Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series)

by Andrew Towning

  Death Candy. It left a bad taste in Dillon’s brain, like a poisonous line of cocaine.

  A laboratory manufactured hallucinogenic drug, Death Candy was destined to be handed out like a plague across all of the European states.

  The tanker was huge, had beenstripped of anything unnecessary, so as to hold the maximum cargo. The drugs, man-made and devastating, would have done the job they had been designed to do, if the submarine had not found them in time.

  Dillon was stood on the slippery deck, machine pistol cold. One of the assault team’s junior officers waved, moved towards him, and their bleak gazes met over the millions of tons of Death Candy.

  “There’s activity,” said the Lieutenant coldly.

  “So I heard over the comm.”

  On their way to intercept the tanker, the submarine had picked up radio chatter between the tanker’s captain and what sounded like the owner of the lethal cargo. And just before the crew and captain were overthrown, a distress signal had been sent out by the tanker’s wireless operator. Its message simple, under attack...

  Dillon and the young navel officer sprang into action, along with all the other men from the submarine’s attack force.

  Helicopters roared overhead, forward machine guns blazing, spitting bullets across the decks of the tanker and into the sea, and Dillon and the young naval officer sprinted forward with Heckler’s juddering in their grips, faces grim, giving covering arcs of fire for one another as they crouched, bullets ricocheting on the heavy metal deck beneath their boots. Terrorists dressed in military style combat uniforms abseiled from the helicopters, Kalashnikov mini machinepistols blazing as they ascended to the deck of the tanker.

  Dillon spun and put a bullet in the face of a terrorist... but, almost by reflex, the terrorist’s gun was firing, pumping bullets.

  One caught Dillon square in the chest, his bullet-proof body armour saving him. With a gasp he was lifted off of his feet, punched backwards with a fist of iron and thrown down heavily onto the oily deck...

  He landed, the wind knocked out of him, momentarily dazed, as all around him, wildfire was let loose and the death toll started to rise. The attack force was overcome in minutes, so many terrorists, too much firepower. And then the heavy blow that sent him spiralling into blackness...

  * * *

  “Whoa!” Night had fallen over Santorini. Dillon awoke with a sudden start, a terrible searing pain inside his head. He could smell wood burning outside and pushed himself up into a sitting position, the events of the dream flooding through his mind in waves.

  Tatiana was there, sitting by the side of his bed. Her hands were cool against the clamminess of his skin as she laid him back down and pulled the single sheet up over his naked body. Dillon’s eyes focused and he realised that the room was dimly lit by a single candle. The noise of insects spiralled in through wooden shutters; below them was a hive of technological advancement - a state-of-the-art spy station disguised by a simplistic mask. Distantly he heard the crackling of a fire and the subdued voices of the armed guards.

  Dillon rubbed his head. “Any painkillers?” Tatiana handed him tablets and a glass of iced water. “You dreaming about terrorists and drugs again?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, that and death.”

  “Death?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He took the painkillers and washed them down with the mineral water.

  “They’ve given you a good look over and checked all minor cuts and gashes on your body, and given you the all-clear on all counts. You’ll live, but the doctor who examined you couldn’t say why you collapsed outside earlier.”

  “Just tired and a blinding headache, that’s all.” Dillon said lamely.

  “Well, they gave you a thorough check-up; you are in the peak of health apparently.” Tatiana smiled softly. “And, the doctor commended you on your handy stitch work on me. He confirmed what I already knew - that you saved my life.” Suddenly, Tatiana stood and slipped out of her shorts and t-shirt. Moonlight glinted on her taut, athletic body; on her firm stomach, ample pert breasts, and smooth tanned skin. She climbed into bed beside Dillon and lay on her side, pressing herself against his warmth.

  Suddenly, Dillon’s headache had gone. And he felt himself panic for the briefest moment. A feeling he had not allowed himself, since he had split up with Issy, now consumed him. Lust...

  “Tats...” he whispered.

  Her fingertip touched his lips and stayed there. She leaned forward, her lips brushing against his cheek. He groaned, mouth opening, teeth gently biting Tatiana’s finger. Her free hand came up and stroked his hair. He turned, rolling towards her - the feeling of her softskin, soft breasts, firm shapely legs pressed against him and he was instantly enveloped in her womanliness. And he allowed himself to press against her as he gazed into her eyes and they were silent for long, long moments. They kissed nothing more than light touching. Dillon’s hand came up and rested on Tatiana’s hip and she groaned, voice low and husky, scent invading Dillon’s mind and consuming his brain; she parted her legs a little, allowing him to press further against her, further into her, further towards that feeling of euphoric pleasure beyond.

  “You’re feeling better, then?”

  “I’m sure, given time, that I’ll make a full recovery.”

  “Well, I’d say that you were already making progress, Mr Dillon.” The words came a little breathlessly.

  “Perhaps with a little more pressure applied to the right areas...” He said mischievously, eyes glowing in the gloom.

  Tatiana pouted, “Well, I’ll just have to double my efforts on those areas!”

  “Now that sounds just what the doctor ordered.”

  They writhed around beneath the solitary sheet, holding one another. They kissed softly, enjoying each other’s heat, each other’s gentleness.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  Dillon grinned. He couldn’t help himself, despite the aches and pains from his recent beatings, which had returned to haunt him.

  “Yeah, I’m feeling fine now, thanks.” Dillon lied easily.

  “I try to please,” she said softly and smiled, nibbling his chin.

  “How did you stop Ezra from shooting me?”

  Tatiana pouted, “Dillon, you can’t just ask me that sort of question after...”

  “Well, I need to know.” He propped himself on one elbow and looked down at her. His free hand traced twirls over her breasts and reaching down, took an erect nipple between his teeth, and mischievously bit ever so lightly.

  She gasped in mock pain.

  “I didn’t stop him. You stopped him. Your words, your actions.”

  “What actions?”

  “Whatever is going on inside your head? It was on your face.”

  Dillon ran his fingers through his hair. Then he sighed.

  “I’ve never truly understood what goes on inside you,” she said.

  “It’s complicated. Even I find it hard sometimes.”

  “Try me. Trustme Dillon. I’m an intelligent girl. Something has been tearing you apart for years; something has been burning you up and you were grappling with whatever it is when you were stood in front of Ezra.” Tatiana searched for the appropriate words to describe what she had witnessed. “It sometimes appears as if you’re two very different people. One side of you appeared calm, calculating and extremely dangerous, who wanted to go on the offensive with Ezra; one side of you wanted to back down and give in. I saw it, Dillon. I saw it on your face; I heard it in your voice.”

  “Do you understand the term; split-personality?” He said suddenly.

  “Like Schizophrenia - voices inside your head, that sort of thing?”

  “Sort of. You see,” he paused, uncertain. Tatiana squeezed his arm reassuringly. “I’ve managed to control and hide this thing inside my head from everyonefor virtually all of my life. As a child it was merely a voice talking to me. As a grew older, the voice became more aggressive, only coming to the surface when I was placed in situ
ations extreme stress. Even the shrinks didn’t spot it. It’s what has kept me alive all these years.” He said. “But since the Charlie Hart assignment in Sandbanks, I’ve been getting headaches which were one of the reasons I decided to take time off from active assignments.”

  “And that’s why you always kicked up such a fuss at every sixmonthly psychiatric assessment?”

  “Partly. But that was mostly done for effect, and I used to find it funny - being able to deceive the experts. I never told anyone, because it would have complicated my life, and they’d have tried to say that I was barking mad. The thing is it only comes to the surface when I’m under extreme pressure, and then it takes over. I hardly ever remember what I’ve done afterwards.”

  Tatiana was silent for a long time. She hugged Dillon tight.

  “It sounds like a guilt complex.”

  “I know exactly what it sounds like. I understand only to well, what it sounds like. A load of old bollocks. That’s why I never speak about it; I live alone with a burning in my soul...”

  “But this alter-ego has kept you alive all these years. You shouldn’t beat yourself up because of something you have no control over?”

  “I should be able to control the murderous thoughts I have when itstarts to surface... and that’s the bad thing. Take Kirill’s mansion in Cornwall - I was as sure as fucking dead. Betrayed by those I thought I was there to protect. I no longer cared if I lived or died, right there in that kitchen, and simply gave myself up to my subconscious... That’s when the real killing started and the body count continued until I was well clear of the house. Can you understand?”

  “This is just too weird, Dillon.” Tatiana said.

  “You’re in no danger. I’m in total control...”

  “I’m not frightened, Dillon. And I do believe you,” whispered Tatiana. She kissed Dillon’s ear and held him for a long time until she felt his breathing become regular and he was sleeping. Her fingers traced gentle strokes along his spine - and after a while she fell into a deep sleep beside him.

  * * * Dillon awoke in the gloom. Tatiana slept in his arms, a warm embrace. Dillon disentangled himself with care, then, pulling on his trousers and taking his cigarettes and lighter, he crossed the room and stepped outside.

  There was an armed guard stood outside of their room, a man called Christopher, sporting Adonis good looks, jet black tousled hair, and a Santorini tan. The big Greek man smiled the sort of sheepish knowledge-filled grin that said, “You sure know how to party loudly.” Dillon returned the grin, padded down to the far end of the veranda, and sat down on one of the cane easy chairs.

  A cool breeze whispered across his skin. He lit a cigarette, stretched out his legs and gazed out across the dark Santorini landscape towards the sea. The stars were bright against a dark canopy and Dillon tilted his head back to allow a soft spiral of smoke to escape his lips and rise into the vaulted ceiling of the veranda. The nicotine rush whizzing through his brain, the harsh French tobacco scorching his lungs, and he blinked as a man’s voice called from somewhere on the other side of the olive grove.

  “How are you feeling, Mr Dillon?” Dillon turned and smiled up at Ezra who was standing with his hands on his hips, breathing in the night air and the rich scents deeply - a love affair with the ambiance. His eyes were unreadable, his appearance neat and his greying hair well groomed, neatly combed and oiled. Dillon caught the distant scent of coconut oil.

  “Much better, thank you.”

  “Would you care to walk with me through the grove?” “It’s a fine night. A walk would be good.”

  The two men stepped down from the veranda of the whitewashed villa and the sandy soil felt soft, comfortably cool under Dillon’s bare feet. They moved between the olive trees, inhaling the earthy moist scent, moving through the gloom a little uncomfortable at first: untrusting. As they walked, Dillon offered Ezra a cigarette. They both lit up and stopped within a small clearing on the seaward side of the grove. Dillon lifted his face in an attempt to attract the slightest of breezes to evaporate the sweat covering his body.

  “This is a very warm place to live, Ezra,” said Dillon eventually. “Yes it is,” rumbled Ezra uneasily. The cigarette seemed tiny in his huge hands. “But we don’t always have a choice in these matters. The Partners are hard task masters. They command, and we mere mortals obey.” He smiled a smile without humour, bloodless in the moonlight.

  There was a pause. The breeze whispered between the trees. “I think I’m following in your footsteps,” said Dillon. “So it would appear. I have been reading up on your recent - ah,

  shall we say adventuresin both Cornwall and Scotland. Tatiana has, of course, filled me in on some of the details. It would seem that wherever you are - death follows closely.”

  “Well, I admit someone appears to want me dead, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Hmmm. That would be the most logical assumption; a thought that did leap to mind is that you were set-up. Used. A tracker with the sole function of leading somebody to me. After all, Scorpion has had units all over the planet systematically terminated - wiped out by teams of highly trained Assassins. And yet they only sent one after you. Strange, don’t you think?”

  “Yes.”

  “And further moves have been played across the global chessboard.”

  “Such as?”

  “Computer hacks to all of the international banking institutions

  - billions of dollars stolen. The authorities all confirm the same thing. They haven’t got any idea of how a hack of this magnitude was carried out; because there was no data evidence left behind. And the other thing is that no-one has claimed responsibility, which is odd, because geeks like their fellow geeks to know how smart they are.”

  There was a long, long silence. Ezra enjoyed his cigarette. Six hours ago the Thames House grid was hacked into and a total lockdown initiated. Remotely. The lock-down lasted for forty-five seconds; afterwards the geeks could not find any form of data footprint of the hack. In all of these attacks, all that is left - is a lot of red-faced and very confused people.”

  “Bloody hell, Ezra.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” Ezra said softly.

  “Do you think these hacks are linked to Scorpion being wiped out and the attempts to terminate me ...”

  “Dillon, I know for a fact that no official agency wants you dead. We have much bigger problems... And the Assassins, the one that came for you, I fear these killersare not in the employ of any legitimate organisation. Whoever it is, has resurrected an ancient order of very dangerous killers.”

  “Who sent them?” Asked Dillon, voice hard, humour vaporised. “I don’t know,” Ezra sighed, and scratched his chin. He ground his cigarette stub into the earth. “Although, I have my suspicions.” “I have a few suspicions of my own,” snapped Dillon. “Now I know that you still want me dead Ezra - and I can’t say I really blame you after what we went through: I thought I’d misjudged you when we arrived here.”

  “You had,” said Ezra softly.

  Ezra faced Dillon, who looked up at the big man. Ezra rubbed at the scar on his right ass cheek self-consciously and Dillon noted the movement, remembered in vivid Technicolor that it had been his own bullet that had wounded Ezra’s flesh, and given him a permanent limp.

  “You are Dillon, Ferran & Cardini’s most resourceful man - or used to be. No longer do you seek adrenalin rush assignments; you have become withdrawn, hidden away in the midst of the Scottish Highlands with nothing more than your own company and a bank of computer screens as your window to the outside world. But let’s not forget the knowledge you’ve amassed over the years, and the awesome ability in tracking people down - and in killing them... Now, I had thought of killing you,” said Ezra. “Right here on Santorini... But I feel, Dillon, that would be wasting a valuable resource, and I have a far greater use for you.”

  Dillon lit another cigarette. And offered the opened packet, Ezra took one, and lit it with a slim gold lighter.

&nbs
p; “And what might that be?”

  “The anger I have harboured against you has gone. You love Tatiana. And because of your love for her, I forgive you for shooting me in the ass; we need to pull together during this time of great need... Tatiana needs you. Dillon, somebody is trying to de-stabilise governments and economies all over the planet - why? Scorpion was the defence and has been all but destroyed. Scorpion was the firewall against this sort of thing ever happening; Scorpion was certain death to those individuals and organisations who oppose all that stands for good in this world.”

  Dillon frowned. Ezra was one of the strongest, most honest men he had ever met. There was no streak of weakness - Ezra had shot sleeping men, wounded men, dying men. Dillon would not have been a problem... and this reinforced the notion that the world was full of shit.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Dillon asked softly, turning his eyes away from Ezra, gazing through the olive grove towards the ocean, moonlight glinted off of the water in the distance. “Who is using highly skilled Assassins, to systematically take out Scorpion units and are now tracking me? Who do you suspect is behind all of this?”

  Ezra shrugged, but looked away. Dillon caught a hint of something; something unsaid, something he almost grasped but missed in the darkness. Ezra was hiding something. Hiding something very bad.

  “Only a handful of Scorpion operatives have survived,” he rumbled, rubbing wearily at his eyes. “But more - the destruction of the Scorpion project took only forty-eight hours from start to finish.” Ezra turned to look into Dillon’s eyes. Dillon’s face showed unconcealed shock.

  “Forty-eight hours?” He whispered.

  “Yes, forty-eight hours - two days. Our Assassin friends are looking for something - something retrieved by Tatiana many months ago, and passed on to me for safe keeping. A possibility arises, Dillon - the possibility that you were chasedhere. This facility is highly classified... Not even Tatiana knew, but you sure as fuck should not have done either. This is way outside the normal boundaries of Ferran & Cardini.

  Dillon nodded, smoke pluming from his nostrils. He scratched the stubble on his chin with the tips of his fingers.