Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series)

by Andrew Towning

  patrols and possibly dogs?”

  “The only security they have is a padlocked gate at the entrance

  to the field, and every member has a key to let themselves in and out

  whenever they want. A lock pick should do the trick...”

  “And assuming we get onto the airfield and manage to steal an

  aircraft. Do you know how to fly… whatever it is you’re going to

  steal?”

  “Cut my teeth on single and twin engine Cessnas. Admittedly,

  it’s been a few years, since I last flew a fixed wing plane. But they’re all

  the same. Joy-stick. Rudder. Flaps. Landing gear. Hey, come on, don’t

  look so sceptical - after all said and done, it could be a lot worse. That

  weirdo Assassin could have murdered us both back at the castle. So

  why the grim smile?”

  “You’re barking mad,” said Tatiana slowly. “And tell me you

  don’t still plan to visit Ezra?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry Tats - but I do need to see Ezra. He is the only

  one who can possibly help us.”

  “He will most likely try to kill us. Well you,” she corrected. “Your perception of him as a war-mongering butcher is

  completely exaggerated. The giant geek is a monumental softy, with a

  heart of gold...”

  “Yes,” said Tatiana slowly. “But don’t forget you shot him in the

  ass and almost destroyed his right hip. He won’t forget that in a hurry.

  Surely you haven’t forgotten...”

  Dillon shrugged nonchalantly. “I saved his life by shooting him

  in the ass. Remember why I shot him? Anyway, he’ll understand,”

  came the simple reply. “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

  Tatiana rolled her eyes. “Christ, Dillon. You’ve still got that

  bloody death-wish, haven’t you?” She looked sternly at him, and

  rubbed at her tired pain-filled eyes. “Where is he living these days? Do

  you know if he’s still playing havoc with his little computer games?” “I’m not falling into your trap Tatiana. And I’m not going to

  divulge where he is,” said Dillon with a boyish grin.

  “You are completely off your trolley,” Tatiana said with feeling. “It helps in this business. That’s why I’ve stayed alive for so

  long.” He coughed. “But I’m a realist, Tats. And, it’s one of the many

  reasons why I decided to opt for the quiet life for a while up in the

  Highlands.”

  “You like the thrill of danger to much. The possibility that the

  next assignment might be the one that takes you out. Permanently...” “Perhaps. You know me better than most.”

  “No perhaps about it. And these Assassins are being used to

  take out Scorpion units and anybody who poses a threat to Ramus

  and Kirill’s ‘New World Order’. That means you, Dillon.” She said the

  words without emotion.

  “You said that these Assassins were originally a secret society

  that disappeared into obscurity. But Ramus and Kirill have somehow

  resurrected their modern day equivalent? Well, surely that means they

  had access to the Scorpion network, and that was how they managed

  to track each unit down and terminate them. But, it also means that

  they have access to the Ferran & Cardini secure network as well.” “So why not contact Vince Sharp. Get him to look into it?” said

  Tatiana simply.

  “Definitely not.” Dillon’s words were spoken softly. “No contact.

  We do it my way; if Ferran & Cardini have been compromised, and

  the bastards are waiting to lock onto our signal. The moment we try

  to make contact the lights on their tracking screens will light up like a

  Christmas tree.”

  “Maybe you’re right. But isn’t it worth taking the risk? After all

  Ferran & Cardini could help us.”

  “I can do without their help,” Dillon said without humour. “I’m

  better off on my own - and that’s how it’s always worked best.” Tatiana shook her head slowly and ran a hand through her blond

  hair.

  “So, when are we going to break the law and embark on this mad

  scheme of theft from a private airfield?”

  “Theft? No, I’m only going to borrow an aircraft from my old

  friend Lord Roth.”

  “Oh, you didn’t mention that you knew the owner of the airfield.

  But what about the police? Won’t they be notified, when the plane is

  found to be missing?”

  “There you go again, thinking about the negatives of this little

  enterprise. I’ll tell you what; I will leave him a note. How does that

  sound?”

  “Cavalier, to say the least.”

  “Well, unless you hadn’t noticed. We don’t really have the time

  to sign the hire agreement in triplicate.” Dillon said sarcastically. He pulled out the battered Glock from its shoulder holster, and stared at it lovingly. “I’m sure if we run into any bother, my old friend here... Well you know what I mean.” His smile was without humour.

  * * * Night fell. With it came a bitterly cold wind and sleet. Dillon slammed the Landrover’s door shut. The Assassin would find the 4x4 soon enough, of that he was sure - but then, hopefully, the couple would be far away from this place. Far away from the violence and pain they had already suffered.

  Dillon supported Tatiana as they moved carefully around the edge of the wood. Before long they came to a pair of heavy-duty high metal gates, a customary notice board nailed to one of the gate-posts, clearly stating that ‘trespassers will be prosecuted’. Dillon produced a small leather pouch from his jacket pocket. “This is where we start breaking the law. But don’t worry - this is such a small airfield that noone will discover anything adrift until the weekend, when the gliders start turning up.”

  Tatiana stared at Dillon hard. “Can you please hurry up? I’m freezing my tits off standing out here in this bloody awful weather.”

  Dillon nodded. “Somebody is trying hard to bring down the UK and global economy with the most powerful ever computer software programme. And all you’re worried about is your tits falling off.”

  Dillon continued to jiggle the lock picks around inside the padlock. “And, we find ourselves embroiled in a cat and mouse game to get to those bastards, before they’re able to push the green button. Only one little problem. They’ve teamed up with these Assassin weirdos, who have eliminated the Scorpion network, possibly the only organisation that could have destroyed them, and are now trying to kill both of us...”

  He stood up and shrugged, moved forward, and pushed open one of the gates. Then, when they were both on the other side, he closed it again and replaced the padlock.

  The airstrip squatted mostly against the darkness. A long hanger with a rolling roof-line stood lonely at the side of the strip withanother low timber building alongside, and a two storey building furthest from them, the control tower, Dillon thought. And, beside the hanger was a single damp and glistening aircraft.

  “Is that the plane?” Tatiana asked quietly.

  “Yes. And, I’m hoping that it’ll be fully fuelled and ready to go. She’s got excellent range. Fast. Come on.”

  They made their way slowly across the grass, and Dillon halted. He checked the area ahead of them with a night vision monocular, and once satisfied that there were no obvious security measures in place they moved towards the twin engine Cessna. They circled the hanger and finally scurried through the driving sleet to crouch under the shelter of a tin-roofed lean-to. Slush and ice-cold water poured around them from the non-existent guttering. Splattering incessantly onto the hardstand beneath their feet. Dillon pointed through the gloom. “You wait he
re. I’ll go and see if it’s unlocked.” Tatiana nodded from under her faux-fur hood. He moved away from her, and was soon a ghost in the sleet. His senses were alive, and he felt incredibly awake: energy flowed through him and the pain from the beating he’d taken back at the castle had all but disappeared. He moved forward.

  He halted beside the Cessna, slowed his breathing, and focused, the Glock in his left hand glistening in the gloom. Just behind the wing he reached up, tried the cabin door handle, and immediately discovered that it was locked. It was the fourth pick that gained him entry, forty-five seconds later. The door opened easily outwards, exposing the dark interior.

  Dillon reached up and pulled down the steps, which thwacked against the hard-stand. Then he went back for Tatiana and helped her back to the aircraft, constantly aware that they were sitting targets out in the open...

  Tatiana crept forward through the sleet, her outer clothing drenched through to the lining, and soon were both climbing the steps and into the dry interior of the cramped twin engine plane.

  “Where are we going, Dillon?”

  “Santorini!. Oh and possibly a stop off in Dorset!”

  “A Greek Island. A stop off in Dorset? You’re joking?” she said, and then; “So I was right?”

  Dillon looked her in the eye. “Right about what?”

  “Charlie Hart?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Gold Bullion, Dillon. Gold Bullion...”

  “Oh that. Yeah, there was a rumour of gold bullion. I’ll admit, I did look when the dust had died down. Didn’t find any though.”

  “Yeah, pull the other one. Like you said, I know you better than most, and I did think it ever so slightly odd, how you announced your retirement shortly after that assignment. How else could you have afforded to buy that bloody great big castle? It all clicks into place, Dillon, and I’ve never forgotten what you said about having transferable currency?”

  “Can you just drop the bullshit about gold bullion, please?” Dillon said, as he quickly went through a pre-flight checklist. Then added, “It really was only a rumour, you know... Now let’s get the fuck out of here, before that Assassin catches up with us.”

  Tatiana nodded, and wiped water from her face with the sleeve of her jacket. “You sure you know how to fly this thing, Dillon?”

  “Yeah, just like riding a bike...” Dillon grinned, and engaged the starter. “Now lean back and chillax.”

  * * * The silver Ducati motorcycle flashed through the night, tyres gripping the wet tarmac, groaning under pressure as the powerful bike hit speeds of over a hundred and seventy m.p.h. The sleet and rain smashed down from the blue-black clouds overhead, and the Ducati finally pulled to a halt behind the Landrover.

  Light-weight boots splashed down in a large muddy puddle. The black clad figure stood beside the bike, staring towards the heavy metal gates and across the apparently deserted airfield. A twin-engine Cessna taxied along the grass strip with engines roaring, climbing steeply up into the night sky and disappeared, navigation lights blinking through the gloom.

  The Assassin stared into the darkness, her eyes alert, unblinking, unmoving. Then as dogs barked and their leads slipped free, the figure moved fluidly, swiftly, climbed back onto the Ducati. Within seconds the full face helmet was on and, the Bluetooth comm.-link was reactivated.

  “He’s escaped,” came the soft feminine voice.

  “How has this happened?”

  “He was ready. He had sophisticated warning systems in place that...”

  “Stop. These are merely excuses. Do you know where Dillon is now?”

  “He escaped - he stole an aircraft. Heading due south and flying low.”

  “He will keep below radar, making it almost impossible to track him conventionally. But not so difficult for a satellite. Keep your comm. open and head towards London.”

  “Understood. Out.”

  The Ducati was fired up, tyres hissed, the silver motorcycle disappeared into the darkness with only the barking of dogs following the roar of sound emanating from the tailpipe - and nothing remained to provide evidence of the Assassin’s recent passing.

  GCHQ Transcript 4. INTERCEPT OF RECENT SOUTH AMERICAN NEWS REPORTS. NON-CLASSIFIED STATUS.

  Extracts from daily newspapers, Sao Paulo, Rio de-Janeiro, Salvador and Brasilia, Brazil:

  The business quarters of Brazil’s largest cities were left in chaos yesterday when every credit card terminal linked to the country’s largest banking institutions, re-routed every transaction made during normal trading hours to a number of holding accounts in Zurich, Switzerland. Panic ensued as stores eventually discovered that they had unknowingly been robbed of their entire day’s takings. Early reports speculate that over two billion dollars have been misappropriated. A spokesperson from the Brazilian security service, stated. “This was not just the work of organised crime syndicates. The software and expertise required to carry out such a sophisticated, hack, was far beyond their capabilities. The security service is following up information received and investigating claims from the banks concerned that this crime is the work of a malicious employee with in-depth knowledge of the programming of credit clearing protocols. Our computer fraud department is also following up leads; to see something like this happening was a travesty. We have every resource and top people working on this case as we speak.”

  No official statement has so far been made by the Brazilian Government or by any bank official.

  Chapter 11

  Alix stood on the roof of the tall modern building, a look of frustration and anger on his face. Behind stood Lola, both shocked into silence. Below them the landscape of London that had been changed forever by the small but deadly nuclear device that had been detonated inside Scorpion HQ.

  “I can’t believe what happened here,” said Alix softly. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled free a cigar and lit up. Smoke plumed around his face, swirling in the cold air. He took a deep and heavy draw.

  “Those bastards,” said Lola, her expression malevolent. “Yeah,” drawled Alix. “But which bastards, exactly?” They moved off the roof-top and used the service stairs all

  the way down to ground level. The bustle of activity following the immediate blast had subsided; no longer did emergency service vehicles line the area where Scorpion HQ used to occupy. At least seventy people wearing hard-hats and hi-visibility jackets picking slowly through the rubble and debris, machines lifting blasted concrete slabs and massive H sections of steel reinforcement had already been cleared from around the cavernous hole; all of the bodies had been recovered and taken to mortuaries all over the city. They walked across the park, away from the blast zone, away from the devastation and total destruction, away from the lost lives and smashed worlds. They got into the Mercedes van; driving away in silence.

  * * * The cliff top road was deserted; rain beat against the Mercedes windscreen, the black of night turning grey as dawn started to break over a tumultuous ocean. The battered van hissed its way through the deluge, headlights carving slices of yellow from the murky gloom. Lola leaned back in the passenger seat, looking out from somewhere inside of the fur-lined hood of her parka coat, at the coastal landscape unfolding before them.

  “You sure it’s at the end of this road, Alix?” Said Lola, miserably. “Positive. I’ve only been here once before, but I remember where it is, and what a fucking desolate and lonely place it is.”

  Alix guided the van with care; along a narrow unmade lane as they drew nearer to their destination, through a tall gated entrance, and still the rain pounded down and Lola began to wonder if agreeing to this meeting had been the best decision she had ever made.

  The Mercedes van slid to a muddy halt on the grass verge.

  Rain and sleet danced in the beams of the headlights.

  Alix stared at the Sat-Nav screen. “Well according to this, it should be just on the other side of that wood. On the right.” He selected first gear, and they moved forward with
a jerk and the backend of the vehicle swung to the left and then the right as they picked up speed; Alix was right, they found the small granite stone chapel. He parked discreetly away from the chapel entrance. Steam hissed from the cracked radiator as Alix killed the engine.

  “Do you think he’s in there?” Asked Lola casually.

  “I doubt it, but you never know with the Priest.”

  The rain had eased off and Alix stepped out of the van, an automatic pistol in his gloved hand. He stared around; scanning the countryside in all directions, then saw headlights and a car creeping up the lane towards him. Inside the van, Lola had slotted a fresh magazine into a Heckler & Koch MP5 carbine and she held the muzzle low, unseen; a precaution.

  The car halted, steam immediately rising off of its muddy tyres. It was a silver Aston Martin DB5, identical to the one that a wellknown big-screen secret agent of the 1960’s used to drive.

  “Everything okay?” Shouted Alix.

  The Priest climbed out of the vintage sports car.

  “Oh yes, my son,” he said. He looked around, and, with his Bible clasped in his right hand, walked slowly towards Alix.

  “I hate this place,” said Alix miserably. The rain was falling again and soaking through his protective clothing to the skin; his face a sheen of water.

  “God sends the rain to nourish the land, my son. So that seeds may be sown and life can flourish.” The Priest beamed, moss green eyes shining.

  Alix frowned.

  “That might, or might not, be true Priest. I assume you got the secure email I sent to you?”

  “I did. The infidels have been busy. They seek to destroy everything in their path.”

  “I thought - think - that I can trust you, because I know you are one of the main Tactical Planning Officers at Ferran & Cardini - one of the main men, the partners’ ears and eyes, yeah?”