said. His brow furrowed with concentration.
“Given that these locations are strung out along the south coast and are in predominantly rural areas, it could be some sort of smuggling operation, I suppose. Or maybe it’s something like dog fighting or any manner of equally illegal activities. How’s that for starters?”
“All of those possibilities have been considered. I was hoping that you’d come up with something a little more original, Robert.”
“Oh, look here, Edward, if you want originality you’re going to have to be a lot more forthcoming. Where did you get this stuff from anyway?”
“You know better than that. I will tell you that the source is reliable and the secrecy under which this was obtained shall remain just that.”
“Now you’re making this all sound very mysterious, Edward.” The moss green eyes were mocking.
“If you’re not prepared to tell me more why not call one of your pals at the Met and let them take a look at it?”
“Because I stupidly thought I’d come and talk it over with an old friend who could be relied upon to give constructive input.”
“Sorry, I’m the stupid one. Look, have you got something written down that I could take away and mull over?”
“Yes, I’ve made a copy for you. I’ve got others back at base.”
Marriott glanced at the top sheet, briefly scanned through the others, and then slipped them all into the inside breast pocket of his jacket.
“Right, I’ll take a closer look at these later. But I really do think you’ll find that this is nothing more than the names and addresses of people involved in some sort of local club, or even local members of say, the masons.” He sat back, smiling.
“I hope that this information was obtained legitimately, Edward.”
“Of course, Robert. Absolutely.”
“Is Dillon involved?”
“It is one of his assignments, yes. Why?”
“He’s a blunt instrument, Edward, who should have been sent packing a long time ago. That’s why. You wind him up and let him loose on the world and then you come to us when a favour is needed. It’s not on, old boy.”
“Oh, Dillon is hardly a blunt instrument. But I do acknowledge that he can be a bit bullish and infuriatingly persistent beyond the call of duty sometimes. Both of these traits, as far as I’m concerned, are strengths in this business, Robert. You’d be wise to remember that he’s saved the day for your firm on many occasions. And by the way, this matter was deemed as too insignificant for your lot to be involved at the start.”
“Bullshit,” Marriott stated. “I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
“Sooner, if possible. Dillon’s back is against the wall on this one.”
Marriott stood up. “Thanks for lunch, Edward. I’ll be in touch.”
In fact, Marriott rang LJ two hours later that same afternoon.
“Edward, I came up with it sooner than I thought. The whole thing is nothing more than a big waste of time. I’d forget it if I were you, you’re wasting your time.”
“Can you be more specific, Robert? Why are we wasting our time?”
“Nothing to tell. Something that was laid to rest a long time ago. Now shred the copies like a good chap.”
“Not until you’ve told me what I’m shredding, old son.”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you. It’s still classified. But what I am allowed to say is that it’s nothing to concern yourself with. The list of names and locations is ancient history. Dead in the water, as they say. Edward, I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, but that’s the way it is I’m afraid. By the way, I’d like to have a chat to Dillon about this. Where can I find him?”
LJ went cold. Since leaving the intelligence service he had always protected the members of his special projects department from the vagaries of both MI5 and MI6. If Marriott wanted to get hold of Dillon it was most certainly not for a pleasant little chat over tea and biscuits.
“I’ve not seen him, I’m afraid. As I said before, he’s gone to ground. Sorry I can’t be of more help, but you know how it is, old son.”
“It would help us enormously if you could get hold of him. After all said and done, I have just done you a favour. Be fair, Edward. All we want is to have a chat with him.”
“You’re going to have to find him yourself, Robert. And you’ve done very little to help me, old son.”
LJ hung up, aware that Tatiana was standing in the doorway to his office. He wouldn’t want her to know that Dillon was getting in over his head. But the main concern was that all the time Dillon was avoiding would-be hit men looking to enhance their bank balances, he was completely unaware that MI5 wanted to have a little chat with him. If they went looking for him he would be in double jeopardy.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dillon phoned Havelock. The civil servant picked up the receiver almost immediately and before Dillon could tell him about the meeting with Jasper Lockhart earlier in the day, he butted in and blurted out, “Thank heavens you’ve called! LJ has been trying to get hold of you all afternoon. MI5 are on the look for you.”
“Are they now? Well whatever else you do, Dunstan, you’d better do everything in your power to keep the jackals off my back.”
“I’ve already started doing what I can, Jake. But it’s not easy — they really don’t take kindly to anyone telling them what they can and cannot do. LJ said that Robert Marriott was evasive beyond belief and I agree with him — we should be extremely careful from now on.”