Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (13 page)

Satisfied that the Range Rover would be able bodied to use if the
need arose, he parked the 4x4 out of sight. The central locking system
was inoperative - probably a stray bullet. He pocketed the keys and
walked back to the Land Rover, he shunted the Merc further into the
lane, completely blocking the only visible access to Dillon’s property.
He drove the Land Rover back through the arch and parked it inside
the garage, locked the doors, and limped back to the large beech tree.
Staring down at the would-be Assassin; he saw properly for the first
time, just how big he was, much bigger than Dillon and quite fearsomelooking. He was dark-skinned, almost Arabic in appearance. He had
a thick black moustache, and was looking up at him in immense pain
- Dillon gazed down at the man - not compassionately - not with any
feeling or emotion at all. His nose was well and truly broken and the
wires that Dillon had tied around his wrists and ankles were biting
deep into his flesh. Dillon crouched down. “Who are you?”
The man’s eyes narrowed, the gaze hardened.
“Were you sent here to kill Tatiana, or me?”
Silence. He continued to stare blankly at Dillon.
Dillon’s fist slammed into the man’s already broken nose, and
he screamed, saliva and blood drooling from his mouth. His head fell
forward, and then lifted slowly to stare at Dillon. He spat into Dillon’s
face and grinned nastily, deep red staining his teeth.
“If that’s the way you want it old son.” Dillon whispered, wiping
blood from his face.
Dillon grabbed the collar of the man’s jacket and dragged
him across the frozen lawn and down towards the loch, wailing and
attempting to kick out. He had to stop halfway to get his breath back,
but moved on a moment later and dragged the man the final distance
to the water’s edge. He took another length of wire from his pocket
and tied it around a sturdy looking tree trunk, then attached the other
end to the man’s ankles with the same over-zealousness as before. He
crouched down and said, “Now you listen and you listen good, you
piece of scum. By the morning you will be frozen dead. But, I’m not
unreasonable. I’ll be back in a while, so I hope that the time you’re
going to spend by this magnificent lake will enable you to reflect on
the error of your ways.”
Dillon limped back to the warmth of the castle’s interior and
Tatiana. He slumped down by her side. Her breathing was deep, her
colour had returned to normal. He threw a few more logs onto the
fire, and armed the house security defences with the wireless remote
control, and then went and slumped in one of the leather easy chairs
opposite Tatiana. His head suddenly felt heavy and every bone in his
body ached from the recent beating, he wearily flicked on the TV.
Keeping the sound low, he watched without interest as images danced
in front of him. Dillon hated the TV; it was brain numbing. But he
acknowledged that it had its uses as he flicked through the news
channels, eyes searching, brain working overtime even though he was
almost falling asleep.
And then he saw it, like some incredibly bad coincidence...
The camera panned through one hundred and eighty degrees,
showing in graphic detail the destruction and carnage in London,
sweeping across the explosions’ ground-zero where Scorpion HQ
had once nestled in its secret enclave. Dillon wasn’t interested in the
reporters hysterical sensationalism, because he didn’t need to hear his
commentary, and he did not care what the man had to say; instead
his widened eyes watched the amateur camera-phone footage, taken
from a London Eye pod. The sudden rush of smoke, followed by
chunks of concrete, twisted pieces of steel, and millions of fragments
of glass emanating from the small nuclear device that had erupted
hundreds of feet below the ground. The instant annihilation of every
building and life-form within its effective striking distance of one
hundred metres. Then came the small mushroom shaped cloud that
rose up into the darkened sky.
Dillon remained sitting, totally shocked, and rubbing his eyes.
What the hell is going on, screamed his confused mind? He
pulled out the Ferran & Cardini mobile smart-phone; the screen was
lifeless; except for a network error message. Not surprising as the
network it was linked to, had just been vaporised in a single violent
act of terrorism.
Dillon was suddenly thirsty, the game was getting bigger, the
stakes getting higher, the unknown enemy becoming nastier.
The alter-ego that slept deep within Dillon’s sub-conscious
surged to the forefront of his brain like a black brooding monster
emerging from the deepest darkest depths of the ocean. “
I’ve had
enough of this shit, playing by somebody else’s rules,
” snapped the voice inside
Dillon’s head.
“You’re not the only one,” Dillon’s tone was gruff and thoroughly
hacked-off.
For a while he dozed, drifting in uneasy sleep. When he awoke
with a start the fire was still glowing warmly, but outside he could only
see pitch-black, highlighted by the heavy snow drifting up the window
panes. Dillon looked over at Tatiana. She was still sleeping deeply, her
breathing regular. He checked the sterile dressings, and replaced them
with fresh ones. Dillon poured himself a large tumbler of single malt
whiskey, and re-took his seat opposite Tatiana, sipping at the smooth
fiery amber liquid and staring into her face. She looked so serene, her
skin so young looking.
And yet he would have to wake her shortly; not knowing if, or
when, more Assassins would be sent after them? Highly trained and
intent on murder?
He got up and went and knelt beside her, pushing some stray
hair from her forehead. She murmured in her sleep, Dillon stroked
her cheek, enjoying the warm flushed skin under his fingers; his mood
had shifted to one of reminiscence, of years gone by. This was only
moderated by the hard outer casing of the Glock against the small of
his back.
More of them will come, he thought.
They will already know that they failed.
Tatiana moaned in her drug induced sleep; she turned, sighing,
then her face twisted in pain - stitches pulling tight. She coughed,
settling back against the cushions. Dillon held back from waking her,
to question her. She had lost a lot of blood, was weak from her ordeal
and injuries, the shock of what had happened to her. She needed
to rest... but not for long. They had to leave; and leave soon. How
long did they have? Twelve hours? Thirty minutes? Dillon caressed
the Glock.
He would be waiting.
And he would be ready.

F&CI Com-intercept.
Transcript of recent
Reuter’s news article.
Sources within the Kremlin have confirmed
that two Russian nuclear-powered submarines
have gone missing.
These long-range underwater vessels were both
armed with the latest nuclear warheads when
they went missing while on training manoeuvres
in the Barents Sea. Early reports indicate that
five surveillance satellites were overhead at
the precise time the submarines vanished.
A rescue operation led by military craft
in the immediate area was ordered, and since
the disappearance of the subs, three high-speed
search and seek submersible drones have been
searching the deep water at the last known fixed
position, but with no success.
The leaders of many countries have already
been in contact with the Kremlin to offer their
support during this tragic time...

The small launch cut a foaming wake through the black water
of the harbour, the deck rolling gently beneath his sandals. He stood
looking back towards the shore as the wind caressed his long curled
hair and thick beard, he could see the darkened buildings of the
harbour side, embraced by the heat of a tropical summer. Seagulls
flapped and squawked, like squabbling children, around the fishing
boats as dusk descended upon this exotic part of the world.

A lone eagle soared high above the shoreline, backlit by the full
moon, searching out its next prey. The one-hundred and fifty foot
black twin hull stealth cruiser sat rocking gently in the deep calm
waters of the bay. The eagle dived and disappeared beneath the trees.

The launch reached the stealth ship, bumping against the
rubberised hull. The access door slid back and the man stepped up
and into the vessel. He moved through the gloom and reached the
watertight door, heavy steel, and it swung open on well-oiled hinges.
Giving a final look over his shoulder towards the access door and the
freedom of the ocean beyond - he was now trapped with nowhere to
run...

Ducking to enter the confines of the ship’s lower corridor, he
moved up the broad steps, his silver tipped walking cane clicking as
he made his way through the ship; his limp even more pronounced on
the mesh walk-ways.

Despite his age of sixty-five, he was still an imposing figure of a
man, huge and tanned, his head covered in traditional Middle Eastern
head-wear, his face hidden under the large grey-streaked beard.

Moving down the corridor, he paused as he reached another
door; he wanted to enter,
needed
to enter, and yet still he hesitated.
He considered knocking, but realised it was not necessary... Ramus
already knew he was there.

He pushed, and the heavy door swung inwards.
He stepped forward, into a room of low atmospheric lighting,
that was pure opulence; fitted furniture of the highest quality and
an array of high-tech computer equipment, and wood-panelling; long
rows of unevenly sized books lining the walls and through a tiny
porthole the last remnants of daylight spilled in. The room was awash
with warm light and colour. Strategically placed throughout the space
was some extremely high-tech equipment; binary codes flickered on
the High Definition monitor screens, except for one, which remained
black. Reminding the man of the darkness, that will fill and consume
the new world.
“Ramus?”
“I am here, my old friend.” A figure was standing beside a stack
of old leather-bound books; tall and thin, the suit he was wearing,
hand-made of the finest cloth that money can buy and concealing an
ever present Browning automatic. The voice was rich, had strength
and an almost melodious tone.
“Come my friend - speak - we are completely alone for the
moment.”
“They have failed,” said the big bearded man in Arabic. “We
thought that he might have gone soft after nearly a year and a half out
of Ferran & Cardini. We thought him an easy target; retired, lacking
rigorous and regular training.”
“Even after the events in Cornwall with... Kirill?”
“He was merely lucky.”
“Your naivety astounds me. You placed him low on the list of
priority terminations, when in fact he should have been at the very
top.” The smooth voice had a razor sharp edge to it and the bearded
man shivered.
“What would you have me do?” Came, the deep voice of the
Arab. The voice was starting to crack under the immense pressure.
His cane remained firmly at his side, as he waited for a response from
Ramus. Who used this to his advantage, allowing the silence to build
up the tension. He knew the other man well, knew his fear was a
tangible thing, physical, an aura which surrounded him like a cloud.
“Send in just one Assassin, but this time, make sure that it knows
just how dangerous the quarry is,” came the soft voice.
“Why? What makes just one so special?”
“There is an elite group who are waiting for such an opportunity
to demonstrate their unique abilities. Sending just one to our friend
Dillon in Scotland, will reap success this time. And don’t forget,
these very special individuals who share our ideals, have been waiting
patiently for many years, preparing - harbouring their grudges - for a
war! Soon this stealth ship will be at the centre of our activities... Yes,
my friend you are living through exciting times of immense change -
on a global scale. The likes of which, no-one has ever seen before and
it is good for you that you are a part of this - integral, shall we say.”
The Arab gazed at the suited figure in front of him, seeing the
smile, the show of teeth. His mouth was dry, his eyes filled with tears.
His knuckles were white where they gripped the silver-tipped walking
cane.
“You may go,” said Ramus softly.
The large man turned, and stepped out from this private room
deep within the heart of the stealth ship - Ramus listened intently
as the walking cane clicked down the corridor, the noise finally
disappearing into the bowels of this vast vessel.
The stealth ship rocked gently on eddies of sea current that
caressed her twin prow and black flanks, and the moonlight shimmered
across her decks, which were deserted and motionless.
Seagulls cawed outside the room’s porthole as Ramus stood
gazing out across the bay and cold eyes glittered in the mixed light of
the room and the moonlight. A hand stretched out and opened the
porthole, allowing the sultry South American night air to invade his
air-conditioned sanctuary.
Pain gripped him, but only for the briefest of seconds. As his
twisted face returned to calm, he drank from the tumbler the last
remnants of brandy that burned all the way down to the pit of his
stomach. “Soon, Mr Dillon - very soon...” came the soft words.

He stirred the coffee slowly, the headache crashing against the
shores of his mind and leaving him battered and bruised. Dillon
carried the coffee through to the living room, knelt down in front
of Tatiana and looked up into her eyes. She had sat up on the sofa,
her face drawn, her eyes hooded. Every movement brought a little
grimace of pain and Dillon sipped his coffee, drums thumping in his
head, rippling across his temples.

“You okay?” Came Tatiana’s voice, weakened, jagged, almost a
whisper and unheard.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Dillon opened his mouth to speak again, and
Tatiana whispered; “Shh,” with a finger against her lips. She met
Dillon’s gaze. There were tears in her eyes and she smiled warmly at
him.
“I’m very sorry for bringing such trouble to your life and home.”
“They came for me,” Dillon said slowly.
“Both of us, surely?” said Tatiana. Tears rolled down her cheeks,
and she abruptly brushed them away. “Thank you for saving my life.
I don’t know what would have happened, if it hadn’t been for you.”
“You would be
dead
- that’s what would have happened, my
lovely.” Dillon said matter of factly.
Tatiana coughed, her face a grimace, her hand coming up to the
sterile dressing covering the stitched bullet wound in her shoulder; she
smiled wryly.
“You are a brave strong and honourable man, Jake Dillon. I have
come up to this God forsaken place in the middle of nowhere, to
warn you.” She laughed softly. “Your life is in grave danger... Yes, I
know, a little bit too late.” Her gaze met Dillon.
“You do know that Scorpion HQ has been completely
annihilated?”
Tatiana’s eyes went wide. “Scorpion HQ... are you sure?”
“It was on the TV news; and part of Alix’s encrypted message
first thing when he came to visit was how the British Government
had sanctioned Scorpion to assemble a strike task unit with the
sole function of searching out major terrorists and assassinating
them. How’s that for a coincidence? And now the whole Scorpion
headquarters is - gone!”
“Completely destroyed?” Her voice was a hushed whisper.
“How?”
“The media is speculating that it was a Weapon of Mass
Destruction, possibly a small nuclear device. There’s nothing left.
The images on the TV left little doubt in my mind that it was a nuke
warhead.”
“So LJ was right, after all.” She whispered, horror lining her face
like battle scars.
“Right about what?”
“This is even bigger than he imagined.”
“What the fuck are you twittering on about?” Dillon’s patience
had run out...
The fire crackled. Dillon finished his coffee, and Tatiana, head
bowed, deep in thought, looked up, her face pale, lips trembling.
“Listen, we need to leave here, Dillon... We need to get as far
away from here as fast as we can. They will come - they will come
soon!”
“If we move you now, the wound might start bleeding again.
Then you could die.”
“That’s a chance I’ll have to take, Dillon. Because if we stay here,
we’ll both die.”
Dillon smiled, and then it turned to a nasty grin. “They will
have to send a legion of killers,” he said the words softly, his hand
brushed against the Glock and something stirred deep within his subconscious that made him shudder with the anticipation of dealing out
death.
“You’re not listening, Dillon,” said Tatiana sadly. Her hand
reached out, stroking Dillon’s cheek. “If LJ is right, and his informant
is telling the truth, then they will send Assassins.”
“Assassins? You mean like those sent to Cornwall to kill me?”
“No - these willbe very different. All I know is that Scorpion had
always known that a secret society of killers existed. It was thought
that they had been destroyed a long time ago, and that the society had
simply faded into obscurity. But it would appear that these ruthless
killers are very much active, and linked with terrorist groups around
the planet, paid for by the major drug cartels in Latin America. They
have... somehow
returned
.” The word hung in the air like a bad smell.
“Why is this happening to me?” Dillon’s voice was cold as reality
sunk in and he remembered what Alix had thought was happening to
the Scorpion units. They were being assassinated, one-by-one... The
possibility that this was happening passed like a chilling breeze over
his soul, the certainty walked like a grim-reaper over his grave.
“You remember professor Kirill?”
“How could I ever forget him?”
“The partners of Ferran & Cardini believe that what took place
in Cornwall was all about Kirill, and that it was the work of a group
of individuals who are involved in terrorism, extortion, murder and
just about anything that goes against the establishment. You think of
me as your ex, and also as a tactical liaison officer between Ferran &
Cardini and Scorpion - but appearances can be deceiving, Dillon, very
deceiving.”
Dillon met her gaze.
Tatiana licked her lips.
“My role at Ferran & Cardini has always been a
façade
for the
work that I actually undertake on behalf of HM Government.
I am part of a Government department that has no name and are
accountable to no-one except the Prime Minister. We work within the
Scorpion network to root out and eliminate anyone who co-operates
with terrorists. We look for the enemy - we find them - we erase them.
Permanently.” She sighed.
“You’re the bloody secret service?”
“Something like that,” said Tatiana, smiling wearily. “But the
enemy has hit hard and fast; we had only just discovered that Kirill
was one of them... Our intelligence source was reliable, but we never
thought that they were anywhere near ready to make their move...
I unknowingly sent you on an assignment that could have led you
to your death - but thank God you survived. Others were not so
fortunate.”
“And Kirill?” Dillon’s voice was as cold as Arctic ice.
“Kirill is one of the group; as is another man known to us,
Ramus. We think that they’ve struck now because Kirill’s new Chimera
Programme is almost ready, and with its awesome power they can use
it to take over virtually every banking and governmental computer
installation, satellites, and God knows what else. It is so powerful,
Dillon - I can’t even start to explain just how dangerous this software
could be in the wrong hands.”
“But I don’t understand,” said Dillon softly. “Why have virtually
all of the Scorpion units being assassinated? And why has Scorpion
HQ been destroyed? After all, no-one ever knew the exact location
of the units and HQ was one of the Government’s best kept secrets.
I thought that Kirill was a good man?”
“This group, headed by Ramus and Kirill - believe that both
the British Government and the current American administration
to be weak, corrupt and riddled with decay and complacency. They
also believe that Scorpion had become far too powerful - financed,
controlled, governed by the upper-most echelon of the House of
Commons and Lords. We both know that Scorpion was never meant
to be like that - it was supposed to stand alone, incorruptible and
untouchable. A worldwide organisation feared by terrorists and
organised crime syndicates alike. Ramus and Kirill think that with
Scorpion out of the way - they can rule the world. They think that
they are way above the law of the land - any land. With Kirill’s new
Chimera Programme and the Assassins, they think they can bring
down anyone - governments, banking, absolutely anyone they choose.
Their beliefs are firmly rooted in the Illuminati, and their vision is to
bring global peace... a New World Order... but...”
“The but is, that they will have to fight a pretty big war,” Dillon
snapped. “Before their New World Order can be achieved, there will
come death, andlots of it. We’ve both encountered a few psychopathic
egomaniacs in our time, and some, who have been involved with the
Illuminati. Evil bastards, every one of them.”
Tatiana nodded.
“We definitely need to get the hell out of here, Dillon; they will
be coming for us even as we speak.”
“Yes.”
Dillon leaned towards her and kissed her gently on the lips. “We
do need to get the fuck away from here, and there is only one person
I can think of, one person who has the resources and the considerable
knowledge to be able to help us.”
Tatiana pulled back a little, her stare meeting Dillon’s. “No,” she
said, shaking her head.
“Yes,” said Dillon. “The world as we know it is about to be torn
apart, Tats. The British Government will not know how to combat
this threat when it breaks, and with Scorpion HQ destroyed, we have
to assume that there are no operational units left either, except for Alix
and Lola. Ezra used to be the one who Kirill went to for inspiration
and advice. If anybody knows what Ramus and Kirill are up to and
where they are, then it is Ezra. If we can find them, then we can find
the server location of the Chimera programme and destroy it. At least
that will even the odds up - and if we can take out Ramus and Kirill
on the way, then so be it. Ezra is going to point the way to Chimera,
and the bastards who want to abuse the trust and power that has been
given to them.”
“Dillon. We simply can’t go to Ezra,” said Tatiana.
“But he’s the only one who knows!” hissed Dillon.
“Yes, but he’s also a suspect, he could even be involved with Kirill
and Ramus, which is why he is under twenty-four hour surveillance
by the security services. To meet with him - would mean our death.”
Dillon stood up. He withdrew the 9mm Glock, checked the
magazine, and rammed it back home as he looked up and took a deep
breath. “If Ezra is batting for the other side, the only death will be his
own,” said Dillon with grim finality.
Dillon had cleaned and re-dressed Tatiana’s wounds. Her face
was incredibly pale and Dillon helped her to dress, wincing with her
in her pain as she struggled into fresh clothes.
“Tell me what you know of these Assassins that will be sent?”
Tatiana shrugged. “All I know, Jake, is that Ramus has them and
that they have the same extreme skill and ruthlessness as their ancient
predecessors - some say that they derive these abilities from a drug
induced hypnosis. Which is ironic as the term assassin is derived from
the Arabic and translates literally as
hashish-eater
, or one addicted to
hashish. There is one Assassin who is supposed to be the teacher, or
master of all others - no one knows who it is, because they all dress
in the same black skin-hugging outfits that are hooded. Even the eyes
are concealed behind dark lenses that must act as image intensifiers
and night vision. But this one took out an entire Scorpion squad.”
“Alone?”
“Oh yes, alone.”
“Without any help whatsoever?”
Tatiana nodded. “That’s what the MI6 encrypted files stated,
when I read them prior to driving all the way up to this dissolute
dump of a place to warn you, and to ask for your help. This thing is
escalating and is totally out of control.”
“The last time you asked for my help, Tats, I almost got myself
killed. I’ll go and get the hardware, check the surveillance monitors
and arm the perimeter weapon systems. That’ll just leave time to
throw a few things into a holdall, and then we can get the hell out of
here. Anything you need?”
“Just my overnight bag, thanks.”
Dillon smiled. “Okay, I’ll go grab it out of what’s left of your
Merc.” He turned his back on Tatiana and walked out of the room,
across the great hall and to his study beyond and the estate’s monitoring
system. He could sense her gaze boring into his back.
“Dillon?”
He stopped midway through the great hall. Turned.
“I still love you.”
“Really?”
Tatiana nodded. “Really.”
Dillon smiled warmly. “Get your ass in gear. We leave in five
minutes.”
Dillon stared with a heavy frown at the row of computer monitor
screens.
Something was amiss.
Badly amiss.
Something was happening.
There was silence in the castle, apart from the distant ticking
of a clock. Dillon watched the screens. A light started to flash,
blinking with a proximity warning. By the north shore of the loch.
Dillon activated the digital video cameras; fresh snow greeted him.
And then he felt it… …a ripple of a shockwave from the explosive
device. Dillon felt a cold trickle of sweat run down his spine as the
PCs instantly shut down... followed a second later by the lights to the
whole castle. Everything was plunged into a murky half-light, long
shadows being cast by a fine Scottish dawn. The computer cooling
fans whirred to a halt.
“Bollocks.” Dillon shot across the great hall at a sprint.
“What’s happened?” Asked Tatiana.
“The main power has gone. And the back-up generators haven’t
cut in automatically as they should have.”
“Give me a gun,” said Tatiana.
Dillon unzipped the holdall and pulled out a Walther PPK from
his personal armoury, and tossed her the black automatic. He drew a
narrow knife from a hidden sheaf sewn into the lining in his jacket,
then slid it carefully back. It always felt good to know he had this old
friend as a back-up. Dillon moved to the window, and staying out of
sight, scanned the area outside for any movement.
“What now, Jake?” Asked Tatiana
“We get as far away from this place as we can. It’s too dangerous
to stay here.”
“You believe me now?’’
Dillon picked up the Landrover keys from a side table, and put
them into his jacket pocket. “All I know is that it takes a hell of a lot of
tech-knowledge and know-how to knock out the type of sophisticated
monitoring set-up and the three-stage back-up generators that I have
here. And at the same time remain virtually undetected.”
“Did your system pick up anything before it went down?”
“North shore of the loch.”
“Don’t trust your sensors - trust your instincts. The Assassin is
out there, and is most likely much closer...”
Dillon shivered, and flicked the safety off the Glock. He moved
back out into the great hall and positioned himself in the shadows... a
good place to defend, he thought. He knew the building intimately -
but to cut and run now? To use the half-light of dawn?
Dangerous and extremely foolhardy. He had no idea who was
outside, or how many of them there were. Most importantly - he had
no idea where they were.
We should have left hours ago, under the cover of darkness, he
thought.
These lost hours could be the death of us.
He calmed his breathing. He forced his heart rate to slow. He
blinked a number of times and licked his lips, then walked back into
the living room and moved to the side of the window and peered
outside and into the snow covered landscape.