Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series)

by Andrew Towning

  Tatiana was climbing, glancing back over her shoulder at the charging killers. Then her gaze transferred down to Dillon who grabbed Claudia and pushed her towards the Lear, keeping her safely away from the jet’s exhausts and the awesome power of those reinedin engines...

  Dillon ejected the magazine. Slotted another into the weapon and sighted on one of the killers running towards him. The Glock barked in his hand and the figure dropped instantly to the ground. Dillon’s mouth was dry. He re-sighted and a moment later another shot rang out, and another Assassin went down onto the tarmac. God, these fuckers are persistent...

  He looked around at Claudia, his brain screaming. “Get up there!” He yelled. He fired several more rounds, the Glock a dark comrade in his grip, an extension of his body.

  The remaining two Assassins, their Uzi’s pointing, still did not fire. Dillon’s gaze darted up towards Tatiana as Claudia reached up to the handholds. Dillon turned, swiftly…

  …there came another distant crack.

  Dillon felt a kiss of heat brush the side of his face for the second time that day, and as he spun round was just in time to catch Claudia’s arms - which suddenly draped around his neck as she collapsed against him. Her face was the colour of a sheet, her eyes were wide, confused and innocent as her gaze met Dillon’s stunned stare and her arms fell away from his shoulders. He grabbed her, his Glock forgotten, he held her around the waist and supported her sudden dead weight and looked into those deep intelligent hazelnut coloured fear filled eyes.

  Eyes that held one simple question...

  Why me?

  Claudia opened her mouth to speak, to ask him. Blood trickled from her ears and nose, dripping onto Dillon’s war-torn jacket. She shivered, head flopping back now and her beautiful face covered in blood. She tried to speak, but blood flowed out of her mouth and across her cheek. She sighed, exhaling air for the last time.

  And then Claudia was dead.

  “Come on, Dillon!” Tatiana screamed.

  His gaze lifted and met the screaming panic-filled face of Tatiana, her eyes wide, her jaw dropped in despair.

  “Dillon they’re -”

  He whirled round. The Assassins were only fifty metres away. The Glock crackedas the weapon kicked in Dillon’s hand and lifted, as the lead Assassin took a bullet in the face.

  And then Dillon was moving, leaping, the Glock kicking and blasting in his grip at the remaining Assassin. Gloved hands reached out for Dillon as he grappled his way to the handrail of the moving Learjet, and with each step closer he got the heavier his boots felt. He gripped the handrail and hauled himself up on the Lear.

  Tatiana was above him and confusion gripped him as she was suddenly punched from the Lear’s fuselage - a sudden violent lurching as blood splashed in a spray from her body and she spun above his head under the impact of bullets. Dillon could not understand and the sounds of the Assassin’s Uzi firing washed over him and all noise was white noise and he reached out, fingers brushing Tatiana’s hand as she fell but he wasn’t quick enough and couldn’t reach her and she toppled down on to the runway as the jet gathered speed to take-off. Dillon entered the cabin and held onto the airtight hatch, he didn’t dare look down as the aircraft became airborne - Tatiana was dead...

  “No,” he said softly. “That should have been me.”

  Dillon started to close the door, his gaze looking down at the scene below on the ground to the lone Assassin standing over Tatiana’s body; he swayed as the aircraft gathered altitude. He turned to Vince and screamed at him to go strap himself into the co-pilot’s seat and make sure the Auto-Pilot was fully engaged. A moment later the aircraft climbed steeply up into a clear blue Grand Bahama sky. His gaze was filled with ice cold malice, his lips set tight, his face a mask hiding his anger and grief.

  And he realised.

  Realised the dreadful truth.

  He was alone.

  The Glock kicked in his hand; he swayed to one side of the still open hatch, his movements mechanical, his body running on adrenalin and reflex. The Assassin on the ground raised the Uzi to his shoulder. The Glock kicked again and now it was Dillon’s only friend, only true friend, the only one he had left.

  The bullet hit the Assassin between the eyes.

  Dillon watched coolly as the life drained out of the black clad figure and it immediately went down onto the hot tarmac like a lead weight.

  He dragged the hatch cover back in place and punched the large button to engage the automatic air-lock mechanism. He turned to see Vince sitting in the co-pilot’s seat with his head in his hands and sobbing.

  The Lear climbed steeply, banking slowly with a roar of engines, Dillon stumbled, pulled free the dead pilot, and slumped down heavily into the seat next to Vince. He looked round at the big Australian who, like Dillon, had also lost a friend. Neither man spoke, no words seemed appropriate.

  And on the ground, Tatiana was lost...

  The Lear banked again, Grand Bahama falling away far below. “Are we safe yet, Dillon?” hissed Tatiana.

  Dillon blinked and looked over his shoulder.

  But he was, apart from Vince, quite alone.

  Tatiana was dead.

  Dillon’s eyes focused on the clear sky ahead of him, then at the daunting array of control switches and lights in front and above his head. He ran a hand through his unruly hair, glancing for a brief moment at Vince who was now much more composed, and nodded. The two men had known each other for the best part of ten years and, although very different, had immediately found a common ground from which to build an everlasting friendship.

  “I hate to have to say it, chap. But you were right as usual, it was a trap, and they were waiting for us!”

  “The fact is they knew our every move, right down to our escape route! So the question is, did they just get lucky or did they know in advance? My guts tell me that we were betrayed! But by who?”

  Dillon sat pondering the question. He knew, deep down in his subconscious, that the betrayal ran throughout the Government and possibly through Ferran & Cardini International!

  Vince was wearing the aircraft’s headset and had connected his laptop to the Lear’s computer system. His head snapped round, “We’ve got company, Jake.”

  Dillon quickly flicked switches and push buttons. The Lear’s control panels and screens immediately changed to military style displays. “Well, we’d better go kick-ass then...” He pushed two switches, turned to look out of the cockpit’s side screen, and watched as the wings were pulled back towards the fuselage and the jet changed from luxury aircraft to sleek fighter. “Arm the weapons’ systems and activated all scanners.”

  Dillon’s gaze flicked to the scanners that were now displaying directly in front of him.

  Four small single seater jets were coming up fast behind them as they headed out over the Atlantic Ocean. His eyes narrowed and death sat with him like an old friend. He pulled a cigarette from the crumpled packet, lit it with the gold Zippo lighter that Tatiana had given him many years before, and inhaled deeply, keeping the slim white pencil-like stick held in the corner of his mouth as he went through a checklist in his mind. He wasn’t afraid of dying, fear was his ally; not fear itself but a love of the fear that he was about to inflict.

  Dillon flew the Lear like a pro. He had been fully trained by the RAF to fly the specially adapted aircraft like a pro, and was now bringing all that he had learned to bear as he banked to the left and simultaneously climbed steeply, levelling out at nineteen thousand feet. The four jets behind them maintained their distance and speed to match his, and made no attempt to close in or fire their weapons. Dillon was painfully aware of the tiny hole in the side screen where the bullet had smashed Matt Spencer’s life from his body had penetrated the aircraft, and the reason for not flying any higher than their current altitude.

  And he thought about Claudia.

  And he thought about Tatiana.

  He suddenly felt nauseas and sweaty.

  “Tatiana...” He whispered
in pure agony.

  Machine guns roared behind him; rounds clattered against the Lear’s fuselage and Dillon’s mask of pain fell away to be replaced with something cold and sinister.

  Hatred fuelled him now.

  Hatred - and a need to kill.

  Vince broke into his reverie of thought. “You’ll be pleased to know that we are presently carrying 40 standard air-to-air missiles, 15 Stinger air-to-air missiles and enough rounds for the forward machine guns to flatten a small town...”

  Dillon looked round and nodded. His gaze went straight back to the console, he reached forward, flicked switches, heard hatch motors whirring below them; he glanced at the scanners, then looked quickly to his left. One of the tiny black jets had drawn alongside him and Vince confirmed another was on the opposite wing tip. Dillon slammed on the air brakes, dropping the Lear with dipped nose through the skies, then with a surge of power and a steeply banking turn that snapped both their heads back against the leather seats; the jet veered, coming up behind the two small single seaters. Dillon engaged two Stinger and two standard air-to-air missiles - saw the glow from their tails as they detached and watched coldly as they hurtled into the evading black jets. Both aircraft exploded with a roar and fell dead and spinning from the skies to smash into the dark blue sea below.

  Machine guns hammered, abruptly bringing Dillon’s hypnotised stare back to fresh dangers. Red lights flashed on the scanners and the Lear fell from the skies, whining like an injured animal in pain, to twist and skim not more than fifty feet above the surface of the sea - so close that spray splattered against the windshield and Dillon could almost smell and taste the salt.

  He flicked a switch and the aircraft started to lay thick black smoke from the tail.

  Missiles plunged into the ocean behind them.

  “You want to play as well?” Growled Dillon. He studied the scanners in front of him, examining the two targets and tracking information displays. He rammed the Lear forward, the jet-turbines screaming at the rear of the aircraft. The Learjet surged forward, and speed powered through Dillon’s brain; waves crashed just below the belly of the fuselage and there, against the white capped waves was an enormous oil tanker!

  Dillon remained low, the jet engines whining, followed by the two remaining single-seater jets and their black-clad Assassin pilots. Dillon gained a little altitude and banked the Lear in - low and tight, wing-tips almost skimming the waves. The black jets followed. Machine guns rattled against the huge ship.

  The Lear lifted; howling over the ship’s elevated bridge and the black jets followed flying in close formation to each other. The pilots were extremely skilled.

  “Time to tune in,” said Dillon softly.

  He flicked several switches and engaged a digital readout. He smiled a smile that conveyed only a longing for death and destruction.

  “And now it’s time to party.”

  He hit the air brakes and pulled the control column back sharply. The power was re-applied almost immediately and the Lear screamed as its nose lifted and then shot straight up, the pilots of the two single seater jets veered, one on either side, in reflex response to his insanely dangerous manoeuvre. Dillon hurled the Lear up into the air, climbing, lifting to ascend like a rocket into a clear blue sky. Dillon gazed up into the vast expanse as the Lear vibrated, its jet engines roared and he prayed to a God he had never really believed in. Tears rolled down over his cheeks and hatred boiled up inside his mind. The scanners blazed at him with altitude and low-oxygen warning read-outs, he twisted the aircraft around in a tight arc and then dropped from the sky like a bullet towards the distant tanker far below - his marker - spiralling and twisting. The black single seater jets were distant targets as Dillon allowed the release of a single Stinger missile... A vapour trail appeared from the rocket as it headed straight for the heat emitting from the jet’s tail-pipe, moments later a fireball exploded as the rocket ploughed into the fuselage of the aircraft, its cockpit and pilot vaporised as the wreckage was sent crashing into the Atlantic Ocean, which swallowed it completely.

  “Burn in hell, whatever you are.”

  The Lear spun, twisting, howling, and its under-belly skimmed the sea, wing tips careening as Dillon fought to keep control of the aircraft, he pulled back on the control column and the jet climbed once more withthe final black jet following close behind withmachine guns blazing and spitting hatred...

  Again they climbed towards the heavens.

  Wind howled through the tiny hole in the side-screen of the cockpit.

  Both Dillon and Vince were freezing from the rush of cold air blasting in at them.

  And there, hundreds of metres above the sea, the Lear levelled out and rolled in a lazy arc. Dillon slowed the speed, until the aircraft was almost stalling, stationary; his head drooped, eyes looking at nothing but his feet. And then his gaze lifted and he stared into the brilliant blue sky ahead of them. His jaw set and he ground his teeth.

  The last black jet came level, perhaps three hundred metres away.

  Dillon flicked the switch to release the Stinger missile restraints.

  His eyes narrowed.

  “So you want to have a go, do you?” He whispered.

  Hatred and adrenalin was driving him, his brain registering everything in slow motion. His reflexes became cat-like...

  The black jet’s engine howled; Dillon couldn’t actually hear it, but rather knew what noise it made. It rolled as it powered forward with machine guns firing and Dillon growled and surged forward while rolling and returning fire with the Lear’s forward machine cannon.

  The two aircraft hurtled towards one another. In the blink of an eye they had closed at speed, machine guns blasting. Dillon wrenched the control column over to the right and the Lear responded by rotating ninety degrees, veering and twisting down and to one side, the pilot of the black single seater jet did exactly the same manoeuvre, but in reverse, the two jets only missing by a matter of a few inches as they roared by in opposite directions...

  Dillon levelled out, rolled to the left and then back over in a wide arc. The Lear came out of the roll and Dillon was again hurtling towards the other aircraft at speed, bullets smashing the enemy’s cockpit, turning it into dust and decapitating the pilot in the process.

  The Lear veered sideways, away from its dark and bloody deed.

  The black single-seater jet broke up as it spun, twisted and rolled towards the ocean far below. And was then gone.

  Watchers on thedeck of the oil tanker searched the white crested waves.

  Dillon breathed. Slowly. Looked round at Vince, and said. “Well, that was nasty.”

  Vince had gone the colour of a sheet. “That’s one way of looking at it. You mad fucker.”

  “Gratitude!”

  Dillon adjusted the rake on the wings, taking them back to their normal flying position again. And at a more sedate pace, the Lear dropped to within a hundred metres of the surface of the ocean, the white tips of the waves clearly visible and shot like a bullet across the empty dark water.

  * * * The Lear flew on over the Atlantic.

  Dillon glanced, every now and then, across the cramped cockpit at Vince, who he had forgotten was there, sitting next to him all through the turmoil of battle. Until now.

  “You know she was the enemy; you know that she’d gone bad?”

  “Leave it, Vince. I can do without that crap right now.”

  “Jake. She almost got us killed. That bitch didn’t hesitate in signing our death warrants...”

  Dillon licked his lips and guided the Lear down to within fifty feet of the waves, wing-tips almost skimming the surface. He had no destination in mind, just a need to fly, to run, to flee, to get away from the Assassins and the death they traded in, the deaththey represented... What to do now? He thought. Dillon sighed out loud. I’m tired, so tired. Tired of everything.

  “Jake. Jake, are you listening, mate?”

  “What?”

  “I said. We need to think of a plan. Contac
t Alix, Lola and, the Priest - yes, the Priest will help us; he’ll pull you feet first and screaming out of this brain-fuck melancholy - just because Tatiana is dead. You need to become strong again, Jake, and we need to find those three reprobates - fast.”

  Dillon pulled free his private smart-phone. He scrolled through the apps and opened the one he wanted, punched in the Priest’s number and then his de-scramble code and waited. The slender device vibrated in his hand.

  “Dillon?”

  “Priest - Vince and I are in deep shit!”

  “Where are you, Dillon?”

  “Flying somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. We were set up in Nassau and then half a dozen Assassins jumped us as we were exiting via Grand Bahamas. The pilot was taken out, also Tatiana and the computer programmer, Claudia Dax.”

  “Tatiana is dead?”

  “She betrayed us all. You, me, everyone.”

  “Remember what Kirill said on that mountain in Scotland? He told us that Tatiana was one of them! He also told us that Ramus never stays in one place for long. That is what we have to find out, Dillon. You make your way back to the UK, and I’ll ask a few questions.”

  The connection was broken.

  Dillon smiled grimly.

  And it sent a cold chill through his soul.

  He chewed his lip for a moment.

  “I need a cigarette.”

  Tatiana.

  He remembered her pretty face.

  A little part of his soul said: No.

  But he knew; deep down. If she hadn’t died from the gunshot, then they had her; there was no escaping. No escaping at all.

  He felt like rolling over and dying. But this wasn’t the time or the place. He had to be strong. He could get through this; thank God Vince was with him, all he needed was a little brotherly solidarity.

  Dillon banked the Lear, there was a drone from the engines and they spun out across the Atlantic Ocean; beneath them the waves rolled and the sea seemed suddenly endless, a vast world of merciless beauty stretching out into oblivion...