Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (42 page)

Dillon remained low, the jet engines whining, followed by the two
remaining single-seater jets and their black-clad Assassin pilots. Dillon
gained a little altitude and banked the Lear in - low and tight, wing-tips
almost skimming the waves. The black jets followed. Machine guns
rattled against the huge ship.
The Lear lifted; howling over the ship’s elevated bridge and the
black jets followed flying in close formation to each other. The pilots
were extremely skilled.
“Time to tune in,” said Dillon softly.
He flicked several switches and engaged a digital readout. He
smiled a smile that conveyed only a longing for death and destruction.
“And now it’s time to party.”
He hit the air brakes and pulled the control column back
sharply. The power was re-applied almost immediately and the Lear
screamed as its nose lifted and then shot straight up, the pilots of the
two single seater jets veered, one on either side, in reflex response to
his insanely dangerous manoeuvre. Dillon hurled the Lear up into
the air, climbing, lifting to ascend like a rocket into a clear blue sky.
Dillon gazed up into the vast expanse as the Lear vibrated, its jet
engines roared and he prayed to a God he had never really believed
in. Tears rolled down over his cheeks and hatred boiled up inside
his mind. The scanners blazed at him with altitude and low-oxygen
warning read-outs, he twisted the aircraft around in a tight arc and
then dropped from the sky like a bullet towards the distant tanker far
below - his marker - spiralling and twisting. The black single seater jets
were distant targets as Dillon allowed the release of a single Stinger
missile... A vapour trail appeared from the rocket as it headed straight
for the heat emitting from the jet’s tail-pipe, moments later a fireball
exploded as the rocket ploughed into the fuselage of the aircraft, its
cockpit and pilot vaporised as the wreckage was sent crashing into the
Atlantic Ocean, which swallowed it completely.
“Burn in hell, whatever you are.”
The Lear spun, twisting, howling, and its under-belly skimmed
the sea, wing tips careening as Dillon fought to keep control of the
aircraft, he pulled back on the control column and the jet climbed
once more withthe final black jet following close behind withmachine
guns blazing and spitting hatred...
Again they climbed towards the heavens.
Wind howled through the tiny hole in the side-screen of the
cockpit.
Both Dillon and Vince were freezing from the rush of cold air
blasting in at them.
And there, hundreds of metres above the sea, the Lear levelled
out and rolled in a lazy arc. Dillon slowed the speed, until the aircraft
was almost stalling, stationary; his head drooped, eyes looking at
nothing but his feet. And then his gaze lifted and he stared into the
brilliant blue sky ahead of them. His jaw set and he ground his teeth.
The last black jet came level, perhaps three hundred metres away.
Dillon flicked the switch to release the Stinger missile restraints.
His eyes narrowed.
“So you want to have a go, do you?” He whispered.
Hatred and adrenalin was driving him, his brain registering
everything in slow motion. His reflexes became cat-like...
The black jet’s engine howled; Dillon couldn’t actually hear it, but
rather knew what noise it made. It rolled as it powered forward with
machine guns firing and Dillon growled and surged forward while
rolling and returning fire with the Lear’s forward machine cannon.
The two aircraft hurtled towards one another. In the blink of an
eye they had closed at speed, machine guns blasting. Dillon wrenched
the control column over to the right and the Lear responded by
rotating ninety degrees, veering and twisting down and to one side,
the pilot of the black single seater jet did exactly the same manoeuvre,
but in reverse, the two jets only missing by a matter of a few inches as
they roared by in opposite directions...
Dillon levelled out, rolled to the left and then back over in a
wide arc. The Lear came out of the roll and Dillon was again hurtling
towards the other aircraft at speed, bullets smashing the enemy’s
cockpit, turning it into dust and decapitating the pilot in the process.
The Lear veered sideways, away from its dark and bloody deed.
The black single-seater jet broke up as it spun, twisted and rolled
towards the ocean far below. And was then gone.
Watchers on thedeck of the oil tanker searched the white crested
waves.
Dillon breathed. Slowly. Looked round at Vince, and said. “Well,
that was nasty.”
Vince had gone the colour of a sheet. “That’s one way of looking
at it. You mad fucker.”
“Gratitude!”
Dillon adjusted the rake on the wings, taking them back to their
normal flying position again. And at a more sedate pace, the Lear
dropped to within a hundred metres of the surface of the ocean, the
white tips of the waves clearly visible and shot like a bullet across the
empty dark water.

The Lear flew on over the Atlantic.
Dillon glanced, every now and then, across the cramped cockpit
at Vince, who he had forgotten was there, sitting next to him all
through the turmoil of battle. Until now.
“You know she was the enemy; you know that she’d gone bad?”
“Leave it, Vince. I can do without that crap right now.”
“Jake. She almost got us killed. That bitch didn’t hesitate in
signing our death warrants...”
Dillon licked his lips and guided the Lear down to within fifty
feet of the waves, wing-tips almost skimming the surface. He had no
destination in mind, just a need to fly, to run, to flee, to get away from
the Assassins and the death they traded in, the
death
they represented...
What to do now? He thought. Dillon sighed out loud. I’m tired, so
tired. Tired of everything.
“Jake. Jake, are you listening, mate?”
“What?”
“I said. We need to think of a plan. Contact Alix, Lola and,
the Priest - yes, the Priest will help us; he’ll pull you feet first and
screaming out of this brain-fuck melancholy - just because Tatiana
is dead. You need to become strong again, Jake, and we need to find
those three reprobates - fast.”
Dillon pulled free his private smart-phone. He scrolled through
the apps and opened the one he wanted, punched in the Priest’s
number and then his de-scramble code and waited. The slender device
vibrated in his hand.
“Dillon?”
“Priest - Vince and I are in deep shit!”
“Where are you, Dillon?”
“Flying somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. We were set up in
Nassau and then half a dozen Assassins jumped us as we were exiting
via Grand Bahamas. The pilot was taken out, also Tatiana and the
computer programmer, Claudia Dax.”
“Tatiana is dead?”
“She betrayed us all. You, me, everyone.”
“Remember what Kirill said on that mountain in Scotland? He
told us that Tatiana was one of them! He also told us that Ramus never
stays in one place for long. That is what we have to find out, Dillon.
You make your way back to the UK, and I’ll ask a few questions.”
The connection was broken.
Dillon smiled grimly.
And it sent a cold chill through his soul.
He chewed his lip for a moment.
“I need a cigarette.”
Tatiana.
He remembered her pretty face.
A little part of his soul said: No.
But he knew; deep down. If she hadn’t died from the gunshot,
then they had her; there was no escaping. No escaping at all.
He felt like rolling over and dying. But this wasn’t the time or
the place. He had to be strong. He could get through this; thank God
Vince was with him, all he needed was a little brotherly solidarity.
Dillon banked the Lear, there was a drone from the engines and
they spun out across the Atlantic Ocean; beneath them the waves
rolled and the sea seemed suddenly endless, a vast world of merciless
beauty stretching out into oblivion...
Dillon’s smart-phone started to vibrate, the Priest’s number
showed on the screen. “What you got, Priest?”
The Priest’s voice sounded metallic over the loud speaker. “I
spoke to my source at GCHQ. It’s all very strange, Dillon. They’ve
intercepted a lot of heavily encrypted chatter between Ramus and an
organisation here in the UK.”
“What’s strange about it?”
“The company appears to be legitimate, but is nothing more
than a shell, a front.”
“Is that it?”
“No. The company’s registered office is in Nassau!”
“Nassau?”
“Nassau. But, that’s not all. Get this, Dillon; the UK address is
on the south coast of England.”
“Where on the south coast?”
“Dorset. To be precise, somewhere that you are very familiar
with, are you not?”
“You must be mistaken, Priest.” Dillon’s voice sounded confused.
“No mistake. And, I don’t believe in coincidences either. I think
that this Ramus, whoever he
is
, is leading you there for some reason,
but as yet, I haven’t been able to work out why?”
“You mean to say, that this front company is based in Poole?
Now that is strange...” Dillon’s mind raced, trying to think,
who
, if
anyone from his past could be involved?
“Dillon, are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m still here, Priest.”
“Lola, Alix and myself, are heading down to Dorset in the Apache,
that is, after we’ve stopped off in London. I’ve been summoned by
Edward Levenson-Jones at Ferran & Cardini HQ.”
“I’ll set a course for the UK, and contact you again when we’re
over British airspace. Oh, and good luck with LJ, you’re going to need
it.”
“The Lord will protect, Dillon. See you in Dorset. The Priest
terminated the call. Dillon nodded to himself and said softly. “Dorset
again?”
Vince had listened to the entire conversation on the smartphones loud speaker. Turned to Dillon and said thoughtfully. “You
know, that two-faced bastard Ezra stitched us up bad. He couldn’t
have done a better job of leading us into a trap, if he had been alive.
And, how the hell he got past the security checks, heaven knows...”
Dillon simply nodded again and continued to re-work the
coordinates that would get them back to the UK. Taking into account
the fuel stop they would have to make.
Dillon felt sick. Dillon felt cold. Dillon felt alone.
Somebody is going to have to pay, he realised.

The Learjet limped over the Dorset coastline just as the sun
was starting to rise in the east, warning lights flashing on the display
and fuel gauges registering almost empty. Dillon spoke into the
microphone of his headset; the air-traffic controller at Bournemouth
International Airport giving him immediate clearance to land on the
east runway, and to then proceed to the north-west side of the airfield
and await further instructions.

Dillon disengaged the auto-pilot, and without ceremony made
his first and final approach onto the runway. Landing with a squeal
of rubber as the undercarriage touched the tarmac and he breathed
a sigh of relief. He taxied the Lear to the far end of the runway and
waited for a moment, before being escorted by airport security to the
private hanger of Ferran & Cardini International.

Inside the cavernous space the Lear came to a halt alongside the
Apache attack helicopter. Through the jet’s windscreen, Dillon could
just make out the single occupant seated inside the Apache.

Alix climbed out of his seat and stepped down from the
helicopter.
Dillon released the main door and a moment later he and Vince
came down the steps of the Learjet.
“How goes it, Dillon?” Asked Alix, grinning. The rugged looking
man was standing, heavy leather flying jacket belying his muscular
physique, hands deep in fur lined pockets, a smoking cigarette hanging
loosely from between his lips. His hair was still short and spiky, his
eyes dark-ringed and hooded but twinkling with an irrepressible inner
humour tinged only with a hint of concern. “Thought you’d gone and
got yourself killed down there in Nassau. When the Priest saw your
number on his phone, he almost jumped out of his skin. And what
the hell happened to this jet?”
“Assassins, there were four of them flying single-seater training
jets that were packing an awful lot of punch!” Dillon sighed, wincing
as he pulled on his jacket.
Alix noted the 9mm automatic that was now holstered under
Dillon’s right arm. “That Glock the only weapon you’re carrying?”
Alix held the cigarette packet towards Dillon. “What’s mine is
yours, and yours is mine.” Dillon’s weary face brightened a little and
he took a cigarette, lit it with his own gold lighter, and inhaled deeply,
looking thoughtfully at the slender object he was rolling in his hand,
passed the packet back and lifted the barrel of the Glock gently under
Alix’s chin. Alix blinked, hand outstretched to receive the packet of
cigarettes. He coughed slowly.
“You seem a little on edge,” he said at last, after a long brooding
pause.
“Let’s see both hands, Alix. Dillon said, and Alix could see there
was no humour and no compassion and no give in the man he had
called a friend for many years. Alix removed his other hand from the
jacket pocket and spread his fingers wide. Dillon frisked him from
head to toe, retrieving two automatic pistols, six hand grenades, three
knives and a length of piano wire.
“So talk to me, Dillon. What’s going on?”
“Where are Lola and the Priest?”
“Outside.”
“Where, I didn’t see them out front.”
“Most likely skulking in the shadows.”
“Let’s take a walk; you first. And don’t make me shoot you in the
back, Alix. Because it would be a fucking bad ending to a really good
long friendship. Unfortunately, recent events have conspired to fuckup my sense of who I can and who I cannot trust. And that includes
you, Alix. Assassins are everywhere.”
“But, Dillon. We’ve gone to hell and back since Hereford,” Alix
said, his voice hoarse.
“I know, we did. And in a few moments we’ll either be having a
drink or you’ll be on your way to hell, my old mate. I thought I knew
Ezra, but a son-of-a-bitch who looked just like him still tried to kill
me.”
They covered the distance across the hanger quickly, moving
out through the main doors to be confronted outside by a stiff wind
blowing in from the south-west. Alix zipped up his flying jacket,
Dillon walked carefully behind the other man, aware of how fast he
could move and how deadly he really was. He might have a glib tongue
and a wickedly charming way with the women, but he was a deadly
killer. Very deadly.
They walked around the corner of the building.
The Priest was sitting on a stack of wooden pallets and Lola
was leaning against the side of a rusting cargo container smoking a
cigarette. They both turned as Alix, Dillon and Vince appeared.
“You okay, Alix?” Lola purred, moving away from the building,
her hand straying towards her gun.
“No worries,” said Alix softly, waving for the sylph-like young
woman to relax.
Dillon holstered the Glock. Alix turned, gently placing his hand
on the shoulder of his old friend. “You really can be a paranoid fucker
sometimes, Dillon, you know that?”
“Sorry mate,” said Dillon, moving over to greet the Priest and
Lola.
“You pull a gun on him, Dillon?” Lola asked.
Dillon nodded.
She shook her head. “You’re one mad dog - he’s here to help.”
“So he said. But when I saw him on his own in the Apache, I
suppose I thought I smelt a rat.”
“Dillon, you’ve known Alix years. Why think that?”
“Nassau. Had some joker impersonating Ezra who wanted to
terminate my contract with life. The latex prosthetics were so good
that I wouldn’t have known, until he slipped up that is. Threw him a
trick question just to make sure, then I knew. But that bastard very
nearly succeeded in killing me. So forgive me for being paranoid, but
these bastards will stop at nothing to get what they want.”
“Wow. You’re forgiven.”
“Thanks.”
Alix jogged back into the hanger and retrieved his weapons,
reappearing moments later. “Right then - to business, now that Dillon
has it clear in his mind that I am for real. I presume you know what’s
going on with Scorpion?”
Dillon nodded. “I know that the organisation has been
destroyed, most of the field units have been murdered by Assassins
whilst on assignment, which I find disturbing in itself. Why?” Dillon
mused for a moment before continuing. “These highly skilled and
well equipped killers are part of the Ramus group who had professor
Kirill moonlighting for them. They now have the Chimera virus
programme that is so powerful and so intelligent, that it’s capable of
taking control of any computer it enters, which in turn, would cause a
global internet Armageddon within the blink of an eye. And, nothing
or nobody would be excluded; military, banking and government
computer systems - private individuals - anybody. No matter how
sophisticated their protection, Chimera intuitively learns, adapts, and
enters without even a trace of evidence, that it was ever there. And
here we are now - Kirill, we know is dead because we were all there
when he was blown up in Scotland, which leaves only Ramus roaming
around and unaccounted for.”
“Yeah, that sums up just how bad things are,” said Alix,
grimacing. “They’ve certainly shown the world what they’re capable
of and what is likely to come. But what I don’t understand is - why?
What is it they want? After all, they’ve not even made a blackmail
demand, so what do they want? What we do know is that they’ve used
Chimera to hack into a number of mainframes, including; Scorpion,
the UK Government, and the Bank of England. They’ve already got
the world’s most powerful governmental administrations sitting up
and paying attention. The world’s media are already reporting on this
and it won’t take long before some clever-dick journalist works out
how all of these events are linked.” He took a breath and his eyes were
wild, sparkling with fury. He lit a cigarette, then pulled out a pack of
rations from his backpack, and ripped open the packaging from a bar
of chocolate.
“Yeah, we found out much the same with the help of one of my
sources at GCHQ, and the Priest had one of his Whitehall spooks do
the same. Ezra worked with Kirill, way back, in the early days of what
was to become the Chimera project - although no one seems to know
much about this stage of the research and development. Ezra pulled
out, butKirill carried on his work until the Government started talking
about the withdrawal of funding and moving him from Scotland back
down to London. But in the meantime, Ezra had joined Ferran &
Cardini International as a station co-ordinator, although his real role
and sole purpose was to develop counter-intelligence and covert ops
software for the Government. The facility he had on Santorini was
ideal because it positioned him in a perfect geographical location for
any covert ops being carried out over in that neck of the woods by the
SAS. So, there it is...”
“So where did these Assassins spring from and why are they
involved?” Dillon spoke the words softly.
“Well, we’ve been talking to Interpol and they’ve been on the
trail of an extremist occult group calling themselves, The Black Dawn.
And get this, from the case file that Interpol sent to me, these really
are Assassins.” Alix lit another cigarette, inhaling deeply.
“And...” Dillon prompted.
Alix grinned nastily. “We started to work on finding out just
where they’ve run to.”
“But?”
“Yeah, there’s always a but, Dillon.” Alix said, blowing smoke.
He grinned at Dillon; the two men held each other’s gaze for a brief
moment, smoke trailed from Alix’s nostrils.
“MI6 have been tracking you since you left England with Tatiana.
Apparently they had a special interest in you - fucking spooks poking
their noses in where they’re not wanted. They initially used satellites
and Tatiana’s F&C smart-phone to keep tabs on your position, but
then they lost the GPS link and that was that. But credit to you,
Dillon. You always kept them one step behind you - they had trained
squads chasing after you, but you kept them guessing. They turned up
in Nassau to find dead Assassins everywhere and total devastation.
“What else did they find in Nassau?”
“Apparently you stole a power boat from one of the nastiest
drug dealers on the island. Man, you’ve got a big pair of balls.”
“Did the spooks go up to Scotland?”
“Yeah, they found a whole lot of mess: the remnants of the
research facility. But no Kirill.”
“You watched me shoot him. His body would have been burnt
to a cinder with all of that explosive he’d planted.”
“But there was no sign of his body. Even though he was in the
middle of the explosion, they had a full team of CSIs and these guys
were using state-of-the-art scanners. There were no genetic traces - in
fact, no traces at all.
Somebody
, Dillon. Somebody must have gone back
for his corpse.”
“Why do that?” Dillon said incredulously.
Alix Shrugged and the Priest stepped forward. “I know what
you’re thinking, Dillon. What use is a char grilled carcass? But that’s
not for us to waste time debating. What you might not know is that
MI6 lost you completely after Nassau, that is, until you powered up
your smart-phone. I was glad you remembered to use the encrypted
scramble code.” The Priest walked around the group, and then
strode off back inside the hanger, halting for a moment, then walked
towards the Apache attack helicopter, and stood looking at it. The
others watched him from the hanger doorway in bewilderment. After
a minute he turned on his heel and came back towards the doorway,
his long leather coat whipped around him as he walked.
Dillon watched the religious man walk towards him, the Priest’s
Bible held firmly in his right hand. He motioned for Dillon to walk
with him.
Together they walked out to the edge of the apron and stared
out across the airfield. The wind howled around them, buffeting them;
nothing to shelter them from it.
“You ever been down here before, Priest?”
“You mean Dorset?
“Yeah.”
“Never. You?”
“Fell in love with the place while on assignment down here, and
have been here a few times since. Funny thing though. Every time I
come back, some bastard tries to kill me...”
“Well, you’re lucky that they have all failed, Dillon. Because,
whoever they were. Someone is obviously looking kindly down upon
you.”
The two men shared a moment of silence.
“What are your plans now?” Dillon asked.
“This Ramus character has a stealth ship. He thinks he is going
to take over the world or something like that, and it’s our job to stop
him.”
“Our?”
The Priest turned and grasped Dillon’s shoulders. “You’re a part
of this now, Dillon. You also know this area and the waters hereabouts
like the back of your hand; we need you.”
“I have my own war to fight.”
“And what war would that be?”
“A war with my conscience.”
“In my capacity as a fully ordained priest, Dillon. I’d say you
were long past that point.”
Dillon scowled.
“How long have we known each other?”
“Too long, Priest.”
“It’s nineteen years. That’s how long. And in that time I’ve seen
and heard many things about you, mostly how you always survive! I
also know that when you attended your post assignment assessment
interview with the shrinks, you used to always demonstrate that you
had a consistently stable mind. But you have a secret, and you’ve kept
it well hidden for a very long time, my friend.”
“Which is?”
“Oh, come now, Dillon. Don’t be coy. It’s not your conscience
you’re at war with, is it? It’s your subconscious.”
“Only God knows what you’re talking about, Priest. But you
make sure you keep that very safely to yourself. Do I make myself
clear?”
“Transparently. But I didn’t mean to disrespect you, Dillon.”
The two men stood in silence, until Alix walked out to join them.
“I’ve just had a call from Levenson-Jones,” he took a long pull
of his cigarette. “The sanction has been authorised. Ramus and these
Assassins have to be found and terminated. LJ has just come out of
an emergency meeting with the Prime Minister at Downing Street, the
outcome of which, gentlemen, is simple. There is no time to lose in
locating Ramusand his stealth ship... The Americans, Russians, NATO
and virtually every other fucking government and their respective
intelligence agencies around the globe are already experiencing
problems with their Command and Control IT mainframes. They’re
all reporting exactly the same, that their systems keep crashing -
going off-line and dumping its own data... It looks like Ramus’ plan
is starting to roll-out. I think we need to fuck-up his strategy good
and proper. Now come back into the hanger, it’s warmer in there,
not much, but at least we’ll be out of this freezing wind. We can sit
down, talk tactics, and have a drink, I packed a bottle of Jack Daniel’s
especially for my old mate. And you can bring us up to speed on what
exactly happened in Nassau.”
Dillon smiled; the expression felt very strange on his face. “Jack
Daniel’s, you say?”
“The one and only Jack Daniel’s.” Alix winked. All three men
walked back into the hanger, where Lola and Vince were huddled over
his primus stove brewing a pot of tea. Alix bent down and drew out a
full bottle of JD from his backpack and some small plastic cups.
“Drink, anybody? A toast to us winning against all the odds?”
Dillon laughed then, like a schoolboy, grinned. “You going to
pour that whisky or simply wave the bottle around in the air? Because
I need a drink, badly!”