Dillon dropped the cigarette. Grinding the remnants into the hard earth. He turned to meet an impenetrable gaze and their stares locked.
Dillon smiled resignedly, “So what is it you have, that they want back so badly?”
“The original blueprint for Chimera.”
“Chimera?”
Ezra waved his hand dismissively. “I believe that we and the rest of the world are being given a taste of what exactly Chimera is. But for now my inquisitive friend, I advise you get some sleep, what is left of this beautiful night. In the morning, I have many things to show you.”
“Now I’m completely confused. You obviously know who is behind all of this.”
It was not a question.
“I know,” said Ezra, smiling — again his smile held no humour. It was the smile of a shark cornering its prey. The sinister smile of a natural predator.
The wind blew up from the sea. The olive trees shivered in the breeze.
“This Assassin has followed me here, then. To Santorini?”
“I’m afraid that it won’t just be one, but many. The blueprint I have in my possession is, shall we say, instrumental to the downfall of the world powers and the world-wide monetary system. They know that the information and calculations contained within it, becomes the chink in their armour: their Achilles Heel. They cannot let them go un-retrieved, and they therefore cannot let me live. I hold their secret in my hands, like a God holding the key to the birth of a new planet.” Dillon shivered as Ezra’s words enveloped him like the stench and smoke of a burning corpse.
“They will come. And they will come very soon.”
Dillon frowned, lit another cigarette and blew a plume of smoke into the night air. He knew that Ezra was holding out on him, and it pissed him off badly.
“Well bring it on. Let’s see what they’re about…” He said quietly.
Ezra stood in the shadows of an olive tree, thankful that Dillon had gone. The man made him uneasy, put him on edge. Ezra did not trust him; his eyes held too much the look of a killer. He watched closely as one of his personal bodyguard detail exchanged duty. They disappeared into the gloom, moving like ghosts, and he took a long, deep breath, staring up at the vast vaults of the night sky. A cool breeze at last caressed his skin. He rubbed at his chin. He closed his tired eyes.
But the images haunted him.
From another time.
From a different world.
Water and slime glistened on the rough dark stone walls. Russian voices calling out in the darkness, men, women and children, all embedded with the deep emotion of terror. He moved down the steps, boots thudding dully on the ancient stone. He was deep underground; the weight of the castle above, pressing down upon him.
Kirill and Ramus were there. They were pawing over calculations, algorithms and he was with them. Rows of monitors lined the walls of the former KGB torture dungeon… Ezra opened his eyes, stared again at the night sky.
“What did youdo?” he murmured wearily. “What in God’s name did we do?”
Alix stared at the Westland WAH-64 Apache Longbow attack helicopter, resplendent in Artic camouflage, with its narrow fuselage, chin mounted guns and disposable armament of rockets and missiles mounted on stub wings. The helicopter was also equipped with the Longbow millimetre wave radar system to enable it to find and identify its targets. Alix turned back to Lola, who was leaning against the battered Mercedes van, smoking a cigarette.
“You say that you can actually fly this Apache?”
Alix nodded.
“You sure?”
Alix nodded again.
“It looks far more complicated close up.”
“It is. But that shouldn’t be a problem, as I could be considered an Apache veteran.”
“Apache veteran?”
“Yeah, flown one of these babies many times. Albeit, as a computer flight simulation…”
“What. You’ve only ever flown this thing as a fucking computer game?”
“Well yes. But don’t worry, computer simulation — real thing, there’s no real difference between them.”
“No difference. Only that we’ll have about five-thousand feet of fresh air between us and the ground.”
“Look, we have no choice. And we couldn’t very well waltz onto a military base and requisition one of these things with an experienced combat pilot and a navigator? Now when I give you the order, I need you to climb in — you see the release for the cockpit there? Good.
Climb in — insert this key, turn it clockwise and hit the green buttons on the dash. You got that?”
Lola frowned. “I thought you’d sorted this, Alix? And I thought we were waiting for the Priest?”
“I did, I sorted it with my old mate, Tiger Jones, whom I served with in Afghanistan. He flew the Apache here, and if he ever gets found out, they’ll throw him in a cell and bury the key forever. Now, these are the keys, and I have the ignition sequence stored up here.”
He tapped his head. Blowing smoke through a cheeky boyish smile, Lola slapped Alix on the back. He didn’t flinch or move. “And as for the Priest? Well, he’s a little bit late and we can’t hang around any longer for the insane fucker.”
“Late?” Said Lola. “Don’t you mean that we are early?” “Depends on how you look at it,” said Alix. “Look Lola, Scorpion is finished, we are being shafted left, right and centre by these Assassin dudes — we need to find out, and find out fast, what exactly is going on. Tiger’s base was the nearest one to this private airfield with this sort of technology.”
Lola looked around, her face carrying the full weight of guilt.
Across the deserted airfield other aircraft sat unattended, mainly
Cessna single and twin engine aircraft, a couple of Bell helicopters and an Air Caravan single propeller aircraft belonging to the local SkyDive centre. Behind them, large hangers, originally used during WW1 to house fighter planes but now owned by private companies involved in various aviation activities, stood dark and still.
Lola looked up into the night sky. Heavy clouds rolled, and wind whipped at her with the promise of rain.
“Can you really fly this helicopter?” Asked Lola suspiciously. “Easy — like a walk in the park. Now, where the hell is the Priest, we need to get going. We’ve got those masked Assassin fuckers killing
Scorpion units and Ferran & Cardini field agents all over the place, and I’ve got a sneaky suspicion they’re not far behind us.” “Come on,” said Lola, dropping the butt of her cigarette. Smoke trailed from her nostrils. She ground the remains of the cigarette under her boot and zipped up her combat jacket to the neck. “Let’s get on with it then.”
Alix and Lola moved swiftly to the helicopter, Alix opened the cockpit door and they climbed in. Lola moved around the hi-tech war machine, poking here and there; she kicked away the blocks from under the wheels and climbed up, squeezing in to the navigator’s position. Alix started the ignition sequence, then the twin turbine.
The engine whined, and then roared and Alix smiled like a small child opening a special present on Christmas morning.
Rain started to fall from the dark tempestuous skies. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Lola said, as the Apache engine noise increased.
“Have faith my lovely, have faith.” Alix said grinning. “Here we go! Let’s see what this little baby can do. Scotland here we come…”
Out of the gloom, doing perhaps sixty, sixty-five across the grass airstrip hammered the Priest’s Aston Martin DB5; the vintage car slewed around, wheels locked, skidding in a broad-side halt in front of the Apache in a scythe of water.