Gordie was heisted into the air, his legs kicking. He slammed his head backwards, once, twice, three times, hearing a crunch each time. The grip slackened but did not let go. “Flint!” he managed to shout into the G8 Bluetooth earpiece, then rammed his elbow back into the solar plexus of his assailant with all of his remaining strength. The garrotte loosened and Gordie stumbled to his knees, coughing, scrabbling at the fine wire that was biting viscously into his flesh.
Flint sighted his rifle on the rooftop of the building that he was positioned on, could see Gordie struggling, but his attacker was far too close for a clear shot and the heat haze was fuzzing the whole scene and obscuring his aim. Then Gordie struck back. The assailant stumbled backwards and Flint squeezed off a shot, and then two more in quick succession. He grinned nastily just as the silenced machine pistol touched the back of his head and blew his brains and most of his face over the rooftop.
Gordie heard the hiss of the bullets as they flew past him. He spun round, crouching low as he drew his Glock 9mm automatic pistol. The black-clad figure moved forward towards him with lightning speed, kicking the gun out of his grip and out over the edge of the skyscraper. Dazed and confused about what was happening
- he heard three dull thuds, knew that Flint’s bullets had hit their mark. Kevlar?The question flashed through his mind as reflexes took over. Punch, left kick, right kick, punch - he blocked each with his arms, then smashed a straight left that the figure dodged with ease as it moved around him. Gordie came close up and personal with his assailant - the eyes were ocean blue, focused, sharp - and he brought his knee up hard into the crotch of the Assassin. The figure twisted, went down onto the concrete and immediately spun round to take out Gordie’s legs from under him. He hit the concrete with sudden shock, the back of his head cracking against the edge of the rooftop. The whirling blackness of semi unconsciousness flooded his vision - he struck out wildly, but hit nothing. He realised with horror that he was being manhandled closer to the edge. “No!” he yelled his arms and legs scrabbling for some sort of hold on the concrete rooftop. But wind rushed up past him as his eyes widened in terror and despair. The sound of his scream remained silent. Then he hit the ground and it was over.
Jacko was considered a total loner by those who worked with him. He appeared to have no friends and was - emotionally and socially inept. He was however, dedicated, professional - and almost the best long range sniper in the business. Rumour had it that he could part the hairs on a target’s head from over a mile away with a single shot without them even knowing about it.
He was angry with himself that he not seen them coming. Three figures in black had climbed on-board the boat without being seen. “Impossible!“ screamed his mind as they closed in for the kill. He swung his rifle and shot the first figure between the eyes - there was a crack as the bullet ripped open the back of the Assassin’s skull, a spray of blood and brains, and it fell back limply and fell over the side and into the water.
Jacko grinned malevolently at the other two figures.
They drew silenced pistols in fluid movements and then everybody started shooting at the same time. Another dark-clad shape fell, hurled backwards onto the deck like a rag doll by the 12.7mm round. Then Jacko was hit by a bullet in the shoulder, spinning him round as a second smashed through his side and a third into his stomach. He could feel the blood rising up into his throat and mouth. He groaned and through crimson lips the blood spewed out over the white of the deck. He could feel himself starting to drift away, “Bastards”, as he started to loose consciousness. Blood dripped from his limp corpse. The only remaining Assassin crept closer and put three more bullets into Jacko’s head. Ocean blue eyes stared down for the briefest moment. Then the black-clad figure dived over the side, into the harbour and disappeared.
* * * The heavy military truck screeched to a halt on the hot tarmac. Kody stared hard past the shimmering heat haze, then barked, “Out.” Six men from the Argentine Special Forces leaped out from the rear of the truck and moved around to the side where he was standing. They spread out, American issue machine pistols covering each other’s arc of fire. Kody looked through binoculars towards the high rise skyscraper and then at the rooftop of the building opposite the Ministry of Defence. He then trained them on the power cruiser in the harbour and on the dead body of Jacko. His head riddled with bullets and he assumed that Gordie and Flint had met their ends in a similar way. “What the fuck has gone down here? Three of you take the truck and head over to where the sniper on the roof of that high-rise was positioned, you three get over to that rooftop on the other side of the harbour - bring back their bodies. I’ll go and take a closer look inside that building - we will re-group back here in fifteen minutes. Xavier, have we got comms back yet?”
“Sorry Boss, the whole network is down including the Scorpion Squad’s G8 link.”
“Fuck. Well, let’s get on with it boys.”
Kody was shocked at the devastation caused by the terrorist’s
bombs, but there were no terrorists, dead bodies or anyone inside the building. It didn’t take him long to realise that the whole thing was looking decidedly odd. Kody knew - could feel it - had been at this game for far too long.
They had been well and truly shafted - but to what purpose? Had the terrorists planted the explosives, set them off remotely, and then from some elaborate studio played out their demands - without actually being in the building?
Fifteen minutes later, Kody was leaning against a wall, a Cuban cigar between his teeth, smoke spiraling around his face. At his feet, on stretchers, lay the dead bodies of the three Scorpion unit personnel, Flint, Gordie and Jacko. Flint’s face was completely missing from the bullet in the back of the head. Gordie’s body was so smashed that there wasn’t one single bone that wasn’t broken. And Jacko lay face up with unseeing eyes from his multiple bullet wounds to his body and head. Kody stared at the bodies and shuddered, bent down and gently closed Jacko’s eyes before zipping up the black body bags.
Xavier approached. “All comms are back on-line, Boss. But, the G8 network is still out. We’ve scanned the entire area and there are no other bodies. Hell man, what went on here?”
“Smoke and shadows. They were brought here on a fool’s errand.”
“What? But, what about that fucking big hole in the Ministry building?”
“This was never about the building or the gold bullion demand,” said Kody. Reluctantly, he took the cigar from between his lips and tossed it into the harbour below. He faced Xavier and their stare met.
“Somebody wanted those Scorpion snipers dead.”
“So you think this was a hit?”
Kody nodded. “Oh yes, my old friend. And of one thing I am absolutely certain of: whoever did this, whoever killed this Scorpion unit - I’m sure as hell glad they’re not looking for me.”
“How do you know they’re not?” whispered Xavier.
Kody shrugged. “Because, I’d already be dead,” he said simply.
* * *
GCHQ Transcript 1. CLASSIFIED HQ1/FYEO-289 SPECIAL SERVICES SUPPORT UNIT. Hacked: GLOBAL TERRORIST MONITORING INTERCEPT.
Transcript of encrypted email: They call them Scorpion Units and belong to the British Government. They are constantly undercover - have no official department and are acknowledged as ‘not existing’. They are sent into situations where, like a surgeon’s knife, a quick and effective result is required. These clandestine groups have more expertise, training and experience than any other fighting force in operation today and can operate in any terrain and climate. They are considered more covert than any other global government organisation or secret service agency. To any head of state, president or world power who even suspect their existence, they are the ultimate weapon in the fight against global terrorism.
Our agent in Paris has made contact with a member of such a Scorpion Unit, code named Alektra. She has made herself known to us. We have already authenticated her association with Scorpion. Alektra claims th
at the British Government, in its battle to wipe out terrorism, stabilise corrupt governments and erase the evil and scurrilous profiteers who trade in; human life, drugs, prostitution and terrorist funding wherever they are found, has developed a highly sophisticated and self-thinking prototype computer system - named - Hydra - which is supposed to be impenetrable from attack and has been developed to help with their mission. This information is highly classified.
Prior to Alektra’s assassination she claimed that something was very wrong with Scorpion and in particular at the highest level of government. In her own words: there is a traitor within their midst. Alektra mentioned a word: ‘Thanatos.’ Taken from Greek Mythology this means, the personification of death. We suspect that this indicates an Assassin or Assassins of some considerable skill.
The female Alektra was pulled out of the River Seine near to the Eiffel Tower embankment earlier this month. The subject had been garroted.
GCHQ Transcript 2. CLASSIFIED AQBL/FYEO48902 SPECIAL SERVICES SUPPORT UNIT. Hacked: GLOBAL TERRORIST MONITORING INTERCEPT. Transcript of encrypted email: Our programmers have made significant breakthroughs in the virus and worm programme development; the new codes selfreplicate at the fastest speeds ever and that Denial of Service occurs within seconds of the host CPU becoming infected. The anti-virus programs tested were not able to stop the spread of the new virus because of enhanced armouring virus scripts that have been written into the codes. Both Microsoft Windows and Macintosh Apple operating systems were effectively shut down and all data erased from the host hardrive. During initial testing the hardware targeted was physically killed within three minutes of being infected with the virus. The speed at which it works its black magic is truly incredible. When it goes live the effects will be instant at all levels and on all aspects of computing, from military applications to world commerce and economics. We predict a total meltdown across the planet within 24 hours. Attached are the encoded data files for you to proceed with when the time comes... TRANSFER OF DATA TERMINATED
- HACKER INVOLVEMENT SUSPECTED. Intrusion detected at level 5 - GCHQ building. Initiate lock-down protocol…
Chapter 1
Dillon watched the row of six monitors on the opposite wall of the oak lined study. Hidden CCTV cameras picked up the driver of a Mercedes AMG 55 wheel spin the luxury sports car up the narrow snowbound lane and park precariously and at an obscure angle in the sweeping drive. The driver’s door swung open and the woman climbed from the warmth and comfort of the interior. She glanced up towards him, towards the shield of glass and waved through the lightly falling snow.
Dillon moved from the study, across the great hall, walking barefoot over luxurious Persian rugs to one of the day rooms. He threw more logs and coal on the fire and then went back through to the study, picked up the handheld control unit off his desk and, remotely opened the front door, went back to the living room and crashed out on one of the large sofas with a large single malt whisky.
He heard her, stamping snow from her boots and quietly cursing the weather, the location and, most of all, him. He smiled wryly, swirling the whisky and taking in its silky smooth flavour as the attractive woman came up the stone steps to the front door.
As she appeared in the doorway he raised his arm over the back of the sofa and remotely closed the heavy oak door. “How’s life, Tats?”
“It’s Tatiana, not Tats.”
“Bit tense, aren’t we. Whisky or wine?”
“What wine?”
“White. Italian - very cold. Does it really matter?”
“It matters, Dillon. Why the fuck did you buy a castle in the
middle of fuck knows where?”
“It’s the Scottish Highlands, and I happen to like it here.” “But it’s in the middle of nowhere!”
“That’s just it, Tats. There’s not a living soul within fifty
miles. Unlike London, which has become so congested it’s almost suffocating.” Dillon shook his head as he walked off to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. A moment later he returned and handing her the glass and said, “I moved out of the city because it’s not a pleasant environment. Up here the air is fresh, what you might call conducive to relaxation and hopefully a long life.”
Tatiana gave a short laugh, her gaze moving around the spacious living room. “I can’t believe you gave up everything you’ve ever worked for to come and live the easy life. Christ, you even sold your Porsche Carrera S4 in favour of a fucking Landrover, and an old one at that.”
“To be honest, Tats. A Porsche wouldn’t be much good to me up here.” Dillon frowned. “I don’thave to go out much. I have everything I need right here.”
Tatiana stopped, took a deep breath and counted silently as she summoned patience. She removed her coat and threw it over the back of a nearby leather armchair, closed her eyes for a moment and then took a long gulp of her wine, followed by another, emptying her glass. She held it out for a refill. Dillon picked the bottle out of the ice bucket and poured her another generous glass full.
“I hate Scotland,” she said.
“There’s nothing to hate, Tats,” Dillon said softly. He drained his glass in one and immediately poured himself another. “It feels right to be here, it’s just so beautiful. You won’t understand, but I’ve discovered that I like my own company. The solitude has given me a rejuvenated inner strength and vitality for life once again. All of those years, killing to survive and having to constantly watch my back, drained me to a point where I felt that if someone had put a bullet in my head, they would have done me a favour. Just to escape from all the shit. All I’ve done, Tatiana - is to step off the merry-go-round for the sake of my own sanity.” He watched her slim and athletic form. He thought back to better times - long days and endless nights, making love, laughing, talking, drinking...
He topped her glass up. She ran a hand through her long naturally blond hair, using a small elastic band to tie it into a pony tail, the way she knew from old, was how he liked it. He smiled, downed his whisky in one gulp and threw the cut crystal tumbler into the fire where it shattered: for a brief moment the flames flared, the light dancing across the walls and over the high vaulted ceiling.
“You always were melodramatic,” said Tatiana thoughtfully, staring down into her wine glass. She moved in front of the fire, sitting on the luxurious rug in front of it and gazing into the flames, seemingly lost in thought.
“Why are you here?” He said finally when he realised that she was not going to break the silence without prompting.
Flames crackled for a while and Dillon wondered if she had heard him.
“Why has there got to be reason, Jake?”
“Well for starters - it’s been well over a year since I left London,” Dillon sighed. “Are you still working for Ferran & Cardini?”
“Of course. The firm grows more important to the British Government with each passing day. LJ sends his regards, by the way.” She smiled softly.
“That old slave-driver should be retired by now.”
“Well, that as may be. He has a job for you.”
“Ah.” Dillon sighed, climbed to his feet and walked to stand in front of the large bay window. The snow was falling much more heavily now and he could see, dimly through the swirling flakes, the mountains on the other side of the loch, blue-grey and sheer - exhilarating. The wind howled through the woods outside and whistled in through odd gaps in the wooden window casements, lifting the edge of the heavy drapes as it passed by. Dillon shivered, despite the fire’s heat in the room. He felt a twinge of disappointment that he could not see the frozen mountain peak in the distance.
“Would I be working alone?”
“On your own. A protection job.”
“I don’t know, Tats.” Dillon said softly, still gazing out of the window - his mind playing back vivid images of events he would rather forget, nightmares he would rather not relive. She stood, a fluid and graceful action, and moved to him, draped her arms over his shoulders and rested her cheek
on his broad back.
“I know you’ve turned down the last two assignments that LJ has offered you - as is your prerogative. But this has come from the very top of Government. It’s really important, Jake.”
“It always is,” said Dillon bitterly.
“It’s something big, and it’s going to happen soon. We don’t know when - where - or how. But it’s got the weenies in Whitehall very twitchy, indeed.
“What’s new? Nothing you’ve told me so far, Tatiana, has grabbed my interest.”
“The world is changing, Jake, and you’re fucking hidingup here...”
She tailed off as she saw the look on his face and cursed herself inwardly. That had been a blow way below the belt; Dillon was good. No, he was the best. And after the stolen painting assignment... he had the right to live and rest any way he pleased...
Tatiana took a deep breath.
“Look, I want you to do this,” she said. She moved around to face him very slowly. Her lips touched his and he allowed her to kiss him for a few moments. Her breath was sweet, her lips soft and inviting.
“Why?”
“How long is it since Isabella left you for that stockbroker?”
“You’re evading my question, Tatiana. Just over a year ago - and you knew that anyway, it’s in my file.”
“The girl in question is young, vulnerable, alone and afraid - someone who I can empathise with. Damn it, Dillon. You’re the best in the business and she needs the best there is.”
“Crap.” He kissed her again, anyway, tasting the lightness of the wine on her lips. When he pulled away, he was frowning. “Why not one of the Scorpion units, they’re more than capable of protection duties. Surely they would be first in line?
Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) Page 3
