From the airfield, they were to fly to the north west of the county, and then back down to the coast in the south. Flying at five hundred feet in tight formation with no filed flight-plan and total radio silence. Ferran & Cardini International had tracked Ramus using their world network of spies, their illegal (even by criminal standards) web of optical and digital communications, and good old fashioned legwork by the intelligence men and women on the ground. That’s how they found a one-hundred and fifty foot twin hull stealth ship. The powerful craft was a dull matt black and had no name. It was a huge vessel that would no doubt hold many surprises for those attacking it. But one thing was certain: all men and women involved were willing to lay down their lives to bring the enemies of the British Realm to justice.
Dillon stood watching the hive of activity, his Glock 9mm in his hand. Lola checked over the Apache and had refuelled her, ready for Dillon’s part in the attack. Dillon did not care.
“Alix!”
Alix, now fully dressed, walked swiftly towards his friend. “Yeah?”
“I need to ask a favour.”
“Anything, man.”
“I thought Tatiana was dead but the Priest has informed me
that I was wrong. Kirill and Ramus have her; they have her aboard the stealth ship. I need time, Alix; I need time to get in there and get her the hell out before you start the carnage.”
Alix stood up, mouth open. “What are you asking me, Dillon? To hold up this operation?”
“Yes. I really need this, Alix; I need the chance to get her out.” Dillon ground his teeth. He stared into the eyes of the man he trusted most. “Come on, man, you can’t let her die in there - I knowwhat you’ve got planned... Come on, man, please,” he said.
Alix closed his mouth. He frowned, glancing over his shoulder. Then he met Dillon’s iron gaze.
“Just supposing I was able to let you do this, how will we work it?”
“We fly with the JetRangers, using them as our cover. You’ll fly the Apache; I’ll act as co-pilot and Vince will be your tactical weapons officer. When we get near to the stealth ship, you’ll drop down, and I will make a house call on our friend, Ramus.”
“But, you do know what I plan, don’t you?”
Dillon nodded. “Bomb in a bag?”
Sort of. I like to think of it as a dirty-bomb in a small trunk, to be more precise. It’s a home-made Molotov cocktail with a twist at the top. You will need to be well away from there, Dillon - because when this baby goes off, it’ll send that ship down big style.”
Dillon’s face showed the strain of the last week.
“I’ll be out, Alix, with Tatiana. If I’m not...” He left the sentence unfinished and Alix scowled, licking his lips.
“As long as you know the score, man. I can give you an extra few minutes... No more...”
Dillon nodded;he knew the score, all right. He knew the dangers, the risk, the hell that he would have to travel through before he could come out the other side and get his life back to normal. Normal? He laughed.
“So... Let’s do it - and do it now,” said Alix
* * * Dillon looked up into a darkening sky full of heavy thunderous clouds, and a feeling of foreboding filled his soul with uneasiness.
He breathed deeply and walked over to the Apache helicopter now standing on the apron alongside the three JetRangers of the intelligence service.
Dillon settled into the co-pilot’s seat alongside Alix, who was already flicking switches and turning dials as part of his pre-flight routine. A moment later the Apache’s rotors started to turn, winding up to speed for take-off. He gave the thumbs up to the three JetRanger pilots, who confirmed with the same gesture, as no radio comms. would be used throughout the mission.
The four helicopters flew in tight formation; the noise of the engines filled the air around them. Alix focused on controls and weapon systems with Vince sitting behind him monitored the screens in front and on either side of him, revising the protocols. Dillon checked the Nav-Comp for the coordinates of the stealth ship. Their fuel tanks were full.
South of the Dorset coast, mid English Channel Alix flew the Apache, constantly checking the read-outs on the screen, and with each mile flown his confidence in operating the hi-tech machine grew: and he felt good.
No, he felt more than good. He felt alive.
Dillon gazed out across the landscape five hundred feet below them as they passed over. His brain running through the sequence of events that would surely take place as he entered the stealth ship and Ramus’ lair... Alix took the lead, not out of choice, but because the Apache housed the most advanced detection equipment of all four helicopters. And now he knew what he had to do. He had to get Tatiana out. But more than that: this was about Claudia, Ezra and everyone who had died at the hands of the Assassins. This was about life and death. This was about finishing what others had begun. This was about finding the truth. And this was about …revenge.
Not for himself, no. For the innocents, the people who had died merely because they were in the way. Those individuals who had thought they had been working in jobs out of the firing line. Away from danger.
Dillon knew. Knew that he had to stop this thing and stop it fast.
“What can one man do?” Mocked his subconscious.
“One man can do enough,” he replied calmly.
Alix dropped the Apache’s altitude, flying low over green fields and large expanses of the woodlands west Dorset and then down towards the Jurassic coast in the south. They flew fast over small villages and towns; he even fancied he heard the ringing of church bells.
Dillon looked up. “It’s Sunday, then,” he said suddenly.
Alix checked the Apache’s computer systems. “Yeah, Sunday. A day of rest and worship. We’ll give them something to worship,” he said grimly. “And boy, the Priest is not a happy-chappy.” He chuckled.
Dillon checked himself: his body had taken a pounding over the last few days and he was now covered in bruises and scratches. He flexed his aching muscles, that weren’t hurting quite so much now. His ribs didn’t click as much when he moved, although the soreness was still a nuisance and his stomach still gave him twinges of pain. But the pain-killers and anti-inflammatory drugs he had dosed up on before leaving the hanger were now kicking in and now these irritants were fading... His broken ribs were still healing. The blow was just too much and he knew deep down that it was his weak point, his Achilles heel. To take another blow there? The pain would scream through his torso and physically paralyse him...
Primary location for maximum protection then, he mused idly.
The Apache and three JetRangers hummed over a huge swathe of sandy undulating terrain, a desolate battlefield landscape created by many years of training tank crews in the art of fast moving heavy artillery warfare. Their shadows tumbling across the land and then over a series of hills towards the coast. Dillon checked to make sure that they were not being tracked electronically or by other aircraft.
They needed the element of surprise, not a welcoming committee.
And he wanted the serenity of the sea...
The Apache, followed by the three JetRangers, came over the brow of the hill and swooped down through the secluded bay of Lulworth Cove and out into the English Channel, just fifty foot above the waves.
Dillon, with a shock, thought his chances of survival were slim at very best. He realised that this assignment had tested him to the absolute limit, and that he was most likely going to die; so he would have to take this fight to Ramus and his Assassins, mess them up bad and sour their plans to hold the world to ransom and then die...
And Tatiana... well, Tatiana could already be dead.
So be it, he mused bitterly.
He forced himself to relax as the Apache flew out over the sea. Occasionally they passed fishing boats heading out to sea, and the fishermen on board would sometimes look up into the moonlit sky as they passed over, forcing Dillon to smile sadly.
What happy uncomplicated
lives they lead, he thought.
What normal lives?
Why couldn’t I have been normal? He thought...
Because you kill. Came the voice from deep within his subconscious.
Because you kill and you’re good at killing.
You might not like it.
You might even loath it.
But you can’t deny it. You’re really good at it.
A natural- born killer.
* * * The four helicopters skimmed over the English Channel heading towards their destination; the harsh, yet intensely beautiful cliffs of the Jurassic coastline on their port-side. The last bastion against a ferocious sea; constantly pounded by the severity of the elements over thousands of years.
The Apache flew low, staying in formation on the tail of the three Bell JetRangers as they veered away from the coast and headed out to sea.
Dillon shivered. Alix spoke into his ear through the closed comms link that all three of them were now wearing.
“Dillon, the final destination coordinates have just been uploaded onto the Apache’s navigation system. Our ETA to target is four minutes.
Dillon checked the coordinates and Alix slowed his air-speed as he started to approach the estimated location of the stealth ship. The scanners still read zero: nothing. They flew. The Apache, despite having taken a number of hits over the last few days, was responding well and as long as nothing else slammed into the state-of-the-art helicopter, Alix knew the machine would get them all there in one piece...
A crazy thought careered into his mind.
The Priest was wrong.
They were all wrong.
There was nothing there; nothing but a lot of open water, and a bitterly cold easterly wind.
From under the blackened full-face visor, Alix laughed out loud. Both Dillon and Vince looked at him as the visor opened and Alix grinning face greeted them. “Sorry, just had a funny thought that we might have been sent on a wild goose chase.” Then he saw it. A black dot moving at speed on the screen in front of him. Dillon and Vince both saw it as well. Dillon said, “It must be the stealth ship, and it’s heading straight for the entrance to Poole Harbour. But I still can’t work out why Ramus has come to the Dorset coast?” All the time, Dillon was mentally preparing himself for what was to come; he would have to be totally focused, and without any fear...
The black dot started to grow; to materialise; to enlarge before Dillon’s eyes.
The stealth ship was moving at a rapid speed for a craft so large; a churning wake of white foam followed it.
Dillon smiled nastily.
All I want, he thought, are answers before I die.
All I want, he thought, is to kill those involved - before I die.
He had resigned himself to meeting his maker, or whatever else was waiting for him on the other side. Kirill had asked him once if he was ready to die and now he understood; now he truly understood.
Dillon knew.
Knew that he wasn’t coming back.
Alix reached over and tapped Dillon on the shoulder, pointing at the comm screen in front of them. The de-coded text told them that the Apache’s on-board computer system had been remotely locked onto the CIA at Langley, along with the UK security service and Interpol. From this point forward, they were to have big-brother looking over their shoulder during the attack on the stealth ship, whatever the outcome...
* * * The stealth ship, while not the largest catamaran ever built, was certainly the most menacing. Its dull matt black twin-hulls crouched low and it growled through the sea water, smashing the waves apart as it powered towards its destination. Dillon, like the other members of the hastily put-together team, had listened to Alix’s briefing, based on information gathered by many hundreds of field operatives around the globe, including the Priest. Spy planes had been used without success, but an undercover CIA agent working as a docker in the Bahamas had seen the catamaran close up. He was able to get on board when it had made an unscheduled port of call at Nassau to restock with provisions.
The agent had reported back to Langley that the vessel was heavily armed with extensive weapons and guidance systems, far superior to those of even the most sophisticated military craft. As well as the standard surface-to-air and surface-to-surface missiles and large calibre machine guns, it had extensive anti-submarine sensors and weapons, and powerful radar giving complete coverage and able to track multiple targets simultaneously. It also had two heavily armed and armoured half-size remote controlled support helicopters. And the catamaran was nuclear powered. Unlike normal stealth ships, this state of the art machine had a top speed of 65 knots. And there had been no sign of any crew...
Alix hovered for a while at a distance, the Apache humming softly, the data-stream display inside his helmet screaming proximity warnings at him. Dillon and Vince were picking up the same information on their screens. Below them, the sea spun away in circular patterns, brushed aside by the down draughts from the four helicopters.
And yet, and yet the catamaran was not on the displays. Chimera, Dillon thought.
Ramus has uploaded the programme to the stealth ship’s
computer system, and this was now acting as the ‘originating’ host. Chimera would automatically take over the existing operating system; make it quicker, intuitive, and very dangerous. Chimera would rewrite every script to its own specification and do everything in its considerable power to protect the host. Including; intercepting satellite, radar and scanner readings.
It’s already found a way of enhancing the catamaran’s stealth mode, but also of bouncing everything away from the catamaran!
Was he too late?
Behind, despite their agreed radio silence, Alix used his smartphone to connect with the other helicopters. “You okay, Priest?”
“Yes, Alix. Are you ready?”
“Oh, we’re ready. Vince and I are all set. Dillon is as ready as he’ll ever be...”
“Stay close to him, Alix. May God be with you.”
“I don’t need your God, Priest.” Snarled Alix, and terminated the link.
Grinning, Alix eased the Apache forward in step with the three JetRangers. They grouped closer now, machines flanking and leading the Apache to form a metal cloak around it... Dillon found himself suddenly tense, awaiting incoming fire, waiting for those large calibre machine guns to spit their welcome...
The matt black catamaran thrashed and growled through the choppy sea. Waves smashed against its twin prows. Seagulls cawed overhead. Small sailing craft, tied up to their swinging moorings were brushed easily aside by the stealth ship’s ram.
Dillon grimaced.
It had started to rain, lightly at first, then a downpour of heavy droplets laced with sleet from a tumultuous cold night sky; clouds gathered and bunched, bruised and swollen.
The rain and sleet fell with increased ferocity.
The waters of one of the world’s largest natural harbours churned, rain turning waves into prancing stallions.
Against the sky sat an inky blot that expanded and separated as the four helicopters loosened their formation.
“Okay, people. Let’s do this thing.” Came the crackle of Dillon’s voice over the comm link.
As one, the four heavily armed helicopters advanced on the stealth ship, the Apache and the three JetRanger’s stayed low, flying past the luxury Haven Hotel and multi-million pound prestigious mansions on the Sandbanks Peninsula as they entered the vast natural harbour. The men and woman aboard these high-tech machines were all armed with Heckler & Koch machine carbines and bombs, waiting to fight, waiting for what was surely to come.
In the lead JetRanger sat the Priest. His eyes flashed with fire behind the night-vision visor he was wearing. He pointed; he pointed at the catamaran, where a number of sliding panels on the black deck had been retracted to reveal heavy calibre machine cannons located on laser guided turntables. Two small black single-seater helicopters lifted from the lower stern deck, rotors screaming through the rain, guns and
missiles armed and ready...
“Here we go,” Dillon spoke softly, sliding the Glock’s safety off. At the same time, Alix armed the Apache’s weapons systems in a splash of coloured lights and flickering data streams on the monitors in front of them. Alarms started to sound all around them and through their headsets as, on the deck of the catamaran, one of the guns rotated smoothly, its laser guided sight locked onto its target. The large calibre barrels lifted, their angle of ascent adjusted; then came the massive concussive boom and the turret recoiled.
One of the advancing JetRangers was plucked from the sky and turned into a fireball of orange and yellow against the black sky, a ball of bright iridescence before it smashed down into the sea, rotors spinning screaming splashing into the churning waters where the blackened burnt out carcass disappeared swiftly below the waves.
From high above, one of the catamaran’s single-seater helicopters came swooping from out of the low cloud and rain, its machine guns hammering.
The Apache returned fire and the dark sky was suddenly filled with a stream of tracer rounds.
Alix fired off two air-to-air missiles and allowed the Apache to gain altitude, rotors scything, while Vince was in the back, constantly making adjustments to the helicopter’s weapon’s systems. The Apache suddenly veered to the right as Alix reacted to the alarm screaming at him, the black single-seater helicopter only just missed them as it shot past at bullet speed... He allowed the Apache to drop - away and downtowards the suddenly looming deck of the stealth ship: Ramus’ mobile control centre...
Above them, both remaining JetRangers were engaged in aerial acrobatics with the black single-seater, bullets crackled across the storm filled sky.
And the heavens were painted crimson.
* * *
The command-room was devoid of any fitments, walls like a blank canvas, except for the three meter by four meter projection screen suspended at one end. A flickering glow from the myriad of screens within screens held; images, encrypted/decoded text, binary code and live news-feeds from around the world.
Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) Page 47
