Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (34 page)

“Considered dangerous by who?”
“By anyone who has ever come into contact with you.” Kirill
tried to shift his weight, groaning with the severe pain as he did so. He
continued, “But most of all, by myself and my new associates.”
“So you are no longer working for the British Government?
Why would you do this?”
“The
British Government
?” Kirill laughed, a laugh laced with pain.
“The
British Government
? You dumb bastard, the only thing this has
to do with that particular institution is how pathetically weak the
honourable members have become... Sycophantic, general-public asslicking-weaklings, each time a new lot get in, they have the power
to make good on all of those broken promises ever made by their
predecessors. And yet they choose not to - ever wondered why?” He
laughed again, grimacing.
Dillon’s face had gone pale. He ran his free hand through his
hair, cast a quick glance at Tatiana, and then prodded Kirill with the
muzzle of the Glock.
“Who are you working for?”
“For the greater good. And myself, of course.”
“And the virus programme? Chimera? Where does that fit into
all of this?”
“The virus programme,” said Kirill thickly. His head was
tilted to one side, his eyes no longer meeting Dillon’s piercing
gaze. “Chimera. It is the ultimate seek-retrieve-destroy programme.
Incredibly powerful - it can invade any computer, without a trace.
It uses broadband connections, Wi-Fi connections and moves from
one computer to another with lightning speed. It extracts information
within a nanosecond and then on exit, leaves the hardrive with a
little present that I call, a sleeper. A little sting in the tail, so to speak.
The sleeper can be activated at any time and remains under our total
control, one stroke of the keyboard and we shut down every computer
that Chimera has invaded. Permanently.”
“You’re not working alone, Kirill,” said Dillon softly. “Who else
is involved?”
“Ramus. Whom, MI6, the CIA and, the KGB, have in the past
attempted to assassinate, without success.” The name sprang to
Kirill’s lips and he smiled, smiled inside; he remembered. Ramus was
supposed to have
sorted Dillon out
.
So sort
this
out, you fucker, he thought.
“Ramus is the one ordering the killing and total destruction of
the Scorpion network. He’s the one who controls the Assassins and
sent them after you...” Kirill met Dillon’s gaze. “Surely you can see, Mr
Dillon, I am just an innocent party to all of this.”
He smiled, and his teeth were stained with tobacco and blood.
“Where do we find this Ramus?”
“You could try and find Ramus, but you’ll not succeed. He
remains constantly
mobile.”
Kirill laughed a nasty laugh.
“How?”
“Stealth-ship. And before you ask. I don’t know where he is.”
Dillon scratched an imaginary itch on his cheek. He glanced
again at Tatiana; she had moved closer to the main entrance, both
guns held low. It was obvious that she wanted out of this place,
immediately. But equally as urgent, was her need to hear the answers
as much as Dillon did.
“Is Ezra dead?”
“I would say so.”
“You would say so, would you?”
“He fell over a hundred feet off of a cliff top. It would have
taken a miracle to survive that, wouldn’t you agree?”
“So you’re high enough in the chain of command to be told
about his demise?”
“I worked with Ezra on numerous projects for your masters,
Ferran & Cardini International. He was also involved in the Chimera
project at the beginning.”
Dillon stared hard into Kirill’s eyes, and the man looked up and
met his gaze, his crumpled figure covered in blood.
“What is the significance of the Assassins, Professor Kirill?”
“The Assassins...” Kirill’s eyes widened a little. Then he smiled
strangely, revealing once again tobacco stained teeth, tainted with
blood. “Ah... Assassins... They’re -
something altogether different from you
or I
...”
Kirill’s gaze suddenly altered, lifted to something beyond Dillon,
something outside on the heli-pad, and Dillon knew that there was the
strong possibility that they were out there.
“Tats -” he started to shout a warning as he launched himself
onto the floor, but everything was drowned out by the sudden roar
of automatic gunfire. Glass exploded into the reception area; bullets
slamming into the granite walls and pillars; they t ore into the oak
furniture at the far end of the open-plan room, ending their journey
as the wood splintered and yielded under the impact.
Everything was thrown into sudden madness.
Everything suddenly switched to black and white - in Dillon’s
mind...
And then… silence. The smell of cordite filled the mountain air,
dust drifted through the gaps where the glass had been. He saw Tatiana,
crouched behind a large metal container filled with an assortment of
large exotic plants, wedged between the wall and a marble-faced pillar.
She glanced up. Dillon gave a quick succession of hand signals...
Stay.
Wait.
Check Weapon.
Dillon glanced right; he could not see Kirill from his new
position but he could hear him. At first he thought he was crying...
But then he realised with rising anger that he was
laughing
. The bastard
was actually laughing.
“So you want to know about the Assassins?” called Kirill. “Ask
one of them yourself, Dillon - go on, ask the question yourself!” He
laughed again, almost a cackle came from somewhere in the back of
his throat. Dillon sighted the Nemesis scope, adjusting and shortening
the focus. And at this short range, the next person to step through the
doorway would be literally cut in half by the 12.7mm caliber rounds...
Everything happened at once - and it happened fast.
The Assassins made their move; there were four of them. Dillon
squeezed the Nemesis trigger once, adjusted angle, and squeezed again
and saw two of the black-clad figures drop almost simultaneously.
The first took a bullet in the face and spun up into the air before being
tossed violently, down onto the ground. The second caught a bullet in
the throat, virtually severing the head from the torso, blood spraying
in a wide arc across the walls.
The other two came through the doorway like circus acrobats,
tumbling over the polished floor at speed - Uzi mini-machine pistols
set to semi-automatic, firing at Dillon...
Dillon left the Nemesis on its tripod and dashed low across the
reception area, using anything he could get behind for cover. Bullets
ripped through the leather couches and ate the exotic plants, Dillon
dived, rolling behind a pillar and then skidding, arms flaying around
as he fought to get some sort of grip on the highly polished surface
to face Tatiana.
The automatic pistol slid over the floor.
Dillon scooped up the familiar heavy bulk of the battered gun,
placed his back against the pillar and a split-second later, spun out into
the open.
Dillon dropped to a crouch, head snapping round to the left, and
his gaze roaming the room in search of the other Assassins. The first
Assassin lay, its skull broken, a sticky gluten matter pooling around it.
The second lay a few feet away, its hooded head twisted at a bazaar
angle to the body. Where the hell is the Priest and the others, and why
didn’t I hear these bastards coming? Screamed his brain.
“
They must have come back for Kirill
,” whispered his subconscious
softly.
There was a movement - a soft sound as soft rubber soled boots
moved lightly over the highly polished floor, deep in the shadows at
the far end of the room by the glass doors of the lift.
And then it saw Dillon.
Dillon was already firing: bullets tearing across the space, ripping
through the gloom and punching the Assassin back against the glass
door of the lift. A crimson smear appeared as it slid silently to the
floor.
Dillon stayed low, eyes quickly scanning around the room for
any other movement. The Assassin he’d just shot was in a sitting
position against the glass door of the lift, its head slumped to the left,
arms inert, both hands still holding the vicious Uzi mini sub-machine
pistols, each forefinger still on the triggers, a red pool covering the
highly polished floor around it. He moved cautiously, checked Tatiana.
She had scrambled even further back behind the large metallic plant
container by the entrance. That’s it, you stay just where you are, he
thought to himself. Don’t do anything heroic.
The gun touched the back of his head, cold metal pressing gently
against his skull.
There was a long pause.
“Do not make any sudden movement, Mr Dillon. It could be
your last...” Came the soft female voice.
Dillon grinned, a nasty malicious grin.
“You damned idiot,”
he
thought.
“There were four of them!”
“Gun on the floor. Do it, or I will blow your face clean off.
Now.”
Dillon - moving very slowly - lowering his gun, he placed it
carefully on the floor, and then stood up again.
“Very slowly, Mr Dillon.”
Dillon stood, gaze roaming, searching for a way out.
“Move over towards Professor Kirill.”
Dillon began a slow walk; he did not glance towards Tatiana’s
position but he knew that she could hear the exchange. He moved
gradually into the view of Kirill.
Despite the fact that he had gaping bullet wounds and the pain
that he must have been in. The man was smiling as if he didn’t have a
care in the world. He had struggled up and was now sitting on one of
the couches, his back leaning against the soft black leather, and then
he glanced casually at his watch.
“Four minutes and - twenty-five seconds, Dillon. The clock’s
ticking and then it’s - big boom time.” Kirill laughed, the laugh of a
man resigned to certain death.
Dillon’s brain was churning over in search of a solution to his
immediate predicament, the voice deep within his sub-conscious
saying over and over. “
Ask him straight out what it is he wants
.”
“What is it you want, Kirill?”
“Want. I want nothing, Dillon. I have already resigned myself to
death; in fact, it never ceases to amaze me how I’ve survived this long.
My only pleasure now is to watch you go to
your
death, not knowing
any of the answers. To know you died wondering where Chimera -
where Scorpion - where Ferran & Cardini - and where the Assassins
all fit into this rather interesting puzzle... You really have such low
expectations of your enemies.”
“You can at least do one good thing, Kirill.”
“And what might that be?”
“You can let Tatiana go. She has nothing to do with this - nothing
at all. Let her walk away from here.”
“Oh, I’m afraid I dispute that, my friend!” Said Kirill dryly,
his intelligent eyes glinting in the overhead lighting. “She is not an
innocent, at all, Mr Dillon. Tatiana is not only the niece of Ezra, but
she is one of
us
. Has been from the very start...”

Wind and rain kicked up from the Scottish valley below, whipping
Alix like a cat-of-nine-tails, the ledge that he was standing on, no more
than six inches wide. A tiny figure looking out over an infinite void,
down into a wide maw that would willingly devour him should he
fall! Alix moved sideways, shuffling his boots, remaining fully focused,
ensuring his foot-hold remained firmly on the ledge.

Clouds the colour of coal rushed past in a flurry of wind and
rain.
Cold drops stung his eyes, and he blinked them free.
His heart was thundering in his chest.
After leaving the winch-house, they were confronted by a detail
of six security guards, who were cut down with surgical precision.
Heavy army issue boots could be heard running towards them; they
split up, the Priest seeking sanctuary within the network of service
tunnels that formed part of the original SAS training complex; and
Alix heading for the elements outside.
Alix glanced right and could see the Priest, who had appeared
out of the ventilation shaft network, and was now crouched by a large
stack of fifty gallon drums. He caught sight of Alix and gave him a
signal to; wait!
He then felt, more than saw, the Priest start to move out of his
hiding place; thinking something was dreadfully wrong, Alix remained
perfectly still, boots firmly rooted to the narrow ledge.
Alix then saw the activity inside the landing bay. The Priest
pulled from inside his three-quarter length leather coat, a sawn-off
multi-shot shotgun. The cartridges loaded with a heavier gauge lead
and capable of bringing down an elephant at thirty paces.
Alix licked his lips, tasting sweat beneath his sodden balaclava.
His arms were starting to feel the real weight of the MP5 carbine he
was cradling, and his legs were beginning to go numb with the cold
and tension. He glanced down, past the narrow ledge. A tiny demon
in his mind mocked him: what if he lost his concentration, even for a
split second and - slipped? What if the Assassins spot him? What if
they start shooting at him?
Alix smiled. The wind buffeted him. Rain stung his eyes.
I wouldn’t give any of this up for
anything
, he thought.
The Priest signalled him, and then started to move slowly
forward. There were perhaps eight Assassins positioned at strategic
points around the landing area, some were concentrated around
the entrance to the facility. Black-clad figures biding their time, he
assumed they were deciding what course of action to take next, to
obtain access to the main reception area.
With muscles screaming, Alix drew round the Heckler & Koch
MP5, flicking off the safety. With his right hand he signalled to the
Priest that he was ready. The Priest acknowledged, replacing his small
leather bound Bible to the inside breast pocket of his coat.
They both moved together, Alix slipped over the rampart and
landed next to a pile of crates at the edge of the landing bay. He kept
to a low crouch, moving forward, all the time watching the Priest for
instructions.
Alix’s brain began calculating; eight Assassins and three security
guards...
The Priest had also spotted the security guards, motioning for
Alix to deal with them...
Machine-gun fire rattled, to the left. And then, all hell was let
loose, the large glass panels fronting the facility’s main reception area
exploded, Alix immediately reacted by cutting down the three security
guards with one sweep of the MP5. The Priest was doing God’s work
on the other side of the landing bay, killing four out of the eight
Assassins in the blink-of-an-eye. The four surviving Assassins all
charged through the now open doorway into the facility’s reception
area.
Alix dived, hitting the ground heavily on his front as bullets
whizzed past his head, and he rolled, his own weapon kicking in his
grip, rain pounding him. From somewhere to his right, he could hear
the
thwack
of heavy calibre rounds being fired; not daring to look up
for fear of having his head shot off. The Priest appeared at Alix’s
side, “Are you hit?”
“No man, just felt like a lay down for five minutes.”
Bullets continued to ricochet off of the stone rampart just above
their heads, the shooter positioned above them on the far side of the
landing bay.
The Priest lifted his MP5 above his head and emptied a full
magazine in a wide arc. Alix shuffled forward to get himself into a
better firing position, but the shooter had anticipated his move and
was taking single pot-shots at him. He cursed this sudden turn of
luck, and then returned the fire, exactly as the Priest had by emptying
a full magazine directly at him or her...
How the hell had they missed this one?
All of the other Assassins and security guards had left with
the Chinooks. This one must have been stationed at one of the
observation points on the mountain.
It didn’t matter now - all that mattered were the bullets! They
snapped past him. Alix emptiedanother magazine and allowedit to fall
free; it clattered onto the ground, bouncing once on the wet surface.
The Priest was at Alix’s side, the two men stayed low as they sprinted
across the open space of the landing bay. More bullets howled past
them, Alix wrestled a fresh mag into his weapon, flicking it around so
that his arm snapped out, holding the sub-machine gun like a pistol.
“You want to fuck with me?” He screamed; sighting on the
position of the shooter, as the fusillade of bullets tried to snuff out
its lights.
Alix unleashed the awesome power of the Heckler & Koch MP5
and bullets streamed across the landing bay and ate a line across the
fifty-gallon drums. Av-Gas immediately started to leak out and creep
across the ground, heading straight towards - the Priest and Alix.
Alix met the Priest’s gaze for the briefest instant; there was
madness there, and anger, and strength. And then both men jumped
over the rampart, bullets chasing their heels, igniting the lake of
aviation fuel that had spread around the landing bay. An explosion,
and then another, and another, as the fifty-gallon drums started to
explode and flames billowed and shards of hot metal hurtled through
the thick black smoke that was consuming the entire landing area.
Even before the two men had gone over the rampart, Alix
had the pistol in his right hand, was firing a piton attached to a fine
reinforced line into the solid rock of the landing bay roof and the
karabiner attached to Alix’s bullet proof vest was now supporting
both of them from a certain death far below.
The entire landing bay was ablaze with flames licking every
granite surface.
And then the fire died as quickly as it had been born.
Alix engaged the pistol’s motor-drive and the line started to reel
itself in, and they started to ascend back up to the ledge. As the two
men were almost there a black clad figure peered over the rampart in
search of them - Alix fired three bullets into the Assassin’s face, and
the killer dropped without a sound. Alix flicked his gaze left, and the
Priest had gone.
He sidled over the rampart and then halted, dropping to a crouch,
noxious smelling smoke swirling around him. And then he heard the
sound of machine guns, with an immediate stream of return fire.
There were two thuds as bodies slapped to the hard stone ground.
Alix ran to crouch beside the wall, eyes scanning; the shadows and the
drifting smoke his new-found friends. Before him the open entrance
of the facility, a gaping gash where the armour plated glass wall had
once been, everything bathed in a gloom and murkiness.
Silence followed...
From behind came a strange creaking noise. Alix focused his
senses; the landing area was vast, and littered with burnt out debris. It
was a sniper’s heaven. But the problem was; Alix wasn’t a sniper!
How many killers and guards had really been left behind?
There had been three guards, all were now dead. Four Assassins
had entered the facility. Leaving only the shooter who had gone over
the rampart, that left, he saw them out of the corner of his eye,
two Assassins - they were operating as a unit. As he watched, they
moved fluidly in and out of the shadows beside the burnt out stack of
fifty-gallon drums - Alix watched them climb smoothly up and over
any obstacle that stood in their way, as they disappeared from view.
His eyes flickered on the burnt-out remains of the Bell Robinson
helicopter in the middle of the landing bay.
Alix remained in a crouch. Remained perfectly still, only his eyes
moved, scanning for any movement through the smoke filled area.
Imminent danger... And not from the obvious quarter. No, this
was a premonition from deep within him.
Alix saw the Priest; he moved warily from the shadows and Alix
realised, too late, that the Assassins had out maneuvered the big man
and were positioned above him now. Alix raised his gun and started
firing.
Bullets struck sparks from the metal fifty-gallon drums, and
ploughed furrows in the stone walls. The Priest spun - and with surgical
precision fired one long burst of the MP5 on automatic at one of
the thick overhead cargo carrying cables. With a shearing of tortured
metal it snapped, sending deafening echoes reverberating across the
vast area and out into the mountain range. As the cable snapped, one
half snaked its way out of the pulley assembly and slinked over the
rampart, to fall away into the valley below - the second half whipped
around the landing bay, a wrist snapping garrotte that slashed through
the drifting smoke, slicing through anything that got in its path and
snaked across the ground.
The Priest leaped, moving fast in the long black leather coat. The
two Assassins opened fire from their vantage point, bullets whining
from Uzi mini sub-machine guns as the cable was drawn back to
connect with the other pulley assembly - it tossed fifty-gallon drums
aside as the thick steel cable was heaved upwards, tearing through
everything that stood in its way; it struck a stack of fire charred cargo
crates with deafening booms, and then with a final
swish
and a final
thwack
as it struck the roof of the landing area and its momentum
expired...
Off balance, the two Assassins leaped to be free of the danger.
Alix’s MP5 cut them both in half.
Finally everything became settled into stillness; through the
drifting smoke and out across the mountain range, the rain was still
falling heavily, and Alix still crouched as if to spring, uncoiled and
nodded towards the Priest. They both moved warily towards the
entrance to the facility, and gazed back at the destruction - the snapped,
blackened cable, the fifty-gallon drums split open like sardine cans,
the bodies of the dead guards and Assassins, and the flaming remains
of the Bell Robinson six-man helicopter.
“Nice and quietly, does it then!” Alix said, rolling up his balaclava.
He wiped a sheen of sweat from his face, and lit up a cigarette.
“It might have gone smoother, I’ll grant you. But God moves in
mysterious ways, my son.” Acknowledged the Priest slowly.
“Wait, listen up. Do you hear what I hear?”
“Yes.”
“I’d know that voice anywhere.”
“Jake Dillon!” They both said it at the same time.
“Maybe God was smiling down on us after all. Perhaps he’s
found Kirill?”
“We’d better go in carefully, just in case there are any more of
those nasty little buggers in there with him.”
“Quite so,” said the Priest with pious sobriety, and moved
forward towards the entrance of Kirill’s facility.
Alix took one long last pull on his cigarette, and then flicked the
stub high into the air.
“Okay then, Kirill. Let’s see what secrets you’re hiding in there,”
he muttered, calming his fluttering heart. He followed the Priest and
both men were soon concealed on either side of the open doorway,
hidden by grey granite walls of mountain rock.