He could not - would not - expose that part of his psyche to anyone...
Dillon laughed drunkenly at that and refilled his glass, spilling whisky over the back of his hand. He could remember when the black beast had first manifested itself and, how he had to admit to himself, that without it he would almost certainly be dead many times over by now. This part of his mind, that he could neither understand or get away from in his life, had pushed him on to murder without mercy or compassion.
Dillon felt weakness and this enigma inside his head was untroubled by fear or doubt or even consequences and had maimed and slaughtered with precision and yet.
Dillon couldn’t help wondering if he would rather be dead. What it would be like - to be normal, without the killing?
What life would be like - if he had chosen a different path to walk along?
Dillon fell into a fitful and uneasy sleep, images of the people that he had murdered in the line of duty floating up from the depths of his mind. They accused him, fingers pointing, silent dead mouths open and screaming at him.
* * *
F&CI Com-intercept. Transcript of recent Reuter’s news article.
Reports have been flooding in from all of the major banking institutions around the globe of a potentially malicious computer virus attack - so far unnamed - which has apparently indiscriminately entered tens of millions of machines in quick succession and within thirty seconds of even the most powerful network systems booting-up.
From America to Iceland, from London to Sydney. No country or major city is unaffected. According to IT analysts and experts, the suspected virus has been placed at the highest level of threat and enters the network through a back door using Port 7597. Once in, it detects and installs itself in sectors of the operating system where it then remains in what appears to be a dormant state and with no apparent detriment to the infected machines. Because of the speed at which the virus replicates itself, the hard discs are being urgently examined by a number of anti-virus software organisations who are already estimating that should the virus become malicious it is likely to cause upwards of US$6.5 billion damage.
IT experts predict that there is a secondary script hidden within the main body of the virus and that this is likely to contain the real threat. This element of the virus will deliver the payload - with devastating effects. The banking world is still coming to terms with this massive global security breech and is now on high alert. However, there is no way of
knowing when the real attack will take place or whether anti-virus software can be written fast enough... The question is why has this virus been released on the world of high finance - and to what end?
Chapter 2
Dillon woke early the next morning, got out of bed and immediately wished he hadn’t. The pounding in both his temples made him wince, like hitting your thumb with a hammer, that sort of pain. He made a mental note to quit the cigarettes and the booze just as soon as this assignment was over. Outside it was still raining persistently, as it had been when he had arrived in Cornwall the day before, heavy thunderous skies painted a dreary and miserable picture for the day ahead.
He phoned down to housekeeping and ordered a full English breakfast with coffee and toast to be brought up to his room. Ten minutes later there was a knock at the door and a uniformed orderly stepped into the room and placed the tray down onto a circular oak table by the window.
As Dillon was finishing breakfast; the mobile phone that Tatiana had given him in Scotland, started to vibrate on the table. He picked it up and was not surprised to have been sent an email from Edward Levenson-Jones. It simply outlined the timetable that he would be working to for the next few hours and gave him the location address for Professor Kirill’s lectures. Dillon was somewhat surprised that Kirill was not giving his talks inside the well equipped conference center at Castle Drago. His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing tone of the bedside telephone, the sergeant major at the other end informed him that his transport and escort detail were waiting outside the main entrance.
* * * The Range Rover swept through the heavy iron gates and up the gravel drive, went through a stone archway and parked in a large walled courtyard at the rear of the impressive period house. Dillon checked the mobile phone for any messages and then accessed three coded menus; the phone flickered at him with red digits. Dillon smiled
- the wonders of technological advancements would ensure that the anti-bug mode jammed or scrambled any listening devices that were within its range.
Dillon got out of the luxurious interior, light-weight running shoes crunching on gravel and lit a cigarette. He looked up at the two hundred and fifty year old home of Professor Kirill, a magnificent, yet pretentious structure with its giant classicism, almost awe inspiring with its dressed stone dominated by four turreted corner towers. The windows were tall and narrow with leaded light panes of glass and set back into stone. Visually, Dillon thought as he walked back through the stone archway and around to the front of the building; this was a tense and formal place, almost emotionless. The spectacular open portico, sitting atop broad layers of steps, only endorsed what he was thinking.
The rain had eased a little, but the heavy clouds were still rumbling around almost directly above. Dillon walked back into the courtyard and across to what would have been originally a kitchen service door. He was met by one of the MI6 suits who were crawling all over the place.
“You Dillon?” The surly spook snarled at him, the flash of gleaming white teeth in the process.
“That’s me.” Dillon took a heavy pull on his cigarette and smoke plumed around him. He coughed. “Must remember to try and give these frightful things up.”
“We don’t need you here; we’re doing just fine without you, hard man.”
Dillon held up his hands. “Wow, tiger. I’m simply here to observe, my friend. Now, I’d appreciate it if you would get the fuck out of my face before I decide not to be so friendly towards you.” He smiled and blew smoke into the young spook’s face.
Holding eye contact, the agent used a comm. to confirm Dillon’s identity and stood aside to allow him to enter the building. With a glance over his shoulder, Dillon noted the sniper on the roof of the garage block opposite as he moved inside.
His stomach groaned at him. He reached the door. At least a dozen men in the grounds, he thought. Good. He wasn’t meant to have seen half of them: even better.
He walked through the kitchens and along semi-darkened corridors until he came to the service stairs that led up to the main house. Outside, the sound of rolling thunder made him look up as he climbed the stone steps.
* * * Dillon watched Zhenya Tarasova enter the richly decorated room. She was much more beautiful than her photograph on file. Her beauty stunned him. She wore her auburn hair mid length just below her shoulders, a soft shimmering silken fan; she moved with elegance and grace, and a light smile danced across her face when she saw Dillon. She crossed to him, the only sound was high heels clicking as she walked over the highly polished marble floor, and Dillon felt himself irresistibly gazing into those beautiful Cossack eyes.
“You know why I am here?” he said softly.
“I know why you’re here, Mr Dillon,” she replied in near perfect English. “And I am very grateful for you accepting to look after me. Tatiana wasn’t being truthful when she described you. You’re much more beautiful.”
Her voice was husky, something that Dillon had always found attractive in a woman. He stood, smiled, and without speaking motioned to her necklace, bracelets and rings. She looked at him quizzically and Dillon made gestures for her to remove all of the jewellery. He walked around her, checking the clasps on her elegant deep red dress. Taking all of the items from her, he placed everything on a low maple occasional table, and then motioned for Zhenya to take off her shoes and follow him outside to the formal gardens.
She did so without question, and Dillon led her barefoot out into the grounds. The rain had stopped and the clouds had started to
drift away to the east, the gardens scent, fresh, after the heavy rain of the past two days.
“Where are we going?”
“Bear with me, Miss Tarasova. Down these steps and through the stone arch, if you would, please.”
She laughed then, and Dillon heard the chink in the laughter; the fear was there, well hidden - especially considering the girl was only twenty-two years old - but still there.
They walked - Zhenya a step or two behind Dillon.
He stopped abruptly and turned round. He took her hand.
“You should be afraid. Especially as your uncle has received a number of death threats and he considers them to be very real. Not a hoax - but directly linked to this new software programme that he’s developed for the military. Your uncle fears that those making the threats may turn their attention on to you, as a soft alternative target while both of you are down here in Cornwall, either to kidnap you or to... well, I’m sure you understand the situation as well as I do. Now, there are many agents here whose job it is to protect you and your uncle. I am merely here to look out for you and to give back-up to them - if required. To be your personal bodyguard, shall we say? But I would like you to agree to one thing.”
Zhenya had gone white. Dillon could feel the clamminess of her palm, against his own.
“Yes, Mr Dillon?”
“I want you do everything I ask - without question or hesitation. I want your absolute trust - and never forget that I cannot be bought. I’m wealthy enough in my own right and money does not interest me. But I must know that when I say jump, you’ll jump without hesitation
- if you want to stay alive that is. Will you agree to this?”
She paused, and then smiled softly. “Yes. I will do what you ask. But I too have a question.”
“Okay. Fire away?” Dillon was looking around the garden.
“Why did I have to remove all of my jewellery and shoes?”
“Bugs. Almost certainly put there by the MI6 guys here, they’re only doing their job - but I wanted a little privacy. This little device,” Dillon held up his mobile phone, “is particularly clever and very effective at blocking and jamming, but I hate surprises. I trust myself far more than technology. I have a little motto - better to be cautious than dead.” He let the word hang in the air.
“Oh, I see.”
“So tell me, why do you think you’ve been threatened?”
“Since the death of my father, my uncle has treated me like his own daughter. I have my own private living quarters at the establishment in Scotland and we always eat dinner together every evening. My uncle works extremely hard - he is a genius. All I know is that we suspect terrorists want to get the new programme destroyed because it almost certainly means that governments and agencies around the planet will be able to locate and destroy them with extreme ease.”
“Why are you here in Cornwall?” asked Dillon. “Your uncle knew before he left Scotland that your life could be in danger. After all, you are his only living blood relation - the daughter he never had. You should have been sent somewhere safe, away from the possibility of extreme danger.”
Zhenya turned away from him, then stopped and picked a brightly coloured flower. She held the small delicate petals to her nose and, her eyes lowered, said softly; “My uncle is a man of unbending principles and I admire that. He will not be intimidated and will always stand by what he believes in. The truth is, he didn’t want me here at all; but I also, will not have my life dictated by madmen who may or may not carry out their loathsome threats. I am my own person, Mr Dillon.” She met his gaze then said. “I will do what I wish. And to be honest - if they can get to us here, then they can get to us anywhere we choose to hide.” She said with contempt.
Dillon said, “I want you to know that I’ve never failed on a protection assignment. He squeezed her hand gently. “If you do what I say - when I say it, we might just stay alive if the bullets start flying. Okay?”
“Okay.” Zhenya smiled a beautiful smile. She placed the flower in his lapel button hole. “I want you to have this flower as a mark of my friendship.” Dillon was touched by the girl’s gesture and followed her back up towards the house. He watched the agents in the bushes and, as clouds gathered once again overhead with the threat of more heavy rain, did not envy their position. A smile crossed his face as he walked over the gravel path that led back to the main house.
* * *
“Professor Kirill.” Dillon stood up and watched the older man approaching him. He was of small build, with sandy coloured hair, soft grey at the temples and a neatly trimmed goatee-beard. His eyes were sharp and intelligent, his dress smart and expensive. Dillon shook the offered hand - a remarkably powerful grip.
“A drink, Mr Dillon? Dillon was about to accept when Kirill continued. “No, don’t tell me. Let me guess. Straight single malt whisky without ice. Am I right?”
“Absolutely right, Professor. But, not while I’m working. Just water will be fine.”
“It was extremely good of you to agree to this assignment. As I understand it, you are virtually retired, yet you come, shall we say, with the very highest of recommendations.”
“I’ve had many years to perfect my talents.” Dillon smiled wryly. He took the glass and watched Kirill go and stand in front of the fireplace and light a cigarette. The man fixed his gaze on Dillon who sat back down and glanced over at Zhenya, who was seated on an antique leather chair by one of the tall windows.
“In your opinion, Mr Dillon. Are we in great danger here?” Asked Professor Kirill.
Dillon sipped at the glass of iced water. Placing it down on to a small round side table at the side of his chair. He looked up at the Professor and shrugged. “From what I’ve been told and the reports I’ve read. I would say most definitely, yes. If I understand correctly, you have been working for the British Government, and it would seem that your work has gained you a few enemies.”
“The people you are referring to, Mr Dillon. Are nothing more than cowards, they have heard rumours about a new programme that I have developed - their fear is justified - it means the end for them. But I must tell you that whilst I believe them to be cowards, that in reality, they will try and fight back as sure as adversity stares them in the face.
“Can you tell me about the new programme?”
“Even with your security clearance, that is still too highly classified,” said Kirill softly. “All I can say is this, and I know that you are fully aware of the Scorpion units. They exist to combat against the terrorist threat wherever it may be found and my new programme will be of tremendous assistance in their task. It is incredibly powerful and is able to gain access and interact with any programme or database - whether encrypted or not - in the blink of an eye. I have created a programme that can locate computers being used by organised crime syndicates and terrorist cells globally by accessing their every available on-line resource. It then up-loads a tiny piece of mal-ware which eventually destroys the hard drive. But not before taking control of the system and downloading every single piece of data on it... Ahh,” he sighed, relaxing slightly, the look of excitement in his eyes fading to a more guarded unreadable expression. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. As you pointed out earlier, this is still at the field trial stage and very much only a prototype - it is not quite ready to be set free - yet.”
“It must be uniquely powerful and light years ahead of anything else currently developed to evoke such interest... and a threat to your life, Professor?” Dillon said, almost casually. “Maybe there are some people who would prefer not to see it ever become operational?”
Kirill merely nodded, smiling, and sipped at his drink.
“This threat to Miss Tarasova - you do realise it could be merely a double bluff? You could be the target.” Dillon said matter of factly.
“Of course, that possibility was the first thing that came to mind. However, should the need arise - rest assured that I can handle myself, Mr Dillon. I worked for the KGB for many years as a fiel
d operative. Like you, I am very capable of staying alive. It is my niece who needs protection now, I cannot watch over her twenty-four hours a day. Edward Levenson-Jones will have sent you the schedule of events, I will be giving lectures throughout the day and then there is the party this evening.” He looked across the room at his niece. “I’m afraid her stubborn nature will not keep her away and well...”
“I can only advise you to cancel, professor.”
“I will not cancel. And, I will not cower because of something that might or might not happen.” Said Kirill, his face hardening. Anyway the MI6 agents have said they will draft in more men if needed. And of course, you’re here.” He smiled without humour, showing tobacco stained teeth. “Zhenya will be safe. She can stay out of the day’s proceedings...”
Zhenya turned to face them from where she was sitting. Her eyes bright. “No I most certainly will not. I won’t hide myself away either.” She sounded indignant.
“If that’s the way you want to play it.”
Dillon stood up and left the room. Rain was falling again and he delved into his jacket pocket and pulled out the mobile phone, turning it over in the palm of his hand. After a moment he connected to the security services and checked that all of the agents assigned to the protection unit were present and correct, but most importantly stationed at their positions at various locales inside the building and outside in the grounds. He set the device to automatically check and update him every fifteen minutes until the day’s events and party that evening were over.
Dillon cursed Kirill’s stubbornness. A party! For work colleagues and Government dignitaries to celebrate a ‘milestone achievement’.
“Bloody hell, Kirill. Why couldn’t you just stay in Scotland?” Dillon said aloud to himself.
Dillon had to admit to himself that he was annoyed. He hadn’t realised that LJ had drafted him in on what he had thought was a simple VIP protection assignment. Kirill was a top dog - a former KGB operative, Government researcher and world renowned computer program developer - and Dillon knew that he would therefore have made some very powerful enemies along the way. That meant the game was far more important than Dillon had been led to believe; more important than Tatiana had led him to believe.
Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) Page 5
