Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (47 page)

When the first explosion came, Vince climbed back into the
cockpit of the Apache helicopter. The stealth ship shuddered and
groaned as black metal was ripped open, Vince frowning to himself,
checked his watch. Dillon had been gone far too long - far too long.
He peered down from the cockpit, scanning the catamaran’s deck
areas for any unwanted company. He spotted two Assassins further
along the deck, flicked a switch, and the forward cannon fired a burst
of large calibre rounds directly at them.

There was more movement on the port side, six Assassins, all
carrying machine-pistols. Vince fired another burst from the Apache’s
cannon and took down four Assassins, the other two scattered, he
activated the cannon’s heat seeking laser sight. Instantly, two short
bursts erupted and one of the remaining Assassins was cut in half.
The other one disappeared into the ship.

Dillon walked slowly across the control room where computers
whirred and groaned to themselves. He took hold of Tatiana’s arm
and led her out into the corridor; he scanned the immediate area and
found that it was completely clear of Assassins.

“Level 1, but we won’t get anywhere near it. Ramus has his elite
guard protecting it and him.”
“Let’s see, shall we?” Dillon moved forward with Tatiana trailing
behind him. They moved up through each level with a remarkable lack
of confrontation, Dillon was amazed that there appeared to be no
other Assassins on the stealth ship.
The corridor was wide with glass running along one side, and
looking down Dillon could see a mass of activity; this was definitely
the catamaran’s bridge and command centre. Dillon could see Ramus
and Kirill, the massive screen at one end showing the world laid out
with live streams of information informing them as they directed
their master plan for a New World Order. Tatiana looked down with
disbelief.
“They really are arrogant fuckers,” he said vehemently and slid
the Glock’s safety catch off. He checked the magazines stowed in
various pockets of his armoured vest.
He had bullets. Lots of them.
Dillon smiled at Tatiana. “Now don’t argue, But I want you to
get to the Apache and wait there with Vince.” He put his hand on
her shoulder, leaned forward and gently kissed her on the cheek. He
watched her go through the hatch that led directly out onto the deck,
and then turned.
“Let’s finish this Kirill,” he said. And stepped warily along the
corridor.

Further along the corridor, Dillon could hear heavy machine gun
fire. There was also the incredibly loud whining of the laser-guided
gatlin guns. Distantly, he could hear other explosions and the scream
of engines.

Dillon touched the comm-link in his right ear and said. “Vince,
are you there?”
“I’m here, chap. I’ve got the rotors spinning, but time is running
out. Where the hell are you?”
“Corridor outside the main command bridge. Talk to me about
the ship’s damage.”
“The JetRangers have knocked out the navigation systems; the
ship cannot steer without the help of the Chimera Programme. The
same goes for the stealth mode and weapon’s systems. Chimera is
controlling all of them.”
“Thanks. I’ll be along to you both shortly.”
“You have exactly two minutes and thirty seconds before the big
one goes off.”
Dillon moved along the corridor, which was sloping down. He
came to steps and carefully picked his way down their metal surfaces.
He heard something behind him. Ducking into a service hatchway, he
watched an Assassin rush past. The main doors to the bridge opened:
Kirill stood there, a true blood Assassin to either side of him, and
a look of anger and frustration on his face. Behind, a massive wall
mounted monitor running streams of data created by Chimera as it
went about its business of entering every computer connected to the
Internet and taking electronic control of them - taking control of the
digital planet...
Ramus was dictating a message to the heads of state and leaders
of the world; Dillon caught phrases such as “ultimate destructive
technology” and “total digital shutdown”. He wiped the sweat from
his browwith the back of his hand and gripped the Glock even tighter.
“Well?”
“The surviving intelligence service JetRanger helicopters, is as
we speak, fleeing into the rain and gloom - but the Apache helicopter
is still standing ready on the rear starboard deck. I would assume that
they are waiting for Dillon. Why has it not been destroyed?”
“Ramus, believe me when I tell you that attempts have been
made, but this helicopter is equipped with a sophisticated weapons
system programme - that is definitely not standard.” Kirill spoke softly.
“It is of no importance at this time. Ramus raised his right hand
in a gesture of dismissal, a gesture of
arrogance
...
The sound of footsteps came from the corridor, and another
four Assassins came into view. They came to a silent halt in front of
Kirill. But Kirill could tell that something was wrong... Something was
seriously amiss...
“What is it?”
“A bomb has been attached to the hull on the port side,” said the
Assassin calmly, eyes sparkling.
“What type of bomb is it?” Snapped Kirill. “Tell me, what kind
of fucking device is it?”
“Our scanners have determined that it is a sophisticated dirtybomb of unspecified yield, magnetically attached to the underside of
the ship.” The voice was soft and very calm.
Kirill’s eyes widened. “We need to get a diver down there. Now!
You hear me?”
The Assassin ignored him. “We must evacuate this vessel
immediately.”
“Won’t the armour plating protect us against this?”
“No. This type of device creates extreme pressure at the point of
detonation. The hull is extremely strong, but it will be ripped open by
the explosion. Our armour is thick, designed for attack by torpedoes
and mines. This device is different; when it detonates there will be no
water to support the catamaran’s weight. The ship will simply break
itself in half.”
Kirill stared, dumbfounded.
A million thoughts rushing through his brain.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could hear Ramus talking rapidly
into the microphone of the comm link. A look of utter triumph at
his defiance of the world, in celebration at bringing the world’s most
powerful administrations to their
knees
...
And all this through a virus programme.
Kirill lifted his gun; a single shot through the centre of the
forehead ended the Assassin’s report. He turned towards the other
Assassins and smiled a thin cruel smile. “It would seem that Dillon and
his friends had an ace up their collective sleeve. They’re not running
away like girls, they’re getting free of this ship and the immediate blast
zone.” Kirill walked towards the main doors, and stepped off of the
bridge.
Dillon stepped out from his hiding place behind him.
“Stop right there, Kirill.”
Kirill turned, raised his gun and started firing, a mad smile
creasing his lips, his brow furrowed in bewilderment. As Dillon had
spoken, he had also stepped back into the shadows and concealment
of the door recess. Sparks kicked up all around him, bullets ricocheting
from the wall, one scorching a furrow across his right forearm - there
was a moment when the wound was nothing but a narrow strip of red,
and then blood started to gush out. Dillon clamped the wound with
a silent curse and pressed himself tight up against the doorway. He
tore off a sleeve of his shirt and bound it tightly about his forearm,
instantly blood soaked through. Gripping the Glock 9mm, he stood
shakily, his mind swam: loss of blood, constant pain, and a severe
pounding at the hands and boots of Ramus’ bodyguard had left him
weak.
It’s also left you slow
, Dillon thought. He licked his lips, and stepped
forward to peer along the corridor; he could hear a commotion on the
bridge. His jaw became taught with the tension he felt, as he caught
the fleeing form of Kirill who was once again cheating death.
And then he averted his attention back to the bridge and the
processor containing the master copy of the Chimera Programme.
Hell-bent on destroying the digital world as we know it.
“Damn it.”
He strode onto the bridge, past two Assassins standing to one
side of the doorway; each got a bullet in the head. He broke into a
sprint as he heard Ramus saying arrogantly, “...we will spare the lives
of millions of Americans...”
The Glock touched the back of Ramus’ head.
Dillon could feel the bony skull through the muzzle of the
automatic.
Ramus froze.
“But I won’t spare your life,” Dillon hissed as he squeezed the
trigger.
The bullet smashed through Ramus’ brain and exploded out of
his right eye along with blood and gore.
Ramus collapsed.
The bridge became silent, except for the humming and whirring
of the processors. Four Assassins turned their attention towards
Dillon. He took a single step forward, glanced down at the processor
unit with the Chimera optical disc and levelled the Glock directly at it.
“This is for everyone who has been murdered,” he muttered.
“Now it’s pay-back time...”
He put six bullets into the processor as one of the Assassins
behind him screamed a single word - “No!”
Bullets smashed the cold black casing into a billion tiny harmless
fragments that blew violently outwards in a black mist.
All of the monitors around the bridge went blank. The master
screen turned blue and all of the Chimera script disappeared.
“Now that’s what I call terminal hacking!”
Uzi mini sub-machine pistols blasted.
Dillon sprinted, head low, as the Assassin, who had screamed
- no, emptied a full magazine in his direction. Dillon raced into the
corridor with bullets kicking up sparks behind him and bounced
from the wall, groaning long and low to himself as his battered
body seemed to gather up energy from somewhere deep within him.
Spurred on by the thought of Alix’s dirty-bomb, Dillon sprinted as if
his life depended on it.
Which it did.

Dillon stumbledmadly down the corridor in pursuit of a way out
onto the deck. His alter-personality rose up through his sub-conscious
to taunt him... “
You really are slow and weak, old man. You’ll never get off this
tub in time, you know. But I can get you off, Dillon. I have the strength you could
never dream of - come on, Dillon, you’ll never do this without me...
”

He stumbled forward, rebounding from wall to wall. His aching
muscles felt like they were tearing with every jolt, making him want
to cry out with each step forward. He halted; fell to his knees, his
breathing laboured, the broken ribs, causing severe pain down his
right side.

“
You’re dying Dillon, and the clock is tick-tocking. Alix has done his job
well, Vince is up there waiting for you with Tatiana, the blades of the Apache
spinning. You have, roughly one minute and thirty-five seconds to get off this
fucking death-ship.
”

Dillon steadied his breathing and stood up again.
Bullets kicked up sparks from the floor behind him.
He pushed on at a weary pace, stumbling, as the large catamaran

was assaulted in succession by Alix’s smaller explosive devices, shaking
the very structure of the vessel as it made for deeper water outside of
the harbour.

His boots thudded dully on the metal walkways, upstairs, and to
the door that had allowed him entry. He wrenched the lever over and
heaved it open.

More bullets came at him, striking sparks from the door’s metal
surround; Dillon dropped to one knee, the Glock kicking in his hand.
Ramus was dead and Kirill was jumping ship like a rat, into a waiting
black helicopter as rain pounded all around him.

Dillon stepped up and out into the wind and lashing rain.
And looked around, dazed.
The skies were filled with thick black smoke billowing up

from the ravaged decks of the catamaran. The surviving JetRanger
helicopter was fleeing and Dillon could just make out the Apache,
blades spinning, and hovering twenty feet above the deck. Vince’s
outline was visible inside the cockpit, with Tatiana sitting next to him.
The helicopter’s forward machine cannons flashed as they spat out
their lethal payload at each and every Assassin that came through the
hatchway leading out onto the starboard side deck. As Dillon stood,
mouth agape, an Assassin cut in half not more than ten feet away
from him - closely followed by another who met with a similar end.

Dillon started to sprint towards the Apache, all pain suddenly
forgotten. Vince spotted him and opened fire on a small group of
Assassins who were trying to cut him off, but who were mowed down
instantly by the large calibre rounds. More bullets whizzed around
him. Dillon growled, glaring at the helicopter up ahead. It jumped
around in the sky and Dillon could see Tatiana’s face looking down
at him.

Dillon stayed low and sprinted for the Apache.
Two Assassins ran at him. The Glock’s bullets knocked both
of them from their feet, smashing through skin, bone and matter as
their faces were pulverised. Dillon did not even break stride. As he
reached the hovering helicopter, it was with despair that he saw the
bullet riddled fuselage.
Vince brought the Apache down until he was hovering no more
than twelve inches above the deck. Dillon clambered up and dropped
into the cockpit. As he slipped into the co-pilot’s seat next to Vince he
noticed alarms were sounding and lights were flashing, .
The Apache’s engines faltered under the increase of power
required to lift the attack helicopter up into the air.
“I don’t believe it!” Dillon growled.
Dillon took the controls, flicked a number of override switches
and the twin engines burst into life again and the helicopter lifted
quickly into a thunderous sky. It vibrated alarmingly, its engines
howling. All around was a chaos of gunfire, flames and explosions;
wind and rain streamed in through the cockpits shattered side-screen.
As the Apache veered to the right, Dillon spotted Kirill’s small
black helicopter in the distance. His stare locked on to the small black
dot that was heading out low over the waves and he then circled a
broad arc and gaining height momentarily to observe the stealth ship’s
demise.
Dillon powered the Apache forward.
The attack helicopter dived, howling towards Kirill’s small black
machine. Dillon armed the machine cannons, Vince and Tatiana
tightened their seat harnesses, and then fired a short burst to make
sure the guns were operating properly. Kirill had to
die
...
Lights flashed and a warning siren sounded on the console in
front of him.
They had a fuel leak; he glanced at the levels and noted with
despair that avgas was streaming from the Apache’s fuselage. Dillon
forced the helicopter on regardless.
Kirill saw him coming and banked his own machine aggressively,
on-board machine guns opening fire. Bullets whizzed past to left and
right, and scored a line up one flank of the Apache. Still Dillon urged
the aircraft forward and something, some inner sense made him
veer hard to the left as Kirill came at them head-on. Dillon fired the
forward guns, as the small black machine went into a high wide sweep,
sparks clearly visible as bullets struck the metal landing skids.
Machine guns hammered again.
Dillon suddenly realised there were two small black helicopters
on his tail; he realised they must have been flanking Kirill, protecting
this man who was their master.
The Apache took more hits.
“
The fuel
...” Dillon muttered, as avgas spray streamed away
behind the battered helicopter.
The Apache lifted rapidly, gaining on Kirill’s fast black machine
as it made its way back towards the catamaran. And then everything
happened at once.
There was a low, deep sound. And then the world seemed to
shake.
The catamaran
staggered
, as if tripped, as the dirty-bomb that Alix
had planted detonated. There was a weird underwater roar; a foaming
cauldron erupted and light and fire danced beneath the sea, spreading
out like tentacles of some giant octopus. The catamaran lifted and
a rending, tearing and screaming sound of stressed steel ripped the
airwaves - huge cracks appeared down both flanks of the stealth ship,
the amidships of both hulls dipping and the prows rearing up into
the sky on a gush of suddenly boiling water. The massive groaning
structure thrashing around in the last throws of its life.
Foam and flames burst into the sky, like a geyser spraying
skywards.
Bullets zipped past Dillon, and he launched the Apache down
and under Kirill’s machine. He rolled to the left and then right, before
lifting the nose, reducing power, and firing the forward machine
cannons.
Kirill’s face held an expression of disbelief as the bullets ripped
up through the fuselage and into his body. One of the bullets drove
itself up into the Professor’s groin and erupted through the back of
his neck in a shower, spattering against the headlining of the cockpit.
With the second burst of gun fire, Dillon hit the fuel tanks and Kirill’s
helicopter exploded into a spinning fireball, free-falling towards the
nearby stricken catamaran, which was sliding beneath the water,
settling below the waves like a dying dinosaur.