Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (33 page)

The sun was starting its morning climb up into a foreboding
sky, through clouds the colour of coal, heavy and turbulent, with the
promise of much rain.

There was no hint of breeze at ground level, just the cold;
but at least is was partly bearable during the day. Dillon ignored the
tingling in his finger tips and concentrated on putting the sniper rifle
together. The scope clicked into place and Dillon went through the
relatively straightforward procedure of sighting it, making a few minor
adjustments to the setting dials.

Tatiana squinted through the gloom. Behind them, hidden under
an overhang of rock, sat the quad bike, engine clicking softly.
“What do you see, Dillon?”
“From here, I have a clear shot into the helicopter landing areas.”
The AMSD OM 50 Nemesis 12.7mm sniper rifle was located on its
steadying tripod. Dillon’s hands worked smoothly and efficiently,
slotting the large caliber bullets into the magazine. “But, the facility is
huge. That much is evident. There’s three Chinooks up there all with
their rotors spinning, and I’d say that they were just about to leave. I’m
just sweeping the area for any external guards.”
“You think we’ll be able to get up there?”
“What I’m thinking Tats, is that I very much doubt if the
Chimera Programme is still up there. And, that fortress has been
specifically designed to repel all marauders - without exception. That’s
what I’m thinking!”
Dillon slotted the magazine into the weapon and returned his
attention to the telescopic sight. Tatiana handed him a small square
box that he attached to the side of the scope, which he then checked
carefully with the practiced eye of someone who has been around
weapons for a long time. “This little gizmo enhances the long range
image by cleaning it up and sharpening before it reaches my eye. A bit
like a photo-editing programme.”
“So, what are you hoping to see now?”
“In an ideal world, Kirill. But I’m not getting my hopes up. I’ll
settle for a few of those Assassins; that will give us time and a window
to get to the basket and up into the facility. After that... the hunt
begins. We want answers to questions, like who are the Assassins and
where did they all of a sudden spring from, and what was the reason
for taking out Scorpion and a number of its crack squads?”
There was silence, except for the occasional movement of deer
on the lower slopes. Dillon scanned the mountain side carefully,
moving the scope backwards and forwards with extreme precision so
that he did not miss anything. After a moment he flicked a switch, and
the scope went to heat seeking mode.
“Well, look at this,” he said eventually.
“What is it?”
“Lots of movement going on inside that helicopter bay,” said
Dillon quietly. “Listen, can you hear the Chinooks, their engine pitch
has changed and they’re getting ready for take-off. Now, I wonder
where they are heading to.” Dillon said, mostly to himself.
Tatiana peered through powerful binoculars at Kirill’s facility.
The outer screen of bullet-proof glass shimmered, blending with the
ancient landscape.
She gazed up from their position, keeping the Chinook
helicopters in clear view as the first one lifted off from its landing
pad, then the second, and lastly the third one.
Dillon’s voice was calm and calculated, as he said. “Well, that’s a
surprise. Look who’s just crawled out from under a rock.”
“Who?”
“Professor, bloody, Kirill. That’s who. What a most satisfyingly
pleasant surprise.” Dillon adjusted his position behind the rifle sight,
and Tatiana read the body language, understood it from the firing
ranges she had been sent to while training for her current role at
Ferran & Cardini International. He was getting comfy. Getting ready,
ready to shoot, he wanted no mistakes...
Dillon placed his hand around the grip. Red lights turned to
blue, and then to green. The Nemesis had synchronised with Dillon’s
grip and finger-prints - and was now ready to shoot.
Dillon flicked the rifle’s safety to the off position. Rolled his
head a couple of times to loosen the tension.
“What are you going to do?” Asked Tatiana softly.
“Do? I’m going to shoot that bastard, right between the eyes.
Damn-it, he’s gone and disappeared again. He must have gone back
inside the building.”
Dillon watched as the only helicopter left on the landing pad,
a much smaller six-man Robinson, started its engine and the rotors
started to spin. He wondered why they were leaving such a secure
facility, and where they were going to.
“What I’d give for a cold pint of lager, right now.”
“That’s about the hundredth time you’ve said that, Dillon.”
Dillon looked round at her, and said nothing. But she was sure
that he had made some sort of snorting sound, before returning his
eye to the telescopic sight.
They continued to wait in the cold and the damp. A northerly
breeze was now blowing in and Dillon repositioned and adjusted the
Nemesis to take this into account.
Tatiana went back to the quad and returned with a bottle of
water and two nutritional breakfast bars.
“We’ve only two more water bottles left, after this one. So we’ll
have to be careful with it.”
“Really. You city girls haven’t got a fucking clue have you?”
“I’m only pointing out that our water ration is getting low, that’s
all.”
“Bloody hell, luv. We’re in the Scottish Highlands, not the Sahara
Desert. Every stream is a watering hole. The water up here is cleaner
than the shit they pour into those bottles, believe me.”
Dillon grinned, flashing her a dark look.
He returned to the scope, scanning the surrounding countryside,
before panning up in a wide arc to the landing area again. His eye
caught a dark clad figure jumping down from the lone helicopter and
moving around it, presumably carrying out its final pre-flight checks.
Dillon calmed his breathing.
The sight locked on.
The Nemesis fired.
The bullet took the pilot through the side of the neck; the
slender figure slumped to the ground with blood pumping in a high
arc across the fuselage of the Robinson helicopter. Then it was still.
Dillon immediately swept the scope back and forth, looking for more
targets to take down...
Kirill emerged and moved towards the helicopter.
“At last,” murmured Dillon.
Tatiana had been lying on a rock, her weary eyes closed, and the
fur-lined parka hood pulled up tight around her face. After hearing the
crack
of the rifle, she had scrambled over to Dillon and now peered
through binoculars up at the helicopter. The engine pitch increased,
the rotor blades became a spinning blur as it lifted up into the air.
Again, there was a
crack
.
Dillon released the electronic grip, and sighed.
The helicopter rotated ninety degrees, pitched forward slightly,
and then came gently back down onto the landing pad with a bump.
The rotor blades stopped spinning and the only noise came from
the wind. Calm...
Dillon looked through the scope, and the sensation was sweet;
Kirill’s panic in the cockpit. What to do? Where to run?
The cockpit door opened slowly - but no one stepped out.
Kirill’s head then peered fleetingly out, then immediately
disappeared back inside.
He was gauging the distance he had to run - no cover between
the helicopter and the facility entrance that he had come through just
minutes earlier.
Where was the shooter? Dillon knew that would frustrate the
hell out of Kirill. And he was also sure that Kirill was cursing.
The man’s hand-made Italian shoes hit the ground and Kirill
began to run, head low, as he sprinted at a speed that surprised Dillon
greatly.
“You’re fast for an old man! Running as if your life depended on
it,” Dillon said calmly, a man relaxed, focused. He gently squeezed the
grip. The Nemesis kicked, ever so slightly, and there was the
crack
as
the round was discharged. “And of course, it does.” He smiled.
Tatiana watched Kirill tumble forward onto the hard surface of
the landing bay to remain there stunned. Or dead...
“Tatiana. It’s at times such as these, I really love the work I do,”
said Dillon, smiling. He pressed his eye into the rubber cup of the
scope. Watched Kirill, his face contorted in pain, gather himself up to
his feet and then stumble forward, blood flowing freely, towards the
inner sanctum of the facility and safety.
“Where did you get him?”
“Right where it hurts, in the left cheek of his ass. And boy, will
that hurt.”
Dillon squeezed the grip once more. Kirill was knocked off his
feet, crashed to the ground, and lay there.
“Right thigh. That’ll stop that bastard from running away.”
Dillon remained still for a while, watching, checking for any stray
security guards. “Let’s go up and have a little chat to the man. He
might be amiable to that now. What do you reckon, Tats?”
Tatiana remained silent.

Kirill lay on the wet surface of the landing bay near to the
entrance of the facility, wondering what the hell had hit him.
And then he remembered the sound of the single heavy
thwack
,
and an immediate loss of oil pressure as the large caliber round had
smashed into the side of the Robinson’s engine casing.
And then panic...
Blind panic.
He made a dash for the entrance. A searing pain, white hot, in
the soft flesh of his buttock, pain like he’d never experienced before.
And then the second round - right thigh.
And tears of pain running down over his cheeks.
He rolled over into a sort of semi foetal position and tried to
examine the bullet wounds. The cloth of his expensive hand tailored
trousers had turned crimson and clung to his brutalised flesh. Blood
pooled on the ground around him, spreading viscously from the two
wounds.
Lots of blood...
Kirill’s head snapped first to the left and then right, eyes searching
the surrounding terrain in panic. Where was that damned sniper?
And then the association...
Could it be possible?
Was it Dillon out there?
He shook his head, almost in disbelief. This is becoming a
nightmare, he thought. After
everything
that I’ve been through! And
he also understood why he had been shot in the legs and not in the
head. Whoever had sniped him wanted him alive and was most likely
on their way up...
Kirill rolled onto his belly and gritting his teeth, started to crawl.
His clothing was ripped in several places and got covered in grime.
His neatly groomed greying hair became flat against his scalp with the
rain falling. His usually calm and composed face became a picture of
panic, of comprehension, of
time running out
...
Exhausted and in immeasurable pain, Kirill lay sprawled on the
wet ground, his line of sight had the winch-house clearly in view. He
listened to the powerful electric motor pulling the basket up. Kirill
pushed himself on, dragging his smashed legs behind him, fingers
clawing with broken nails at the hard granite surface...
The winch motor suddenly stopped. Kirill heard the
clank
of
the locking mechanism engage, and then the sound of boots on the
timber floor inside the small building, and he willed himself to move
forward; he did not look back, felt no curiosity whatsoever, just the
basic raw animal instinct to survive... to stay alive... to stay ahead.
There came a metallic
click
: the sound of a bullet slipping neatly in
a firing chamber. Kirill let his muscles relax, exhausted, his adrenalin
spent. He could taste the bitterness of failure. He didn’t even have the
strength to roll over onto his back...
The sound of boots grew nearer. They stopped.
The tip of the Heckler & Koch barrel prodded Kirill in the back.
“Haven’t you bled to death yet, you son-of-a-bitch?”
“I’m still alive,” said Kirill softly. “I knew you’d come here,
Dillon. I knew it from the look in your eye in the kitchen at my house
in Cornwall...”
“I don’t like being set-up,” snapped Dillon.
“It was a necessity.”
Kirill felt strong hands grab him roughly and roll him over. He
looked up into Dillon’s face - much more battered than the last time
they had met, the nose more twisted, cuts and grazes marking the
skin. Dillon’s eyes were dark, brooding, unforgiving... Beyond Dillon’s
palpable hatred stood Tatiana, a Glock in one hand, and an Uzi minisub machine pistol in the other. She appeared through Kirill’s haze of
pain, to be jumpy, on the edge, twitchy as she looked around to see if
there was anyone else about that might have spotted them... Whereas
Dillon was totally focused, dark eyes boring into Kirill’s sole, like a
tungsten drill.
“How many are still here?” He demanded.
Kirill smiled.
“You nervous, Dillon?”
“Nervous? Hell no, but you should be. We want answers, and
you’re going to give them to us.”
“Or what? You’re going to kill me? I’m already a dead man,
Dillon. Chimera works, but not one-hundred percent. This makes me
a condemned man awaiting execution… But now, now you are too
late.” He started to laugh.
Dillon shook his head. “I worked for a while with this guy, in
Northern Ireland. He was ex SAS; worked as a freelance interrogator
for British Intelligence and the CIA. He had a reputation for making
the toughest men squeal like pigs at a trough. His preferred method of
torture was the ancient art of Chakra. I learned a lot from him, about
keeping a man alive whilst inflicting insurmountable pain. The trick
is in keeping the person conscious at all times, that was the point.”
Dillon glanced over at Tatiana, then at the vast vista of mountains
beyond the perimeter of the facility. There was no sign of activity
near or far...
“You keep an eye out for any movement whatsoever, Tats. While
I get this old man inside. Make him ready for our little chat.”
“Chat?”
“You ever seen the look on a man’s face when his internal organs
have been messed with a little. And that’s only for starters. The best is
kept for the very last minute, but let’s keep that as a surprise. But you’ll
find out soon enough, Professor...” Dillon started to drag Kirill across
the landing bay towards the doors of the facility - which automatically
slid back as he approached it. Dillon peered carefully into the brightly
lit interior, the Heckler MP5 held aggressively, then dragged Kirill
into the warmth of the temperature controlled environment of the
Government establishment.
He dumped Kirill on the dark granite slab floor, then immediately
took a look around. He moved warily, checking every corner until he
was completely satisfied that they were alone. He spun round as the
outer door opened with a hiss, and Tatiana came into sight, each hand
held an automatic pistol gripped firmly. He smiled over at her and she
responded with a wan smile, her face showing pain and fatigue.
“Anything moving out there?”
“No. There’s nobody else in the helicopter, and only a couple of
dead Assassins on the far side of the landing bay.”
“Okay, any sign of the Priest and the others?”
“Nothing. If they are here, then they’re remaining a little shy,
aren’t they?”
“Which is unlike the Priest? I think it’s time to go get some
answers.”
“Dillon.” She placed a hand on his arm. “You’re not really going
to torture him, are you?”
Their gazes met. He saw that she was in pain; saw the look of
humanity in her eye. “No,” he lied easily. “I’m bluffing him. But he
doesn’t know that.” Dillon winked and smiled. He then walked over to
where Kirill was half sitting, half laying, his hand pressed against his
trouser leg, over one of the bullet wounds inflicted by Dillon.
“So Professor. Time is running out, and I’m still none the wiser
why I was set-up. Why did you try to kill me in Cornwall, eh?” Dillon
slowly unrolled a soft leather roll, and removed a long slender knife;
the highly polished blade glinted under the artificial lighting.
Silence.
Kirill simply stared up at Dillon, a blank emotionless glower.
Dillon knelt down, roughly ripping open Kirill’s trouser leg,
and then gently pressing the cold stainless steel against the flesh just
behind the knee cap. “Now listen up, old son. You start talking, or
I’m going to slice off your knee cap.” Blood started to flow freely as
Dillon pressed just a little into the soft tissue.
Kirill grinned, showing his aging tobacco stained teeth, and then
sat up slowly.
“You could never understand,
never
understand.”
“Try me.”
“There’s not enough time.”
“We’ve got as much time as it takes.”
“Wrong answer,” said Kirill. “You have precisely twelve minutes
and -” he checked the cracked face of his gold watch; “- and thirty
-three seconds. At which time the hi-explosive charges that have been
placed strategically throughout this facility will detonate. That is to
say, they will detonate simultaneously, along with the small nuclear
device that I have positioned deep within the facility. The top of this
mountain will be one massive firework, and you’ll be sitting right on
top of it.”
“You’re bluffing, Kirill.”
“Why should I? After all, it’s not as if you can’t go and check.”
“Dillon,” said Tatiana. “If it’s true, we’d better get the hell off
this mountain.”
“I came here for answers and I’m
not
leaving until I have them,”
said Dillon. “And if there really is a mini nuke up here, then the Priest
will be able to disable it. You see, Kirill. There isn’t a device worldwide
that the Priest hasn’t been able to deactivate.” Dillon said arrogantly.
“He can try,” said Kirill softly. “But this particular device has
been designed without the off button.” Kirill’s condescension was
met with Dillon pulling the Glock from his pocket, and pressing the
muzzle under his chin. Kirill’s eyes widened, and he hissed. “You cut
the power, everything blows. This was a one-off, Dillon. There was
never a soft option. Ever...”
“Where’s the master switch?”
Kirill did not reply.
Dillon slipped the safety catch off, and adjusted the angle of the
muzzle. “Ever seen a man with half his face blown off. You won’t die,
but hell would be a happy release. You’re just going to have to take my
word for that, Kirill.”
Kirill met Dillon’s dark gaze. He swallowed dryly.
“Over there, behind a maintenance access panel in the central
pillar.” Kirill’s words were weary, filled with pain - and a touch of
fear. But there was triumph there as well: an ultimate triumph. Kirill
believed that he had won - no matter what Dillon did to him, no
matter what pain was inflicted upon him.
Both Dillon and Tatiana sensed this.
Dillon led Tatiana towards the pillar, keeping his voice low.
“Where the hell is the Priest when you want him?”
“I’ve sent three messages to his phone since we arrived here.
None of them have been acknowledged.”
“Damn. Well we’d better take a look at this master control,
then...”
Dillon knelt, and released the cover to the maintenance panel.
The multiple LED’s flickered at him. There was no visible
countdown - but then, why should there be? Whoever set such a
device working already knew the risk they were taking and the time
they had to vacate the area.
Dillon analysed the master control keyboard. It wasn’t the usual,
QWERTY layout; instead each letter had been substituted with a
symbol. And the detonation of the nuclear device was handled by this
processor. He scratched at his stubble.
“Shit.”
“What is it? And what are those strange symbols on the
keyboard?”
“I’ve only ever seen symbols like these, once before. This is a
Masonic Cipher. Also known as a Pigpen Cipher, because when the
symbols are arranged in a coded message, they often look like the
layout of a pigpen.”
“Masonic Ciphers - pigpens?”
Dillon studied the keyboard, and then looked up at Tatiana.
“A quick crash course in the Masonic Cipher, then. Firstly, you see
these grids on the screen, looks like a game of Naughts and Crosses,
doesn’t it. Well, everything revolves around the grids. It’s a variety of
a substitution cipher - in each of the nine boxes is a symbol, which
is a substitution for a letter. The trick is knowing what association a
symbol has with a letter. You can create the code symbols in a way
that makes it very easy to remember how to construct and re-create
the key. Understand so far?” Tatiana nodded.
“But there’s one other major headache with this type of cipher.
You can also use keywords within it, to further complicate matters. In
this format, pairs of letters are typed or written into each location of
the grid.”
“Whoever set this box of tricks up would have almost certainly
had a keyword, followed by the remainder of the alphabet into the
grids in letter pairs. He or she also knew that because of the rarity of
this type of coded encryption - that it would be virtually impossible
to de-cipher it in time.”
“How do you know about things like this, Dillon? I’ve always
had my suspicion about you being a closet nerd.”
“Really?” Dillon continued to study the master control keyboard,
consumed by the puzzle. The deepest recess of his mind stirring as
he subconsciously rummaged around for answers. This cipher was
incredibly complex. And Dillon knew it - maybe if he had three or
four hours and a laptop with the latest code breaking software loaded,
then he might have a slender chance.
But with the minutes counting down...
And worst of all...
Kirill knew it. Knew that they were completely shafted.
“Can the code be broken?”
“Every code can be broken, Tats. Given time... Unfortunately,
time is not a luxury we have. What we need now is the Priest; he’s the
only one who could remotely have any chance of cracking a Masonic
Cipher.”
Dillon returned slowly, followed by Tatiana, to where Kirill was
still crumpled on the floor. Standing over him, he glanced over at
Tatiana. Both Tats and Kirill saw the look on his face: it was not a
kindly
look; it did not convey what could be termed as ‘friendly’.
He paced slowly up and down in front of Kirill.
Dillon lowered the muzzle of the Glock; pointing it straight at
Kirill’s genitals.
“Dillon, this will gain you nothing.”
“Keep your sentiments to yourself. Firstly, think twice before
speaking, just answer my questions and your little package down there
will remain intact.”
Kirill met Dillon’s gaze.
“Why did you try to kill me?”
Kirill remained silent, and then said. “It’s extremely complicated.”
The Glock kicked in Dillon’s hand as the round was released,
the bullet ripping through Kirill’s trouser material, missing flesh by
a hairs width. Kirill grabbed at his genitals, a look of both disbelief
and relief on his face. “Are you crazy?” Said Kirill hoarsely, his voice
having risen an octave.
Dillon circled Kirill and stood behind him. Placing the barrel of
the Glock just behind his left ear. “Wrong answer asshole. I repeat,
why did you try to kill me?”
“You were in the wrong place at the wrong time; things moved
too quickly and we needed to take out the opposition before they
realised they
were
the opposition.” He slowly turned his head, meeting
Dillon’s gaze. “You see Dillon, in the scheme of things. You were
considered to be the most dangerous of all. This is why you were
placed at the very top of the hit-list.”