Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (18 page)

He moved to one of the many computer screens, logged in, and
checked for anything new.
This cannot be correct, he thought.
The GCHQ intercepted communication between Ramus and
Kirill, must be wrong.
A cold shiver ran up and down his spine.
Dillon would never dare come to Santorini... Ezra laughed out
loud then, his laughter echoing out through the bunker. And if he
was
coming to the Greek Island - and by the level of encryption, it seemed
that it was a top priority to find and intercept him - if the miserable
excuse for a human being
was
coming to Santorini, then the chances
were that he was coming to find Ezra.
“I swore that I would kill you the next time we met.”
Ezra’s voice was deep, incredibly deep and melodic - almost
theatrical in its delivery, a rich voice, the voice of an actor, not the
voice of a...
“What are you?”
He thought.
“What have you become?”

He had been re-assigned by army intelligence. They had sent
him to London to work on a very special new anti-terrorist project.
Scorpion.

Ezra shut down the screen, got up, and started to pace the room,
thinking, planning, fuming...
He went outside and continued to walk, leather sandals now
kicking sand as he moved along the path, winding through the garden
to the perimeter fence and a string of proximity sensors and antipersonnel mines.
Scorpion...
They had a lot to answer for. A
hell
of a lot to answer for...
He reached the perimeter fence, and immediately turned and
started back the way he had come. The walk had relaxed him, as it
always did. Ezra mounted the steps up to the southerly most veranda
of his home and sitting on one of the wicker chairs, smiled to himself
knowing that hiding below the simple white-washed walls was a
hundred million pounds worth of technology under the ground in
the form of extremely high-tech suites, weapons systems, and a large
underground garage and workshop facilities and...
Ezra’s eyes glinted.
And
something else
.
A breeze licked the dust on the timber floor, sending it in some
sort of exotic dance across the veranda.
How the world had changed, he thought. How it has descended
into a quagmire of terrorism, violence and world-wide fear.
He shivered.
How
I
have changed...
He caught sight of movement to his left, partially hidden by
trees, but he was sure someone was there. Ezra moved cautiously to
the far end of the veranda and down the steps out of sight, so as to
outwit, Demitri, his personal bodyguard. A former Russian special
forces Sergeant, who had fought in Afghanistan, Iraq and Iran,
fighting the Taliban - and who liked nothing better than to play chess.
He had been with Ezra for the past five years - and was never far away
from him...
The big Russian had spotted him moving along the veranda, and
had quickly moved around the villa, and was now standing behind
Ezra, the Uzi across his chest, the safety catch switched off. Ezra
grinned, stood up and turned around.
“You okay, Boss?” Growled Demitri, his broad face split into a
smile.
“Damn you, Demitri. You’ve done it again. How do you move
so fast and so quietly,” said Ezra.
“Many years of dodging bullets, Boss.”
Ezra shook his head, “Yeah, and I guess that’s why I employ you,
just to keep you safe.”
Demitri smiled. They shook hands, and Ezra went back up the
steps onto the veranda and into the cool interior of the villa.
Such a nondescript
façade
, he thought.
A simple disguise, concealing technology the world could not
even begin to comprehend.
His sandals brushed silently against the polished marble floor
as he made his way along the corridor to his library. He went to one
of the shelves, and to his prized hard-back edition of the Holy Bible;
tipping the spine back, the secret panel opened, and Ezra descended
- down the steps and through the rough-hewn narrow corridors - to
the operations bunker.
Welcome to Heaven, Ezra thought.

It was early evening when Dillon flew the twin engine Cessna
across the shimmering Ionian Sea west of Greece. Sunlight glittered,
accelerating over the horizon. Tatiana was sitting with her head resting
on Dillon’s shoulder when the whole aircraft shuddered.

The aircraft shuddered again, and then moments later, a trail
of thick black smoke came from behind the starboard engine. Dillon
leaned forward, eyes scanning the digital read-outs, and cut the fuel
supply to the engine. The prop hummed as it slowed and then it
stopped altogether.

“We have a problem,” said Dillon through gritted teeth. “Looks
like we’ve sprung an oil leak. Damn-it.”
The aircraft had to land, and soon. Tatiana’s grip tightened on
Dillon as fear flashed bright in her eyes. Breathing deeply, he turned
the Cessna south. “We’ll have to land as soon as possible.”
Dillon knew the area well, and hugged the coast through the
Gulf of Patra and chose a spot on the west coast of Peloponnesus,
where he knew a certain landowner of disreputable character.
Dillon brought the Cessna in low over the sea. Sparkling waves
of the brightest blue crashed to their end in a crescendo of white
foam. They cleared a long stretch of beach-hugging trees and a wide
sweep of unspoilt white sand. The Cessna approached a wide treelined grass strip with a grandiose country farmhouse located at the
end of the cutting and touched down smoothly, then bumped along
the short grass towards the dazzling white-walled house. Tatiana gazed
up at the building as they rolled to a halt, bushes and trees whipping to
either side, the drone of the one good engine invading this otherwise
peaceful paradise. The house was large, built from stone, the lofty
roof supported by huge oak beams rough cut and lashed together
with thick ropes skilfully tied by local craftsmen.
Several men, dressed in black suites, ran forward towards the
plane. They were all carrying guns.
“A welcoming party?” asked Tatiana.
Dillon smiled. “They know me here. Don’t worry.” He killed the
engine, which died quickly, the propeller humming and clattering to
a halt. Dillon helped Tatiana down from the cockpit, down the steps,
and onto the grass where they were immediately aware of the heat.
“Warm, isn’t it? Just what the doctor ordered.” Tatiana said
huskily. “How long will I have to endure this heat while you fix the
motor?”
“As long as it takes.”
“Oh, only it’s quite a shock after sunny old Scotland,” she said
and smiled sardonically.
Dillon greeted the men and explained his dilemma in fluent
Greek. He and Tatiana were escorted back up to the house at gunpoint
by the obviously suspicious security guards.
As they reached the porch a man appeared, wearing a loose
fitting white shirt over stone-washed denim jeans and retro sand
suede desert boots. The man had a shabby-chic look about him, and
the dark brooding eyes of someone who mistrusted everyone; and the
mini-sub machine pistol in his hand looked very menacing.
“Sappho, I have a major fucking problem.”
The older Greek man smiled, a broad smile, breaking the spell
of impending doom, and bellowed, “Jake Dillon, you old mongrel!
How the devil are you big man? I thought you’d retired or died? Come
up here and give old Sappho a hug.”

Their stay was short, sweet and very much to the point. The
starboard engine had blown an oil seal, and Sappho said that he would
get his mechanic to take a look at the problem.

The aircraft was towed off to a large barn, and Tatiana’s wounds
were attended to by Sappho’s personal physician. He re-stitched
Dillon’s handiwork, and applied fresh sterile dressings and gave both
Tatiana and Dillon a shot of antibiotics. They were shown up to one
of the many guest suites, where they showered quickly to remove the
grime and staleness of travel and battle, sweat and blood.

When they’d freshened-up, they waited on the porch of Sappho’s
impressively large white-washed country house in the early hours of
the morning. The sound of a powerful 4x4 broke the relative silence; a
Mercedes G Wagon rumbled into view, the silver coachwork covered
in baked-on mud and dust, the headlights carving up the night. The
vehicle came to a halt, and Sappho jumped down. The big Greek man,
bald and grinning widely, slapped Dillon on the back, making him
groan in agony.

“She’s all fuelled up and ready to go, Dillon. How about your
woman, the doc take care of her?”
“His woman?” Tats hands went to her hips, her stance on the
porch changing subtly from submissive to aggressive with barely a
change of muscle tone.
Sappho glanced at Dillon, who had a wide grin across his face.
“I did not mean to offend, young lady. Please accept my apologies
for assuming that such beauty would be with such a mongrel like
Dillon.”
“That,” said Dillon dryly, “is a slur on my exceptionally good
character. And I thought you were my friend?” A frown creasing his
brow.
Sappho shrugged. “I am your friend, Dillon. And you also know
that I only speak the truth.” Sappho smiled. “Now, it’s been a long day,
I’m tired, and your plane is not going anywhere, the nearest oil seal is
on the mainland and will take three days get here. But, if you are in a
hurry; I have a forty-five foot power cruiser moored in the harbour,
and like I said, she’s fully fuelled and ready to go. The weather reports
are all favourable for the next two or three days. Or if you prefer, you
are most welcome to stay until we can get your aircraft fixed.”
Dillon looked at Tatiana, and sighed. “Staying is a lovely notion,
Sappho. But we’ve really got to be on our way. So, I’ll take up your
offer of the boat.”
“I’ll have one of my men take you down to the harbour.
Wherever it is you are going, look after yourselves, and don’t destroy
my boat. And Dillon, don’t forget, you call Sappho if you need help.”
“Don’t worry, Sappho. I’ll look after your boat,” grinned Dillon.
“I’m forever in your debt, old friend.”
Sappho waved his arms around expansively, “No, Dillon. You
are like family, and we Greeks always look after family.” Sappho
bellowed an order and one of the black suits stepped forward, and
then disappeared into the white-walled country house, then returned
with a large rucksack.
“A few supplies for your onward travels.” The big Greek man
smiled. He ran a hand over his bald head, where a sheen of sweat
could be seen in the light of the porch. “Now you be careful out there,
Dillon. This not a part of the world for a lily-livered Englishman!”
Dillon laughed, patting the man in return, his affection genuine.
“You take care yourself, Sappho. And remember: we were never here.
And we didn’t steal that Cessna that’s in your barn now. We merely
borrowed it!”
“We are Greek, Dillon. We havethe most dreadful of memories.”
“They got into the Mercedes, and one of the black suits got
behind the wheel of the big 4x4 and the next moment they were
speeding over loose gravel towards Sappho’s private harbour, and a
forty-five foot power cruiser that would take them across to Santorini.
They stepped out onto the dock, unloaded Dillon’s holdalls and
the rucksack that Sappho had given them, and took them all to the
boat. Dillon looked at what had fifty years previous been a luxury
craft, but was now very much like the Mercedes. Covered in grime
and years of neglect. The paint on the metal hull was flaking, and
rust showed through, and parts of the starboard side gangway were
worryingly riddled with rust peppered bullet-holes.
“This old tub has been in the wars,” said Tatiana softly.
“Oh don’t let first impressions fool you. This is very much a
wolf in sheep’s clothing,” said Dillon, helping Tatiana across the gang
plank and onto the rear deck of the boat. “What did you expect?”
He slung the holdalls and rucksack into the deck, then went aboard
himself.
“A what?”
Dillon went through the sliding doors into the main day cabin
and on towards the bridge, Tatiana followed. “A wolf in sheep’s
clothing. When you want to give the impression that something is
innocent and harmless, but in fact it is quite the reverse.” Dillon put
the key that Sappho had given him into the ignition, and turned. The
in-board diesel engines rumbled into life, belching thick black smoke
out of the stern into the murky grey light of dawn.
With the powerful diesel engines idling in neutral, Dillon went
outside and ordered Sappho’s man to cast off the bow and stern lines,
and then went back to the bridge. Within minutes they were heading
out to open water at high speed, the metal hull slamming down onto
each wave with a loud slap, and suddenly, suddenly the safety of the
dockside had gone and a terrible mist had closed in around them.
“Don‘t worry, we’ll soon pass through this murk” explained
Dillon. “No ambient light... just water and fish, lots of fish.”
Dillon knew that all around them stretched clear water. He
switched on the spotlights which cut two slices of life ahead of them,
but all around was the promise - the inherent threat - of a global
meltdown...
“Remember what I said about the wolf in sheep’s clothing?”
Dillon reached underneath the main control console, feeling for the
button he knew was there, and pushed it. A moment later secret
panels slid back to reveal three flat screen monitors, Dillon already
had the wireless keyboard in his hands and was typing in a series of
access commands. The screens lit up and option menus immediately
appeared, Dillon activated the night-vision option and the next
moment they were looking out through, what appeared to be, green
coloured glass. The sea landscape appeared surreal, but visible. He
then selected radar jamming and then set the course for Santorini on
the auto-pilot. Lastly, he activated the weapon’s systems and placed
them on standby.
“Relax, sleep” said Dillon. “The main stateroom is forward, and
I think you’re going to need all your energy when we meet Ezra. I’ll
rest up here on the bridge”
The dark water rushed past, and as the two Ferran & Cardini
operatives rested, the ocean surrounded them completely.
* * *