Well, she had written the Chimera Programme script. Although no-one would ever know, because Kirill had already taken all of the credit for it himself. The British taxpayer had funded it, and Scorpion, under the watchful eye of GCHQ, had been conducting the field trials, which had looked promising to say the least. Chimera was capable of infiltrating any network - unseen. It could take control of any computer and override the system within seconds; hack world data banks; match the individual identities of every known major league organised crime criminal and global terrorist alike. Take control and utilise strategic military and spy satellites to coordinate ground, air and sea forces anywhere on the planet...
Chimera was the ultimate Artificial Intelligence - but it was more than that - it was constantly learning - constantly adapting - constantly changing...
Chimera gave the infected computer the ability to think, to possess the ability to know what was right, and what was wrong; feeding every piece of hidden data back to GCHQ. It would be the ultimate weapon against global terrorism, and the British would be at the forefront of this awesome new technology. Scorpion could conquer the ever growing terror of organised crime and drug cartels raising billions of dollars every year to fund the likes of al Qaeda, of gun runners and bomb makers, as well as Assassins...
Claudia shivered. She understood that the stakes were high; she had not really understood or taken on board the implications before the total wipe-out of Scorpion HQ in London. But now with the deaths of so many innocent people, she felt chilled to her core.
Claudia knew; this was no longer a game on a screen.
And that it had most likely never been.
Claudia walked back to the lift, and then, decided to drop by the central processor lab, snoop around, see what the automated machines were up to at this anti-social hour of the day. The machines were programmed to run routine operations during the small hours and so there was little fear of meeting anybody at this lonely time.
After descending to the lowest level, she trod silently through the carpeted corridors to the central lab. She stopped. She accessed the first Armourlite glass door and then as this closed, she was left standing in the airlock awaiting the second door to open - it was then that she saw her.
A tall figure...
Claudia Dax froze.
The young woman was motionless, standing near the machine that had the Chimera Programme loaded onto its hardrive.
Claudia stared for a long moment. No movement came from the woman and Claudia tried to meet her gaze, positive that she had been seen and yet aware that the woman gave no indication of having spotted her.
Claudia hadn’t seen her before. Perhaps she was a new security officer, drafted in from London?
Or was she one of Kirill’s own people? Sent to oversee the last few vital elements of the programme that would see it complete and fully operational...
Claudia sank slowly to the carpet and sat, hidden by the solid lower panels, wondering what she should now do. She crawled over to the door that had admitted her, and swiped her security pass. The door slid open silently and she crawled out into and along the corridor, turned the corner, then got to her feet and, with a smile and sigh of relief at her unbelievable luck, ran as fast as she could to the lift.
A few minutes later, she was back inside her apartment, pacing about her living space, a glass of Jack Daniels in her shaking hand, sipping it slowly and wondering what the tall athletic young woman had been up to; why had she been there?
Her heart was still pounding as she pondered the strange woman she had witnessed; black skin-tight cat suit, cut perfectly to every contour of her slender body, hair blond, cropped. The eyes of the palest blue. The woman had appeared relaxed yet, threatening… very, very threatening!
Claudia shivered, and sipped again at her drink.
Who was she?
Must have been drafted in as additional core security staff to watch over Chimera in the final stages of development. But what about all of the other security measures, weren’t these good enough? Weren’t the electrified razor wire fencing, the SAS trained guards, the bomb-proof concrete walls and armour plated sliding doors - enough to protect this planet changing programme?
The answer was of course - yes.
Claudia laughed softly, bitterly, to herself, as she stared out over the mountainous terrain through the wall-mounted fifty inch LCD flat-screen monitor.
Pondering her very strange and very near encounter, Claudia took another sip of the amber liquid, enjoying the smooth flavour. A word crept into the recesses of her mind; a word she had once heard spoken, when overhearing part of a conversation between Kirill and Ramus and one other, whom she did not know...
“Assassin...”
They had all stopped talking and turned to stare directly at her, when they had realised that she was working in the computer suite they had just walked in to. She apologised and had left the room immediately.
But now; the word seemed to come naturally to the fore-front of Claudia’s mind, from somewhere deep in the vaults of her remarkable memory. It seemed to fit into the scheme of personal bodyguards and enforcers...
Assassin. An Assassin. The Assassins? Was it just one, a dozen or many? No matter, because it always came down to one thing - killing.
A shiver ran through her body, realising that she had drunk a little too much, and then downed the rest of the whisky in one gulp.
She decided she would ask her friend and work colleague, Ed King in the morning. If anyone would know about new security measures being initiated, he would.
Yes, definitely a good idea; He was Kirill’s assistant chief of security, and may even know about the Assassins.
Maybe.
Chapter 10
Dillon crashed down onto the frozen ground with his brain screaming anger-filled hatred, fuelling a re-renewed energy within him. His soul filled with cold detachment, like a giant’s hand giving him a nasty squeeze... “Fight,” howled his sub-conscious alter-ego. But Dillon could not; for the briefest of seconds, he could not; it was as if he had an enormous flat slab of concrete pressing down on him. Without consciously knowing it, he reloaded the Glock with a fresh magazine by sense of touch in his jacket pocket as the footsteps came towards him, and his brain seized and the footsteps suddenly increased in pace and…
“Roll!” his brain screamed at him. Dillon rolled, the Glock now in his hand and pumping bullets up into the air.
A kick sent the weapon spinning across the frozen ground.
Dillon curled his lip in a nasty smile. The promise of what was to come foremost in his mind...
A diesel engine started - the Landrover. The Assassin’s head snapped right - Dillon leaped, arms latching on to the attacker’s legs at thigh height, teeth sinking into soft flesh. The attacker screamed with intense pain, and instinctively fell backwards, dragging Dillon back down onto the frozen ground. Dillon twisted to the left, rolled once, and re-positioned himself to attack; he slammed both fists into the Assassin’s face. One blow, two, three, four, and five. He felt, as well as heard, bone break under the balaclava.
The Landrover, pluming smoke, accelerated out through the archway from the courtyard.
Dillon staggered up.
The Assassin’s foot lashed up into Dillon’s groin and he stumbled back; the scene flashed red, there was a crunch of gravel as heavy off-road tyres skidded to a halt. Exhaust fumes spewing out like a dragon’s breath.
Dillon looked up into the Assassin’s face.
Black clad - unreadable...
But the eyes. The eyes were thebluest blue, and filled with hatred.
The figure stood, legs slightly spread, arms raised in classic karate style, waiting, to finish the job that it had been sent to carry out. Dillon scrambled to his feet and the eyes were solidly fixed on him, boring into his very being, and he grinned, a very nasty grin. “You ready to die, ass-hole?”
“I have merely been toying with you, Mr Dillon. But no more.”
Se
emingly, from out of thin air; the Assassin produced a slender evil looking knife. The highly polished blade glinted menacingly in the early morning sunshine, and the Assassin lowered its head. Dillon managed to draw his own long bladed knife and spat blood into the snow.
“Well if that’s the best you’ve got, then let the party begin. And you wanting to fight with knives... How fortunate.”
The Land Rover’s diesel engine revved, plumes of black smoke spewing out of the exhaust. Dillon could see Tatiana looking back over the seat; the white reverse light came on and Dillon understood...
The Assassin attacked.
Blades flashed and sparks flew as they engaged in this final clash.
Dillon drew back with blood weeping down his forearm. The smile fell from his lips, as he stared down at the sliced skin. They circled and Dillon edged the Assassin closer.
Dillon rushed forward - as Tatiana floored the Land Rover’s accelerator and the engine roared loud. The Assassin came at Dillon, blade slashing left and right, and then turned - Dillon dived right.
The slab like back door of the Landrover hammered into the Assassin; the body was violently thrown backwards in a tangle of limbs to collide with a three hundred year old oak tree at the edge of the drive. The bloody knife fell to the frozen ground. The Assassin collapsed in a sprawling broken heap.
Dillon - breathing hard - looked slowly to the left at the knobbly off-road tyre merely four inches from his nose. He wearily dragged himself to his feet and glared at Tatiana’s reflection in the side mirror.
“You almost killed me.”
“But I didn’t. Get in,” she hissed, pain lining her face.
“Give me the Walther. I want to check our friend over there.”
“Get in!” Tatiana screamed.
Dillon half turned and his jaw dropped in amazement and disbelief. The Assassin had survived, was leaning against the tree. Piercing blue eyes met Dillon’s gaze, the balaclava hood had been discarded, and the bloodied face of a young blond haired woman confronted him. She sprinted forward at incredible speed over the frozen ground... Dillon dived, scooping up his Glock, and then dragged open the door and sprawled full length across the back seat of the Landrover as Tatiana hit the accelerator. Spitting snow, the 4x4 roared down the track, sliding left and right, bouncing over the potholes and shooting off down the lane.
Dillon stared out of the back window.
The Assassin was close behind, a gloved hand reached out, brushed against its right boot and Dillon couldn’t believe what he was witnessing, the Land Rover’s engine screamed and Tatiana’s foot floored the accelerator pedal with an aggressive stab...
The Assassin slowed to a walk and then stopped, arms limp by her side, panting with the sudden explosive exertion, blue eyesholding Dillon’s gaze.
“What is going on? How the fuck did she survive the impact, and how on earth did she manage to run like that?” said Dillon.
“Are you hurt?”
“Hurt, I’m way beyond hurting.” He said. “How about you?”
“I’m bleeding again, and feeling just a little...”
Dillon felt the 4x4 swerve. He clambered over into the front seat, and helped Tatiana to bring the Landrover to a halt at the side of the road. Dillon swapped positions with Tatiana, and then handed her another sterile dressing, which she held against her re-opened shoulder wound as Dillon, hands sticky with his own blood, floored the powerful diesel engine and they sped off up the mountain road.
* * * Dillon drove the Landrover hard and after twenty minutes left the relative safety of tarmac roads behind, off-road tyres kicking up loose powder snow once again, the Land Rover’s diesel engine finding it easy in its natural environment. He found the narrow track, and drove into the wilderness. Finding a secluded gateway that was flanked on either side by dry-stone walling, he jumped out, leaving the engine running. He unlatched the heavy wooden five-bar field gate, and then stared into the distance at the brooding dark woods on the far side of the heather down. The howling of the wind made him shiver and, as he started back to the warmth of the Landrover’s interior, large snowflakes began to fall heavily. He eased the 4x4 over woodland debris and killed the engine.
“Let’s take a proper look at that wound.” Dillon helped Tatiana onto the rear seat and checked the reopened gunshot wound. Blood had clotted; the flow reduced to nothing more than a trickle now. Tatiana’s face was ashen grey with pain.
“I’m sorry Tats. But we’re all out of painkillers,” said Dillon, stroking her hair.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, smiling. She closed her eyes, and winced. Dillon eased himself out of his jacket with difficulty, his ribs clicking beneath his battered and bruised flesh with every movement. He checked the various knife wounds on both his arms; these had clotted and had almost stopped bleeding, but some required stitches.
“Some of those wounds need attention,” said Tatiana.
“I’ll be okay.” Dillon delved into his holdall, and pulled out a small plastic bottle.
“What’s that?”
“Cyanoacrylate.” Dillon immediately saw her bewilderment, and added. “Superglue. Sticks skin together in seconds, and better than any other method when on the move.”
“Oh. Are you sure?”
“Positive. It was the Americans who first found out the real benefits of superglue during the Vietnam conflict.” Dillon said as he ran the nozzle along a two inch gash running down his forearm.
“Did you manage to pick up any provisions?”
“I always keep field rations hidden under this rear seat. I’d say we have enough for a couple of days, and then we’ll have to head back to civilisation and re-stock. Have you any cash on you?”
“No. Only plastic. How about you?”
“Three hundred in twenties.”
“We can top up at a cash machine.”
“No good. It leaves a trail. The cash I’ve got will have to be enough.”
“So why don’t we leave a trail?” said Tatiana. “Only it’ll be a false one! We’ll draw out as much cash as possible at a number of cashpoints - let them track the transactions, and then double back and head in the opposite direction?”
Dillon considered this for a moment. They were going to need a lot more money, wherever they were going. He nodded, smiled, and, bending down, kissed Tatiana on the cheek.
“Thanks for saving my neck back there,” he said. “Now we’re even.”
Tatiana’s arm came up and pulled him back down to her. They kissed passionately, and for a couple of seconds, the world seemed to be at peace again.
Dillon pulled away, his gaze intensely locked to hers.
“Come on. We have to get going.”
“Can’t we stay here tonight?”
“If what you say about these Assassins is correct. Then she will be coming for us right now, and that means we need to put some serious miles between her and us. You understand?”
“Of course. I’ll sleep - you drive.”
“No problem.” Dillon kissed her again, and pulled a heavy blanket from the back and wrapped her in it. He climbed over into the driver’s seat, and started the powerful diesel engine. After a moment, he turned the heater dial to hot, checked the fuel gauge, then reversed slowly from the wood, tyres crunching over twigs, and out onto the heath land. Drove back to the gateway and out onto the lane.
“Where are you heading?” Said Tatiana sleepily, pulling the blanket up tight around her neck.
“You’ll find out when we get there.”
“Any flying involved?”
“A little. But nothing to worry about.”
“Damn it Dillon, you know I hate flying.”
“It’s the only way, Tats. Sorry.”
“Oh.” Tatiana snuggled up against her makeshift pillow and closed her eyes. Dillon angled the rear-view mirror and watched her sleep as he drove through the countryside; the cool air from the partially open side window made him shiver occasionally as mile after mile of tarmac
and the rare traveller sped by in a blur.
* * * The Landrover drifted across the white line, a sitting duck for any oncoming vehicles. Dillon swerved violently back to the correct lane as horns blared and headlights flashed. He wasn’t sure, but he must have dozed off, just for a split second, and cursed himself for doing so. Snow had turned to heavy persistent rain and sleet the further south they drove. The windscreen was awash. Thunder clapped overhead in the dark brooding sky; he re-adjusted his rear-view mirror and saw the Xenon headlights glowing white behind him. The driver of the car, horn blaring, impatient to overtake.
“Okay, Okay,” Dillon said quietly. He increased the speed of the wipers to cope with the deluge of water falling out of the sky, eased up on the accelerator and then took the Landrover around the roundabout and out the other side towards the east and Edinburgh. The Highlands were now just a bad memory, left behind until this mess was sorted out...
He drove on bitterly through the inclement weather.
* * * It was just before dusk when Dillon pulled the Landrover into the lay-by. Half an hour earlier had seen him in a Tesco-Express store buying supplies - everything from biscuits and crisps to tinned Tuna and Diet-Cola through to basic travel medical kits, T-shirts and hoodies that weren’t covered in blood and a number of mysterious items which he kept hidden in one of his holdalls. Now they were both cleaned up and wearing a fresh change of clothing, they looked at one another and Tatiana ran a hand through her hair. She’d just taken some pain-killers - the maximum dose - but was still obviously in considerable pain...
“What now, Dillon?”
“We steal a plane. Or anything else that will get us airborne.” “Steal a plane... are you out of your mind?”
“Now there’s the question. But, no, I am not, and the reason for
stealing a plane, is that if we just strolled onto an airfield and asked to hire one; we would immediately give our location away, because it would be immediately logged with the authorities. And, for another, whoever it is attempting to track us would know exactly where we were the minute we log a flight plan. I do not intend to bring attention to our whereabouts. So it’s lucky for us that privately owned small aircraft are stolen all the time, and that they only ever call in the local plod. Now, we need to get to the next village where there is a small private grass strip; they have a few single prop aircraft, but mostly gliders. However I do know that there will be a twin turbo-prop towplane in one of the Nissan hangers, which will do us nicely.” “Dillon,” said Tatiana slowly, “Surely there will be security
Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) Page 17
