Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (39 page)

Claudia lay relaxed on one of the day loungers on the sun-deck,
weariness overcoming her. She pulled the courier bag close to her, her
gaze falling on her hands, the grime under her usually manicured nails.
She smiled gently. Once, that would never have happened: dirt would
have been impossibility. But something had changed. She was lucky to
be alive; and, it could have been so different.

Claudia removed the clear case protecting the small metallic
optical disc from deep inside the bag. She held it up to the daylight,
gazing at the master copy of the Chimera Programme.

“I hope you’re worth all the trouble,” she muttered, resting her
head back against the pillows. They felt luxuriously soft - a complete
antithesis to the last couple of days...

God, had it only been that long?
Since the facility had been destroyed.
Since Kirill had ordered everyone murdered.
Since Dillon had shot Kirill.
She shuddered, then closed her eyes and was able - for the first

Her breathing deepened and she licked her dry lips. The lounger
was so comfortable that it made her want to stretch out and wallow
all day long. Oh, to curl up and sleep for a lifetime; to curl up in a ball
and
forget
...

Kirill, looking on as the people who had loyally worked for him,
were gunned down and murdered.
Someone anonymous, talking to her on her private terminal;
warning her.
There were a number of possibilities, as to who it had been. It
could have been, Ezra? Or perhaps it had been Kirill himself? Maybe
it had been someone else at the facility? Or was she going slowly and
certifiably insane?
Claudia rubbed at her weary eyes as she mused over the
possibilities…
He could have warned her. Edward Levenson-Jones could have
warned her - it
was
feasible... Unlikely but feasible… But then, why
her? Why
just
her? Why not the others?
She closed her eyes again, picturing Kirill and finding a little
gratification in the fact that he had perished in the explosion. By the
time Tatiana emerged from the galley carrying a plate full of delicious
looking eggs and bacon for them all to eat, Claudia was snoring softly
in the embrace of a deep, deep welcome sleep.

Dillon returned shortly after lunch, as Tatiana and Claudia were
sitting down to hamburgers and fries. He carried several bags, and was
looking tired but his demeanour was happy.

“Where’ve you been, Dillon?”
“Shopping.”
“With what?”
Dillon winked. “Very generous friends. Now, I have a few

presents for you two and I really must get something to eat. Can
one of you, go get me whatever you’ve got there. Looks too good to
miss.” The sarcasm in his voice was painful.

Dillon went below and stood under a cool shower, the water
cleansing him of sweat and grime. He placed his hands against the
tiles and allowed the water to run over the back of his head for a few
long luxurious minutes revelling in the feeling of cleanliness that was
creeping over him and through him...

And to complete the experience, his mind was now feeling
refreshed and clear.
Perfectly clear.
Not marred by the cold-blooded murderous thoughts that
occasionally crept up from the deepest recesses of his subconscious...
He towelled himself dry, his gaze catching the six polished metal
spheres arranged neatly on a glass shelf above the sink. Each grenade
containing a lethal amount of high explosive, designed to make a lot
of noise and create maximum devastation.
As he left the shower room, rubbing at his smooth freshly
shaved face, it was to see Tatiana walking back down the pontoon
with a brown paper bag in her hand.
“I hope you’re hungry, Dillon?”
“Let me at the food.” He said, grabbing the bag off of her and
emptying the contents onto the table. He unwrapped a cheeseburger
and took a large satisfying bite out of it, split open another bag with
French fries in, and ate some with his fingers.
“Manners, Dillon.” Said Tatiana sternly.
Dillon carried on eating, and when he’d finished, he went below
to get dressed. Five minutes later, he reappeared with a canvas bag,
which he emptied on to the table. Ammunition magazines and bullets
clattered free in a large pile.
“Holy-moly,” said Tatiana.
“Get busy, ladies, if you please.”
“Where’d you get all this?”
“You haven’t been paying attention, Tatiana.” Dillon said softly.
“I used to be a Ferran & Cardini field officer; I worked in the Bahamas
for three years; I worked with the C.I.A. on numerous occasions; I
also know where they keep their weapon stashes. And, I’ve got a few
contacts who are still ‘working the lot’ over here.”
“I don’t think I can go through with this,” said Claudia, her face
having paled at the sight of the bullets and the weapon magazines. Her
eyes lifted, met Dillon’s dark stare. “I’m not a fighter, I’m a computer
programmer, and I haven’t tagged along to kill anyone. I’m in this shit
way over my head...”
Dillon smiled at the attractive young woman, nodding. “You are
right, of course - and so far you’ve played your part well,” he said. “So
I think that while I’m gone. The best thing for you to do is to hand
over the optical disc to Vince and let him help you start to convert the
Chimera scripts to Anti-Virus.”
“Do you think Ezra is really alive? And if he is, do you think he
can really help?”
“If the meet is genuine, then yes. If it is a set-up...” Dillon
shrugged. “I’ll go to the rendezvous with Tatiana, but go in alone to
meet Ezra, and then bring him back here to meet you if this thing
isn’t a trap? That way you’re not in the firing line - you just play the
waiting game.”
Tatiana shook her head. “I can’t let you go in alone, Dillon. I
must be there...”
“You have to, Tats.” said Dillon. “This situation screams of very
bad things; you can’t expect me to put Claudia in such a dangerous
situation - and as for yourself? Well, you know - and I know - that I
work better on my own. If it really is Ezra, if he is alive, then so be
it, we’re on our way to stopping Ramus launching Kirill’s version of
the Chimera Programme; but if he has been captured, then I will do
everything in my power to rescue him and I’ll get him out of there
alive... And then we can move on to finding Ramus...”
Tatiana sighed. “Okay. You’re right. When is the meet arranged
for?”
“Two hours. I have just a few more things to take care of.”
“Where is it?”
Dillon met Tatiana’s eyes and their gazes locked; he fell headlong
into those beautiful, bright blue depths. He paused. And the question
at the front of his mind was...
Can I trust her?
Kirill’s words returned to him.
She’s one of us...
But she had helped him get this far still alive.
Without her he would surely be dead... And since the Highlands
Dillon had been playing his cards much more closely to his chest -
revealing nothing... The perfect poker player... The perfect gamesman.
Tatiana smiled slowly.
“Don’t tell me,” she said, sniffing, her eyes unreadable. “I
don’t need to know the details and I fully understand that it could
compromise you, yeah? You go alone and I’ll stay here with the others,
we’ll be here when you return afterwards.”
Dillon nodded at Tatiana and turned, gathering up all the fully
loaded magazines into his canvas holdall along with the second Glock.
The grenades he kept separate in another bag. He glanced at Claudia.
“You’ll find that you and Vince have quite a lot in common, you know.
Hacking is
your
thing, gives you that adrenalin rush. And, if this gig is
a trap, then I’m hoping that one or both of you can tap into one of
the CIA’s little spy satellites overhead and be my advance eyes.” Dillon
handed her one of the two-way radios that Margarita had obtained for
him. “Here, take this. It’s preset to a secure channel, just push the red
button at the side when you talk and release to listen, yeah?”
“Push the red button to talk, right.” Claudia Dax smiled, her eyes
glinting in the sunlight.
Dillon took the jewel-case containing the Chimera Programme
optical disc from Claudia. He brought it up to his face and stared hard.
“Hope you’re worth it, hope those fuckers need you more than
they need me dead,” he said softly. Then he dropped the disk back
into Claudia’s hand and headed for the door.

The 4x4 SUV came to a halt in a small parking lot, deserted
apart from three dusty old cars. Large metal waste bins lined one side
of the area at the rear of the luxury hotel, the faint reek of kitchen
waste emanating from them, mixing with the balmy humid air. Dillon
opened the driver’s door, scanning his temporary surroundings.
Papers blew across his path as his boots touched the hot concrete
under a bleached sun. He stood, stretched his back, and looked warily
about: a predator, assimilating the various markers, alert and ready for
action. Dillon reached back into the SUV, slipping various things into
his trouser pockets and the many pockets of his khaki safari style gilet.

Dillon zipped up the jacket, checked his now clean shaven
features in the SUV’s wing mirror, then smiled into the eyes of his
own reflection. It was a strong smile. A convincing smile. It would
have to be to get him past the reception desk of the hotel where the
meet was going to take place: the Ocean Club Hotel, an opulent 5-star
playground for the rich and famous. Once a private estate, the hotel
rests between miles of pristine beach and exquisite gardens inspired
by the romantic grandeur of Versailles.

Dillon walked, hands in his pockets, clearing his mind for the
meeting to come. He would have to be razor sharp; but then if Ezra
wasn’t there and it was nothing more than a set-up, Ezra would be
conspicuous by his absence and the bad gig would be pretty easy to
spot - and pretty quick to go down.

Moving out onto a wide path, Dillon walked swiftly. His gaze
alert, watching, gauging the few people he passed on foot, searching
for anyone who appeared out of place with bad intent. His eager
scrutiny checked every car that purred down the sun-drenched drive
to the hotel, checked interiors, looking for anything suspicious, out
of place, no matter how small or insignificant. Dillon halted again,
looking around. He turned left and began to walk once more, again
scanning the surrounding area. As he closed on the grand entrance
to the Ocean Club Hotel he slowed to a casual amble, searching for
anyone suspicious lurking inside.

If they’re here, he thought, if they’re watching, then I won’t see
them. They will see me; but they will be like ghosts.
Invisible.
He halted, leaning against a low wall and pulling free a packet
of American cigarettes. He lit one and inhaled, enjoying the sensation
and buzz of the nicotine. Yeah, he thought, it’s been a long time, my
little friend. Far too long.
Ahh, the joys of a wealthy civilisation.
Smoking the cigarette allowed him time to think and scrutinise
in his mind, his next move. There were several hazardous factors to
take into account, the possibility of snipers was high on his list.
Dillon thought back to Santorini.
Ezra, running, the long jump out over the cliff...
The silent scream, legs treading nothing but air...
The long dive towards the ocean far below...
Despite his own pain and exhaustion at the time, he still
remembered the one word that had leaped unbidden to his mind...
Dead.
There was no way that Ezra could have survived that three
hundred foot fall. But perhaps there might have been the slim chance
that he
was
wearing a Chameleon Para-vest... After all, Ezra had
survived many attempts on his life. Escaped and survived.
Dillon breathed out a plume of smoke. The sound of laughter
echoed from somewhere to his right and Dillon’s head snapped in that
direction. He relaxed. Took another drag. Breathed deeply, calming his
suddenly racing heart.
Steady, he thought. Take stock of the situation.
He closed his eyes for a moment; the frequent headaches he
had been experiencing were thankfully absent; the pain throughout
his battered body was also subsiding and was nothing more than a dull
throb thanks to an injection of a strong painkiller. The cracked ribs
were nothing more than an inconvenience now, strapped up tightly
under his clothing. The pain was, for now, a part of his life. A part of
his very existence...
He finished the cigarette and flicked the butt into the bushes
behind him.
Let’s do it, he thought, checking his Omega watch.
He walked up the few steps to the impressive entrance of the
hotel, trying hard not to focus exclusively on the lavishly appointed
building, all the time scanning for anything or anyone suspicious.
The fragrant scent of hibiscus and bougainvillea blossoms filling his
nostrils.
Dillon’s plan was simple. Ask for information at the Ocean
Club reception desk. Make sure they knew his name and who he was
meeting. He was sure events would unfold from there.
He nodded to the bellboy as he entered the hotel, the polished
white marble floor feeling good beneath his feet as he crossed the
plush, plant littered, foyer with catlike wariness. His gaze shifted to
the left and then to the right. Men reading newspapers, a few couples
milling around, a small group of women wandering through the foyer,
one talking animatedly on her mobile phone. Dillon pressed the back
of his left hand against the reassuring bulk of the Glock tucked in his
trouser waist-band in the small of his back, and then he was standing
in front of the reception desk and the beautiful brunette with her
sparkling eyes.
“Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to the Ocean Club, how may I
help?”
Dillon smiled his winning smile as his eyes used every reflective
surface to check what was going on behind him. Then he said, “Hello.
I have a friend staying here by the name of Mr Ezra Zimmerman. He
said he would leave a message for me at reception about a meeting we
have? My name is Dillon.”
“One moment, sir. I’ll check for you.”
The brunette turned to the pigeon-holes behind the desk. Dillon
rested his elbows on the elegantly designed highly polished cherry
wood surface, gaze continuing to scan the people in the foyer. He
watched a man with a goatee beard and shoulder length hair, carrying
a black canvas holdall. Dillon felt the tiny hair on the back of his neck
bristle, and partly unzipped his waist-jacket as the man with the holdall
greeted a tall man of Middle-Eastern origin reading a newspaper.
They left the foyer together.
“Yes, here we are, there is an envelope for a Mr Jake Dillon.”
Dillon took the white envelope. He tore open the flap with his
thumb; there was a single slip of paper inside. It read:Villa No-2. Come
immediately - I’ll be waiting. It was signed, Ezra. The handwriting was
Ezra’s and so was the signature. Dillon glanced around once more,
then put the slip into his pocket.
“Thank you,” he said. “Can you direct me to villa No-2?”
“Go through the gardens towards the beach. The villas are all
clearly signposted, you can’t miss them.”
“Thank you again.” He smiled warmly at her and walked out
through the glass doors and Dillon soon found himself in the exquisite
gardens. His hand curled round one of the tiny metallic explosive
spheres.
Once again, the fragrant scent of hibiscus and bougainvillea was
everywhere, as he walked along hand-laid rock paths and up stone
steps. He ascended the terrace garden gazing at the bronze and marble
statues from Europe as he went by, and at its apex stood at the arches
of a 12th-century Augustinian cloister boasting a view over Nassau
harbour. “This was one seriously cool crib.” He said out loud. He
blinked, and ignored the urge to light another cigarette.
He stood alone, looking out over the harbour. Thinking...
Just the way I like it.
He pulled free the round metallic sphere and stared at the small
reflective device. He held the small globe, testing the weight. The
grenade was hidden inside his loosely clenched palm.
Dillon carefully put the grenade back in his pocket and removed
the Glock. Checked that there was a full magazine and one round in
the chamber, and slipped it back into his waist-band. He gazed around
one more time, and then moved off towards villa No-2...
“All very cosy,” he said as he walked through the grounds of the
hotel complex, it seemed to be quiet. Dillon approached villa No-2
and halted to one side of the gated entrance. He eyed the stainless
steel number suspiciously as something inside him screamed: “This
is wrong, this is all very wrong, Ezra is dead, and this is definitely a
trap...”
Who wanted him dead?
Ramus?
There were easier and much cheaper ways to kill him than this.
But then, now he had the Chimera Programme master copy, with
which to do a little bargaining...
He glanced left and right, pressed the intercom, and took a step
back.
“Come in,” came a clear, feminine voice.
Dillon blinked. He realised that his hand was slippery around the
metallic bulk of the Glock. He slipped the automatic into his waistband and wiped his hand on his trousers. He smiled nastily. Waited for
the electromagnetic lock to release; before nudging open the gate as
he drew the Glock once more.
Gentle laughter came from inside the villa. “Don’t be shy,
Dillon. Come on in and join us.” There’s no Assassin waiting with a
silenced gun to blow your head off. No elaborate plan of entrapment
to ensnare you.”
Dillon moved cautiously forward, hesitating before stepping
up onto the deck. He kept to the shadows, peering around the large
plants. Ezra was sitting in a chair by the open window of the living
area, a large glass of red wine by one hand, a cigarette in the other, and
two beautiful women stood either side of him. Dillon glanced around
one more time, then stepped up onto the deck and went inside. He
still gripped the Glock 9mm automatic in his left hand...
“Nice to see you again, Ezra. And with such lovely companions.
But I had this notion in my mind that you would be rather
dead
.”
Ezra turned then, got up out of the chair, and stood. Dismissing
the two women with the wave of a hand; he beamed warmly at Dillon,
and raised his glass, sipping the richly deep burgundy wine, his eyes
fixated on Dillon’s left hand and the Glock held within it. “Always the
cautious man, eh, my friend? I
do
quite understand your concern...
If our situations had been reversed, and then I too would think it a
trap…”
Dillon moved forward suspiciously, all senses alert, the Glock’s
safety set to
off
. Only when he was satisfied that they were alone in the
room, did he fix his stare back on Ezra, who had turned, his dark-eyed
gaze settling on Dillon.
Ezra smiled warmly. He motioned for Dillon to sit in a chair
opposite his own.
Dillon remained standing. Ezra said, “I know you will find this
hard to believe, but I was wearing one of Vince Sharp’s prototype
Chameleon Para-vests. As I went over the cliff-top, I pulled the ripcord in plenty of time. When I hit the water seconds later, there
were four Special Boat Service scuba divers waiting to make sure I
didn’t surface and to take me to a Royal Navy submarine that was
stationed half a mile off the coast in deep water. You see, the British
desperately wanted the optical disc I was carrying but the irony was in
rescuing me, they bundled me onto one of those underwater jet-sled
things, and in the process I dropped that bloody disc - and it became
lost, leaving Kirill, yet again, with the only working programme in
existence. MI6 was very precise - they had tracked me via my cellphone, which I had been instructed to leave switched on, that’s how
they knew where I would make a splash when I took that fucking leap
of faith. They pulled me through the water so fast, I felt like a fishing
lure, I was the bait.”
Dillon looked him up and down. The man stood before him had
lost at least a couple of stone in weight, since Santorini; everything
else about Ezra was exactly how Dillon remembered him. Dillon
grinned wryly.
“You
do
look pretty good, Ezra. For a dead man.” He lowered
the Glock. “Tatiana will be thrilled that her uncle is alive.”
“Ahh, my beautiful niece, Tatiana! I thought you might bring
her along, but then - you thought this was an elaborate trap. A trap,
as you thought me dead. Hah! Had you no faith in my cunning - even
though it appeared that I’d plunged to my certain death...” Ezra’s eyes
sparkled as he took a step closer. “But then I have Vince Sharp to
thank. His extraordinary parachute works incredibly well and makes
the user completely invisible from a distance.”
Dillon smiled, holding Ezra’s dark gaze. “How about a drink?
You’re there enjoying that large glass of wine without offering me
any? And after all the crap I’ve been taking from Tatiana these past
days...”
“Yes I’ve been hearing about your exploits. MI6 has been
following your progress with interest - although, it must be said, always
a few steps behind you. I hear the Priest was with you in Scotland. Did
that religious rogue behave himself?”
“He was just fine.” Dillon slipped the Glock back under his
waist-band again but kept hold of the small grenade, hidden in his
palm. He accepted the wine and took a sip.
Ezra’s gaze remained transfixed on the glass and Dillon forced
himself not to tip the wine into the nearest plant-pot as the other man
turned to stare out of the open patio window once more. Something
is wrong, screamed Dillon’s brain. He sniffed the wine but didn’t drink
any of the deep red liquid...
Ezra turned to face Dillon again, a swift movement, a small black
gun now in his large hand. “You should have trusted your instincts,
Dillon. And, I truly am very sorry,” he said. “Really sorry.”