He heard a single gasp.
All four Assassins ran for it.
The explosion was silent, but the shock-wave re-arranged the garden. The whole world seemed to have gone mad as Dillon repositioned himself by the open window. Dillon’s sharp eyes spotted the Assassins. Steadying his hand on the ragged glass-edged sill, Dillon levelled the Glock and began to fire.
Three, four, five, six bullets.
When the dead man’s click sounded, he switched magazines, and took a step back into the room, dropped a sphere into the middle of the room and leaped through the window.
Several things happened at once.
The sniper stood up from its cover on the beach and Dillon raised the Glock and placed two bullets into its chest.
Three more black-clad Assassins slid around the corner, carrying silenced Uzi mini sub-machine guns.
The sphere detonated.
Dillon was thrown violently against a wall as debris spat from the hole in the wall; even as the chaos erupted Dillon swung himself around and unloaded another full magazine towards the three Assassins.
Then he ejected the empty magazine and slotted a fresh one in. His ears were still buzzing as he slid under the deck and movedsteadily along the full length of it, and after breaking through the screening, emerged onto the beach to the amazement of a few onlookers who were standing, mouths agape, staring at the blazing villa that he had suddenly vacated. Fire bellowed up into the air and thick black smoke started to drift across the garden and onto the beach.
Dillon glanced around, then sprinted for the nearest cover, an upturned rowing boat, switching magazines in the Glock as he ran. Seeing the automatic in Dillon’s left hand, the onlookers fled from the area. From behind the wooden boat he saw the police squad cars and two fire tenders pull up on the service road fifty yards up the beach, sirens blaring and lights blazing.
Dillon ran up the beach, away from the emergency services, shoved the Glock back into his waistband and walked as quickly as was possible, without bringing undue attention to himself, out of the hotel complex.
He was functioning on instinct now. All six-cylinders running at full throttle and turbo charged for good measure.
He moved past the 4x4 jeep that he’d arrived in earlier, deciding to return for it a little later. Quickly scanning the tatty old vehicle for any obvious signs that it had been tampered with.And then walked off along an unmade service road, keeping his demeanour casual and relaxed. It was then that he spotted the two large blacked-out SUV’s turn into the road some distance away and start coming towards him. He dived over a low wall and watched the blacked out off-road vehicles go roaring past.
Bad, thought Dillon.
Really bad.
As the SUV’s turned towards the hotel, Dillon started to run, boots crunching on the gravel, his intention was to move to a vantage point he’d noted on his arrival located on the other side of the resort. From there he could bide his time - he would wait and watch...
Two minutes later, pouring with sweat, Dillon was crouched on the edge of a rocky headland that afforded him an uninterrupted view of the hotel, burning villa and the ocean.
After three hours of laying prone on the rocky surface, he stood up and at a jog made his way back to the 4x4 jeep. He stood in the shadows at the edge of the small staff car park, watching and waiting.
After five minutes, he jumped in, gunned the engine and floored the accelerator. The powerful V8 roared and, as the tyres bit into the loose gravel, he wheel spun out of the car park and onto the main road.
The blacked-out SUV’s were prowling, waiting, and searching. Their engines howled as they raced down the highway after Dillon’s vehicle as it appeared; wolves hunting down a running lamb.
Both vehicles screamed around a large loop of tarmac, tyres smoking and suspension dipping as they veered round corners and ended back on the main road. They slipped past the oncoming police cars and Dillon, bent forward over the steering wheel, sweat dripping in his eyes, cursed his pursuers.
Dillon pulled free his Glock and looking at the weapon, said. “You’ve saved me before, my lovely.”
He fired through the 4x4’s rear window. Glass exploded in a shower and the two blacked-out SUV’s veered, one mounting the pavement and sending a couple of pedestrians sprinting for cover, wheels churning over and through anything in their path into the ground.
They regrouped on the road and, then accelerated towards Dillon.
“Where’s the cavalry when you need them?” He thought. Closely followed by; “I should have asked to borrow a much faster car!” He picked up the small two-way radio off the front seat, it squelched as he pushed the talk button, and quickly relayed what was going down to the others.
The lead SUV vehicle smashed into the back of the 4x4 jeep. Dillon was jolted in his seat, and almost lost the Glock. His foot slammed to the floor and suddenly he veered left, down a narrow slip road leading away from the Paradise Island resort.
The blacked-out SUV’s followed in tight formation.
Dillon raced onto the Paradise Island exit bridge, followed closely by the SUVs. He fired another few bullets from the rear of the 4x4 and was immediately gratified when he took out a headlight. But that did nothing to stop the large SUV.
It’s bullet-proofed, he realised. The panels have all been bloody bullet-proofed.
The lead SUV shunted him again.
Dillon fired the remaining rounds, emptying the magazine; there was a wrenching of metal from the engine compartment and the lead SUV veered off to the right and crashed out over the barrier and into Nassau Harbour. Dillon caught a glimpse in his mirror of the black vehicle shooting off the edge of the bridge, and then heard the sound of police sirens heading at speed towards him. The 4x4’s wheels squealed at the extreme abuse that Dillon was giving the old vehicle as he powered off the bridge and onto the highway. Police cars screeched to a halt, officers jumped out, just as Dillon dropped a gear and pressed the accelerator to the floor and a split second later smashed two of the cars, like skittles, out of the way. The back end of the 4x4 slid out wide as he fought to keep control, swerving out around a bus load of tourists at speed and then straightening up. The remaining SUV was still perilously close behind him, and closing the gap.
Dillon pressed his foot to the floor. The engine growled. Help, he thought.
The 4x4 sped through an intersection; there was a cacophonous blare of car horns as cars zipped insanely all around and Dillon closed his eyes for a moment and kept up the power. He no longer checked his rear-view mirror. The view in it only seemed to get worse.
Engines roared close behind him, shots rang out from the passenger side window, as the occupant leaned out and emptied an entire Uzi magazine into the back of the 4x4, the rear windscreen disintegrated as the bullets smashed into the tailgate. Once more he wrenched on the steering, feeling the 4x4 lose traction as worn tyres slid around on the tarmac, and once more he narrowly missed another vehicle - this time a heavy goods lorry. The horn blared at him and Dillon involuntarily flinched, half ducking down in his seat...
Focus, he thought. Must focus.
Meeting. Tatiana and Claudia...
And Vince, of course.
His gaze went up to the rear view-mirror, checking for the signs. He wrenched the steering wheel hard over and slewed into a right turn, then dragged the 4x4 over a grassy embankment and down onto an unmade road that ran parallel with the road he’d just left, and then forced a U-turn. Dillon floored the accelerator, tyres throwing up loose debris and clouds of thick dust as the heavy off-roader gained speed.
Dillon caught a flashing glimpse of the passenger leaning out of the open side window of the blacked-out SUV as it sped by in the opposite direction, a silenced Uzi pointing directly at him. And then the bullets ripping through the body work...
Dillon checked his rear view mirror again as he roared along the unmade road. He had managed, by some twist of fate, by some fluke, to get away from the lone SUV and the police cars. But moments lat
er the SUV was again closing fast from behind.
Gunshots rattled.
He heard the dull thumpof metal being punched a number of times. Dillon half tuned and fired the Glock through the open rear window, luckily hitting the driver’s front off-side tyre and bringing the large vehicle to a gradual halt as the rubber shredded itself back to the rim.
Dillon swerved from side to side and floored the 4x4’s accelerator...
He drove for ten minutes, and had re-joined the main road, reducing his speed a little so as not to attract too much unwanted attention. He cruised back to the marina to meet with the others, constantly checking his mirrors for anyone following.
And there, way back in the distance, he could see three more blacked-out SUVs.
“No way,” he said out loud, frowning. “How the fuck?”
He watched the large vehicles accelerating, still distant blobs, their polished chrome grilles like long teeth.
Smiling teeth...
Dillon’s mood darkened. His foot hit the floor again and the 4x4 jeep surged forward, spun left down a slip road leading to the marina. He slammed on the brakes and the 4x4 screeched to a halt beside a brand new white Porsche 911 Carrera GT3.
Dillon leapt out.
“We’ve got trouble.”
“Big trouble?” Tatiana asked.
“Oh yes.”
As they walked along the pontoon to the boat, Dillon slotted a fresh mag into his Glock. “We need a much faster boat, that ginpalace simply won’t cut it up against this lot.”
“What do you suggest?”
“We haven’t got much time. You round up the others and I’ll sort out the transport.” Dillon said, his gaze on the other side of the marina. He moved quickly, sprinting over the pontoons.
Dillon stood on the end of the pontoon, grasping the Glock in both hands, and pointed the gun.
The powerful deep-throated rumble of the in-board Penta engines became quiet, and a sleek thirty-six foot power-racer drifted to a halt alongside the pontoon.
“Hey man, you have got to be kidding!”
Tatiana and the others were now standing behind Dillon. “What are you doing?” hissed Tatiana.
“I’m acquiring faster transport.”
Dillon met the man’s outraged glare: he was young, wore a black bandana, Ray-Bans and no shirt, revealing heavily tattooed arms. When he spoke, he lifted them from the helm in emphasis.
“Get off of that boat.”
“You mother -”
The Glock moved. There was a thud. A hole appeared in the windshield - and in the leather upholstery beyond. The man stared at the hole in the windshield, then at the seat. Then he leaped up out of the boat onto the pontoon as if he’d been stung by a hornet.
Dillon, Tatiana, Claudia and Vince jumped on board.
“You know how much this boat cost, man?”
Dillon met the man’s gaze again. “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” he said as he started up the in-boards, and engaged the power drive. The power racer’s nose lifted as they left the marina, Dillon opened the throttles up fully; unleashing a beast that pinned them all back in their seats.
Dillon looked back over his shoulder, at the tattooed man standing on the pontoon, mouthing obscenities and shaking his fist at them.
The power boat became practically airborne with each wave as they raced forward past sailing yachts, larger power craft and cruise ships on their way into the harbour. Dillon slowed the racer, veering to starboard to miss another boat, and then increasing speed as he righted the craft back on course, the in-board Pentas roared with renewed vigour and the water beneath them became a blur; like a scene from a very bad drug-induced trip.
Tatiana stood up and leaned forward - both women had leaped into the power racer’s cramped open cockpit. “Err, Dillon, how fast are you going?” There was an edge of fear to her voice.
“I couldn’t tell you,” he said through gritted teeth. “Can’t you see I’m a little busy?”
“Are we in that much trouble?”
“Yes,” said Dillon matter of factly.
“Did you see Ezra?”
Dillon looked at Tatiana from the corner of his eye. “No, Tatiana. I didn’t.”
“Oh, so it was a trick, after all?”
She sat back, completely deflated. Dillon wanted to say, I told you not to get your hopes up, luv. But he kept his mouth shut and concentrated on what was ahead, a high speed roller coaster ride of the deepest blue beneath the lighter shade of the sky.
“Who did you meet?”
“It was a set-up from the start. I’m afraid I blew up a luxury 5-star villa at the hotel...”
“With what?”
“A couple of sphere grenades.”
“You maniac! What did they want - whoever they were?”
“It was Ramus’ people and Assassins,” Dillon said sourly. “And they wanted the optical disc with the Chimera blueprint on. Hold on,” he snapped, spinning the helm, the power racer leaned over heavily to starboard, the side of the fibreglass hull lightly scraping across the reef lurking menacingly just below the surface. Dillon grinned like an excited child at the two women and Vince Sharp, who was looking worryingly green.
They didn’t look impressed.
They’d left the pursuing police cars back in Nassau, along with the blacked-out SUVs. But now, two powerful jet-skis were fast approaching from behind, each with two black clad occupants onboard.
“Shit.”
Dillon pushed the throttles as far they’d go, and the power racer surged forward, cutting through the water like a cheese slice, a wide grin on his face.
“Catch this baby, suckers,” he muttered as they fell away behind him and he focused on the far distance.
“Tatiana, get a message to Matt Spencer to come pick us up on Grand Bahamas.”
“But the minute the Learjet takes off from Nassau, the Assassins will tag it and then us...”
“So what? They already know we’re here.”
Tatiana pulled free her Ferran & Cardini smart-phone as Dillon concentrated on the water ahead; by late afternoon they had left their pursuers far, far behind..
* * * The power racer cruised into Crab Cay on the north coast of Grand Bahamas; sailing yachts of all sizes gently rocked with the swell on their swinging moorings. Dillon lit a cigarette, Tatiana and Claudia climbed up onto the forward deck as the boat came to a halt at the edge of the beach. They all jumped down on the hot white sand and stretched their tense, aching muscles. No time to lose, they all moved off the beach at a slow trot towards the nearby airfield.
“You’re a fucking lunatic, Dillon,” said Claudia, jogging alongside him.
“We’re still alive, aren’t we?”
“What happened back there, Dillon?” Tatiana asked.
Dillon spoke as he jogged. “There were Assassins waiting for me; they wanted the optical disc and we had a bit of a lovers’ tiff. There was a bit of body-slapping, hair-pulling and face-scratching and I had to make a rather hasty getaway...”
“You okay, now?” Dillon haltedand turned to look at the beautiful woman. Tatiana stepped in close, the palm of her hand stroking his cheek. Dillon looked intently into her eyes then and smiled. He took her fingers, lifted them to his lips and kissed them.
“There was a sniper. Waiting for me.”
“Bad...”
“I’m pretty sure I took him down.”
The whine of the Learjet’s engines reached their ears and Dillon gazed up into the afternoon sky. The under-carriage of the jet was suddenly above them as the pilot made his final approach, and then swooped down onto the runway. Dillon, Tatiana, Claudia and Vince collected up their backpacks and waited for the aircraft to come towards the apron, its suspension bouncing as the machine came to rest in front of them. Matt Spencer looked out from the cockpit and gave a thumbs-up.
Outside the noise from the jet engines was deafening. Dillon and the others started to walk across the apron to the open cabin door, Dillon su
ddenly halted as something unseen made him turn around involuntarily. His dark eyes peering out across the tarmac; towards the hangers and shadows and beyond to the beach, where they had come ashore only moments before. Something burned uneasily at the back of Dillon’s mind. His head turned as he glanced around, eyes searching for the two jet-skis or anything that shouldn’t be there... But there was nothing there.
Nothing out of place. Nothing wrong...
Something’s not right though.
His gaze returned to the Learjet.
And then he could see it. A distant glint: like a silent scream from a 1920’s movie...
Something definitely not right.
Dillon frowned. The whole world seemed to slow. The movement of the others whirled to a snail’s pace, Dillon reached for his Glock and it seemed that his hand took ages to reach the heavy automatic weapon as his head was turning towards Tatiana and his lips formed the words. “Let’s... Go...”
There was a distant crack.
Dillon’s eyes caught the muzzle flash.
Something’s wrong. The Lear started to edge forward and the noise from the turbines increased. A tiny hole appeared in the jet’s windshield and Matt Spencer was punched backwards, falling slowly across inside the Lear’s tight cockpit, a huge splatter of blood covering the back of his seat. Dillon’s Glock 9mm automatic appeared instantly in his hand and he cursed the slowness and clumsiness of his own actions, cursed the sluggishness all around him and within him as his mouth opened to scream the words and both Tatiana and Claudia turned, their movements painfully slow, to gaze in confusion up at the Lear, the noise of the jet’s engines roaring, the slumped figure in the darkened depths of the suddenly coffin like machine.
Dillon dropped to one knee, shifting and lowering his stance, the Glock kicking in his hand: one bullet; two bullets; three bullets and then he saw the black-clad figures detach themselves from the shadows and come racing at speed across the apron - they were Assassins, and a cold shiver ran through Dillon’s body as the world suddenly slammed back into focus and reality.
“Oh, my...”
“Vince, get in the jet and prepare for take-off!” Dillon screamed, emptying the rest of the mag at the six identically black-clothed Assassins; they all carried Uzi mini sub-machine guns but did not return fire. Dillon hit two of them, taking both down with a clean shot to the head, but the others carried on sprinting towards him.
Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) Page 43
