Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (41 page)

Dillon pressed his foot to the floor. The engine growled.
Help
, he thought.
The 4x4 sped through an intersection; there was a cacophonous
blare of car horns as cars zipped insanely all around and Dillon closed
his eyes for a moment and kept up the power. He no longer checked
his rear-view mirror. The view in it only seemed to get worse.
Engines roared close behind him, shots rang out from the
passenger side window, as the occupant leaned out and emptied an
entire Uzi magazine into the back of the 4x4, the rear windscreen
disintegrated as the bullets smashed into the tailgate. Once more he
wrenched on the steering, feeling the 4x4 lose traction as worn tyres
slid around on the tarmac, and once more he narrowly missed another
vehicle - this time a heavy goods lorry. The horn blared at him and
Dillon involuntarily flinched, half ducking down in his seat...
Focus, he thought. Must focus.
Meeting. Tatiana and Claudia...
And Vince, of course.
His gaze went up to the rear view-mirror, checking for the signs.
He wrenched the steering wheel hard over and slewed into a right
turn, then dragged the 4x4 over a grassy embankment and down onto
an unmade road that ran parallel with the road he’d just left, and then
forced a U-turn. Dillon floored the accelerator, tyres throwing up
loose debris and clouds of thick dust as the heavy off-roader gained
speed.
Dillon caught a flashing glimpse of the passenger leaning out
of the open side window of the blacked-out SUV as it sped by in the
opposite direction, a silenced Uzi pointing directly at him. And then
the bullets ripping through the body work...
Dillon checked his rear view mirror again as he roared along the
unmade road. He had managed, by some twist of fate, by some fluke,
to get away from the lone SUV and the police cars. But moments later
the SUV was again closing fast from behind.
Gunshots rattled.
He heard the dull
thump
of metal being punched a number of
times. Dillon half tuned and fired the Glock through the open rear
window, luckily hitting the driver’s front off-side tyre and bringing the
large vehicle to a gradual halt as the rubber shredded itself back to
the rim.
Dillon swerved from side to side and floored the 4x4’s
accelerator...
He drove for ten minutes, and had re-joined the main road,
reducing his speed a little so as not to attract too much unwanted
attention. He cruised back to the marina to meet with the others,
constantly checking his mirrors for anyone following.
And there, way back in the distance, he could see three more
blacked-out SUVs.
“No way,” he said out loud, frowning. “How the fuck?”
He watched the large vehicles accelerating, still distant blobs,
their polished chrome grilles like long teeth.
Smiling teeth...
Dillon’s mood darkened. His foot hit the floor again and the 4x4
jeep surged forward, spun left down a slip road leading to the marina.
He slammed on the brakes and the 4x4 screeched to a halt beside a
brand new white Porsche 911 Carrera GT3.
Dillon leapt out.
“We’ve got trouble.”
“Big trouble?” Tatiana asked.
“Oh yes.”
As they walked along the pontoon to the boat, Dillon slotted
a fresh mag into his Glock. “We need a much faster boat, that ginpalace simply won’t cut it up against this lot.”
“What do you suggest?”
“We haven’t got much time. You round up the others and I’ll
sort out the transport.” Dillon said, his gaze on the other side of the
marina. He moved quickly, sprinting over the pontoons.
Dillon stood on the end of the pontoon, grasping the Glock in
both hands, and pointed the gun.
The powerful deep-throated rumble of the in-board Penta
engines became quiet, and a sleek thirty-six foot power-racer drifted
to a halt alongside the pontoon.
“Hey man, you have got to be kidding!”
Tatiana and the others were now standing behind Dillon. “What
are you doing?” hissed Tatiana.
“I’m acquiring faster transport.”
Dillon met the man’s outraged glare: he was young, wore a black
bandana, Ray-Bans and no shirt, revealing heavily tattooed arms.
When he spoke, he lifted them from the helm in emphasis.
“Get off of that boat.”
“You mother -”
The Glock moved. There was a
thud
. A hole appeared in the
windshield - and in the leather upholstery beyond. The man stared at
the hole in the windshield, then at the seat. Then he leaped up out of
the boat onto the pontoon as if he’d been stung by a hornet.
Dillon, Tatiana, Claudia and Vince jumped on board.
“You know how much this boat cost, man?”
Dillon met the man’s gaze again. “I don’t know, and I don’t care,”
he said as he started up the in-boards, and engaged the power drive.
The power racer’s nose lifted as they left the marina, Dillon opened
the throttles up fully; unleashing a beast that pinned them all back in
their seats.
Dillon looked back over his shoulder, at the tattooed man
standing on the pontoon, mouthing obscenities and shaking his fist
at them.
The power boat became practically airborne with each wave as
they raced forward past sailing yachts, larger power craft and cruise
ships on their way into the harbour. Dillon slowed the racer, veering
to starboard to miss another boat, and then increasing speed as he
righted the craft back on course, the in-board Pentas roared with
renewed vigour and the water beneath them became a blur; like a
scene from a very bad drug-induced trip.
Tatiana stood up and leaned forward - both women had leaped
into the power racer’s cramped open cockpit. “Err, Dillon, how fast
are you going?” There was an edge of fear to her voice.
“I couldn’t tell you,” he said through gritted teeth. “Can’t you see
I’m a little busy?”
“Are we in that much trouble?”
“Yes,” said Dillon matter of factly.
“Did you see Ezra?”
Dillon looked at Tatiana from the corner of his eye. “No,
Tatiana. I didn’t.”
“Oh, so it was a trick, after all?”
She sat back, completely deflated. Dillon wanted to say,
I told you
not to get your hopes up, luv
. But he kept his mouth shut and concentrated
on what was ahead, a high speed roller coaster ride of the deepest blue
beneath the lighter shade of the sky.
“Who did you meet?”
“It was a set-up from the start. I’m afraid I blew up a luxury
5-star villa at the hotel...”
“With what?”
“A couple of sphere grenades.”
“You maniac! What did they want - whoever
they
were?”
“It was Ramus’ people and Assassins,” Dillon said sourly. “And
they wanted the optical disc with the Chimera blueprint on. Hold on,”
he snapped, spinning the helm, the power racer leaned over heavily
to starboard, the side of the fibreglass hull lightly scraping across the
reef lurking menacingly just below the surface. Dillon grinned like an
excited child at the two women and Vince Sharp, who was looking
worryingly green.
They didn’t look impressed.
They’d left the pursuing police cars back in Nassau, along with
the blacked-out SUVs. But now, two powerful jet-skis were fast
approaching from behind, each with two black clad occupants onboard.
“Shit.”
Dillon pushed the throttles as far they’d go, and the power racer
surged forward, cutting through the water like a cheese slice, a wide
grin on his face.
“Catch this baby, suckers,” he muttered as they fell away behind
him and he focused on the far distance.
“Tatiana, get a message to Matt Spencer to come pick us up on
Grand Bahamas.”
“But the minute the Learjet takes off from Nassau, the Assassins
will tag it and then us...”
“So what? They already know we’re here.”
Tatiana pulled free her Ferran & Cardini smart-phone as Dillon
concentrated on the water ahead; by late afternoon they had left their
pursuers far, far behind..

The power racer cruised into Crab Cay on the north coast of
Grand Bahamas; sailing yachts of all sizes gently rocked with the swell
on their swinging moorings. Dillon lit a cigarette, Tatiana and Claudia
climbed up onto the forward deck as the boat came to a halt at the
edge of the beach. They all jumped down on the hot white sand and
stretched their tense, aching muscles. No time to lose, they all moved
off the beach at a slow trot towards the nearby airfield.

“You’re a fucking lunatic, Dillon,” said Claudia, jogging alongside
him.
“We’re still alive, aren’t we?”
“What happened back there, Dillon?” Tatiana asked.
Dillon spoke as he jogged. “There were Assassins waiting for
me; they wanted the optical disc and we had a bit of a lovers’ tiff.
There was a bit of body-slapping, hair-pulling and face-scratching and
I had to make a rather hasty getaway...”
“You okay, now?” Dillon haltedand turned to look at the beautiful
woman. Tatiana stepped in close, the palm of her hand stroking his
cheek. Dillon looked intently into her eyes then and smiled. He took
her fingers, lifted them to his lips and kissed them.
“There was a sniper. Waiting for me.”
“Bad...”
“I’m pretty sure I took him down.”
The whine of the Learjet’s engines reached their ears and Dillon
gazed up into the afternoon sky. The under-carriage of the jet was
suddenly above them as the pilot made his final approach, and then
swooped down onto the runway. Dillon, Tatiana, Claudia and Vince
collected up their backpacks and waited for the aircraft to come
towards the apron, its suspension bouncing as the machine came to
rest in front of them. Matt Spencer looked out from the cockpit and
gave a thumbs-up.
Outside the noise from the jet engines was deafening. Dillon and
the others started to walk across the apron to the open cabin door,
Dillon suddenly halted as something unseen made him turn around
involuntarily. His dark eyes peering out across the tarmac; towards
the hangers and shadows and beyond to the beach, where they had
come ashore only moments before. Something burned uneasily at the
back of Dillon’s mind. His head turned as he glanced around, eyes
searching for the two jet-skis or anything that shouldn’t be there... But
there was nothing there.
Nothing out of place. Nothing
wrong
...
Something’s
not right though.
His gaze returned to the Learjet.
And then he could see it. A distant glint: like a silent scream from
a 1920’s movie...
Something
definitely not right.
Dillon frowned. The whole world seemed to slow. The movement
of the others whirled to a snail’s pace, Dillon reached for his Glock
and it seemed that his hand took ages to reach the heavy automatic
weapon as his head was turning towards Tatiana and his lips formed
the words. “Let’s... Go...”
There was a distant
crack.
Dillon’s eyes caught the muzzle flash.
Something’s wrong.
The Lear started to edge forward and the
noise from the turbines increased. A tiny hole appeared in the jet’s
windshield and Matt Spencer was punched backwards, falling slowly
across inside the Lear’s tight cockpit, a huge splatter of blood covering
the back of his seat. Dillon’s Glock 9mm automatic appeared instantly
in his hand and he cursed the slowness and clumsiness of his own
actions, cursed the sluggishness all around him and within him as his
mouth opened to scream the words and both Tatiana and Claudia
turned, their movements painfully slow, to gaze in confusion up at the
Lear, the noise of the jet’s engines roaring, the slumped figure in the
darkened depths of the suddenly coffin like machine.
Dillon dropped to one knee, shifting and lowering his stance,
the Glock kicking in his hand: one bullet; two bullets; three bullets
and then he saw the black-clad figures detach themselves from the
shadows and come racing at speed across the apron - they were
Assassins, and a cold shiver ran through Dillon’s body as the world
suddenly slammed back into focus and reality.
“Oh, my...”
“Vince, get in the jet and prepare for take-off!” Dillon screamed,
emptying the rest of the mag at the six identically black-clothed
Assassins; they all carried Uzi mini sub-machine guns but did not
return fire. Dillon hit two of them, taking both down with a clean
shot to the head, but the others carried on sprinting towards him.
Tatiana was climbing, glancing back over her shoulder at the
charging killers. Then her gaze transferred down to Dillon who
grabbed Claudia and pushed her towards the Lear, keeping her safely
away from the jet’s exhausts and the awesome power of those reinedin engines...
Dillon ejected the magazine. Slotted another into the weapon
and sighted on one of the killers running towards him. The Glock
barked in his hand and the figure dropped instantly to the ground.
Dillon’s mouth was dry. He re-sighted and a moment later another
shot rang out, and another Assassin went down onto the tarmac.
God, these fuckers are persistent...
He looked around at Claudia, his brain screaming. “Get up
there!” He yelled. He fired several more rounds, the Glock a dark
comrade in his grip, an extension of his body.
The remaining two Assassins, their Uzi’s pointing, still did not
fire. Dillon’s gaze darted up towards Tatiana as Claudia reached up to
the handholds. Dillon turned, swiftly…
…there came another distant
crack
.
Dillon felt a kiss of heat brush the side of his face for the second
time that day, and as he spun round was just in time to catch Claudia’s
arms - which suddenly draped around his neck as she collapsed against
him. Her face was the colour of a sheet, her eyes were wide, confused
and innocent as her gaze met Dillon’s stunned stare and her arms fell
away from his shoulders. He grabbed her, his Glock forgotten, he
held her around the waist and supported her sudden dead weight and
looked into those deep intelligent hazelnut coloured fear filled eyes.
Eyes that held one simple question...
Why me?
Claudia opened her mouth to speak, to ask him. Blood trickled
from her ears and nose, dripping onto Dillon’s war-torn jacket. She
shivered, head flopping back now and her beautiful face covered in
blood. She tried to speak, but blood flowed out of her mouth and
across her cheek. She sighed, exhaling air for the last time.
And then Claudia was dead.
“Come on, Dillon!” Tatiana screamed.
His gaze lifted and met the screaming panic-filled face of
Tatiana, her eyes wide, her jaw dropped in despair.
“Dillon they’re -”
He whirled round. The Assassins were only fifty metres away.
The Glock
cracked
as the weapon kicked in Dillon’s hand and lifted, as
the lead Assassin took a bullet in the face.
And then Dillon was moving, leaping, the Glock kicking and
blasting in his grip at the remaining Assassin. Gloved hands reached
out for Dillon as he grappled his way to the handrail of the moving
Learjet, and with each step closer he got the heavier his boots felt. He
gripped the handrail and hauled himself up on the Lear.
Tatiana was above him and confusion gripped him as she was
suddenly punched from the Lear’s fuselage - a sudden violent lurching
as blood splashed in a spray from her body and she spun above his
head under the impact of bullets. Dillon could not understand and the
sounds of the Assassin’s Uzi firing washed over him and all noise was
white noise and he reached out, fingers brushing Tatiana’s hand as she
fell but he wasn’t quick enough and couldn’t reach her and she toppled
down on to the runway as the jet gathered speed to take-off. Dillon
entered the cabin and held onto the airtight hatch, he didn’t dare look
down as the aircraft became airborne - Tatiana was dead...
“No,” he said softly. “That should have been me.”
Dillon started to close the door, his gaze looking down at
the scene below on the ground to the lone Assassin standing over
Tatiana’s body; he swayed as the aircraft gathered altitude. He turned
to Vince and screamed at him to go strap himself into the co-pilot’s
seat and make sure the Auto-Pilot was fully engaged. A moment later
the aircraft climbed steeply up into a clear blue Grand Bahama sky.
His gaze was filled with ice cold malice, his lips set tight, his face a
mask hiding his anger and grief.
And he realised.
Realised the dreadful truth.
He was
alone
.
The Glock kicked in his hand; he swayed to one side of the
still open hatch, his movements mechanical, his body running on
adrenalin and reflex. The Assassin on the ground raised the Uzi to his
shoulder. The Glock kicked again and now it was Dillon’s only friend,
only true friend, the only one he had left.
The bullet hit the Assassin between the eyes.
Dillon watched coolly as the life drained out of the black clad
figure and it immediately went down onto the hot tarmac like a lead
weight.
He dragged the hatch cover back in place and punched the large
button to engage the automatic air-lock mechanism. He turned to
see Vince sitting in the co-pilot’s seat with his head in his hands and
sobbing.
The Lear climbed steeply, banking slowly with a roar of engines,
Dillon stumbled, pulled free the dead pilot, and slumped down heavily
into the seat next to Vince. He looked round at the big Australian
who, like Dillon, had also lost a friend. Neither man spoke, no words
seemed appropriate.
And on the ground, Tatiana was lost...
The Lear banked again, Grand Bahama falling away far below.
“Are we safe yet, Dillon?” hissed Tatiana.
Dillon blinked and looked over his shoulder.
But he was, apart from Vince, quite alone.
Tatiana was dead.
Dillon’s eyes focused on the clear sky ahead of him, then at
the daunting array of control switches and lights in front and above
his head. He ran a hand through his unruly hair, glancing for a brief
moment at Vince who was now much more composed, and nodded.
The two men had known each other for the best part of ten years and,
although very different, had immediately found a common ground
from which to build an everlasting friendship.
“I hate to have to say it, chap. But you were right as usual, it was
a trap, and they were waiting for us!”
“The fact is they knew our every move, right down to our escape
route! So the question is, did they just get lucky or did they know in
advance? My guts tell me that we were betrayed! But by who?”
Dillon sat pondering the question. He knew, deep down in his
subconscious, that the betrayal ran throughout the Government and
possibly through Ferran & Cardini International!
Vince was wearing the aircraft’s headset and had connected
his laptop to the Lear’s computer system. His head snapped round,
“We’ve got company, Jake.”
Dillon quickly flicked switches and push buttons. The Lear’s
control panels and screens immediately changed to military style
displays. “Well, we’d better go
kick-ass
then...” He pushed two switches,
turned to look out of the cockpit’s side screen, and watched as the
wings were pulled back towards the fuselage and the jet changed
from luxury aircraft to sleek fighter. “Arm the weapons’ systems and
activated all scanners.”
Dillon’s gaze flicked to the scanners that were now displaying
directly in front of him.
Four small single seater jets were coming up fast behind them
as they headed out over the Atlantic Ocean. His eyes narrowed and
death sat with him like an old friend. He pulled a cigarette from the
crumpled packet, lit it with the gold Zippo lighter that Tatiana had
given him many years before, and inhaled deeply, keeping the slim
white pencil-like stick held in the corner of his mouth as he went
through a checklist in his mind. He wasn’t afraid of dying, fear was his
ally; not fear itself but a love of the fear that he was about to inflict.
Dillon flew the Lear like a pro. He had been fully trained by
the RAF to fly the specially adapted aircraft like a pro, and was now
bringing all that he had learned to bear as he banked to the left and
simultaneously climbed steeply, levelling out at nineteen thousand
feet. The four jets behind them maintained their distance and speed
to match his, and made no attempt to close in or fire their weapons.
Dillon was painfully aware of the tiny hole in the side screen where the
bullet had smashed Matt Spencer’s life from his body had penetrated
the aircraft, and the reason for not flying any higher than their current
altitude.
And he thought about Claudia.
And he thought about Tatiana.
He suddenly felt nauseas and sweaty.
“Tatiana...” He whispered in pure agony.
Machine guns roared behind him; rounds clattered against the
Lear’s fuselage and Dillon’s mask of pain fell away to be replaced with
something cold and sinister.
Hatred fuelled him now.
Hatred - and a need to kill.
Vince broke into his reverie of thought. “You’ll be pleased to
know that we are presently carrying 40 standard air-to-air missiles, 15
Stinger air-to-air missiles and enough rounds for the forward machine
guns to flatten a small town...”
Dillon looked round and nodded. His gaze went straight back to
the console, he reached forward, flicked switches, heard hatch motors
whirring below them; he glanced at the scanners, then looked quickly to
his left. One of the tiny black jets had drawn alongside him and Vince
confirmed another was on the opposite wing tip. Dillon slammed on
the air brakes, dropping the Lear with dipped nose through the skies,
then with a surge of power and a steeply banking turn that snapped
both their heads back against the leather seats; the jet veered, coming
up behind the two small single seaters. Dillon engaged two Stinger and
two standard air-to-air missiles - saw the glow from their tails as they
detached and watched coldly as they hurtled into the evading black
jets. Both aircraft exploded with a roar and fell dead and spinning
from the skies to smash into the dark blue sea below.
Machine guns hammered, abruptly bringing Dillon’s hypnotised
stare back to fresh dangers. Red lights flashed on the scanners and
the Lear fell from the skies, whining like an injured animal in pain, to
twist and skim not more than fifty feet above the surface of the sea -
so close that spray splattered against the windshield and Dillon could
almost smell and taste the salt.
He flicked a switch and the aircraft started to lay thick black
smoke from the tail.
Missiles plunged into the ocean behind them.
“You want to play as well?” Growled Dillon. He studied the
scanners in front of him, examining the two targets and tracking
information displays. He rammed the Lear forward, the jet-turbines
screaming at the rear of the aircraft. The Learjet surged forward, and
speed powered through Dillon’s brain; waves crashed just below the
belly of the fuselage and there, against the white capped waves was an
enormous oil tanker!