Constantine Legacy (Jake Dillon Adventure Series) (23 page)

The next day, I took all the material relating to the
assignment down to Adrian Vass for safe keeping at the
Central Archive Depository. He signed and stamped the
official receipt before asking his assistant to cart it all off
to the scanning suite, a quite room where a number of
men and women sit methodically scanning all hard copy
literature on to portable storage discs.

Afterwards the discs are brought back to Vass’s
office to be safely deposited in the enormous walk-in safe
within his inner office, known as Fort Knox.

After thanking him for his help once again, I left
his office wondering why he was always so happy and
smiling, given his mundane and seemingly boring job?

As I drove through the city back to the office, I
felt detached from the humdrum of life in the capital;
perhaps I’d been by the seaside to long.

“Now you see what it’s like where the real work is
done,” said LJ, and went on to make provocative remarks
about lying around in the sun. LJ had convened the new
training group meeting on my behalf. It was a masterstroke
in his battle with Bingham-Carter at M16 for control of
the new network. LJ had divided up the various agency
representatives equally between Communications and
Finance, with the exception of Bingham-Carter. LJ was all
elbows and knees. He sat in one of his leather easy chairs
and puffed clouds of cigar smoke at Winston Churchill,
and said that being successful was merely a state of mind.

Roberts had spread himself all over my office
again, but had taken care not to do any of my paper
work. The computer monitor screen had strawberry jam
on it, and my secretary had been whisked off to another
department somewhere in the building while I had been on
the Poseidon assignment. I kicked Roberts and his many
lever arch files out, and although he protested volubly he
set up office elsewhere. “Oh and by the way I’m afraid
I’ve used all of your coffee beans, I’ll try and remember to
get you another bag tomorrow,” he said as he left.

There were numerous emails waiting for me,
according to the screen. The first one was from Fiona
Price informing me that Harry Caplin had managed to
get away to Cuba. Her disappointment came through
loud and clear that the authorities on the island were not
prepared to extradite him. How did I fancy two unofficial
weeks in Florida Keys with a quick hop over to Cuba one
evening?

“Um, sounds like fun but could be dangerous in
more ways than one,” I said, smiling.
All the others were just routine correspondence
except for the last; this was from the Partners. It was to
the point and very brief, confirming the two weeks leave
that I was to take immediately, until the Harry Caplin
escape saga had blown over. I would be contacted via
email at the appropriate time. I left the building.

The weekend came and went in a flash. Tats
dragged me off on Saturday to view a friend’s collection
of urban landscapes at a trendy art gallery in the West
End. On Sunday we simply relaxed, drinking red wine
and lazing around on the roof garden of my apartment,
watching the boats going up and down the Thames and
the world passing by.

My mobile phone rang; it was LJ working on a
Sunday afternoon. After twenty minutes, I managed to
hang up on him.
“Who was that?” Tats asked dreamily.
“LJ. He phoned to inform me that Oliver

“Hawkworth is dead?” She exclaimed, and then
added, “Was it suicide or murder?”
“The local police seem to think it was suicide.
Apparently, there was note confessing to his involvement
down in Dorset with Harry Caplin, and sleeping pills
scattered over his desk. They also found an empty bottle
of vodka on the floor.”
“But you’re not convinced, are you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think, does it. But I’d say
it all looks a bit contrived if you ask me.”
“Well, look at it like this, Jake. Hawkworth led a
full, privileged and opulent life. To go to prison, simply
wasn’t an option for him, and by committing suicide.
Well, he’s saved the British tax payer an extremely large
amount of money.”
“Tats, that’s very harsh.” I said.
“Well, harsh and callous, it may be, Jake. But,
all I’m saying, is that for once in his miserable life. He’s
actually gone and done something honourable for a
change.”
“Well, I suppose you’ve a point there.” I said
reclining the back on the wooden sun-lounger, and
remembering that last meeting I’d had with Hawkworth.
I closed my eyes and tried to relax, soaking up
the tranquillity of the rooftop garden, and enjoying the
sunshine. Only the occasional sound of a car horn from
the city traffic far below interrupted this.
After about five minutes I sat up and dialled Fiona’s
mobile number. She answered immediately.
“Jake,” she said.
“Fiona, have you heard the news about
Hawkworth?”
“Yes, my boss phoned me this morning. Good
result if you ask me.” She said matter of factly.
“Um, that’s what Tats said.”
“What’s happening with Robert Flackyard?”
Fiona asked.
“Hassan has picked him up in Marrakech and is
holding him there until your lot can bring him back to
the UK.”
“Well that sounds promising, and what about the
Rumples. Have they been tracked down yet?” She asked.
“No, they’ve gone to ground, and you can rest
assured that’s where they’ll stay until things settle down.
LJ seems to think that they might, have absconded with
Harry Caplin to Cuba.” I said a sheepishly, adding.
“And what about his consignment of opium that
we’ve still got hidden on that German submarine in
Dorset?”
“What about it? The local police will have it
brought up, I suppose.”
“Oh no, that can’t happen. That sub has to remain
a secret, Fiona. If plod go crawling all over it. Well, for a
start it’s location will be leaked and that will attract every
amateur weekend diver down to it. Remember, there’s
still live torpedoes on board. No, we’ve got to blow the
charge that I left inside the chamber.”
“So, do it.” Fiona said
“I can’t, I’m already talking to you on my mobile.
You do it.”
“Okay, hang on a moment, while I go and get my
phone, its in the other room.”
Fiona returned a moment later with her mobile
phone. “Okay, Jake. Tell me what I’ve got to do?”
“Press nine and then send.” I said.
“Okay, I’ve done that, now what? Wait a minute,
there’s a video message coming through,” I could hear
Fiona lightly breathing at the other end of the phone.
“Well I’ll be damned.”
“What’s that, Fiona?”
“You know exactly what, Jake Dillon. But I’ve got
to admit it, this is pure techno genius.”
“So you approve, then?”
“Approval given. But when did you plant the video
camera in the U-boat?”
“As we were leaving, I thought it might be useful
to have a method of surveillance. All I had to do was
wedge it alongside one of the torpedoes in the rack. Once
we were on the surface, I simply used my mobile phone to
hook-up with it as and when I wanted to take a look. The
best part is, that when you detonated the explosive charge
in the chamber, from that point, the camera recorded
everything in real time, and then converted it into a video
message. This was then instantly transmitted to everyone
whose number I’d programmed in.”
“So who got the message, apart from you and me?”
“There were only two other numbers. One of them
was LJ, and…”
“Not Harry Caplin?”
“I simply couldn’t resist it. By now he’ll know
what we’ve done, and I’d really love to be a fly on the
wall, wherever he is.”
“So what happens now?”
“Nothing. Now that the remote detonator inside
the chamber, has been blown. Those opium sacks will
have been automatically disintegrated. But without doing
any damage to the sub itself. I’d say that there’s likely to
be a few very light headed fish swimming around that
U-boat right now!”
Fiona remained quite at the other end of the phone
and then said. “So, Jake. Back to Harry Caplin, who’s
now safely back in Cuba. Thanks to you.”
There was tension in her voice.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that he was that safe there,
Fiona.”
“Well, what would you say, Jake? After all, if it
hadn’t been for your Lone Ranger bravado in Dorset. I’d
have had him locked up by now.”
“Ouch, Don’t remind me, I’m embarrassed enough
already. I know what I did was a mistake, Fiona. But, I
promise you that I’ll put things right. All that I ask is that
you don’t shut the book on me just yet. Deal?”
“I suppose, but you’d better be as good as you
think you are, Jake Dillon.”
I broke the connection with Fiona, pondering
about whether the Rumples were with Harry Caplin in
Cuba, after a moment I’d made my decision.
“Tats, first thing tomorrow morning. Could you
book me onto the next available British Airways flight to
Florida. Oh and I’ll need a 4x4 Jeep on arrival, please.” I
said, rotating my head from side to side in an attempt to
relieve the tension in the back of my neck.
“Is that all, sir?” Tats said rolling over onto her
back, stretching and yawning as she did so. “Why don’t
you roll over here lover boy and I’ll see what can be done
about relieving that tension.”
“What a massage?” I said enthusiastically.
“Well sort of,” she sat up and unfastened her
bikini top, discarding the flimsy piece of material. “I was
thinking more along the lines of a distraction.”
Until the next time…