This was a control-centre built to withstand the heaviest of blasts, and designed so that this independent module could become detached from the main catamaran should the need arise. A selfpropelled deep sea submersible.
Ramus stood in the centre of the darkened space, the flat tablet computer cradled in his left arm, long fingers tapped the virtual keyboard and hooded eyes stared into the void. His hand moved slowly, a sliver of ice down the spine of planet Earth... And then he gently pressed RETURN.
Nothing...
And then a quiet hum filled the command deck. The giant flatscreen monitor dimmed momentarily, as if bowing before some electronic divine being, and then brightened into life once more.
Script - Chimera script - sped across the display. Then, all of the screens disappeared and a virtual globe sprang into existence, a spinning manifestation of the earth. The tablet in Ramus’ hand produced the virtual globe as a full Technicolor multi-dimensional hologram. He lifted his free hand and held it palm down over the spinning ball, a multi-coloured light that illuminated and deformed Ramus’ facial features.
Ramus laughed a cold and sinister sound.
He reached out and pointed; the virtual globe spun, located its target, and zoomed in through layers of sparkling light to highlight Poole harbour. Ramus pulled back from this location; he typed in the coordinates of the central security services mainframe and smiled malevolently.
“So you come to destroy me, Mr Dillon. Like a lamb to the slaughter?”
He rapidly typed in the command sequence.
The stealth ship hummed from the heart of its massive mainframe. The black terminal that was now playing 1st host to the Chimera Virus Programme...
Chimera script locked on:
Initiation sequence engaged = threat = British Security Services threat found = co-ords determined
Launch sequence armed = missile countdown set
Satellite request = granted = 40 hacked and armed
Chimera adaptive script = control logged = override all existing controllers.
Chapter 24
The waves crashed and churned against the twin hulls of the stealth ship as it cut through the choppy waters of the natural harbour. Missiles detonated. There was a deafening roar of high-explosives from the catamaran’s deck; the whole structure shuddered; one of the JetRangers released three air-to-air missiles that intercepted and destroyed the threat, smashed, burning insanely from the sky to die, extinguished in the waves. Guns roared, spitting and kicking across metal and flesh.
In amidst the furore Alix placed the Apache into a hover just twenty foot above the waves, and handed over the control of the helicopter to Vince Sharp.
Moments later, two figures wearing black wet-suits dropped into the water. Both were heavily armed and equipped with the latest power-fins that allowed them to swim the distance to the catamaran, effortlessly. Alix had the rucksack containing the dirty-bomb strapped to his back.
The two men climbed aboard, they gave one another the thumbsup. Alix lifted his goggles for a second and stared into Dillon’s eyes. Both men grasped hands, and Alix said:
“So, let’s do this thing.”
“Good luck, Alix.”
“If I don’t make it back... Tell Lola I love her.”
Dillon laughed. “So touching coming from the king of all lady
killers. And wasn’t that the title of that song?”
“Possibly! A favour - for me.”
“Of course. Anything for you, man,” said Dillon, smiling kindly. “Five minutes; then get the hell off this tub.”
“Five minutes, it is.” Said Dillon. He replaced his goggles and
hoisted the Heckler & Koch MP6 machine carbine, glancing up at the fire-fight taking place in the sky above; at the turmoil of bullets and missiles and spinning rotors. Machine guns roared; the smell of cordite hanging heavy in the salt air.
“Good luck, Dillon.”
“Luck’s got nothing to do with it,” said Dillon, grinning. Alix checked the straps on the black rucksack, and then dropped backwards over the edge of the lower dive platform and was instantly swallowed by the churning black water.
Dillon sat for a moment, staring down at the few bubbles that reached the surface; then he concentrated on the task at hand, turned and looked up at the main structure of the catamaran, could feel the power emanating from its mainframe.
Dillon nodded to himself.
Retribution had to be served - and revenge was always best served cold.
* * * The Apache banked low and hard, sweeping around the catamaran in a wide arc, so close that Vince could see the deck rails and the windows of the bridge. The Apache banked again, this time past the huge machine cannons, menacing and black, multiple barrels spinning, rotating, rising and falling as the laser guided system tracked and attempted to lock on to their target. The catamaran flashed past in a blur, the Apache roared just above the surface of the turbulent water. Alone on board, Vince flew the helicopter from his touch-screen linked directly to a virtual pilot that he had up-loaded to the Apache’s flight management system. Vince dragged the tip of his forefinger across the screen, and the helicopter responded by swooping down, Vince tapped his finger once, the nose of the Apache lifted slightly and then dropped onto the deck with a clashof metal upon metal. The rotors howled as they continued to spin.
“Dillon, that was far too easy,” said Vince calmly into his comm link.
“Like I give a shit,” snapped Dillon.
Vince lifted the cockpit canopy and wind and rain lashed in, stinging his skin. He stood, climbed up onto the rim, then lowered himself and dropped onto the deck. His boots made dull thumps and he could feel the cold beneath him. “You’ve been bloody marvellous,” he said, patting the Apache’s fuselage. The wind snatched his words in an instant and swept them awayin a tumble. The JetRanger helicopters were twisting and swooping, machine guns raging, missiles roaring. From within the stealth ship a missile shot skywards and sent one of the JetRangers tumbling, a flaming ball pitched into the freezing water.
Dillon turned; focused; orientated himself. His stare roved the dark surroundings lit sporadically by emergency lighting and he could see nobody as he gripped his battered Glock 9mm automatic - a small reassurance, but at least it gave him the certainty to deal out death to anybody who came near.
Tatiana.
Where would she be?
With Kirill.
“That fucker,” growled Dillon. He moved quickly forward along the metal gangway, his gaze constantly shifting, scanning his surroundings for any unwanted company in the semi-darkness. This felt crazy, totally crazy and Dillon felt the burden of his life lift from his shoulders because it did not matter any more, truly nothing mattered and if he was to die, then so be it.
Dillon sprinted towards the nearest doorway. But then everything happened at once - there was a deafening boomfrom somewhere above him, and Dillon whirled, crouching, bringing the Glock up to see.
“Nothing,” whispered the voice inside his head.
Behind him, Kirill slid from the shadows, from the darkness, like a ghost or a demon emerging from another plane of existence. He held a snub-nosed Smith & Weston handgun and his expression was almost serene.
Dillon turned and Kirill nodded slowly. He smiled, showing tobacco stained teeth. “Mr Dillon, we’ve been expecting you.” Dillon fixed his glittering gaze on the muzzle of the gun that pointed straight at his heart...
He tried hard to conceal his shock at seeing Kirill.
“I left you for dead on that mountain in Scotland.”
“No, Mr Dillon. You left me dying. There is a subtle difference. The pain I have had to endure at your hands - will make it a pleasure for me to finally kill you. Now, your weapon, please?”
“What makes you think I’ll give it to you?”
An explosion rocked the catamaran. Kirill did not waver. But nodded to something behind Dillon. He turned. Behind him stood two black-clad Assassins, both bearing lethal lookin
g Uzi mini submachine pistols. They blocked the corridor in silence, and to his shame he had not heard them creep up on him. These killers were subtly different to the others that Dillon had come into contact with; they seemed larger, broader, more athletic.
“Previously, you met Assassins who were smaller, slimmer, but equally capable of killing. These are different. These - well, they have been genetically enhanced.”
Dillon licked his lips and smiled broadly.
“Is Tatiana on board?”
“She is. She has asked that you join her; she would weep and wail in your arms and seek one final kiss and your forgiveness before you both die. Please come this way, Mr Dillon. Let me show you exactly what we are creating aboard this ship...”
“And what might that be, Kirill. Armageddon?”
“On the contrary. What we are on the brink of is going to change this planet forever. When Chimera is launched, information technology everywhere will cease to exist in its present form,” said Kirill softly. He gestured with his gun, and Dillon allowed the Glock to be taken from him. “This way.”
Dillon stepped forward.
Towards the black door.
And the gaping maw of uncertainty beyond.
* * * Kirill led Dillon through the dimly lit corridors, metal floors and metal grilles beneath their boots. As they walked, Dillon could hear the deep distant drone of the catamaran’s massive nuclear powered engines.
Kirill seemed different; Dillon could see that something had changed. The back of Kirill’s neck and head - it was scar tissue. Severe scar tissue, bright pink and painful looking; something about the hair, of course it was not his, instead he was wearing a wig. So he had been caught in the blast when the device had detonated deep within the top-secret facility in Scotland. Dillon smiled, the hair-piece had slipped to one side, different, he thought...
Dillon shivered, thinking. What the hell is going on? He glanced behind him; the two Assassins were there, weapons trained on his back.
Dillon followed Kirill.
There was little else that he could do.
They descended; steep metal staircases that led down. The mustiness that hung heavy in the freezing cold air was all around them, and condensation on the metal handrail brought a chill beneath Dillon’s fingers, and he felt his mind numbing, his sub-conscious stirring, coming into focus...
Good, thought Dillon.
They reached wider corridors and there were more Assassins, Dillon counted ten as he was led past them, some of them were without their hoods and Dillon could observe their faces for the first time. Each and every one of these young women had natural beauty and raven coloured hair.
“Kirill, where in God’s name did you get all of these beautiful women from. And how come they’re all so fucking dangerous?” Dillon asked softly.
“Quiet.”
“Or what? You’ll kill me?” Dillon laughed a sneering cold bark. Dillon looked Kirill up, then down. His smile was sickly sweet. “Come on, Kirill, answer my question.”
Kirill halted. He turned and his gaze was burning.
“They are beautiful, aren’t they, Dillon? And they are killers, very efficient killers. But do you mean to tell me that Ezra never explained about the Assassins? Kirill sneered. “We - Ezra, Ramus and I - found them, or rather, they found us. The Assassins you have encountered so far have all come from the same secret society in northern France. But these that you see before you are something completely different. All of the Assassins on this ship are true bloods, descendants of the first band of Carpathians that were collected by a clever fellow named Hassan, the Old Man of the Mountains, so called because he made Mount Lebanon his stronghold. These original Assassins were the terror of the world for two centuries, and then they were hunted down by Sultan Bibaris and almost eradicated. As a result, those who survived disbanded and scattered to all four corners of the planet, where they continued to ply their lethal skill from secret locations. You asked what makes them so dangerous. Haschisch or bang turned into intoxicating liquor and then enhanced and refined in the lab by Ramus. They use the liquor just before they go on a mission to kill.”
Kirill turned and continued to walk. Dillon followed.
“Ramus - the creator of fear!” Kirill cackled, and the sound was cold; chilling; nightmare turned real.
Moving down the wide corridors now, Dillon felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He kept thinking that he was passing through an area of the catamaran where perhaps unspeakable torture had taken place. There was something dreadfully wrong with this place, and with these Assassins who had been hunting him for so long, these killers who had wiped out a number of key Scorpion squads and the individuals they had been protecting... But he could not put his finger on it.
Kirill halted.
A door slid open and he gestured Dillon through and onto a massive control deck. Computer servers lined the walls, their status lights flickering incessantly. Display monitors were set up on benches, showing every global satellite position of every nation on the planet. And there, in the middle of the deck, was Tatiana!
“Tats!”
“Dillon!” She leaped to her feet, sprinted towards him and they fell into one another’s arms. Dillon kissed her passionately, then pulled away and stared down into her tear-filled eyes.
“They took me, Dillon. Took me from that airfield and plucked me from the brink of death,” she sobbed. “I haven’t told them anything, Dillon; I promise... they said that I was their insurance policy, that you would do what they want as long as they could kill me...”
“So touching,” snapped Kirill. He strolled over to one of the terminals and placed the Glock on an alloy bench. He flicked a switch; there was a whirring of fans and then a part of the front panel opened to reveal the optical disc drive. “Behold,” said Kirill. “This is Chimera. Are you impressed, Mr Dillon?”
“The Master Copy on optical disc, wow. That’s so not impressive.”
“What it lacks in size and impressiveness, I can assure you it more than makes up for in ability. Thank your saviour, Mr Dillon.”
“My... saviour?”
“Ask yourself this question - why did we take Tatiana and ensure that she stayed alive? Why didn’t I simply shoot you back there? You think I give a flying fuck about your answers to these questions? You think I care about sparing your miserable life after what you did to me in Scotland? No... But Ramus is puzzled by you, Mr Dillon. You worry him, and that worries me. He thinks that there is something strange about you, Mr Dillon, something dark insideyou that makes you uniquely dangerous. And he is going to tear that secret from you
- even if it kills you.”
Kirill smiled, and it was not a nice smile. “I, however, am sceptical; I simply want you dead. But Ramus has other plans... He believes that he can play with your soul.”
Kirill turned and ran his fingers over the top of the glistening processor housing.
All around them there was a gentle humming.
“So what are you waiting for?” Dillon said softly. “For me to shoot you again?”
Kirill turned; a fluid whirl. He smiled at Dillon. “Let me warn you, it is Ramus who wishes you alive, and not I. Do not antagonise me or you may push me beyond my limit. Now that we have Chimera operating at 100% effectiveness, that copy you have is no longer required. You’ve already witnessed what the programme is capable of
- but soon, you and your sorry excuse for a government will see the full extent of our plans.”
“What, to take control of the entire planet?” Dillon sneered.
Kirill laughed then. “You really are quite naive, Dillon. So very, very simple. In your world everything is in black and white; not so in mine. We systematically destroyed your government’s secret weapon against terrorism - Scorpion. Well their time is well and truly over... It disgusts me that they had the opportunity to make a real difference, but all that happened was, nothing. Evil men walk the world with guns and bombs, andpoliticians become more and more
corrupt. We live in a world that is warped beyond belief, Dillon. Scorpion was supposed to make a difference: once I actually thought that this highly trained task force would make a difference- allow ordinary people to sleep easy in their beds at night. But no, they were weak, Dillon - weak, because the politicians would not allow them to do their jobs properly and with a free hand. Now is the time for change... It is time for the strong to rule with an un-swervable belief that the world will then be a far better place - once we have erased every corrupt government and dictatorship from it. God will be proud of humanity for this.”
He stepped away from the processor and picked up a tablet processor.
Kirill tapped his instructions into the device.
A hologram appeared suspended mid-air in the centre of the room. A spinning, almost perfect representation of the world; colours merged and flowed as land mass was separated by the deep blue of the oceans. Major cities appeared and around this virtual globe spun satellites.
Dillon glanced down at his Omega. Time was fast running out...
The door opened. A huge, athletic bodyguard entered, followed by a much smaller figure in heavy dark robes, its face hidden, its shoulders rounded. The bodyguard nodded to Kirill, who smiled once again. It was with unease that Dillon noted the hooded figure facing him.
“Mr Dillon, let me introduce to you, Ramus.” The mysterious figure moved towards the virtual globe, took the flat tablet from Kirill, and skimmed his long fingers over the touch-screen. Satellites repositioned themselves, and the dark figure chuckled, a deep melodious sound.
“So we meet at last, Mr Dillon.”
“We meet at last, Mr Ramus.”
“Just Ramus, Mr Dillon. I have to say, that you have been an exceptional adversary.”
“And you’re the one in charge of this snapping terrier called Kirill.”
“Yes. Let me show you what we can do here,” came the voice of Ramus from within the robes.
Suddenly, one of the virtual satellites moved into position directly over Poole.
Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) Page 48
