Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (44 page)

Sophia Mazzaro was something quite different. A contract
liquidator for hire; Interpol, MI5 and MI6, Mossad and the CIA all
having employed her special talent, and all having lost good agents
to the Assassins and those who were behind the Assassins - and on
behalf of them all, she wanted a slice of the payback cake.

Dillon halted. The Priest had followed him outside, was quoting
from the Bible and reciting mantra-like phrases akin to a man
possessed. Dillon turned and looked into the tall man’s dark eyes. The
Priest was muscular; one of the most muscular men of God he had
ever seen.

“Can you
fuck off
and leave me alone,” Dillon said.
“I see, Dillon. That you are annoyed by my intrusion,” said the
Priest closing his Bible slowly. The book looked small in his hands.
“But I seek merely to make light of your pain, to fill your soul with joy
in this most stressful of times, to fill you with light before we embark
on our quest to eradicate this evil Satanic God-mocking heathen.
from the face of this planet...”
“Well don’t - just don’t. I need to collect my thoughts on my
own. I need calm. And you know, because now you’re the only one
who does know, why I need to collect my thoughts.”
“Ah yes, of course. Tatiana was the only other person who knew,
wasn’t she?” He held up a hand, “No need to answer, I know that is
so. I’m still wondering, though, how the hell you have kept such a
secret from the shrinks, for so long.”
Dillon looked at the Priest for a few long moments. “You’re
wondering, aren’t you how I keep the secret of my psychosis, my
psychopathic alter-ego? Well, it only comes to the surface during
moments of extreme stress. And lucky for me, I don’t find a fortyfive minute post-assignment assessment with a shrink, that stressful!
That’s how…”
“I see. Thank you for being so candid, Dillon. I know that you
have suffered great loss at the hands of Ramus. The Lord will pay
back this evil man with bolts of lightning from Heaven; the Lord shall
smite down our enemies. He shall fuck him up real bad.” The Priest
grinned then, “Dillon, put your trust in the Lord and he will surely
guide you.”
“I’ll put my trust in my Glock 9mm, Priest,” said Dillon, smiling.
“It’s worked wonders on Kirill, and it will work wonders on
Ramus today.”
The Priest’s smart-phone sounded. He took a moment to
decipher the encrypted message and read it, twice. Frowning, he
looked up, his face filled with confusion and anger.
“Kirill still has to be punished.”
Dillon shook his head. I shot Kirill in Scotland, Priest; I killed
that son-of-a-bitch myself and left him to be fried by his own fucking
bomb.”
“You are wrong, my friend. By some perverted fluke of injustice,
he somehow escaped a fiery death”.
“How do you know this?”
“The encryption I received just a minute ago was from GCHQ.
They intercepted a bounced transmission, a video. He had sent a
message to Ramus; their arrogance is colossal, they actually think we
are as nothing. They think they can flaunt themselves with impunity.
But Kirill
is
alive, Dillon.” The Priest handed his smart-phone to
Dillon, who read the intercept and watched the video clip.
Dillon’s jaw dropped. “That fucker just will not die.”
“There is more.”
“More?”
The Priest nodded. “They have Tatiana on the stealth ship. You
saw her shot and then fall from the aircraft, yes, but she did not die;
she was mentioned in Kirill’s message to Ramus.”
“Tatiana! Alive?” Hope died as soon as it had flared. “Definitely
not,” Dillon growled.
“Well, it wouldn’t seem bizarre that they would seek to save a
bartering tool against you, their greatest proven adversary?”
“Me?”
“You scare them, Dillon. They know what you’re capable of.
There is a dark demon in your soul, and they can see that it’s your
protector.”
“So what are you saying that they’re reeling me in?”
“Like a lamb to slaughter,” said the Priest softly.
Dillon moved back into the freezing cold interior of the hanger.
He paced like a caged tiger, for what seemed like an age, his mind
whirling, images of Tatiana flickering through his brain, sadness
overtaking him, then anger, then frustration, and then utter disbelief.
If she was alive, then he had to save her.
And Kirill - alive, and using her as bait?
Dillon smiled a nasty grin.
“Our next meeting Professor, will be a sweet one, I’ll make sure
of that.” He said softly.

The briefing was over. The intelligence officers were making
final preparations for their departure; including the incorporation of
a highly sophisticated software programme that Vince was uploading
to the database of the three JetRanger helicopters to help them evade
surface-to-air and air-to-air missiles.

From the airfield, they were to fly to the north west of the
county, and then back down to the coast in the south. Flying at five
hundred feet in tight formation with no filed flight-plan and total radio
silence. Ferran & Cardini International had tracked Ramus using their
world network of spies, their illegal (even by criminal standards) web
of optical and digital communications, and good old fashioned legwork by the intelligence men and women on the ground. That’s how
they found a one-hundred and fifty foot twin hull stealth ship. The
powerful craft was a dull matt black and had no name. It was a huge
vessel that would no doubt hold many surprises for those attacking it.
But one thing was certain: all men and women involved were willing
to lay down their lives to bring the enemies of the British Realm to
justice.

Dillon stood watching the hive of activity, his Glock 9mm in his
hand. Lola checked over the Apache and had refuelled her, ready for
Dillon’s part in the attack. Dillon did not care.

“Alix!”
Alix, now fully dressed, walked swiftly towards his friend.
“Yeah?”
“I need to ask a favour.”
“Anything, man.”
“I thought Tatiana was dead but the Priest has informed me

that I was wrong. Kirill and Ramus have her; they have her aboard the
stealth ship. I need time, Alix; I need time to get in there and get her
the hell out before you start the carnage.”

Alix stood up, mouth open. “What are you asking me, Dillon?
To hold up this operation?”
“Yes. I really need this, Alix; I need the chance to get her out.”
Dillon ground his teeth. He stared into the eyes of the man he trusted
most. “Come on, man, you can’t let her die in there - I
know
what
you’ve got planned... Come on, man,
please
,” he said.
Alix closed his mouth. He frowned, glancing over his shoulder.
Then he met Dillon’s iron gaze.
“Just supposing I was able to let you do this, how will we work
it?”
“We fly with the JetRangers, using them as our cover. You’ll fly
the Apache; I’ll act as co-pilot and Vince will be your tactical weapons
officer. When we get near to the stealth ship, you’ll drop down, and I
will make a house call on our friend, Ramus.”
“But, you
do
know what I plan, don’t you?”
Dillon nodded. “Bomb in a bag?”
Sort of. I like to think of it as a dirty-bomb in a small trunk, to
be more precise. It’s a home-made Molotov cocktail with a twist at the
top. You will need to be well away from there, Dillon - because when
this baby goes off, it’ll send that ship down
big style
.”
Dillon’s face showed the strain of the last week.
“I’ll be out, Alix, with Tatiana. If I’m not...” He left the sentence
unfinished and Alix scowled, licking his lips.
“As long as you know the score, man. I can give you an extra few
minutes... No more...”
Dillon nodded;he knew the score, all right. He knew the dangers,
the risk, the hell that he would have to travel through before he could
come out the other side and get his life back to normal. Normal? He
laughed.
“So... Let’s do it - and do it
now
,” said Alix

Dillon looked up into a darkening sky full of heavy thunderous
clouds, and a feeling of foreboding filled his soul with uneasiness.
He breathed deeply and walked over to the Apache helicopter
now standing on the apron alongside the three JetRangers of the
intelligence service.
Dillon settled into the co-pilot’s seat alongside Alix, who was
already flicking switches and turning dials as part of his pre-flight
routine. A moment later the Apache’s rotors started to turn, winding
up to speed for take-off. He gave the thumbs up to the three JetRanger
pilots, who confirmed with the same gesture, as no radio comms.
would be used throughout the mission.
The four helicopters flew in tight formation; the noise of the
engines filled the air around them. Alix focused on controls and
weapon systems with Vince sitting behind him monitored the screens
in front and on either side of him, revising the protocols. Dillon
checked the Nav-Comp for the coordinates of the stealth ship. Their
fuel tanks were full.
South of the Dorset coast, mid English Channel Alix flew the
Apache, constantly checking the read-outs on the screen, and with
each mile flown his confidence in operating the hi-tech machine grew:
and he felt good.
No, he felt more than good. He felt
alive
.
Dillon gazed out across the landscape five hundred feet below
them as they passed over. His brain running through the sequence
of events that would surely take place as he entered the stealth ship
and Ramus’ lair... Alix took the lead, not out of choice, but because
the Apache housed the most advanced detection equipment of all
four helicopters. And now he knew what he had to do. He had to get
Tatiana out. But more than that: this was about Claudia, Ezra and
everyone who had died at the hands of the Assassins. This was about
life and death. This was about finishing what others had begun. This
was about finding the truth. And this was about …revenge.
Not for himself, no. For the innocents, the people who had
died merely because they were in the way. Those individuals who had
thought they had been working in jobs out of the firing line. Away
from danger.
Dillon knew. Knew that he had to stop this thing and stop it fast.
“What can one man do?” Mocked his subconscious.
“One man can do enough,” he replied calmly.
Alix dropped the Apache’s altitude, flying low over green fields
and large expanses of the woodlands west Dorset and then down
towards the Jurassic coast in the south. They flew fast over small
villages and towns; he even fancied he heard the ringing of church
bells.
Dillon looked up. “It’s Sunday, then,” he said suddenly.
Alix checked the Apache’s computer systems. “Yeah, Sunday. A
day of rest and worship. We’ll give them something to worship,” he
said grimly. “And boy, the Priest is not a happy-chappy.” He chuckled.
Dillon checked himself: his body had taken a pounding over the
last few days and he was now covered in bruises and scratches. He
flexed his aching muscles, that weren’t hurting quite so much now.
His ribs didn’t click as much when he moved, although the soreness
was still a nuisance and his stomach still gave him twinges of pain.
But the pain-killers and anti-inflammatory drugs he had dosed up on
before leaving the hanger were now kicking in and now these irritants
were fading... His broken ribs were still healing. The blow was just too
much and he knew deep down that it was his weak point, his Achilles
heel. To take another blow there? The pain would scream through his
torso and physically paralyse him...
Primary location for maximum protection then, he mused idly.
The Apache and three JetRangers hummed over a huge swathe
of sandy undulating terrain, a desolate battlefield landscape created
by many years of training tank crews in the art of fast moving heavy
artillery warfare. Their shadows tumbling across the land and then
over a series of hills towards the coast. Dillon checked to make sure
that they were not being tracked electronically or by other aircraft.
They needed the element of surprise, not a welcoming
committee.
And
he
wanted the serenity of the sea...
The Apache, followed by the three JetRangers, came over the
brow of the hill and swooped down through the secluded bay of
Lulworth Cove and out into the English Channel, just fifty foot above
the waves.
Dillon, with a shock, thought his chances of survival were slim
at very best. He realised that this assignment had tested him to the
absolute limit, and that he was most likely going to die; so he would
have to take this fight to Ramus and his Assassins, mess them up bad
and sour their plans to hold the world to ransom and then die...
And Tatiana... well, Tatiana could already be dead.
So be it, he mused bitterly.
He forced himself to relax as the Apache flew out over the sea.
Occasionally they passed fishing boats heading out to sea, and the
fishermen on board would sometimes look up into the moonlit sky as
they passed over, forcing Dillon to smile sadly.
What happy uncomplicated lives they lead, he thought.
What normal lives?
Why couldn’t I have been normal? He thought...
Because you kill. Came the voice from deep within his
subconscious.
Because you kill and you’re good at killing.
You might not like it.
You might even loath it.
But you can’t deny it. You’re really
good
at it.
A natural- born killer.

The four helicopters skimmed over the English Channel heading
towards their destination; the harsh, yet intensely beautiful cliffs of
the Jurassic coastline on their port-side. The last bastion against a
ferocious sea; constantly pounded by the severity of the elements
over thousands of years.

The Apache flew low, staying in formation on the tail of the
three Bell JetRangers as they veered away from the coast and headed
out to sea.

Dillon shivered. Alix spoke into his ear through the closed
comms link that all three of them were now wearing.
“Dillon, the final destination coordinates have just been
uploaded onto the Apache’s navigation system. Our ETA to target is
four minutes.
Dillon checked the coordinates and Alix slowed his air-speed
as he started to approach the estimated location of the stealth ship.
The scanners still read zero: nothing. They flew. The Apache, despite
having taken a number of hits over the last few days, was responding
well and as long as nothing else slammed into the state-of-the-art
helicopter, Alix knew the machine would get them all there in one
piece...
A crazy thought careered into his mind.
The Priest was wrong.
They were all wrong.
There was nothing there; nothing but a lot of open water, and a
bitterly cold easterly wind.
From under the blackened full-face visor, Alix laughed out loud.
Both Dillon and Vince looked at him as the visor opened and Alix
grinning face greeted them. “Sorry, just had a funny thought that we
might have been sent on a wild goose chase.” Then he saw it. A black
dot moving at speed on the screen in front of him. Dillon and
Vince both saw it as well. Dillon said, “It must be the stealth ship,
and it’s heading straight for the entrance to Poole Harbour. But I still
can’t work out why Ramus has come to the Dorset coast?” All the
time, Dillon was mentally preparing himself for what was to come; he
would have to be totally focused, and without any fear...
The black dot started to grow; to materialise; to enlarge before
Dillon’s eyes.
The stealth ship was moving at a rapid speed for a craft so large;
a churning wake of white foam followed it.
Dillon smiled nastily.
All I want, he thought, are answers before I die.
All I want, he thought, is to kill those involved - before I die.
He had resigned himself to meeting his maker, or whatever else
was waiting for him on the other side. Kirill had asked him once if he
was ready to die and now he understood; now he truly understood.
Dillon knew.
Knew that he wasn’t coming back.
Alix reached over and tapped Dillon on the shoulder, pointing
at the comm screen in front of them. The de-coded text told them
that the Apache’s on-board computer system had been remotely
locked onto the CIA at Langley, along with the UK security service
and Interpol. From this point forward, they were to have big-brother
looking over their shoulder during the attack on the stealth ship,
whatever the outcome...