Constantine Legacy (Jake Dillon Adventure Series) (3 page)

Sunday eventually returned to something
resembling normality. As evening approached the skies
opened up for another thunderstorm, the man in the
shabby check jacket and black Ford Mondeo decided
enough was enough and left. Tatiana and I decided to eat
out at a new Thai restaurant that had recently opened
locally.

Monday was a clear bright morning at the end
of May that warned you summer was set to pounce.
I logged on to the firm’s secure server to receive my
emails. A letter from the Rumples had been re-routed to
me with confirmation that everything was in place and
waiting for my arrival on the Tuesday. The only other
in my mailbox was from LJ, instructing me to report
at the office 9.30am sharp for his usual pep talk prior
to an assignment. I nicked my chin while shaving and
bled like I’d sprung a leak. I changed into another shirt.
Arriving at the firm’s wharf side offices, I found LJ in a
quiet rage because I had made him late for the Partners’
operational assignments meeting that takes place in that
rather strange glass pyramid shaped room on the roof of
the building the second Monday of each month.

It was a terrible day and it hadn’t even begun yet.
LJ went through all the rigmarole of my new assignment:
code words and priorities for communicating with him as
well as the other members of the team based in London.

“I don’t know how she did it? But Tatiana has
worked her charm on the Partners, and actually got them
to agree to give you extra funding on this assignment. So
please don’t let her, or them, down. I’ve suggested to all
parties concerned, that it might be useful if you deal with
Tatiana at all times.”

“After all, she does have the Partners’ authority,
should you have to go outside of your brief. You’ll
remember, that after South America last year they said
they would never indulge you again with extra funding.”

“Big deal,” I said, eyeing the papers on his desk.
“I had no options left open to me on that assignment,
as you well know. Had I not paid off the local Police
Commissioner I would probably still be rotting in a cell
over there.”

“Anyway, they’re saving a bundle this time by
reducing the size of my team to four people, including
myself.”

“The nature of this assignment, old son, is such
that the fewer people are involved, the better. Anyway,
don’t be so touchy about that unfortunate incident, it
could have happened to any of us.” To inflict extra pain
LJ always gave a little smirk when referring to the South
American incident.

“All right,” I said, “but you don’t have to be so
bloody gloating about it.”
LJ turned over the next paper on his desk.
“Equipment.”
He was looking at me over the tops of his glasses;
I could see that a lecture was coming, so before he could
read on, I interrupted.
“Yes, the matter of equipment. Are you aware the
Partners have insisted that I am to personally insure all
special equipment on this assignment?”
“Have they any idea how much that is going to
cost me.”
“You do have a reputation, old son. I’m fully
aware of the insurance, of course, but unfortunately the
accountants have reported back to the Partners.”
“The fact is that last year alone, you destroyed
and mislaid over two hundred thousand pounds worth of
equipment. Admittedly, your assignments do tend to be,
how shall we say, a little more arduous than those of the
others. But you really must be more careful. Most of this
kit is loaned to us by Her Majesty’s Government.”
“That’s as it may be. But who the hell in there right
mind would insure equipment of this nature?”
LJ produced a document from a pile of papers,
pushing it across the desk to me.
“If you could read the declaration, sign and date
it, I will take care of the rest for you. Cover will start as
of midnight.”
I signed and dated all the relevant boxes. “I suppose
I should’ve known.”
I said with a nod. “There’s one other thing, while
we are on the subject of equipment. I really do feel I
should have a weapon, say a handgun.”
There was a long silence, broken only by the sound
of LJ snapping his pencil.
“Handgun?” he said. “Are you going out of your
mind, old son?”
“Just a thought, boys and their toys, you know,”
I said.
“Quite so, old son,” LJ said, “but they really are
nasty, noisy, dangerous toys. How would you feel if you
pinched your finger in the mechanism or something?”
I picked up the copy of insurance along with the
inventory of equipment to be used on the assignment and
walked over to the door.
“Mr and Mrs Rumple will expect you tomorrow
at 7.30am sharp,” he said from behind his desk; “I
would appreciate it if you would have the new European
Network blueprint finished and emailed to me before you
leave, and…”
He removed his glasses and started to polish them
very carefully. “That Glock 10mm automatic you have
that I’m not supposed to know about. Please don’t take
it with you, old son, we don’t want any accidents, now
do we?”
“As if I would,” I said over my shoulder, as I closed
the door behind me.
That day I completed my report for LJ on the
new European Network. The idea was to have people in
positions of usefulness feeding information back to the
firm’s headquarters in London.
All of them would be switchboard and computer
operators, personal assistants or telecom repair
technicians working in embassies, foreign government
departments and stock exchanges. It meant setting up a
recruitment consultancy abroad, which would specialise
in this type of personnel. As well as describing the new
idea, my report had to outline the operational side, i.e.
planning, communications and procedures to ensure that
anyone who was detected could not lead to anyone else.
The structure for sending messages up and down the
network had to ensure that no contact was made between
sender and receiver. As far as the Partners were concerned
the most important factor of the report was the balance
sheet, how much was it going to cost and how much
estimated extra revenue it would bring in.
Tats finished typing the report by 6.30 p.m. I
checked it through and then emailed it to LJ as well as
taking two hard copies and backup disks, one to put in
the firm’s strong room and the other for my safekeeping.
I had only one other thing to do before we left, and that
was to memorise my communications priority codes for
my present assignment.
The firm’s switchboard is manned twenty four
hours a day. Our department however has an automated
system, which can be entered only by using our mobile
phones and a series of touch-tone codes. The link is
made via a satellite and filters the call through a random
route of countries to any person, department or overseas
office that you wish to speak to within Ferran & Cardini
International. The call is then monitored, scrambled, and
recorded; anyone trying to intercept or bug the call has
a digital impulse spike sent down the line to destroy the
phone or equipment being used.
We left discreetly by our own side entrance and
walked quietly by the river.
Tatiana told me which Partner had seen Robert
Flackyard the previous week, but could ascertain no
further information about why. I asked her not to copy
the new Network report to the Partners just yet and
suggested an excuse that she could give them. I knew LJ
would not approach anyone with the report until he had
spoken to me in person on my return from the assignment.

As I approached my destination the early morning
air pressed its damp nose against the Mercedes windscreen.
Ocean sand and water were thrashing together in endless
permutations, and three miles out in the depths beyond
was the wreck of the Gin Fizz that had brought me here.

For this assignment Rumple had thought of
everything, including the other team member, Charlie
McIntyre. LJ had relented and given in to his request to
have him on board, on the grounds that as only the best
would do, the minister could foot the bill. At twentynine years of age Charlie was a first rate wreck diver and
extremely talented with a knife and explosives.

Ten minutes after I had arrived at the rented house,
an old beaten-up VW beetle camper came to a halt at the
gates. Driving it was a youngish male, with unruly fairhair. He got out of the bright yellow Volkswagen, walked
up to the intercom and pressed the button.

Rumple answered almost immediately, his gruff
voice booming. “Hello – state your name and business.”
The voice at the other end was well educated and
articulate. The monitor screen showed a tanned face with
classic good looks, and an effervescent smile. Charlie
McIntyre’s piercing blue eyes looked straight into the lens
of the CCTV camera.

“Good to have on board again, Charlie,” I said, as
he stepped out of the old van into the brilliant sunshine.
Charlie came over and gave me a big brotherly hug,
we shook hands and I knew what was coming. His grip
was solid, like a vice, and the pressure made my knuckles
go white. But, as was customary, I returned the gesture
with equal enthusiasm. His grip had strengthened since
the last time we had worked together and I thought for
a split second that I was going to have to give in. Which
meant, that for the first time ever, I would have to buy
him a very large drink at the local bar. Thankfully Charlie
had never bested me.
“One of these days, I’ll do for you, Jake Dillon.”
“In your dreams, Charlie boy. But we really must
get out of this dreadful custom of trying to crush each
others’ fingers every time we meet.” Mr and Mrs Rumple
just looked on in utter disbelief.
“Anyway, how’s your shoulder after your last
assignment?”
“One hundred per cent now, thanks. Would you
believe it though, I only finished the blasted physiotherapy
about a month ago.” Lowering his voice conspiratorially,
so that the Rumples couldn’t overhear, he went on. “But
there was an up side to ripping my shoulder. As a bonus.
This rather lovely therapist called Julia insists that I keep
going back on a regular basis for what she calls a personal
fitness assessment.”
“Like I said, it’s good to have you on board for this
one, Charlie.”
After a spot of breakfast on the terrace we had
coffee followed by Mrs Rumple going out and Rumple
checking the Phantom and equipment down at the
boathouse.
Charlie and I went over the plan for the dive. The
gate monitor showed a woman looking up at the camera.
“Anyone else coming to play, Jake? Asked Charlie.
“Only there is one very attractive female at the gate, just
about to push the intercom.”
“No, I’ve got all the team here. What does she
look like?”
“Well – let’s see now, mid thirties, dark hair, tall,
I’d say about five nine to five ten, full lips and curves
where they should be. Oh, and an extremely well tailored
linen suit, with not much underneath – perhaps?”
“Very funny, let me see.” The buzzer from the
intercom came alive.
“Hello, can I help you?” I said in a clipped tone.
“Yes, my name is Fiona Price and I’d like to see Mr
Jake Dillon.”
Her accent had the faintest of Scottish brogue.
“There is no Mr Dillon here, are you quite sure
you have the right address?”
“Quite sure, thank you. Mr Levenson-Jones of
Ferran & Cardini in London gave it to me personally. It’s
very important that I speak to Mr Dillon and give him
this message.”
“Did Mr Levenson-Jones give you anything else to
give to Mr Dillon?” I asked.
“Mr Dillon, I will play your little game for as long
as you wish. The word that you require apparently is
Tomcat. Now can we carry on this conversation inside,
please. Preferably before you dive this evening.”
“OK, Miss Price, we have to be careful and there’s
no need to use a loud hailer to tell everyone in the
neighbourhood, why we are here.” The electric gates slid
back silently, closing automatically a minute later.
Fiona parked next to Charlie’s old VW. I let her
into the coolness of the tiled hallway. Enough light
filtered through the draped voile for me to take stock of
Miss Fiona Price. Immediately I noticed that her skin was
smooth with not a blemish to mar her beauty.
“Miss Price, sorry about that cloak and dagger
stuff just now. Let me introduce Myself. I am Jake Dillon
and this is my associate Charlie McIntyre.”
“Mr Dillon, I’ll come straight to the point. I work
for the British Government and I have been seconded
to Ferran & Cardini in a technical capacity just for this
project. I have also been fully briefed about you and your
assignment - the Gin Fizz.”
“OK, Miss Price,” I said, “So you know all about
me and the Gin Fizz.”
“What’s your message? You can speak in front of
Mr McIntyre.”
She handed me an envelope with the firm’s official
crest on it, and spoke very rapidly. “I’m a scuba-diver
with wreck investigation experience and my brief is to
retrieve the logbook from the boat, and to assist you and
Mr McIntyre, as and where necessary. I have my own
equipment in the car…”
I slowed her to a standstill with my eyes. “I’m sure
you do, Miss Price,” I said.
I glanced over at Charlie, who was running his
hand through his hair and smiling as usual. I said nothing;
instead I turned and walked over to the window, ripping
open the envelope. The message inside was simple. LJ’s
instruction was to co-operate but be extremely wary of
Miss Price. Looking over the bay, I took my time to turn
and face her again.
“Please sit down,” I said coldly, “and listen
carefully. If you think you’re coming on a rip roaring
little fun-jaunt, I’d think again.”
“I’m a qualified open water diver, Mr Dillon, with
experience in wreck diving.”
“You’ll find my expert knowledge for this job
invaluable.”
“I will, will I?” I said. “Well, I don’t know what you
call ‘expert’, but one of my men has spent several years as
a royal naval diver. Let me tell you, Miss Price, he once
saved the lives of an entire nuclear submarine crew by
diving one hundred and fifty feet in sub zero temperatures
to cut away a WW2 mine that had decided to hitch a
lift. Not to mention the time when the Argentinian forces
invaded the Falkland Islands. Along with two others,
he managed to diffuse mines laid by the invaders while
the Argentinian Navy threw every grenade they could
find into the harbour. They only stopped after an hour
because they calculated that no one could be alive down
there after that much pounding. Then he and his fellow
SBS team members swam up under one of their supply
ships and fixed three large charges to it, that scattered
corned beef all the way back to their mainland.”
“By the way, he did this while you were still at
university – Miss Price.” I walked over to the window.
The view was magnificent and very calming.
With my back to her, I said, “You’d better go and
get your equipment. Please take it to Mr Rumple down at
the boathouse.”
Charlie made some quiet remarks about Miss
Price’s bright-green wetsuit, but it was much more
professional than I feared it might be. I made a mental
note to call an old friend at Special Branch later that day.
Rumple, Charlie, Miss Price and I had a conference.
Rumple gave each one of us a file containing copies of
various charts together with photographs and information
showing us the position and way the Gin Fizz was lying.
“When were these images taken Rumple?” I asked.
“Yesterday morning, sir.”
I carefully studied Rumple’s images. The Gin Fizz
was lying on the sea floor at a forty-five degree angle.
“According to Miss Price and LJ’s message, our
Government Minister and the owner of that boat is keen
to get the log from the Gin Fizz. That is – if the Captain
didn’t dump it overboard before she went down,” I added
casually.
Before anyone could interrupt, I carried on, “I
assume you have been told where to locate the log book
when you get inside the craft. We can’t afford the luxury
of you wasting time rummaging around down there.”
“And if the captain did lob it over the side?”
Charlie added.
“In that case, finding it depends on how far the
boat travelled between the log being thrown over and
sinking and if my equipment will detect such a small flat
object, which will likely be submerged in the silt.” The
gold ring on Fiona’s finger flashed in the bright sunlight,
“I suspect the underwater currents are strong as well.”
Then Charlie asked Rumple about tidal movement
at surface, absolute slack-water times and slack-water
duration, and they discussed ways of setting out a diving
timetable in order to use those facts to our advantage.
Everything said and done, I told everyone to relax
for the rest of the day and said we’d have another briefing
that evening, before we dived.
As the weather was unusually warm for the time of
year, I decided to sit on the sand and think. The sea was
kicking idly at the beach. Miss Price was nearly inside
a black swimsuit, and Charlie was showing off with
handstands, which were not impressing her one little bit.
I asked Rumple to swim out to sea with the lovely lady
from the ministry and let me know what sort of endurance
she had.
“Go out about, let’s say fifty metres, and come in
again. Don’t hurry her, but let her know you’re watching
her.”
“Yes, I understand sir,” said Rumple, and went to
tell Miss Price.
I watched them run across the soft damp sand,
lengthening the curved imprints to the water’s edge.
Rumple, although in his early fifties was as fit as any man
half his age.
Charlie came up wanting to talk about the
assignment. He paused, carefully designing a sentence
that wouldn’t sound impertinent. “Why doesn’t this
Minister go through official channels? Even if there is
something dodgy about this boat, he could have used one
of their spook departments to salvage and retrieve it for
him, couldn‘t he?”
“The whole thing stinks, Charlie. To tell you the
truth, I have an awful feeling that we are sitting out here
bleating like a goat in a tiger trap. That message Miss
Price brought about the logbook. It just doesn’t ring
true.” I told Charlie about me being followed by the two
cars. How one of them had been traced back to a security
firm that our ministerial friend had hired and how an
international playboy, Robert Flackyard, owned the other
car from Bournemouth and that I thought they were all
connected. “And what about this Fiona Price character?”
I finished. “Why is she here and what is her real brief?”
As I said it, Rumple and Miss Price came out of the
water. Rumple was tanned dark-brown and moving like
he’d just stepped out of a shower. He wasn’t even out of
breath. Miss Price had her mouth open and was gulping
deep draughts of air, throwing her head back and running
an open hand through her hair. They walked slowly up
to where Charlie and I were sitting, Miss Price waited for
words of praise.
“How do you feel, Miss Price?” I asked casually.
She was still gulping for breath. “O.K, thank you
Mr Dillon… absolutely first rate.”
“Then I would like you to go out about twenty
metres – but this time, please swim underwater there
and back. Break surface only when you have to - I do
not want to see a train of foam and bubbles. Should
you experience any problems tell Rumple immediately.
I’m not carrying dead heroes, I prefer live cowards. And
Rumple stay close.”
“What is the purpose of this, Mr Dillon?” she
asked defiantly, standing with hands on hips in front of
me.
“The purpose – well now, Miss Price.” I kept my
voice casual. “The purpose of this is to ascertain whether
or not you are fit enough to dive with us tonight.” I got
up and started back up the beach.
“Charlie and I are going up to that café to watch
you and count the number of times you come up for air.
Oh, and another thing, Miss Price you’re not in London,
you know, so please try and look like an English holiday
maker…”
I continued up the beach with my back to them…
“That is to say, miserable.” Rumple knew me all too well,
but Miss Price could not see the smile that was across my
face as she stormed down the beach.
“Do you think you’re being a little hard on Miss
Price, Jake?” Charlie asked. We walked up the steps to
the café.
“Probably,” I said. “But I’ll give her credit, she’s
got spirit and determination.” We sat and watched in
silence and then Charlie said. “You may be worrying for
nothing, you know. It might just be as easy and straight
forward as it seems.”
I didn’t think so.