Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (40 page)

Alix, Lola and the Priest stood beside the deserted hulk of
the Chinook Ch-47 on the Norfolk beach. The cold northerly wind
whipped up tiny whirlwinds of sand around their feet as they gazed
inside the hold of the giant cargo carrying helicopter.

Kirill’s facility,” said Alix quietly.
“But the question is, what is it doing here in Norfolk,” said the
Priest, as he climbed up into the back and pulled free a large aluminium
case. Using a small fire axe he smashed off the heavy padlock and
lifted the lid. Inside were three metallic flasks, secured in the profile
laser-cut foam lining. The Priest photographed the contents and in
particular the identification number, and sent the image through
a secure line to the main-frame at Ferran & Cardini International.
Within seconds a response came back. He carefully closed the lid
again and jumped down to join the others.
“What’s in the big metal box?” Lola asked her voice nervous.
“It’s yours, mine and every other sane person’s worse nightmare,
Lola.”
“What, it’s a case full of some sort of lethal weapon?”
“Something like that. London believes it to be a variant of
Bacillus anthracis
...”
“Anthrax? What the fuck is
Anthrax
doing on this Chinook?”
“Well, if I had to guess, I’d say that our late friend Kirill
was
and
now Ramus, on his own,
is
planning mass murder. Now, this helicopter
if I’m not mistaken came down pretty hard and was unloaded in
haste.”
The Priest went back up into the cargo hold of the Chinook
and pulled the aluminium case out through to the open doorway.
Lifting the lid, he said. “These three flasks not only contain one of the
deadliest bacteria known to man, but according to F&C’s intelligence,
this modified variant is a hundred times nastier.” He stared hard at
Alix and Lola. They both looked from his eyes, that were the colour
of coal, to the flasks then back to his eyes.
Alix shrugged. “You’re going to have to enlighten us, Godlyman.”
“This is a terrorist’s dream weapon; they’d crawl over hot
embers to get their hands on this stuff. This Anthrax would make
governments everywhere sit up and pay attention. In the wrong
hands these three flasks could wipe out many hundreds of millions
of human lives, as well as wild and domesticated herbivorous and
carnivorous mammals in the most devastatingly painful way. This is
truly a fearsome weapon.”
“So why have these three flasks been left behind?” Lola asked.
“Most likely because the case was up the front behind a
bulkhead.”
“Strange though, isn’t it? Why leave it behind, even if the aircraft
had been evacuated in haste? Lola said softly.
“Obviously, whoever left this case behind, will be coming back
for it?” Alix said.
“I don’t think so, Alix. Firstly,
Anthrax
- simply doesn’t fit in with
anything that’s occurred so far, and secondly you can’t just sell three
flasks of Anthrax on the open market without the right contacts. But,
that still doesn’t explain what this Chinook is doing here on a cold and
windy beach in Norfolk? And, it doesn’t explain where all the other
helicopters, that left that mountain in Scotland, are now? This is all
wrong. This is all very wrong...” Said the Priest, as he rapidly tapped
out a message on his smart-phone, and then pushed send.
“Suppose the Chinooks were all carrying a case like this one.
Wouldn’t they surely have all had a different final destination?” Lola
said.
“That’s a possibility, but still doesn’t explain what this one is doing
here. They abandoned their base in Scotland.” Said the Priest calmly,
adding. “We know that Kirill was left behind to set the explosives, and
paid for that with his life. So what if he had become expendable and
his Chimera virus programme is merely a side-show. Which leaves the
Anthrax as the main performance?”
The Priest’s smart-phone pinged once. He glanced at the screen
and then looked up at the others. “This message is from the dutyofficer at Ferran & Cardini. Intelligence reports from MI5 indicate
that eight Chinooks, have now been located, abandoned, by the RAF
at a disused military airfield not more than ten miles from here, which
including this one, leaves only one out of the ten that took off from
Scotland unaccounted for.”
“Abandoned? Is there anything of interest on-board?” Alix
asked.
“Automatic weapons, small and large calibre, and each
Chinook was full to capacity with everything from 9mm to 12.5mm.
Disturbingly, these larger calibre rounds are for a type of gun that
delivers an awesome punch, have to be tripod mounted and can kill at
a range of up to three miles. And before you ask, the security services
found nothing else on board. They even had trained dogs over them
and found nothing.”
“Which surely means that the Anthrax had already been taken
off of the aircraft before the security services got to them, or that it
possibly was never there in the first place?” Alix said.
The Priest’s smart-phone pinged again, as another message
appeared.
“What does it say?” Lola asked impatiently.
The Priest held his hand up, palm forward, to hush her. He read
the detailed message, looked up at them both and said. “The security
service has found maps and charts; most were of the North Sea and
the Baltic Sea.”
“That’s a lot of fucking sea,” said Alix.
The Priest nodded. “Yes, I agree, but there is a glimmer of hope.
Did you notice those large drums of fuel in the landing bay at Kirill’s
facility? Well, there were markings down the side of them. They were
inscribed with the supplier’s trademark: Tallin Oil & Chemical Co.”
“Russian?”
“Estonian actually. The Tallin Oil & Chemical Co. operates out
of its name-sake, Tallin. It’s licensed to carry out exploration in the
Baltic Sea and northwards, right up to the Arctic Ocean. The British
Government has had them under surveillance for the past year using
spy satellites as and when they’re over that region, together with field
agents on the ground. “
“Well, at least it gives us a lead to start with,” said Alix.
“The MI6 field officers already on the ground in Estonia have
indicated that this is definitely the strongest lead to date. I’ll message
the partners to have our own field officers on standby.”
Alix nodded, enjoying his cigarette. “I have an idea. If you are
right about the Anthrax being the main threat, then we will need to
bring together some pretty elaborate technology. Very impressive
technology. That we can coordinate from the cockpit of the Apache.
It has the capability and the on-board technology, from which to
launch an offensive. And it’ll only take the smallest of modifications.
You can locate the enemy and pinpoint their exact position; and I...”
“And you Alix. What have you dreamed up for yourself this
time?”
Alix grinned.
“…and I need to go see a friend of mine who lives close by. He’s
the only person I know who can hack into the computer systems of
some people I want to take a closer look at.”

Dillon grinned nastily, the large wine glass in his hand, the Glock
reassuringly pressing into the small of his back under the waistband.
Foolish, foolish man, he thought. Lowering his guard was
amateurish and naive...
Foolish.
“So this Ramus character got to you, Ezra?”
Ezra shook his head sadly. “It’s a lot more complicated than
that, Mr Dillon. More complicated than you could ever comprehend,
believe me. Now, I understand that you are carrying the optical disc
with the Chimera blueprints on. I want it, please. It does belong to us,
and should have been destroyed along with Kirill when he blew-up
that mountain in Scotland. Had the imbecile done the job properly,
you would have gone up with it.”
Dillon allowed himself to frown.
“Answer me this one thing. You know when you were standing
on the cliff top in Santorini, having been chased half way across the
island by those
four
Assassins. They had you trapped with your back
against nothing more than fresh air. What went through you mind?”
Ezra nodded; but it was there. A momentary flash across his
face. A moment of...
Perplexity.
“You mean... Which one of the four should I have taken out
first?”
Dillon nodded. “Ezra, tell me this. If all four Assassins were
armed, why didn’t they simply shoot you? Why the elaborate escape,
eh?”
“I have no time for this, Dillon. Now give me that damned disc.”
“Very sloppy, because there were only two Assassins. Which
means that you’re not Ezra?”
Ezra smiled then, a calm and collected smile. “Damn, Dillon.
You are good and
you
are right. So what?” He carefully peeled off the
latex face mask and then the prosthetic nose and ears. “Ezra’s death
was extremely inconvenient, his heart had stopped before he hit the
rocks, his head being split open like a fat, ripe melon, just to make
doubly certain of it. Of course, he wasn’t meant to die, but his weight
was too much for that Chameleon Para-vest. It simply collapsed as
he pulled the cord. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Dillon.”
“Well, you’re right there. But what does it matter, you’re going
to kill me anyway.”
“My instructions are not to kill you, or even harm a hair on your
head; there are certain people who would like a little... shall we say
chat
.
But first you must hand over the optical disc that you are holding in
your hand.”
Dillon saw the man’s finger tighten a little on the trigger.
Impatience and anger starting to show on his face as he looked
intensely at Dillon...
Dillon smiled.
He uncurled his right hand to reveal the small metallic sphere.
“Surprise, surprise,” said Dillon dryly.
Dillon threw the sphere and saw the man’s eyes suddenly widen,
his mouth open in a silent curse!
Reflexes kicked in; there was no thought process required. The
large man reached out in an attempt to catch the sphere.
His gun muzzle twitched.
Dillon’s Glock was in his left hand and he was firing even as he
dived for the bedroom. He rolled across the polished marble floor
as the Glock’s bullets tore into the wall and then the large picture
window, with a crash of exploding glass...
Ezra’s impostor was running.
Dillon took careful aim from the bedroom.
Just as the sphere hit the ground and automatically detonated.
The villa seemed to change suddenly from luxury hotel
accommodation into a maelstrom of chaos. The furniture was picked
up and tossed about and smashed to kindling wood in a fury of
explosive obliteration. The floor shook and trembled; glass shattered;
there came the splintering of timbers and the wrenching of metal.
Dillon remained on the floor under the bed, his senses running at full
throttle as dust and debris spat through the doorway. He suddenly
realised with horror that if the roof caved in he would be pulped
under the weight of it.
He glanced up, his eyes blinking in the sudden dust storm.
The noise and shaking gradually subsided.
There was the hollow sound of plaster dropping off of the walls
onto the floor.
Dillon could hear his own heart. Hear the air rushing in and out
of his lungs. Feel the adrenalin in his blood stream being pumped to
every part of his body.
He glanced right. A heavy timber purlin, hung down at a
precarious angle from the partly fallen ceiling; dust was floating thick
in the air and only then did Dillon realise that the blast had deafened
him and his ears were ringing.
The villa’s sprinkler system suddenly cut-in, a mist of water
dampening down the dust.
Dillon eased himself to his feet, treading carefully over and
around the debris, moving through to the living room that was like
looking at a scene from a war-zone. All the windows and their frames
had blown out. The furniture had been tossed around and turned
into matchwood and the mess was everywhere, outside in the garden
and even strewn around the beach. The walls had been stripped, large
portions of the plaster ripped off and scorched and there were piles
of rubble where the ceiling had completely collapsed...
The man who had been impersonating Ezra had been running
for the beach...
Dillon moved outside, wiping cool sprinkler water mixed with
brick dust from his face.
There were people running up the beach towards the villa,
shouting and talking into two-way radios.
Dillon’s eye caught sight of the imitation Ezra in the corner of
his eye.
“Fuck you, Dillon.” Hissed the man.
Dillon stepped off of the deck, and walked over to the prostrate
body of the large man, who was lying on his back clutching his blood
soaked leg. The long open gash running up through his left limb
glistened, the wound bleeding freely, the flesh and muscle torn open
by flying debris when the sphere detonated. A split second earlier and
Ezra’s impersonator would have made it to the sanctuary of the beach
and the protection of being a sufficient distance away from the blast.
Dillon grinned nastily. Putting the muzzle of his Glock in the
man’s face.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m someone who has been paid a lot of money to impersonate
Ezra.”
“Well, no shit Sherlock. So who are
you
?” Dillon stabbed the
Glock against the man’s cheek. “Answer me - at least you’re still
alive
...”
Dillon felt something across his left cheek.
His hand instinctively lifted, blood dripped from his fingertips.
“Shh-” He began as he hit the ground and two more bullets
whizzed overhead. Dillon shimmied across to the cover of a large
exotic looking plant, teeth gritted, shock starting to register in his
system.
This sniper’s bullet had carved a strip from his cheek, only just
missing his eye.
Dillon breathed deeply, calming his racing heart.
Too close for comfort, he thought.
“Fuck!” He breathed.
“You got an answer yet, Ezra, or whatever your name is?” He
said through the ringing in his own head.
The sniper’s bullet entered the back of the man’s skull, punching
its exit through his right eye. Death was instant, the man’s left eye
staring unseeingly ahead, his body deflating, going limp as he slumped
forward. And then he was still...
Dillon’s face looked grim.
“Son of a bitch,” he said out loud.
He crawled across the villa’s garden, across the debris caused
by the bomb blast, moving towards the entrance gate. He could hear
sirens. The fire service and police. Could he trust the police? He
doubted it.
And then he saw them - coming from the water. The small
power-craft raced for the shore and beached, four Assassins jumped
down onto the white sand and sprinted at speed towards the villa.
Silenced Uzi mini sub-machine guns spat out their lethal payload
in rapid automatic fire and Dillon found himself back inside the
devastated living room of the villa, ducking below the trajectory of
both the Assassins’ and the sniper’s bullets and - thankfully - a little
shielded by the piles of rubble and upturned furniture.
He could sense them closing in.
Dillon tossed another sphere; the metallic globe bounced from
the deck and rolled down the steps.
He heard a single gasp.
All four Assassins ran for it.
The explosion was silent, but the shock-wave re-arranged the
garden. The whole world seemed to have gone mad as Dillon repositioned himself by the open window. Dillon’s sharp eyes spotted
the Assassins. Steadying his hand on the ragged glass-edged sill, Dillon
levelled the Glock and began to fire.
Three, four, five, six bullets.
When the dead man’s click sounded, he switched magazines, and
took a step back into the room, dropped a sphere into the middle of
the room and leaped through the window.
Several things happened at once.
The sniper stood up from its cover on the beach and Dillon
raised the Glock and placed two bullets into its chest.
Three more black-clad Assassins slid around the corner, carrying
silenced Uzi mini sub-machine guns.
The sphere detonated.
Dillon was thrown violently against a wall as debris spat from
the hole in the wall; even as the chaos erupted Dillon swung himself
around and unloaded another full magazine towards the three
Assassins.
Then he ejected the empty magazine and slotted a fresh one in.
His ears were still buzzing as he slid under the deck and movedsteadily
along the full length of it, and after breaking through the screening,
emerged onto the beach to the amazement of a few onlookers who
were standing, mouths agape, staring at the blazing villa that he had
suddenly vacated. Fire bellowed up into the air and thick black smoke
started to drift across the garden and onto the beach.
Dillon glanced around, then sprinted for the nearest cover, an
upturned rowing boat, switching magazines in the Glock as he ran.
Seeing the automatic in Dillon’s left hand, the onlookers fled from the
area. From behind the wooden boat he saw the police squad cars and
two fire tenders pull up on the service road fifty yards up the beach,
sirens blaring and lights blazing.
Dillon ran up the beach, away from the emergency services,
shoved the Glock back into his waistband and walked as quickly as
was possible, without bringing undue attention to himself, out of the
hotel complex.
He was functioning on instinct now. All six-cylinders running at
full throttle and turbo charged for good measure.
He moved past the 4x4 jeep that he’d arrived in earlier, deciding
to return for it a little later. Quickly scanning the tatty old vehicle for
any obvious signs that it had been tampered with
.
And then walked
off along an unmade service road, keeping his demeanour casual and
relaxed. It was then that he spotted the two large blacked-out SUV’s
turn into the road some distance away and start coming towards
him. He dived over a low wall and watched the blacked out off-road
vehicles go roaring past.
Bad, thought Dillon.
Really bad.
As the SUV’s turned towards the hotel, Dillon started to run,
boots crunching on the gravel, his intention was to move to a vantage
point he’d noted on his arrival located on the other side of the resort.
From there he could bide his time - he would wait and watch...
Two minutes later, pouring with sweat, Dillon was crouched on
the edge of a rocky headland that afforded him an uninterrupted view
of the hotel, burning villa and the ocean.
After three hours of laying prone on the rocky surface, he stood
up and at a jog made his way back to the 4x4 jeep. He stood in the
shadows at the edge of the small staff car park, watching and waiting.
After five minutes, he jumped in, gunned the engine and floored
the accelerator. The powerful V8 roared and, as the tyres bit into the
loose gravel, he wheel spun out of the car park and onto the main
road.
The blacked-out SUV’s were prowling, waiting, and searching.
Their engines howled as they raced down the highway after Dillon’s
vehicle as it appeared; wolves hunting down a running lamb.
Both vehicles screamed around a large loop of tarmac, tyres
smoking and suspension dipping as they veered round corners and
ended back on the main road. They slipped past the oncoming police
cars and Dillon, bent forward over the steering wheel, sweat dripping
in his eyes, cursed his pursuers.
Dillon pulled free his Glock and looking at the weapon, said.
“You’ve saved me before, my lovely.”
He fired through the 4x4’s rear window. Glass exploded in a
shower and the two blacked-out SUV’s veered, one mounting the
pavement and sending a couple of pedestrians sprinting for cover,
wheels churning over and through anything in their path into the
ground.
They regrouped on the road and, then accelerated towards
Dillon.
“Where’s the cavalry when you need them?” He thought. Closely
followed by; “I should have asked to borrow a much faster car!” He
picked up the small two-way radio off the front seat, it squelched as
he pushed the talk button, and quickly relayed what was going down
to the others.
The lead SUV vehicle smashed into the back of the 4x4 jeep.
Dillon was jolted in his seat, and almost lost the Glock. His foot
slammed to the floor and suddenly he veered left, down a narrow slip
road leading away from the Paradise Island resort.
The blacked-out SUV’s followed in tight formation.
Dillon raced onto the Paradise Island exit bridge, followed
closely by the SUVs. He fired another few bullets from the rear of the
4x4 and was immediately gratified when he took out a headlight. But
that did nothing to stop the large SUV.
It’s bullet-proofed, he realised. The panels have all been bloody
bullet-proofed.
The lead SUV shunted him again.
Dillon fired the remaining rounds, emptying the magazine; there
was a wrenching of metal from the engine compartment and the lead
SUV veered off to the right and crashed out over the barrier and
into Nassau Harbour. Dillon caught a glimpse in his mirror of the
black vehicle shooting off the edge of the bridge, and then heard
the sound of police sirens heading at speed towards him. The 4x4’s
wheels squealed at the extreme abuse that Dillon was giving the old
vehicle as he powered off the bridge and onto the highway. Police
cars screeched to a halt, officers jumped out, just as Dillon dropped
a gear and pressed the accelerator to the floor and a split second later
smashed two of the cars, like skittles, out of the way. The back end
of the 4x4 slid out wide as he fought to keep control, swerving out
around a bus load of tourists at speed and then straightening up. The
remaining SUV was still perilously close behind him, and closing the
gap.