Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (4 page)

Dillon watched the row of six monitors on the opposite wall of
the oak lined study. Hidden CCTV cameras picked up the driver of
a Mercedes AMG 55 wheel spin the luxury sports car up the narrow
snowbound lane and park precariously and at an obscure angle in
the sweeping drive. The driver’s door swung open and the woman
climbed from the warmth and comfort of the interior. She glanced
up towards him, towards the shield of glass and waved through the
lightly falling snow.

Dillon moved from the study, across the great hall, walking
barefoot over luxurious Persian rugs to one of the day rooms. He
threw more logs and coal on the fire and then went back through
to the study, picked up the handheld control unit off his desk and,
remotely opened the front door, went back to the living room and
crashed out on one of the large sofas with a large single malt whisky.

He heard her, stamping snow from her boots and quietly
cursing the weather, the location and, most of all, him. He smiled
wryly, swirling the whisky and taking in its silky smooth flavour as the
attractive woman came up the stone steps to the front door.

As she appeared in the doorway he raised his arm over the back
of the sofa and remotely closed the heavy oak door. “How’s life,
Tats?”

“It’s Tatiana, not Tats.”
“Bit tense, aren’t we. Whisky or wine?”
“What wine?”
“White. Italian - very cold. Does it really matter?”
“It matters, Dillon. Why the fuck did you buy a castle in the

middle of fuck knows where?”
“It’s the Scottish Highlands, and I happen to like it here.”
“But it’s in the middle of nowhere!”
“That’s just it, Tats. There’s not a living soul within fifty

miles. Unlike London, which has become so congested it’s almost
suffocating.” Dillon shook his head as he walked off to the kitchen
to pour a glass of wine. A moment later he returned and handing her
the glass and said, “I moved out of the city because it’s not a pleasant
environment. Up here the air is fresh, what you might call conducive
to relaxation and hopefully a long life.”

Tatiana gave a short laugh, her gaze moving around the spacious
living room. “I can’t believe you gave up everything you’ve ever
worked for to come and live the easy life. Christ, you even sold your
Porsche Carrera S4 in favour of a fucking Landrover, and an old one
at that.”

“To be honest, Tats. A Porsche wouldn’t be much good to me up
here.” Dillon frowned. “I don’thave to go out much. I have everything
I
need
right here.”

Tatiana stopped, took a deep breath and counted silently as she
summoned patience. She removed her coat and threw it over the back
of a nearby leather armchair, closed her eyes for a moment and then
took a long gulp of her wine, followed by another, emptying her glass.
She held it out for a refill. Dillon picked the bottle out of the ice
bucket and poured her another generous glass full.

“I hate Scotland,” she said.
“There’s nothing to hate, Tats,” Dillon said softly. He drained
his glass in one and immediately poured himself another. “It feels
right to be here, it’s just so beautiful. You won’t understand, but I’ve
discovered that I like my own company. The solitude has given me
a rejuvenated inner strength and vitality for life once again. All of
those years, killing to survive and having to constantly watch my back,
drained me to a point where I felt that if someone had put a bullet
in my head, they would have done me a favour. Just to escape from
all the shit. All I’ve done, Tatiana - is to step off the merry-go-round
for the sake of my own sanity.” He watched her slim and athletic
form. He thought back to better times - long days and endless nights,
making love, laughing, talking, drinking...
He topped her glass up. She ran a hand through her long
naturally blond hair, using a small elastic band to tie it into a pony tail,
the way she knew from old, was how he liked it. He smiled, downed
his whisky in one gulp and threw the cut crystal tumbler into the fire
where it shattered: for a brief moment the flames flared, the light
dancing across the walls and over the high vaulted ceiling.
“You always were melodramatic,” said Tatiana thoughtfully,
staring down into her wine glass. She moved in front of the fire,
sitting on the luxurious rug in front of it and gazing into the flames,
seemingly lost in thought.
“Why are you here?” He said finally when he realised that she
was not going to break the silence without prompting.
Flames crackled for a while and Dillon wondered if she had
heard him.
“Why has there got to be reason, Jake?”
“Well for starters - it’s been well over a year since I left London,”
Dillon sighed. “Are you still working for Ferran & Cardini?”
“Of course. The firm grows more important to the British
Government with each passing day. LJ sends his regards, by the way.”
She smiled softly.
“That old slave-driver should be retired by now.”
“Well, that as may be. He has a job for you.”
“Ah.” Dillon sighed, climbed to his feet and walked to stand in
front of the large bay window. The snow was falling much more heavily
now and he could see, dimly through the swirling flakes, the mountains
on the other side of the loch, blue-grey and sheer - exhilarating. The
wind howled through the woods outside and whistled in through odd
gaps in the wooden window casements, lifting the edge of the heavy
drapes as it passed by. Dillon shivered, despite the fire’s heat in the
room. He felt a twinge of disappointment that he could not see the
frozen mountain peak in the distance.
“Would I be working alone?”
“On your own. A protection job.”
“I don’t know, Tats.” Dillon said softly, still gazing out of the
window - his mind playing back vivid images of events he would
rather forget, nightmares he would rather not relive. She stood, a fluid
and graceful action, and moved to him, draped her arms over his
shoulders and rested her cheek on his broad back.
“I know you’ve turned down the last two assignments that LJ
has offered you - as is your prerogative. But this has come from the
very top of Government. It’s really important, Jake.”
“It always is,” said Dillon bitterly.
“It’s something big, and it’s going to happen soon. We don’t
know when - where - or how. But it’s got the weenies in Whitehall
very twitchy, indeed.
“What’s new? Nothing you’ve told me so far, Tatiana, has
grabbed my interest.”
“The world is changing, Jake, and you’re fucking
hiding
up here...”
She tailed off as she saw the look on his face and cursed herself
inwardly. That had been a blow way below the belt; Dillon was good.
No, he was the best. And after the stolen painting assignment... he had
the right to live and rest any way he pleased...
Tatiana took a deep breath.
“Look, I want you to do this,” she said. She moved around to face
him very slowly. Her lips touched his and he allowed her to kiss him
for a few moments. Her breath was sweet, her lips soft and inviting.
“Why?”
“How long is it since Isabella left you for that stockbroker?”
“You’re evading my question, Tatiana. Just over a year ago - and
you knew that anyway, it’s in my file.”
“The girl in question is young, vulnerable, alone and afraid -
someone who I can empathise with. Damn it, Dillon. You’re the best
in the business and she needs the best there is.”
“Crap.” He kissed her again, anyway, tasting the lightness of the
wine on her lips. When he pulled away, he was frowning. “Why not
one of the Scorpion units, they’re more than capable of protection
duties. Surely they would be first in line?
There was a long pause. Tatiana averted her gaze and looked
over at the fire as though she was having a tussle with her conscience.
Dillon caught a glimpse of something then, in her face, in her eyes.
There was something that Tatiana knew, a secret she didn’t want to
divulge.
Dillon smiled tightly and reached up, stroking her hair. She
turned back to him, she had regained her composure.
“The partners asked for my recommendation and I said
you
,
Jake,” she said the words softly. “Don’t turn me down. Don’t let
her
down.”
“Who is she? Why should I give-a-damn?”
“Zhenya Tarasova. She’s twenty-two. The niece of Professor
Kirill”
Dillon pulled away for a moment. He noticed a mischievous
sparkle in Tats’ blue eyes as he searched her face - he shook his head,
unsure of the unspoken signs he sought.
“Kirill? Where the hell is LJ sending me?”
“You really shouldn’t let me manipulate you, Jake,” said Tatiana,
turning and walking away from him.
Dillon watched the hypnotic sway of her hips. He sighed
inwardly. How long has it been since I’ve had the pleasure of this
woman’s company? He thought. How long without soft lips to kiss
and so-soft skin to caress...
“I can’t help myself, Tats.” His voice was a little hoarse. “Where
am I going?”
“Castle Drago, Cornwall. One of my favourite counties in
England. A place where you can step off the treadmill for a couple of
weeks and recharge the old batteries. Unspoilt sandy beaches and wild
surf. Absolutely blissful.”
“Kirill is based at the Government’s secret establishment here in
Scotland, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but he’s come out of his bunker up here to give a series of
lectures to the Scorpion Unit top brass and selected unit commanders,
and for a celebration of his achievements working on several major
breakthroughs in software development. Many of those involved in
the project have been based in Cornwall for - shall we say security
reasons...”
Dillon sighed and shrugged. He rubbed at his suddenly weary
eyes, then met Tats’ gaze. “Will you stay?”
There was a brief pause. Tatiana put her hands in her pockets
and looked at Dillon steadily. She tilted her head, touched her lips with
the tip of her forefinger, her beautiful blue eyes unreadable. Dillon
realised that she had aged - matured - wonderfully in the year or so
since he had last seen her. And in that instant, he realised too that he
wanted her more than anything in the world.
“
And you left her for Issy, didn’t you, you cock?”
Mocked his subconsciousness, a distant whisper in his head.
“You cock. You sent her
away.”
Dillon shifted his weight and stood up to his full 6’2” height.
Then he smiled and looked up to see the tenderness in Tatiana’s
expression.
“Not tonight, lover boy,” she said in a whisper. She smiled. “But
we’ll make a date. When you get back from this assignment, maybe.”
“You mean, maybe never. Well, I can’t say I blame you after the
way I treated you. But thanks for the cheap kisses, though. At least
they were enough to entice me to give Ferran & Cardini the benefit of
my skilled services once again.”
Tatiana moved forward and placed a finger against his lips. “Not
another word. When you return from Cornwall - we will meet up.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. Here catch this.”
She tossed Dillon a new mobile phone. It was much lighter than
the previous models, and he turned it slowly; similar in size to the one
he had before, the dull black alloy shone as it fitted neatly into the
palm of his hand. “New model?”
Version 6. LJ has had them designed and made specifically for
our own field agents. It also allows you to connect with the majority
of government agencies should the need arise. The technology has
moved on since you last worked for us, Jake.”
“Really? Same basic functions?”
“Yes and a few little enhancements.”
The device was loaded with an ultra-fast operating programme,
was solid-state - no moving parts - and quite robust; it responded
verbally to commands - if activated - and had biometric fingerprint
recognition facilities; it was automatically logged into the Ferran &
Cardini main computer system using advanced GPS - constant web
access gave world maps at the touch of a button. It also had a few
hidden and very ingenious little tricks within its alloy casing.
Tatiana turned to leave, gathering her coat and gloves and
moving out into the great hall and the front door and the severe cold
outside. “When are you coming back to the real world, Dillon? It’s
missing you - and so am I.”
“I’ve needed the time to get myself back together.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“Then, when I have a good enough reason to. Does that answer
it?”
She held his gaze for a long time, then turned and left. He stood
listening to her leave, then moved back into the living room and stood
by the window and watched as the Mercedes AMG moved off in a
plume of exhaust fumes and angry spinning wheels. The expensive
sports car cut a swathe through the fresh snowfall and was gone in an
instant, tail lights flickering into nothing.
Dillon felt suddenly alone. Something had been stirred in him
for the first time in over a year.
For a while he watched the snow falling, and then stared down at
the phone nestling in his palm. He switched it on, and it immediately
came to life. A series of encrypted symbols appeared across the large
touch-screen. He looked from the phone to the roaring fire - and for
a moment was in two minds...
He could simply throw into the flames. Walk away and forget his
conversation with Tatiana had ever taken place.
He had vowed the last time that he was through with LJ and
Ferran & Cardini International.
Because, when he was truly through with them, then he would
be at peace with himself. Dillon shivered, staring into the flames.
Ferran & Cardini did not know about what was going on inside
his head - his self-loathing of what he had evolved into over the years.
But then
nobody
knew about it. Not even the firm’s shrinks. He had
fooled them all at each and every assessment interview that all field
agents had to undergo every six months. He had effectively hidden
a dark and psychopathic slice of his personality that had gradually
surfaced from the deepest recesses and now perched menacingly,
always waiting to prove itself again as it had before in Jersey and
Dorset. A blood demon ready to feed at any time...
Dillon sighed.
He turned from the flames and slumped into the embrace of the
deep and comfortable antique leather sofa.
Protection, Tatiana had said. Dillon’s head was thumping and his
mouth dry and he realised that she - and LJ himself - understood him
perfectly. No more killing. No more racing around the countryside
with someone chasing him... Those days were over. Gone. Thrown
into the ocean, just like Charlie Hart’s Brinks Mat gold bullion bars
had been. But he knew where to find them all the same...
Protection.
The protection of Kirill’s niece - the British Government’s most
coveted communist defector since the cold-war and one of the world’s
foremost authorities on military computer software programs.
No killing, no bombs, no more collective violence...
He placed his forefinger on the biometric fingerprint reader
and told the device his name. Instantly it locked onto the Ferran &
Cardini mainframe. A moment later the information he had requested
appeared on the screen.
Kirill; Russian professor, born Kiev, educated Moscow and
Prague. Born to parents of aristocratic ancestry, who were accused of
treason and murdered by the KGB. Kirill brought up by aged aunt -
attained honours degrees with distinctions in applied mathematics and
quantum physics. On leaving university he was enrolled on a Soviet
space programme and under direct supervision of the Kremlin.
Expert in computing systems, specialising in advanced
programming scripts and artificial intelligence scripts for military
applications. Assisted to defectto UK after approach from MI6 double
agent inside Kremlin. Currently developing the ‘Chimera’ military
software programme for the British armed forces - Scorpion Units
testing prototype model. Kirill based in underground bunker facility -
exact location top secret, but Highlands of Scotland most likely. The
technologically advanced research facility has been set up with the
utmost security in what is largely inhospitable and inaccessible terrain.
The facility is fitted with a stealth mode and therefore is virtually
untraceable from the ground - air - or space.
Kirill has been the target of various death threats; suspect
terrorist activity, most likely Middle Eastern influences with attention
fixed on the ‘Chimera’ Programme which is still in the development
stage. British SAS units are involved with protecting Kirill while in
Cornwall. One weak link could be his niece, only child of his late
brother who died of cancer three years ago; she lives and travels
everywhere with him and could be a target for kidnapping, or possibly
murder in order to blackmail Kirill to obtain information on the new
programme.