Chimera was the ultimate Artificial Intelligence — but it was more than that — it was constantly learning — constantly adapting — constantly changing…
Chimera gave the infected computer the ability to think, to possess the ability to know what was right, and what was wrong; feeding every piece of hidden data back to GCHQ. It would be the ultimate weapon against global terrorism, and the British would be at the forefront of this awesome new technology. Scorpion could conquer the ever growing terror of organised crime and drug cartels raising billions of dollars every year to fund the likes of al Qaeda, of gun runners and bomb makers, as well as Assassins…
Claudia shivered. She understood that the stakes were high; she had not really understood or taken on board the implications before the total wipe-out of Scorpion HQ in London. But now with the deaths of so many innocent people, she felt chilled to her core.
Claudia knew; this was no longer a game on a screen.
And that it had most likely never been.
Claudia walked back to the lift, and then, decided to drop by the central processor lab, snoop around, see what the automated machines were up to at this anti-social hour of the day. The machines were programmed to run routine operations during the small hours and so there was little fear of meeting anybody at this lonely time.
After descending to the lowest level, she trod silently through the carpeted corridors to the central lab. She stopped. She accessed the first Armourlite glass door and then as this closed, she was left standing in the airlock awaiting the second door to open — it was then that she saw her.
A tall figure…
Claudia Dax froze.
The young woman was motionless, standing near the machine that had the Chimera Programme loaded onto its hardrive.
Claudia stared for a long moment. No movement came from the woman and Claudia tried to meet her gaze, positive that she had been seen and yet aware that the woman gave no indication of having spotted her.
Claudia hadn’t seen her before. Perhaps she was a new security officer, drafted in from London?
Or was she one of Kirill’s own people? Sent to oversee the last few vital elements of the programme that would see it complete and fully operational…
Claudia sank slowly to the carpet and sat, hidden by the solid lower panels, wondering what she should now do. She crawled over to the door that had admitted her, and swiped her security pass. The door slid open silently and she crawled out into and along the corridor, turned the corner, then got to her feet and, with a smile and sigh of relief at her unbelievable luck, ran as fast as she could to the lift.
A few minutes later, she was back inside her apartment, pacing about her living space, a glass of Jack Daniels in her shaking hand, sipping it slowly and wondering what the tall athletic young woman had been up to; why had she been there?
Her heart was still pounding as she pondered the strange woman she had witnessed; black skin-tight cat suit, cut perfectly to every contour of her slender body, hair blond, cropped. The eyes of the palest blue. The woman had appeared relaxed yet, threatening… very, very threatening!
Claudia shivered, and sipped again at her drink.
Who was she?
Must have been drafted in as additional core security staff to watch over Chimera in the final stages of development. But what about all of the other security measures, weren’t these good enough? Weren’t the electrified razor wire fencing, the SAS trained guards, the bomb-proof concrete walls and armour plated sliding doors — enough to protect this planet changing programme?
The answer was of course — yes.
Claudia laughed softly, bitterly, to herself, as she stared out over the mountainous terrain through the wall-mounted fifty inch LCD flat-screen monitor.
Pondering her very strange and very near encounter, Claudia took another sip of the amber liquid, enjoying the smooth flavour. A word crept into the recesses of her mind; a word she had once heard spoken, when overhearing part of a conversation between Kirill and Ramus and one other, whom she did not know…
“Assassin…”
They had all stopped talking and turned to stare directly at her, when they had realised that she was working in the computer suite they had just walked in to. She apologised and had left the room immediately.
But now; the word seemed to come naturally to the fore-front of Claudia’s mind, from somewhere deep in the vaults of her remarkable memory. It seemed to fit into the scheme of personal bodyguards and enforcers…
Assassin. An Assassin. The Assassins? Was it just one, a dozen or many? No matter, because it always came down to one thing — killing.
A shiver ran through her body, realising that she had drunk a little too much, and then downed the rest of the whisky in one gulp.
She decided she would ask her friend and work colleague, Ed King in the morning. If anyone would know about new security measures being initiated, he would.
Yes, definitely a good idea; He was Kirill’s assistant chief of security, and may even know about the Assassins.
Maybe.
Chapter 10
Dillon crashed down onto the frozen ground with his brain screaming anger-filled hatred, fuelling a re-renewed energy within him. His soul filled with cold detachment, like a giant’s hand giving him a nasty squeeze… “Fight,” howled his sub-conscious alter-ego. But Dillon could not; for the briefest of seconds, he could not; it was as if he had an enormous flat slab of concrete pressing down on him. Without consciously knowing it, he reloaded the Glock with a fresh magazine by sense of touch in his jacket pocket as the footsteps came towards him, and his brain seized and the footsteps suddenly increased in pace and… “Roll!” his brain screamed at him.
Dillon rolled, the Glock now in his hand and pumping bullets up into the air.
A kick sent the weapon spinning across the frozen ground.
Dillon curled his lip in a nasty smile. The promise of what was to come foremost in his mind…
A diesel engine started — the Landrover. The Assassin’s head snapped right — Dillon leaped, arms latching on to the attacker’s legs at thigh height, teeth sinking into soft flesh. The attacker screamed with intense pain, and instinctively fell backwards, dragging Dillon back down onto the frozen ground. Dillon twisted to the left, rolled once, and re-positioned himself to attack; he slammed both fists into the Assassin’s face. One blow, two, three, four, and five. He felt, as well as heard, bone break under the balaclava.
The Landrover, pluming smoke, accelerated out through the archway from the courtyard.
Dillon staggered up.
The Assassin’s foot lashed up into Dillon’s groin and he stumbled back; the scene flashed red, there was a crunch of gravel as heavy off-road tyres skidded to a halt. Exhaust fumes spewing out like a dragon’s breath.
Dillon looked up into the Assassin’s face.
Black clad — unreadable…
But the eyes. The eyes were the bluest blue, and filled with hatred.
The figure stood, legs slightly spread, arms raised in classic karate style, waiting, to finish the job that it had been sent to carry out. Dillon scrambled to his feet and the eyes were solidly fixed on him, boring into his very being, and he grinned, a very nasty grin. “You ready to die, ass-hole?”
“I have merely been toying with you, Mr Dillon. But no more.”
Seemingly, from out of thin air; the Assassin produced a slender evil looking knife. The highly polished blade glinted menacingly in the early morning sunshine, and the Assassin lowered its head. Dillon managed to draw his own long bladed knife and spat blood into the snow.