Dillon looked him up and down. The man stood before him had lost at least a couple of stone in weight, since Santorini; everything else about Ezra was exactly how Dillon remembered him. Dillon grinned wryly.
“You dolook pretty good, Ezra. For a dead man.” He lowered the Glock. “Tatiana will be thrilled that her uncle is alive.”
“Ahh, my beautiful niece, Tatiana! I thought you might bring her along, but then - you thought this was an elaborate trap. A trap, as you thought me dead. Hah! Had you no faith in my cunning - even though it appeared that I’d plunged to my certain death...” Ezra’s eyes sparkled as he took a step closer. “But then I have Vince Sharp to thank. His extraordinary parachute works incredibly well and makes the user completely invisible from a distance.”
Dillon smiled, holding Ezra’s dark gaze. “How about a drink? You’re there enjoying that large glass of wine without offering me any? And after all the crap I’ve been taking from Tatiana these past days...”
“Yes I’ve been hearing about your exploits. MI6 has been following your progress with interest - although, it must be said, always a few steps behind you. I hear the Priest was with you in Scotland. Did that religious rogue behave himself?”
“He was just fine.” Dillon slipped the Glock back under his waist-band again but kept hold of the small grenade, hidden in his palm. He accepted the wine and took a sip.
Ezra’s gaze remained transfixed on the glass and Dillon forced himself not to tip the wine into the nearest plant-pot as the other man turned to stare out of the open patio window once more. Something is wrong, screamed Dillon’s brain. He sniffed the wine but didn’t drink any of the deep red liquid...
Ezra turned to face Dillon again, a swift movement, a small black gun now in his large hand. “You should have trusted your instincts, Dillon. And, I truly am very sorry,” he said. “Really sorry.”
Chapter 22
Alix, Lola and the Priest stood beside the deserted hulk of the Chinook Ch-47 on the Norfolk beach. The cold northerly wind whipped up tiny whirlwinds of sand around their feet as they gazed inside the hold of the giant cargo carrying helicopter.
“Well, this is definitely one of the Chinooks that flew out of Kirill’s facility,” said Alix quietly.
“But the question is, what is it doing here in Norfolk,” said the
Priest, as he climbed up into the back and pulled free a large aluminium
case. Using a small fire axe he smashed off the heavy padlock and
lifted the lid. Inside were three metallic flasks, secured in the profile
laser-cut foam lining. The Priest photographed the contents and in
particular the identification number, and sent the image through
a secure line to the main-frame at Ferran & Cardini International.
Within seconds a response came back. He carefully closed the lid
again and jumped down to join the others.
“What’s in the big metal box?” Lola asked her voice nervous. “It’s yours, mine and every other sane person’s worse nightmare,
Lola.”
“What, it’s a case full of some sort of lethal weapon?” “Something like that. London believes it to be a variant of
Bacillus anthracis...”
“Anthrax? What the fuck is Anthrax doing on this Chinook?” “Well, if I had to guess, I’d say that our late friend Kirill was and
now Ramus, on his own, isplanning mass murder. Now, this helicopter
if I’m not mistaken came down pretty hard and was unloaded in
haste.”
The Priest went back up into the cargo hold of the Chinook
and pulled the aluminium case out through to the open doorway.
Lifting the lid, he said. “These three flasks not only contain one of the
deadliest bacteria known to man, but according to F&C’s intelligence,
this modified variant is a hundred times nastier.” He stared hard at
Alix and Lola. They both looked from his eyes, that were the colour
of coal, to the flasks then back to his eyes.
Alix shrugged. “You’re going to have to enlighten us, Godlyman.”
“This is a terrorist’s dream weapon; they’d crawl over hot embers to get their hands on this stuff. This Anthrax would make governments everywhere sit up and pay attention. In the wrong hands these three flasks could wipe out many hundreds of millions of human lives, as well as wild and domesticated herbivorous and carnivorous mammals in the most devastatingly painful way. This is truly a fearsome weapon.”
“So why have these three flasks been left behind?” Lola asked. “Most likely because the case was up the front behind a bulkhead.”
“Strange though, isn’t it? Why leave it behind, even if the aircraft had been evacuated in haste? Lola said softly.
“Obviously, whoever left this case behind, will be coming back for it?” Alix said.
“I don’t think so, Alix. Firstly, Anthrax- simply doesn’t fit in with anything that’s occurred so far, and secondly you can’t just sell three flasks of Anthrax on the open market without the right contacts. But, that still doesn’t explain what this Chinook is doing here on a cold and windy beach in Norfolk? And, it doesn’t explain where all the other helicopters, that left that mountain in Scotland, are now? This is all wrong. This is all very wrong...” Said the Priest, as he rapidly tapped out a message on his smart-phone, and then pushed send. “Suppose the Chinooks were all carrying a case like this one. Wouldn’t they surely have all had a different final destination?” Lola said.
“That’s a possibility, but still doesn’t explain what this one is doing here. They abandoned their base in Scotland.” Said the Priest calmly, adding. “We know that Kirill was left behind to set the explosives, and paid for that with his life. So what if he had become expendable and his Chimera virus programme is merely a side-show. Which leaves the Anthrax as the main performance?”
The Priest’s smart-phone pinged once. He glanced at the screen and then looked up at the others. “This message is from the dutyofficer at Ferran & Cardini. Intelligence reports from MI5 indicate that eight Chinooks, have now been located, abandoned, by the RAF at a disused military airfield not more than ten miles from here, which including this one, leaves only one out of the ten that took off from Scotland unaccounted for.”
“Abandoned? Is there anything of interest on-board?” Alix
asked.
“Automatic weapons, small and large calibre, and each
Chinook was full to capacity with everything from 9mm to 12.5mm.
Disturbingly, these larger calibre rounds are for a type of gun that
delivers an awesome punch, have to be tripod mounted and can kill at
a range of up to three miles. And before you ask, the security services
found nothing else on board. They even had trained dogs over them
and found nothing.”
“Which surely means that the Anthrax had already been taken
off of the aircraft before the security services got to them, or that it
possibly was never there in the first place?” Alix said.
The Priest’s smart-phone pinged again, as another message
appeared.
“What does it say?” Lola asked impatiently.
The Priest held his hand up, palm forward, to hush her. He read
the detailed message, looked up at them both and said. “The security
service has found maps and charts; most were of the North Sea and
the Baltic Sea.”
“That’s a lot of fucking sea,” said Alix.
The Priest nodded. “Yes, I agree, but there is a glimmer of hope.
Did you notice those large drums of fuel in the landing bay at Kirill’s
facility? Well, there were markings down the side of them. They were
inscribed with the supplier’s trademark: Tallin Oil & Chemical Co.” “Russian?”
“Estonian actually. Th
e Tallin Oil & Chemical Co. operates out
of its name-sake, Tallin. It’s licensed to carry out exploration in the
Baltic Sea and northwards, right up to the Arctic Ocean. The British
Government has had them under surveillance for the past year using
spy satellites as and when they’re over that region, together with field
agents on the ground. “
“Well, at least it gives us a lead to start with,” said Alix. “The MI6 field officers already on the ground in Estonia have
indicated that this is definitely the strongest lead to date. I’ll message
the partners to have our own field officers on standby.”
Alix nodded, enjoying his cigarette. “I have an idea. If you are
right about the Anthrax being the main threat, then we will need to
bring together some pretty elaborate technology. Very impressive
technology. That we can coordinate from the cockpit of the Apache. It has the capability and the on-board technology, from which to launch an offensive. And it’ll only take the smallest of modifications.
You can locate the enemy and pinpoint their exact position; and I...” “And you Alix. What have you dreamed up for yourself this
time?”
Alix grinned.
“…and I need to go see a friend of mine who lives close by. He’s
the only person I know who can hack into the computer systems of
some people I want to take a closer look at.”
* * *
“I’m really very sorry, Dillon,” said Ezra. “Really sorry.” Dillon grinned nastily, the large wine glass in his hand, the Glock reassuringly pressing into the small of his back under the waistband.
Foolish, foolish man, he thought. Lowering his guard was amateurish and naive...
Foolish.
“So this Ramus character got to you, Ezra?”
Ezra shook his head sadly. “It’s a lot more complicated than that, Mr Dillon. More complicated than you could ever comprehend, believe me. Now, I understand that you are carrying the optical disc with the Chimera blueprints on. I want it, please. It does belong to us, and should have been destroyed along with Kirill when he blew-up that mountain in Scotland. Had the imbecile done the job properly, you would have gone up with it.”
Dillon allowed himself to frown.
“Answer me this one thing. You know when you were standing on the cliff top in Santorini, having been chased half way across the island by those fourAssassins. They had you trapped with your back against nothing more than fresh air. What went through you mind?”
Ezra nodded; but it was there. A momentary flash across his face. A moment of...
Perplexity.
“You mean... Which one of the four should I have taken out first?”
Dillon nodded. “Ezra, tell me this. If all four Assassins were armed, why didn’t they simply shoot you? Why the elaborate escape, eh?”
“I have no time for this, Dillon. Now give me that damned disc.”
“Very sloppy, because there were only two Assassins. Which means that you’re not Ezra?”
Ezra smiled then, a calm and collected smile. “Damn, Dillon. You are good and youare right. So what?” He carefully peeled off the latex face mask and then the prosthetic nose and ears. “Ezra’s death was extremely inconvenient, his heart had stopped before he hit the rocks, his head being split open like a fat, ripe melon, just to make doubly certain of it. Of course, he wasn’t meant to die, but his weight was too much for that Chameleon Para-vest. It simply collapsed as he pulled the cord. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Dillon.”
“Well, you’re right there. But what does it matter, you’re going to kill me anyway.”
“My instructions are not to kill you, or even harm a hair on your head; there are certain people who would like a little... shall we say chat. But first you must hand over the optical disc that you are holding in your hand.”
Dillon saw the man’s finger tighten a little on the trigger. Impatience and anger starting to show on his face as he looked intensely at Dillon...
Dillon smiled.
He uncurled his right hand to reveal the small metallic sphere.
“Surprise, surprise,” said Dillon dryly.
Dillon threw the sphere and saw the man’s eyes suddenly widen, his mouth open in a silent curse!
Reflexes kicked in; there was no thought process required. The large man reached out in an attempt to catch the sphere.
His gun muzzle twitched.
Dillon’s Glock was in his left hand and he was firing even as he dived for the bedroom. He rolled across the polished marble floor as the Glock’s bullets tore into the wall and then the large picture window, with a crash of exploding glass...
Ezra’s impostor was running.
Dillon took careful aim from the bedroom.
Just as the sphere hit the ground and automatically detonated.
The villa seemed to change suddenly from luxury hotel accommodation into a maelstrom of chaos. The furniture was picked up and tossed about and smashed to kindling wood in a fury of explosive obliteration. The floor shook and trembled; glass shattered; there came the splintering of timbers and the wrenching of metal. Dillon remained on the floor under the bed, his senses running at full throttle as dust and debris spat through the doorway. He suddenly realised with horror that if the roof caved in he would be pulped under the weight of it.
He glanced up, his eyes blinking in the sudden dust storm.
The noise and shaking gradually subsided.
There was the hollow sound of plaster dropping off of the walls onto the floor.
Dillon could hear his own heart. Hear the air rushing in and out of his lungs. Feel the adrenalin in his blood stream being pumped to every part of his body.
He glanced right. A heavy timber purlin, hung down at a precarious angle from the partly fallen ceiling; dust was floating thick in the air and only then did Dillon realise that the blast had deafened him and his ears were ringing.
The villa’s sprinkler system suddenly cut-in, a mist of water dampening down the dust.
Dillon eased himself to his feet, treading carefully over and around the debris, moving through to the living room that was like looking at a scene from a war-zone. All the windows and their frames had blown out. The furniture had been tossed around and turned into matchwood and the mess was everywhere, outside in the garden and even strewn around the beach. The walls had been stripped, large portions of the plaster ripped off and scorched and there were piles of rubble where the ceiling had completely collapsed...
The man who had been impersonating Ezra had been running for the beach...
Dillon moved outside, wiping cool sprinkler water mixed with brick dust from his face.
There were people running up the beach towards the villa, shouting and talking into two-way radios.
Dillon’s eye caught sight of the imitation Ezra in the corner of his eye.
“Fuck you, Dillon.” Hissed the man.
Dillon stepped off of the deck, and walked over to the prostrate body of the large man, who was lying on his back clutching his blood soaked leg. The long open gash running up through his left limb glistened, the wound bleeding freely, the flesh and muscle torn open by flying debris when the sphere detonated. A split second earlier and Ezra’s impersonator would have made it to the sanctuary of the beach and the protection of being a sufficient distance away from the blast.
Dillon grinned nastily. Putting the muzzle of his Glock in the man’s face.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m someone who has been paid a lot of money to impersonate Ezra.”
“Well, no shit Sherlock. So who are you?” Dillon stabbed the Glock against the man’s cheek. “Answer me - at least you’re still alive...”
Dillon felt something across his left cheek.
His hand instinctively lifted, blood dripped from his fingertips.
�
��Shh-” He began as he hit the ground and two more bullets whizzed overhead. Dillon shimmied across to the cover of a large exotic looking plant, teeth gritted, shock starting to register in his system.
This sniper’s bullet had carved a strip from his cheek, only just missing his eye.
Dillon breathed deeply, calming his racing heart.
Too close for comfort, he thought.
“Fuck!” He breathed.
“You got an answer yet, Ezra, or whatever your name is?” He said through the ringing in his own head.
The sniper’s bullet entered the back of the man’s skull, punching its exit through his right eye. Death was instant, the man’s left eye staring unseeingly ahead, his body deflating, going limp as he slumped forward. And then he was still...
Dillon’s face looked grim.
“Son of a bitch,” he said out loud.
He crawled across the villa’s garden, across the debris caused by the bomb blast, moving towards the entrance gate. He could hear sirens. The fire service and police. Could he trust the police? He doubted it.
And then he saw them - coming from the water. The small power-craft raced for the shore and beached, four Assassins jumped down onto the white sand and sprinted at speed towards the villa. Silenced Uzi mini sub-machine guns spat out their lethal payload in rapid automatic fire and Dillon found himself back inside the devastated living room of the villa, ducking below the trajectory of both the Assassins’ and the sniper’s bullets and - thankfully - a little shielded by the piles of rubble and upturned furniture.
He could sense them closing in.
Dillon tossed another sphere; the metallic globe bounced from the deck and rolled down the steps.
Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) Page 42
