It was night.
Small waves slapped rhythmically against the steps of the
Venetian boat house.
The A-25M amphibian aircraft swayed gently on its mooring ropes with the swell of the lagoon, clicking, its metal cooling slowly. The fire was a small one, the dry wood burning without smoke.
Vince brewed tea in a little tin pot and Tatiana sat, chin on her knees, arms around herself, staring into the flickering flames, lost; lost in a world of her own creation. Dillon was sprawled out asleep on a pile of old tarpaulins in the corner of the boat house, this was the first time he’d actually been out for the count, allowing his brain to re-charge. He was grey with exhaustion, but had kept them going, and safe, until they were securely inside the enormous boat-house belonging to an old friend of Dillons. They’d landed on the lagoon, heading straight for one of the private islands and relative safety.
“You any closer to knowing what the hell is going on?” Vince asked, over the rim of his mug.
Tatiana nodded. “I think so. Things are starting to become clearer.”
“You still want me tagging along?”
“We’re going to need your hacking skills, mate,” Dillon stretched his arms above his head as he walked over to where Vince and Tatiana were sitting around the fire.
Tatiana looked up. “We will?”
“We will.” Dillon nodded, sipping at the sweet hot tea as one hand probed tenderly at his various wounds. “We’re heading back to
Scotland, back to the Highlands,” said Dillon. “I think it’s time we paid Professor Kirill a visit regarding this Chimera project of his.”
Chapter 16
The A-25M amphibious aircraft, piloted by Dillon with Vince snoring loudly in the back and Tatiana dozing next to him, soared through the pouring rain, refuelling at a small provincial airfield in southern France before heading north to the borders of Belgium, the Netherlands and beyond. Dillon cruised the A-25M, its single prop engine humming behind the cockpit, their heading due north into the howling wind and rain that was rapidly turning to sleet.
They cruised over large areas of open French countryside, small towns and large cities. Dillon glanced down at the fuel gauge, he had pre-determined that they would have to re-fuel again by the time they reached the Netherlands, and touched down at a private airstrip just south of Amsterdam. Dillon flew the aircraft in silence, with only the engine noise for company, and half an hour later was leaving the Dutch coastline behind them and only the North Sea ahead. All the way to their destination — Scotland…
Alix had altered his course to avoid the severe weather coming off of the North Sea, and was now heading for the Scottish Highlands up the west coast. The Westland WAH-64 Apache Longbow attack helicopter cut effortlessly through the rain, its rotors thumping overhead as they cruised over the Isle of Man, and across the Mull of Galloway. Twenty minutes later they were flying over the Grampian mountain range, rising to an incredible altitude until the mountains snaked away like giant dragon’s teeth behind them. Alix dropped back down to a few hundred feet above the ground and changed course again. This time the Apache headed straight for the Sea of the Hebrides, passed over the Isle of Skye, and ten minutes later as they entered the Northwest Highland mountain range.
“Down there.” Said the Priest softly, peering forward a little and looking out of the side window and pointing at the bleak, rugged and snowbound, yet beautiful, landscape below.
The Longbow helicopter cruised for a few minutes until Lola, Alix and the Priest saw it; it was a giant of a mountain rising up from the earth, jagged and fearsome, capped with white sparkling crystal ice.
“Eagle Point,” said Alix, his voice filled with awe, as it had been the very first time he had arrived at this place. “Awesome, isn’t it?”
“And the Stage School,” whispered the Priest. The Stage School. The nickname for an old disused SAS training complex built into the north side of the mountain, well above the timber line and far away from roads of all description. One could only reach the facility by two routes — one was by air, the other by an electrical winch, that most likely had not been in commission for well over four or five years, used to haul up a huge wicker basket large enough to hold up to eight men wearing full kit. The winch worked on a steel line from the wheelhouse located half way up the mountain side, at about seven hundred feet above the valley floor.
Alix brought thehelicopter in high, then swooped steeply towards the opposite mountain slope, hugging the ground before climbing past snow covered black runs, and higher still, speed decreasing with the changing pitch of the rotors.
“You see anything down there?”
“It’s too distant and the light is failing,” said the Priest. “Head for that clearing down in the valley, there in amongst the trees. We can reach the base of the mountain on foot. That will be the only sure way to avoid detection. They won’t expect anyone to be stupid enough to attempt to climb the north face.”
Alix brought the Apache helicopter to a hover twenty feet above the clearing, did a quick visual scan of the area, and then landed gently. The rotors slowed, engines dying and clicking, and the three travellers stepped out from the warmth of the cabin onto a forest bed of pine needles and dead branches that crackled softly under foot. Melting ice dripped from the trees around the clearing and Alix and Lola found themselves looking around, deeply concerned.
“Which way now?” Alix said looking around at the cold wet landscape, adding a moment later. “This place has the smell of trouble about it.”
“That’s because ultimately, Alix. This is a horrifying place.” The Priest’s words were true and both Alix and Lola knew it…
Lola approached the Priest, who was kneeling, one hand holding his Bible, the other touching the frozen earth, head tilted up and eyes closed as he prayed. “We heading for the basket?” she asked.
“Yes. I have been given divine guidance. We must go now, darkness will soon be upon us and it would be helpful if we could get to the base of the mountain before then.” He stood up. Shouldering their back-packs the small group moved off between the trees, heading out along the valley made slippery by mud and fern.
Before long they were all sweating and covered with smears of dirt. The going was tough. There were no natural paths and lots of heather and bracken to hinder their progress.
The Priest led the way, and Alix dropped back to walk with Lola as they fought their way over the rough terrain.
“Do you know what that mad bastard has in mind when we get to the base of that mountain?” Alix said quietly.
“Well, he’s not the most talkative. But I’m sure he will let us know soon enough. I think we need to wait until we’ve had a good look around; see exactly what’s going on up that mountain.”
“What’s up that mountain is certain death, if we’re not extremely careful. The last time I was here, I was part of an SAS squad, wetnursing Kirill and his nerds. I didn’t like this place then, and I like it even less now.” Alix said matter-of-factly.
Lola said nothing.
Eventually theycame across a pathway; heavily overgrown, a man made trail just wide enough for two people side by side. They were able to walk more easily now, aware of their destination as darkness started to creep up through the valley and an eerie ambient blackness fell across the earth. As total night fell like a shroud, they emerged into a small clearing at the base of the sheer jagged rock that appeared to go all the way to heaven. The Priest motioned them to stop and they all dropped to a sudden crouch. A silenced Beretta appeared in his hand and Alix crept up to kneel beside him. “What is it?”