Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (46 page)

Outside, the fight in the air above the stealth ship was going
badly. The JetRanger was holding its own, and the programme that
Vince had up-loaded to each of the helicopters to evade the missiles,
was working perfectly. But, it was running low on ammunition and
missiles, and just when it seemed that things couldn’t get any worse,
the Priest and Lola looked up to see a bolt of white laser light shoot
through the low cloud. Fire exploded from the heavens and hit the
Royal Navy destroyer that was standing a mile off the Dorset coast in
readiness. The laser cut through the mid-ships, blasting the ship into
glowing splinters of steel that rained down into the English Channel.

The Priest swallowed hard. He blinked and crossed his chest.
And his faith was shaken.
Dillon watched the monitor closest to him in disbelief.
It showed the devastating power of the laser from the hi-jacked

Chinese military satellite.
It showed, in High Definition, the Royal Navy destroyer with its
helpless crew.
There was a flash of white light.
Followed by - death.
There had been no screams, no panic, and no time to know what
was happening.
Death had been instantaneous for everyone on board.
Dillon’s jaw tightened; he stepped smoothly away from Tatiana,
eyes scanning the room: the Assassins, the bodyguard, Kirill and
Ramus.
“You’re running completely off rails,” Dillon growled.
“On the contrary, Mr Dillon,” said Ramus, as he turned to face
Dillon. “We are quite sane. We only seek to do what is
right
- by our
definitions of the term. You see that Chimera can take control of the
most secure of military assets with ease. This virtual globe is merely
my theatrical way of communicating with the programme, something
to keep me amused - a pretty light show... But while you were watching
one of Her Majesty’s very expensive warships being vaporised,
Chimera unlocked every single bank on the planet.
It
now controls
them.
I
now control them. It has also taken control of every single
satellite that circles the earth. Which means that it and I now control
every single nuclear weapon in existence today? Shortly I will issue
a statement to all the governments of the World Powers - they will
surrender their position to me in exchange for their lives. And then...
then
we will start to re-design this wondrous planet to our liking.”
Ramus’ voice had risen in anger and, to Dillon’s ears, in madness.
He tapped and dragged his fingers over the touch sensitive tablet
screen. Suddenly, the light was gone and Dillon blinked...
Kirill walked towards the door, following Ramus. He was almost
casual in his movements. His arrogance was total. His position of
strength was clearly evident. He halted and turned to Dillon as Ramus
disappeared with the tablet processor, the gateway to the Chimera
Programme...
Kirill started to walk away, then turned and looked at Dillon.
“Mr Dillon, I feel duty bound to ensure that your last minutes
before death; are the most painful you will ever have ever endured.
That’s why I’m leaving you in the most capable hands of Ramus’
personal bodyguard. Azar will see to it that you - die.”
The huge muscular man took a step forward and threw off his
robe to reveal a heavily muscled torso. Dillon had to look twice at the
man’s disfigurement.
“What the hell happened to you?” Dillon said looking up at the
huge man.
“He cannot talk, Mr Dillon. His tongue has been cut out, and the
scarring on his torso was made by repeated and prolonged beatings
with a large stick. Oh, you’re probably assuming that we did these
horrific things. But you’d be wrong; we rescued him from the Arab
who owned him. And as we’d terminated his master’s existence, he
joined us, willingly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we have a world to take
over. Goodbye, Mr Dillon.”
“What about me, Kirill?” Tatiana called out.
Kirill glanced at her. “Tatiana, my sweetness. When my large
friend has done with Dillon and sent him on his way. I have promised
him his reward -
you
, my dear. Unfortunately, I doubt if you’ll get any
pleasure from this experience, but you can be assured of one thing -
he will kill you afterwards.” Kirill laughed loudly, a cold and callous
laugh.
Dillon dropped his gaze. Something in his subconscious stirred,
screaming inside his head. He glanced at his watch, at the seconds
passing by. “
Time is running out, kill him, and kill him now and we’ll be able
to get off this stinking tub...
” His mind was racing ahead of itself...
Kirill stepped through the door and was instantly gone.
Leaving Dillon and Tatiana alone with the two Assassins and huge
bodyguard. The Assassins already had a firm hold of Tatiana, who
hissed a string of profanities at them and then everything happened at
once. The huge muscled hulk of the bodyguard stepped forward with
a mean smile and a deep throated grunt, tossing his gun aside where it
clattered against the metal decking. The man’s emotionless face under
shaved head - serene and relaxed and ready to kill...
Dillon charged.
And the mute bodyguard leaped to meet him...
They clashed in mid-air with a rapid exchange of blows so fast
that they were just a blur. They fell away from each other, both landing
and whirling on to the grated metal floor of the control deck...
The mute man smiled nastily.
Dillon glanced at where the two Assassins had dragged Tatiana
to the open doorway - but he was stuck, stuck without any form of
escape route...
He looked back at the bodyguard. “Any chance you could get on
with it, old son. Only a rather nasty bomb is about to be detonated
under this tub, and I’d rather like to be some distance from it when it
goes off.” Dillon smiled back at the huge man.
The bodyguard charged, throwing a series of heavy punches at
Dillon who blocked, dodged, blocked again and then landed a massive
blow to the big man’s jaw. Bone crunched as the head was knocked
sideways. Then he lifted the toe of his boot and smashed it into the
mute’s testicles, causing him to immediately bend forward and grab
his crutch with both hands and expel a sort of wincing sound. Dillon
stepped back one pace, put all of his weight on his right foot, spun
around and made contact with the side of the big man’s head, snapping
his neck with the full force of the kick. Dillon whirled round with
incredible speed as the big man’s carcass dropped to the floor with a
thud, the two Assassins released Tatiana, and with cat-like movements
advanced on him. They circled him like caged tigers, waiting for the
moment to pounce.
“You are weakened, Mr Dillon. I guess, your age is catching up
with you. Why not make it easy on yourself and let us bring your life
to a swift end?” Said one of the Assassins, its voice soft and feminine.
Dillon laughed. “I don’t feel dead yet.”
“You will,” said the feminine voice, its deep blue eyes gleaming.
“Don’t you understand? I know what’s about to happen. I’m
toying with you; I am playing with you, Mr Dillon. You are
slow
compared to the two of us; you are
weak
. We are going to make you
suffer as you made our friends suffer; we will send you to them and
they will enslave your soul...”
“Could you hurry up then? I have to be somewhere else, you
see.” Dillon snapped.
They closed, slowly, warily.
Dillon went on the offensive, threw a complicated series of
punch and kick combinations - the two Assassins blocked them all,
and then moved in on him, as if as one being, with front kicks. Dillon
dropped to the floor, sweeping his right leg around, knocking both
Assassins off their feet. Like a street break-dancer, Dillon flipped over
and spun round, leaping up with agility, that surprised even him. The
Assassins recovered almost instantaneously, both delivering high kicks
and punches to Dillon’s torso, and suddenly a soft leather boot made
contact with the side of Dillon’s face. Luckily, he had been on his back
foot as the blow came, lessening the impact and saving his neck from
being snapped like a twig. Dillon went back down onto the hard metal
floor with a heavy thud.
Dillon yelled, holding his hand to his ear, blood pouring from
the long gash across his cheek bone.
“No!” cried Tatiana.
The Assassin landed in a crouch, then unfolded and stood.
The black clothed figure walked forward. It looked down. Suddenly
dropping, one elbow hitting Dillon in the chest with all its weight. The
armoured body vest took the brunt of the blow, but Dillon still felt
the impact. Dillon grunted - as his hands suddenly shot out, grasped
the Assassin’s hooded head and dragged it forward into the crunch
of a head-butt - once, twice, three times until the Assassin’s fingers
prised Dillon’s hands free and it scrambled, coughing and blinded,
backwards, spinning and dazed, away across the metal grated floor.
Dillon, feeling sick, rolled to his knees, then to his feet, groaning.
Pain raged through his head; he gasped, struggling to focus, his fingers
coming up to his bleeding forehead. He glared across the room at the
injured Assassin, who was shaking its head, a thin trickle of blood
dripping through the black skin-tight hood from a broken nose.
The stealth ship around them rocked and shuddered. Distant
screams could be heard as the first explosion ripped through armoured
metal like a knife through butter. And then a low groaning rose as
another distant explosion rumbled.
The Assassin stood, cobalt blue eyes fixed intensely on Dillon.
And lunged.
Dillon readied himself; they punched, blocked, circled; the
Assassin charged again, gaining momentum for a flying kick that Dillon
barely moved away from. Again the Assassin came back with a quick
succession of punches, that Dillon blocked and counter-punched in
response, and then Dillon struck with a kick to the Assassin’s ribcage
and the reassuring sound of bone cracking under the heavy blow. The
Assassin staggered back for a moment.
They circled again, Dillon paining, sweat dripping from his brow.
The Assassin seemed untouched.
“I thought you would be much faster,” said Dillon.
“I am faster than
you
.”
“Then show me, freak.”
The Assassin charged. The blows were ferocious and Dillon
found himself retreating, unsure about the outcome, under the insane
barrage of punches and kicks. He barely managed to keep his footing
as he dodged and blocked - a blow caught him in the side of the
head and he staggered backwards, suddenly trapped against a bank of
computer terminals.
The Assassin stood, watching the man in front of him as he
struggled to get his mind sharp again.
“Dillon!” cried Tatiana. She was in the clutches of another
Assassin, struggling with the thought that Dillon might not make it
through this fight.
Dillon shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. He looked
up, looked up into the cobalt eyes of the Assassin; and at that moment
he knew he had been out-classed; knew he was
dead
...
“Is that really the best you’ve got?” Dillon taunted. “I thought
you were supposed to be a fucking killer - you’re dead mate put up a
better fight...”
The Assassin’s eyes widened and the narrow smile disappeared.
Dillon dodged and blocked a combination of punches and kicks, and
then launched himself across the metal grilles, a full-on rugby style
dive. As he hit the deck he rolled and sprang towards one of the
benches and - the Glock 9mm automatic.
His fingers curled around the weapon, carelessly left by Kirill on
the alloy bench and discarded in a fit of arrogance. Now his fingers
curled around the heavy familiar weapon, around the sturdy grip of
his 9mm defender and he rolled onto his back, gun up and pointing at
the Assassin who suddenly halted and dropped to a crouch.
A laugh emanated from under the black hood.
Dillon squeezed the trigger.
The gun kicked and the Assassin moved with cat-light reflexes
to the right, and the bullet slammed into a computer monitor on the
other side of the control room. The screen exploded into a billion
fragments, Dillon rolled, the Glock coming around for a second shot.
He heard the metallic click - and despite his injuries, he dived
as the other Assassin holding Tatiana opened fire with the silenced
Uzi. Dillon rolled behind one of the metal workbenches as bullets
smashed into metal panels all around him. He waited a moment before
breaking cover; heard the dead man’s click, rolled, raised the Glock
and squeezed the trigger. The bullet entered the Assassin through the
right eye, Tatiana looked round as the black clothed figure released its
grip on her and dropped dead to the metal floor.
Dillon watched momentarily as the bullet hit home, dropping
the Assassin like a stone. He smiled with satisfaction, short lived; as
the Assassin he had been fighting became fully aware of his position
and moved towards him.
Dillon closed his eyes for a brief moment, he opened them - and
a world in black and white prevailed.
“Now we finish this, once and for all,” snapped Dillon’s alter-ego.
He slipped a long darkened blade from its hidden home in his boot. In
a normal situation Dillon would shoot to kill, but this was no ordinary
situation, and it called for the use of a blade... He was fast losing
patience and
strength
. The remaining Assassin loomed above him and
Dillon slammed the dagger up hard into its inner thigh, feeling the
razor sharp blade part flesh and muscle with consummate ease. Blood
flushed warm and crimson over his fist and he twisted the knife before
pulling the blade out. The Assassin staggered, then slumped slowly to
its knees. Dillon pulled himself up to his feet, bathed in the Assassin’s
blood, reached back and hurled the dagger across the control room. It
drove into the neck of an Assassin rushing through the open doorway
- without a sound it toppled forward onto its face and twitched as
the life drained out of it and down through the metal grating. Bullets
flew at Dillon, and he ducked as sparks kicked up around his head,
and everything was suddenly quiet - except for the moaning, writhing
form of the Assassin he’d stabbed.
Dillon got to his feet and checked around. He recovered his
Glock and moved to where the back clothed figure was squirming.
The Assassin’s hands were coated in deep red glutinous liquid. Dillon
pulled back the hood to reveal the Assassin’s face. Cobalt blue eyes,
naturally blond hair, the face of an angel...
And Dillon felt - sorrow. Not hatred, nor anger. Just sorrow for
this poor wretched soul at his feet. He lifted the Glock. Wiped his
bloodied hand down the side of his combat trousers. And put a bullet
in the middle of the Assassin’s forehead, ending her pain.