Images flashed through her mind, the Assassins.
The Assassins clothed in black - black hoods - piercing blue eyes
- feminine voice - able to kill - effortlessly... 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 wasfeasible... 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.
“You seem upbeat, Dillon,” said Tatiana softly.
Dillon smiled. “I’ve got a few surprises up my sleeve.”
* * * 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 yourthing, 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 t
he 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 waswearing 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.”
Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) Page 41