Shroud of Concealment (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series)

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Authors: Andrew Towning
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number. A moment later, he was phoning ‘Sammy’ Samuels at his home.
    “Jake Dillon, we met briefly about eighteen months ago, whilst I was on assignment in Dorset with Fiona Price, and you were still on the force. The Harry Caplin case?”
    “Oh, I remember. You were the knob who let that American get away, weren’t you?
    “You could say that. But he’s now in custody in Florida.”
    “Well that’s all very interesting. But I’m right in the middle of my evening meal; what’s so important that it can’t wait until the morning?”
    “I have Phil McVey’s mobile phone, camera and notebook. He’s the investigator you assigned to watch my apartment building. I’ll send them back in return for the name of the person who hired you.”
    “Are you on something or what? You’ve stolen that property – probably with grievous bodily harm, which makes you nothing more than a common ruffian, Dillon. And as all my incoming calls are automatically recorded, you’ve also openly confessed to the crime.”
    “Once a copper, Samuels. Isn’t that how the saying goes? Well, if you want to play it like that, you’ve blatantly invaded my privacy, and committed out-and-out harassment. Talk to your friends at the local nick, for all I care. But remember this, if it ever got to a courtroom, McVey’s account of what took place would make good tabloid reading. That he had the tools of his trade nicked from him whilst on a simple surveillance job. Sloppy, wouldn’t you say? And your agency having such a high profile image and reputation for being the best. Just think Sammy, how many corporate clients do you think would jump ship?”
    “That’s blackmail.”
    “Exactly. Like I said, if that’s how you want to play it. So, what about it? I’d say it was a fair trade-off?”
    “You bastard! You know I can’t break a client’s confidence. It would be unethical and tantamount to committing commercial suicide. I’ll tell you what, you send the stuff back and I’ll forget it ever happened.”
    “I don’t think so, do you? Let me put it another way. I know who it was who hired you and I simply want it confirmed.”
    “No way.”
    “Okay, if that’s how it’s got to be. Let’s play the name game and the best bit is that you don’t have to say anything. Simply remain silent for ten seconds if I’m right. Charlie Hart.”
    Dillon watched the second hand of his Omega sweep round, knew that Samuels was still there and said, “Thanks, Sammy. You’ve be very obliging. I’ll send the stuff back by motorcycle courier first thing in the morning.”
    “You can keep your thanks. Because I wouldn’t have said anything whatever name you’d have given me. You really are grasping at straws, Dillon. Now be a good chap and return the stuff you stole from my man. And I hope for your sake that you haven’t done him any serious injury, or you’re going to be in deep shit, my friend.”
    Dillon ended the call and immediately rang Hart. Mrs. Pringle answered the phone and Dillon had to wait.
    “What do you want? You’re interrupting my dinner.”
    “I won’t keep you long. That private investigator you sent to keep an eye on me must have cost you. But I’m afraid your money has not been put to good use. He had to be carried off the field of play. Early.”
    “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    Dillon found himself cut off, but felt extremely satisfied. Hart had sounded rattled. And that was exactly how he wanted him to be. As he went back through to the living room, he was more concerned for Issy’s safety, and that of Havelock. If McVey had remembered the car registration numbers, Hart would be able to quickly trace them. He could protect Issy and didn’t really think that she would be in any immediate danger. But Havelock would be traced back to the Home Secretary, and Hart might just put two and two together, and come up with three. As far as Dillon knew this was not a political issue. Havelock was

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