Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (45 page)

The stealth ship, while not the largest catamaran ever built, was
certainly the most menacing. Its dull matt black twin-hulls crouched
low and it growled through the sea water, smashing the waves apart as
it powered towards its destination. Dillon, like the other members of
the hastily put-together team, had listened to Alix’s briefing, based on
information gathered by many hundreds of field operatives around
the globe, including the Priest. Spy planes had been used without
success, but an undercover CIA agent working as a docker in the
Bahamas had seen the catamaran close up. He was able to get on
board when it had made an unscheduled port of call at Nassau to restock with provisions.

The agent had reported back to Langley that the vessel was
heavily armed with extensive weapons and guidance systems, far
superior to those of even the most sophisticated military craft. As
well as the standard surface-to-air and surface-to-surface missiles and
large calibre machine guns, it had extensive anti-submarine sensors
and weapons, and powerful radar giving complete coverage and able
to track multiple targets simultaneously. It also had two heavily armed
and armoured half-size remote controlled support helicopters. And
the catamaran was nuclear powered. Unlike normal stealth ships, this
state of the art machine had a top speed of 65 knots. And there had
been no sign of any crew...

Alix hovered for a while at a distance, the Apache humming
softly, the data-stream display inside his helmet screaming proximity
warnings at him. Dillon and Vince were picking up the same
information on their screens. Below them, the sea spun away in
circular patterns, brushed aside by the down draughts from the four
helicopters.

And yet, and yet the catamaran was not on the displays.
Chimera, Dillon thought.
Ramus has uploaded the programme to the stealth ship’s

Chimera would automatically take over the existing operating system;
make it quicker, intuitive, and very dangerous. Chimera would rewrite every script to its own specification and do everything in its
considerable power to protect the host. Including; intercepting
satellite, radar and scanner readings.

It’s already found a way of enhancing the catamaran’s stealth
mode, but also of bouncing everything away from the catamaran!
Was he too late?
Behind, despite their agreed radio silence, Alix used his smartphone to connect with the other helicopters. “You okay, Priest?”
“Yes, Alix. Are you ready?”
“Oh, we’re ready. Vince and I are all set. Dillon is as ready as
he’ll ever be...”
“Stay close to him, Alix. May God be with you.”
“I don’t need your God, Priest.” Snarled Alix, and terminated
the link.
Grinning, Alix eased the Apache forward in step with the three
JetRangers. They grouped closer now, machines flanking and leading
the Apache to form a metal cloak around it... Dillon found himself
suddenly tense, awaiting incoming fire, waiting for those large calibre
machine guns to spit their welcome...
The matt black catamaran thrashed and growled through the
choppy sea. Waves smashed against its twin prows. Seagulls cawed
overhead. Small sailing craft, tied up to their swinging moorings were
brushed easily aside by the stealth ship’s ram.
Dillon grimaced.
It had started to rain, lightly at first, then a downpour of heavy
droplets laced with sleet from a tumultuous cold night sky; clouds
gathered and bunched, bruised and swollen.
The rain and sleet fell with increased ferocity.
The waters of one of the world’s largest natural harbours
churned, rain turning waves into prancing stallions.
Against the sky sat an inky blot that expanded and separated as
the four helicopters loosened their formation.
“Okay, people. Let’s do this thing.” Came the crackle of Dillon’s
voice over the comm link.
As one, the four heavily armed helicopters advanced on the
stealth ship, the Apache and the three JetRanger’s stayed low, flying
past the luxury Haven Hotel and multi-million pound prestigious
mansions on the Sandbanks Peninsula as they entered the vast natural
harbour. The men and woman aboard these high-tech machines were
all armed with Heckler & Koch machine carbines and bombs, waiting
to fight, waiting for what was surely to come.
In the lead JetRanger sat the Priest. His eyes flashed with fire
behind the night-vision visor he was wearing. He pointed; he pointed
at the catamaran, where a number of sliding panels on the black deck
had been retracted to reveal heavy calibre machine cannons located
on laser guided turntables. Two small black single-seater helicopters
lifted from the lower stern deck, rotors screaming through the rain,
guns and missiles armed and ready...
“Here we go,” Dillon spoke softly, sliding the Glock’s safety off.
At the same time, Alix armed the Apache’s weapons systems in a splash
of coloured lights and flickering data streams on the monitors in front
of them. Alarms started to sound all around them and through their
headsets as, on the deck of the catamaran, one of the guns rotated
smoothly, its laser guided sight locked onto its target. The large calibre
barrels lifted, their angle of ascent adjusted; then came the massive
concussive
boom
and the turret recoiled.
One of the advancing JetRangers was plucked from the sky and
turned into a fireball of orange and yellow against the black sky, a
ball of bright iridescence before it smashed down into the sea, rotors
spinning screaming splashing into the churning waters where the
blackened burnt out carcass disappeared swiftly below the waves.
From high above, one of the catamaran’s single-seater helicopters
came swooping from out of the low cloud and rain, its machine guns
hammering.
The Apache returned fire and the dark sky was suddenly filled
with a stream of tracer rounds.
Alix fired off two air-to-air missiles and allowed the Apache to
gain altitude, rotors scything, while Vince was in the back, constantly
making adjustments to the helicopter’s weapon’s systems. The Apache
suddenly veered to the right as Alix reacted to the alarm screaming
at him, the black single-seater helicopter only just missed them as it
shot past at bullet speed... He allowed the Apache to drop - away and
down
towards the suddenly looming deck of the stealth ship: Ramus’
mobile control centre...
Above them, both remaining JetRangers were engaged in aerial
acrobatics with the black single-seater, bullets crackled across the
storm filled sky.
And the heavens were painted crimson.
* * *
The command-room was devoid of any fitments, walls like a
blank canvas, except for the three meter by four meter projection
screen suspended at one end. A flickering glow from the myriad of
screens within screens held; images, encrypted/decoded text, binary
code and live news-feeds from around the world.
This was a control-centre built to withstand the heaviest of
blasts, and designed so that this independent module could become
detached from the main catamaran should the need arise. A selfpropelled deep sea submersible.
Ramus stood in the centre of the darkened space, the flat tablet
computer cradled in his left arm, long fingers tapped the virtual
keyboard and hooded eyes stared into the void. His hand moved
slowly, a sliver of ice down the spine of planet Earth... And then he
gently pressed RETURN.
Nothing...
And then a quiet hum filled the command deck. The giant flatscreen monitor dimmed momentarily, as if bowing before some
electronic divine being, and then brightened into life once more.
Script - Chimera script - sped across the display. Then, all of
the screens disappeared and a virtual globe sprang into existence,
a spinning manifestation of the earth. The tablet in Ramus’ hand
produced the virtual globe as a full Technicolor multi-dimensional
hologram. He lifted his free hand and held it palm down over the
spinning ball, a multi-coloured light that illuminated and deformed
Ramus’ facial features.
Ramus laughed a cold and sinister sound.
He reached out and pointed; the virtual globe spun, located its
target, and zoomed in through layers of sparkling light to highlight
Poole harbour. Ramus pulled back from this location; he typed in
the coordinates of the central security services mainframe and smiled
malevolently.
“So you come to destroy me, Mr Dillon. Like a lamb to the
slaughter?”
He rapidly typed in the command sequence.
The stealth ship hummed from the heart of its massive
mainframe. The black terminal that was now playing 1st host to the
Chimera Virus Programme...
Chimera script locked on:
Initiation sequence engaged = threat = British Security Services
threat found = co-ords determined
Launch sequence armed = missile countdown set
Satellite request = granted = 40 hacked and armed
Chimera adaptive script = control logged = override all existing
controllers.

The waves crashed and churned against the twin hulls of the
stealth ship as it cut through the choppy waters of the natural harbour.
Missiles detonated. There was a deafening roar of high-explosives
from the catamaran’s deck; the whole structure shuddered; one of
the JetRangers released three air-to-air missiles that intercepted and
destroyed the threat, smashed, burning insanely from the sky to die,
extinguished in the waves. Guns roared, spitting and kicking across
metal and flesh.

In amidst the furore Alix placed the Apache into a hover just
twenty foot above the waves, and handed over the control of the
helicopter to Vince Sharp.

Moments later, two figures wearing black wet-suits dropped
into the water. Both were heavily armed and equipped with the latest
power-fins that allowed them to swim the distance to the catamaran,
effortlessly. Alix had the rucksack containing the dirty-bomb strapped
to his back.

The two men climbed aboard, they gave one another the thumbsup. Alix lifted his goggles for a second and stared into Dillon’s eyes.
Both men grasped hands, and Alix said:

“So, let’s do this thing.”
“Good luck, Alix.”
“If I don’t make it back... Tell Lola I love her.”
Dillon laughed. “So touching coming from the king of all lady

killers. And wasn’t that the title of that song?”
“Possibly! A favour - for me.”
“Of course. Anything for you, man,” said Dillon, smiling kindly.
“Five minutes; then get the hell off this tub.”
“Five minutes, it is.” Said Dillon. He replaced his goggles and

hoisted the Heckler & Koch MP6 machine carbine, glancing up at
the fire-fight taking place in the sky above; at the turmoil of bullets
and missiles and spinning rotors. Machine guns roared; the smell of
cordite hanging heavy in the salt air.

Alix checked the straps on the black rucksack, and then dropped
backwards over the edge of the lower dive platform and was instantly
swallowed by the churning black water.

Dillon sat for a moment, staring down at the few bubbles that
reached the surface; then he concentrated on the task at hand, turned
and looked up at the main structure of the catamaran, could feel the
power emanating from its mainframe.

The Apache banked low and hard, sweeping around the
catamaran in a wide arc, so close that Vince could see the deck rails
and the windows of the bridge. The Apache banked again, this time
past the huge machine cannons, menacing and black, multiple barrels
spinning, rotating, rising and falling as the laser guided system tracked
and attempted to lock on to their target. The catamaran flashed past in
a blur, the Apache roared just above the surface of the turbulent water.
Alone on board, Vince flew the helicopter from his touch-screen
linked directly to a virtual pilot that he had up-loaded to the Apache’s
flight management system. Vince dragged the tip of his forefinger
across the screen, and the helicopter responded by swooping down,
Vince tapped his finger once, the nose of the Apache lifted slightly
and then dropped onto the deck with a
clash
of metal upon metal. The
rotors howled as they continued to spin.

“Dillon, that was far too easy,” said Vince calmly into his comm
link.
“Like I give a shit,” snapped Dillon.
Vince lifted the cockpit canopy and wind and rain lashed in,
stinging his skin. He stood, climbed up onto the rim, then lowered
himself and dropped onto the deck. His boots made dull thumps and
he could feel the cold beneath him. “You’ve been bloody marvellous,”
he said, patting the Apache’s fuselage. The wind snatched his words in
an instant and swept them awayin a tumble. The JetRanger helicopters
were twisting and swooping, machine guns raging, missiles roaring.
From within the stealth ship a missile shot skywards and sent one of
the JetRangers tumbling, a flaming ball pitched into the freezing water.
Dillon turned; focused; orientated himself. His stare roved the
dark surroundings lit sporadically by emergency lighting and he could
see nobody as he gripped his battered Glock 9mm automatic - a small
reassurance, but at least it gave him the certainty to deal out death to
anybody who came near.
Tatiana.
Where would she be?
With Kirill.
“That fucker,” growled Dillon. He moved quickly forward
along the metal gangway, his gaze constantly shifting, scanning his
surroundings for any unwanted company in the semi-darkness. This
felt crazy, totally crazy and Dillon felt the burden of his life lift from
his shoulders because it did not matter any more, truly nothing
mattered and if he was to die, then so be it.
Dillon sprinted towards the nearest doorway. But then everything
happened at once - there was a deafening
boom
from somewhere above
him, and Dillon whirled, crouching, bringing the Glock up to see.
“
Nothing
,” whispered the voice inside his head.
Behind him, Kirill slid from the shadows, from the darkness, like
a ghost or a demon emerging from another plane of existence. He
held a snub-nosed Smith & Weston handgun and his expression was
almost serene.
Dillon turned and Kirill nodded slowly. He smiled, showing
tobacco stained teeth. “Mr Dillon, we’ve been expecting you.” Dillon
fixed his glittering gaze on the muzzle of the gun that pointed straight
at his heart...
He tried hard to conceal his shock at seeing Kirill.
“I left you for dead on that mountain in Scotland.”
“No, Mr Dillon. You left me
dying
. There is a subtle difference.
The pain I have had to endure at your hands - will make it a pleasure
for me to finally kill you. Now, your weapon, please?”
“What makes you think I’ll give it to you?”
An explosion rocked the catamaran. Kirill did not waver. But
nodded to something behind Dillon. He turned. Behind him stood
two black-clad Assassins, both bearing lethal looking Uzi mini submachine pistols. They blocked the corridor in silence, and to his
shame he had not heard them creep up on him. These killers were
subtly different to the others that Dillon had come into contact with;
they seemed larger, broader, more athletic.
“Previously, you met Assassins who were smaller, slimmer, but
equally capable of killing. These are different. These - well, they have
been genetically enhanced.”
Dillon licked his lips and smiled broadly.
“Is Tatiana on board?”
“She is. She has asked that you join her; she would weep and wail
in your arms and seek one final kiss and your forgiveness before you
both die. Please come this way, Mr Dillon. Let me show you exactly
what we are creating aboard this ship...”
“And what might that be, Kirill. Armageddon?”
“On the contrary. What we are on the brink of is going to
change this planet forever. When Chimera is launched, information
technology everywhere will cease to exist in its present form,” said
Kirill softly. He gestured with his gun, and Dillon allowed the Glock
to be taken from him. “This way.”
Dillon stepped forward.
Towards the black door.
And the gaping maw of uncertainty beyond.

Kirill led Dillon through the dimly lit corridors, metal floors and
metal grilles beneath their boots. As they walked, Dillon could hear
the deep distant drone of the catamaran’s massive nuclear powered
engines.

Kirill seemed different; Dillon could see that something had
changed. The back of Kirill’s neck and head - it was scar tissue. Severe
scar tissue, bright pink and painful looking; something about the hair,
of course it was not his, instead he was wearing a wig. So he had
been caught in the blast when the device had detonated deep within
the top-secret facility in Scotland. Dillon smiled, the hair-piece had
slipped to one side,
different
, he thought...

He glanced behind him; the two Assassins were there, weapons
trained on his back.
Dillon followed Kirill.
There was little else that he could do.
They descended; steep metal staircases that led down. The
mustiness that hung heavy in the freezing cold air was all around
them, and condensation on the metal handrail brought a chill beneath
Dillon’s fingers, and he felt his mind numbing, his sub-conscious
stirring, coming into focus...
Good, thought Dillon.
They reached wider corridors and there were more Assassins,
Dillon counted ten as he was led past them, some of them were
without their hoods and Dillon could observe their faces for the first
time. Each and every one of these young women had natural beauty
and raven coloured hair.
“Kirill, where in God’s name did you get all of these beautiful
women from. And how come they’re all so fucking dangerous?”
Dillon asked softly.
“Quiet.”
“Or what? You’ll kill me?” Dillon laughed a sneering cold bark.
Dillon looked Kirill up, then down. His smile was sickly sweet. “Come
on, Kirill, answer my question.”
Kirill halted. He turned and his gaze was burning.
“They are beautiful, aren’t they, Dillon? And they are killers, very
efficient killers. But do you mean to tell me that Ezra never explained
about the Assassins? Kirill sneered. “We - Ezra, Ramus and I - found
them, or rather, they found us. The Assassins you have encountered
so far have all come from the same secret society in northern France.
But these that you see before you are something completely different.
All of the Assassins on this ship are true bloods, descendants of
the first band of Carpathians that were collected by a clever fellow
named Hassan, the
Old Man of the Mountains
, so called because he
made Mount Lebanon his stronghold. These original Assassins were
the terror of the world for two centuries, and then they were hunted
down by Sultan Bibaris and almost eradicated. As a result, those who
survived disbanded and scattered to all four corners of the planet,
where they continued to ply their lethal skill from secret locations.
You asked what makes them so dangerous.
Haschisch
or bang turned
into intoxicating liquor and then enhanced and refined in the lab by
Ramus. They use the liquor just before they go on a mission to kill.”
Kirill turned and continued to walk. Dillon followed.
“Ramus - the creator of fear!” Kirill cackled, and the sound was
cold; chilling; nightmare turned real.
Moving down the wide corridors now, Dillon felt the hairs on
the back of his neck stand up. He kept thinking that he was passing
through an area of the catamaran where perhaps unspeakable torture
had taken place. There was something dreadfully wrong with this
place, and with these Assassins who had been hunting him for so
long, these killers who had wiped out a number of key Scorpion
squads and the individuals they had been protecting... But he could
not put his finger on it.
Kirill halted.
A door slid open and he gestured Dillon through and onto a
massive control deck. Computer servers lined the walls, their status
lights flickering incessantly. Display monitors were set up on benches,
showing every global satellite position of every nation on the planet.
And there, in the middle of the deck, was Tatiana!
“Tats!”
“Dillon!” She leaped to her feet, sprinted towards him and they
fell into one another’s arms. Dillon kissed her passionately, then pulled
away and stared down into her tear-filled eyes.
“They took me, Dillon. Took me from that airfield and plucked
me from the brink of death,” she sobbed. “I haven’t told them
anything, Dillon; I promise... they said that I was their insurance policy,
that you would do what they want as long as they could kill me...”
“So touching,” snapped Kirill. He strolled over to one of the
terminals and placed the Glock on an alloy bench. He flicked a switch;
there was a whirring of fans and then a part of the front panel opened
to reveal the optical disc drive. “Behold,” said Kirill. “This is Chimera.
Are you impressed, Mr Dillon?”
“The Master Copy on optical disc, wow. That’s so not impressive.”
“What it lacks in size and impressiveness, I can assure you it
more than makes up for in ability. Thank your saviour, Mr Dillon.”
“My...
saviour?”
“Ask yourself this question - why did we take Tatiana and ensure
that she stayed alive? Why didn’t I simply shoot you back there? You
think I give a flying fuck about your answers to these questions? You
think I care about sparing your miserable life after what you did to
me in Scotland? No... But Ramus is puzzled by you, Mr Dillon. You
worry him, and that worries
me
. He thinks that there is something
strange about you, Mr Dillon, something dark
inside
you that makes
you uniquely dangerous. And he is going to tear that secret from you
- even if it kills you.”
Kirill smiled, and it was not a nice smile. “I, however, am
sceptical; I simply want you dead. But Ramus has other plans... He
believes that he can play with your soul.”
Kirill turned and ran his fingers over the top of the glistening
processor housing.
All around them there was a gentle humming.
“So what are you waiting for?” Dillon said softly. “For me to
shoot you again?”
Kirill turned; a fluid whirl. He smiled at Dillon. “Let me warn
you, it is Ramus who wishes you alive, and not I. Do not antagonise
me or you may push me beyond my limit. Now that we have Chimera
operating at 100% effectiveness, that copy you have is no longer
required. You’ve already witnessed what the programme is capable of
- but soon, you and your sorry excuse for a government will see the
full extent of our plans.”
“What, to take control of the entire planet?” Dillon sneered.
Kirill laughed then. “You really are quite naive, Dillon. So very,
very simple. In your world everything is in black and white; not so in
mine. We systematically destroyed your government’s secret weapon
against terrorism - Scorpion. Well their time is well and truly over... It
disgusts me that they had the opportunity to make a real difference,
but all that happened was, nothing. Evil men walk the world with guns
and bombs, andpoliticians become more and more corrupt. We live in
a world that is warped beyond belief, Dillon. Scorpion was supposed
to make a difference: once I actually thought that this highly trained
task force would make a
difference
- allow ordinary people to sleep easy
in their beds at night. But no, they were weak, Dillon - weak, because
the politicians would not allow them to do their jobs properly and
with a free hand. Now is the time for change... It is time for the strong
to rule with an un-swervable belief that the world will then be a far
better place - once we have erased every corrupt government and
dictatorship from it. God will be proud of humanity for this.”
He stepped away from the processor and picked up a tablet
processor.
Kirill tapped his instructions into the device.
A hologram appeared suspended mid-air in the centre of the
room. A spinning, almost perfect representation of the world; colours
merged and flowed as land mass was separated by the deep blue of
the oceans. Major cities appeared and around this virtual globe spun
satellites.
Dillon glanced down at his Omega. Time was fast running out...
The door opened. A huge, athletic bodyguard entered, followed
by a much smaller figure in heavy dark robes, its face hidden, its
shoulders rounded. The bodyguard nodded to Kirill, who smiled once
again. It was with unease that Dillon noted the hooded figure facing
him.
“Mr Dillon, let me introduce to you, Ramus.” The mysterious
figure moved towards the virtual globe, took the flat tablet from Kirill,
and skimmed his long fingers over the touch-screen. Satellites repositioned themselves, and the dark figure chuckled, a deep melodious
sound.
“So we meet at last, Mr Dillon.”
“We meet at last, Mr Ramus.”
“Just Ramus, Mr Dillon. I have to say, that you have been an
exceptional adversary.”
“And you’re the one in charge of this snapping terrier called
Kirill.”
“Yes. Let me show you what we can do here,” came the voice of
Ramus from within the robes.
Suddenly, one of the virtual satellites moved into position
directly over Poole.
Ramus typed in new instructions and loud speakers all around
them came alive with a live news stream.
“You are extremely privileged indeed, Mr Dillon, to witness this
moment...”
Ramus rapidly typed in more commands, and script started to
flow across the monitor screens of each terminal at lightning speed.
Tatiana gasped. “He’s instructing Chimera to do it...”
Dillon watched coldly as - Chimera took control of the satellite
weapons system; locked onto the target, initiated the arming sequence,
confirmed the target, awaited the launch command.
Ramus tapped the screen once.