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 suddenly 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.