“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. Contact 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…
Dillon’s smart-phone started to vibrate, the Priest’s number showed on the screen. “What you got, Priest?”
The Priest’s voice sounded metallic over the loud speaker. “I spoke to my source at GCHQ. It’s all very strange, Dillon. They’ve intercepted a lot of heavily encrypted chatter between Ramus and an organisation here in the UK.”
“What’s strange about it?”
“The company appears to be legitimate, but is nothing more than a shell, a front.”
“Is that it?”
“No. The company’s registered office is in Nassau!”
“Nassau?”
“Nassau. But, that’s not all. Get this, Dillon; the UK address is on the south coast of England.”
“Where on the south coast?”
“Dorset. To be precise, somewhere that you are very familiar with, are you not?”
“You must be mistaken, Priest.” Dillon’s voice sounded confused.
“No mistake. And, I don’t believe in coincidences either. I think that this Ramus, whoever he is, is leading you there for some reason, but as yet, I haven’t been able to work out why?”
“You mean to say, that this front company is based in Poole? Now that is strange…” Dillon’s mind raced, trying to think, who, if anyone from his past could be involved?
“Dillon, are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m still here, Priest.”
“Lola, Alix and myself, are heading down to Dorset in the Apache, that is, after we’ve stopped off in London. I’ve been summoned by Edward Levenson-Jones at Ferran & Cardini HQ.”
“I’ll set a course for the UK, and contact you again when we’re over British airspace. Oh, and good luck with LJ, you’re going to need it.”
“The Lord will protect, Dillon. See you in Dorset. The Priest terminated the call. Dillon nodded to himself and said softly. “Dorset again?”
Vince had listened to the entire conversation on the smartphones loud speaker. Turned to Dillon and said thoughtfully. “You know, that two-faced bastard Ezra stitched us up bad. He couldn’t have done a better job of leading us into a trap, if he had been alive. And, how the hell he got past the security checks, heaven knows…”
Dillon simply nodded again and continued to re-work the coordinates that would get them back to the UK. Taking into account the fuel stop they would have to make.
Dillon felt sick. Dillon felt cold. Dillon felt alone.
Somebody is going to have to pay, he realised.
Chapter 23
The Learjet limped over the Dorset coastline just as the sun was starting to rise in the east, warning lights flashing on the display and fuel gauges registering almost empty. Dillon spoke into the microphone of his headset; the air-traffic controller at Bournemouth International Airport giving him immediate clearance to land on the east runway, and to then proceed to the north-west side of the airfield and await further instructions.
Dillon disengaged the auto-pilot, and without ceremony made his first and final approach onto the runway. Landing with a squeal of rubber as the undercarriage touched the tarmac and he breathed a sigh of relief. He taxied the Lear to the far end of the runway and waited for a moment, before being escorted by airport security to the private hanger of Ferran & Cardini International.
Inside the cavernous space the Lear came to a halt alongside the Apache attack helicopter. Through the jet’s windscreen, Dillon could just make out the single occupant seated inside the Apache.
Alix climbed out of his seat and stepped down from the helicopter.
Dillon released the main door and a moment later he and Vince came down the steps of the Learjet.
“How goes it, Dillon?” Asked Alix, grinning. The rugged looking man was standing, heavy leather flying jacket belying his muscular physique, hands deep in fur lined pockets, a smoking cigarette hanging loosely from between his lips. His hair was still short and spiky, his eyes dark-ringed and hooded but twinkling with an irrepressible inner humour tinged only with a hint of concern. “Thought you’d gone and got yourself killed down there in Nassau. When the Priest saw your number on his phone, he almost jumped out of his skin. And what the hell happened to this jet?”
“Assassins, there were four of them flying single-seater training jets that were packing an awful lot of punch!” Dillon sighed, wincing as he pulled on his jacket.
Alix noted the 9mm automatic that was now holstered under Dillon’s right arm. “That Glock the only weapon you’re carrying?”
Alix held the cigarette packet towards Dillon. “What’s mine is yours, and yours is mine.” Dillon’s weary face brightened a little and he took a cigarette, lit it with his own gold lighter, and inhaled deeply, looking thoughtfully at the slender object he was rolling in his hand, passed the packet back and lifted the barrel of the Glock gently under Alix’s chin. Alix blinked, hand outstretched to receive the packet of cigarettes. He coughed slowly.