Exhausted and in immeasurable pain, Kirill lay sprawled on the wet ground, his line of sight had the winch-house clearly in view. He listened to the powerful electric motor pulling the basket up. Kirill pushed himself on, dragging his smashed legs behind him, fingers clawing with broken nails at the hard granite surface…
The winch motor suddenly stopped. Kirill heard the clankof the locking mechanism engage, and then the sound of boots on the timber floor inside the small building, and he willed himself to move forward; he did not look back, felt no curiosity whatsoever, just the basic raw animal instinct to survive… to stay alive… to stay ahead. There came a metallic click: the sound of a bullet slipping neatly in a firing chamber. Kirill let his muscles relax, exhausted, his adrenalin spent. He could taste the bitterness of failure. He didn’t even have the strength to roll over onto his back…
The sound of boots grew nearer. They stopped.
The tip of the Heckler & Koch barrel prodded Kirill in the back.
“Haven’t you bled to death yet, you son-of-a-bitch?”
“I’m still alive,” said Kirill softly. “I knew you’d come here, Dillon. I knew it from the look in your eye in the kitchen at my house in Cornwall…”
“I don’t like being set-up,” snapped Dillon.
“It was a necessity.”
Kirill felt strong hands grab him roughly and roll him over. He looked up into Dillon’s face — much more battered than the last time they had met, the nose more twisted, cuts and grazes marking the skin. Dillon’s eyes were dark, brooding, unforgiving… Beyond Dillon’s palpable hatred stood Tatiana, a Glock in one hand, and an Uzi minisub machine pistol in the other. She appeared through Kirill’s haze of pain, to be jumpy, on the edge, twitchy as she looked around to see if there was anyone else about that might have spotted them… Whereas Dillon was totally focused, dark eyes boring into Kirill’s sole, like a tungsten drill.
“How many are still here?” He demanded.
Kirill smiled.
“You nervous, Dillon?”
“Nervous? Hell no, but you should be. We want answers, and you’re going to give them to us.”
“Or what? You’re going to kill me? I’m already a dead man, Dillon. Chimera works, but not one-hundred percent. This makes me a condemned man awaiting execution… But now, now you are too late.” He started to laugh.
Dillon shook his head. “I worked for a while with this guy, in Northern Ireland. He was ex SAS; worked as a freelance interrogator for British Intelligence and the CIA. He had a reputation for making the toughest men squeal like pigs at a trough. His preferred method of torture was the ancient art of Chakra. I learned a lot from him, about keeping a man alive whilst inflicting insurmountable pain. The trick is in keeping the person conscious at all times, that was the point.” Dillon glanced over at Tatiana, then at the vast vista of mountains beyond the perimeter of the facility. There was no sign of activity near or far…
“You keep an eye out for any movement whatsoever, Tats. While I get this old man inside. Make him ready for our little chat.”
“Chat?”
“You ever seen the look on a man’s face when his internal organs have been messed with a little. And that’s only for starters. The best is kept for the very last minute, but let’s keep that as a surprise. But you’ll find out soon enough, Professor…” Dillon started to drag Kirill across the landing bay towards the doors of the facility — which automatically slid back as he approached it. Dillon peered carefully into the brightly lit interior, the Heckler MP5 held aggressively, then dragged Kirill into the warmth of the temperature controlled environment of the Government establishment.
He dumped Kirill on the dark granite slab floor, then immediately took a look around. He moved warily, checking every corner until he was completely satisfied that they were alone. He spun round as the outer door opened with a hiss, and Tatiana came into sight, each hand held an automatic pistol gripped firmly. He smiled over at her and she responded with a wan smile, her face showing pain and fatigue.
“Anything moving out there?”
“No. There’s nobody else in the helicopter, and only a couple of dead Assassins on the far side of the landing bay.”
“Okay, any sign of the Priest and the others?”
“Nothing. If they are here, then they’re remaining a little shy, aren’t they?”
“Which is unlike the Priest? I think it’s time to go get some answers.”
“Dillon.” She placed a hand on his arm. “You’re not really going to torture him, are you?”
Their gazes met. He saw that she was in pain; saw the look of humanity in her eye. “No,” he lied easily. “I’m bluffing him. But he doesn’t know that.” Dillon winked and smiled. He then walked over to where Kirill was half sitting, half laying, his hand pressed against his trouser leg, over one of the bullet wounds inflicted by Dillon.
“So Professor. Time is running out, and I’m still none the wiser why I was set-up. Why did you try to kill me in Cornwall, eh?” Dillon slowly unrolled a soft leather roll, and removed a long slender knife; the highly polished blade glinted under the artificial lighting.
Silence.
Kirill simply stared up at Dillon, a blank emotionless glower.
Dillon knelt down, roughly ripping open Kirill’s trouser leg, and then gently pressing the cold stainless steel against the flesh just behind the knee cap. “Now listen up, old son. You start talking, or I’m going to slice off your knee cap.” Blood started to flow freely as Dillon pressed just a little into the soft tissue.
Kirill grinned, showing his aging tobacco stained teeth, and then sat up slowly.
“You could never understand, never understand.”
“Try me.”
“There’s not enough time.”
“We’ve got as much time as it takes.”
“Wrong answer,” said Kirill. “You have precisely twelve minutes and — ” he checked the cracked face of his gold watch; “- and thirty
— three seconds. At which time the hi-explosive charges that have been placed strategically throughout this facility will detonate. That is to say, they will detonate simultaneously, along with the small nuclear device that I have positioned deep within the facility. The top of this mountain will be one massive firework, and you’ll be sitting right on top of it.”
“You’re bluffing, Kirill.”
“Why should I? After all, it’s not as if you can’t go and check.”
“Dillon,” said Tatiana. “If it’s true, we’d better get the hell off this mountain.”
“I came here for answers and I’m notleaving until I have them,” said Dillon. “And if there really is a mini nuke up here, then the Priest will be able to disable it. You see, Kirill. There isn’t a device worldwide that the Priest hasn’t been able to deactivate.” Dillon said arrogantly.
“He can try,” said Kirill softly. “But this particular device has been designed without the off button.” Kirill’s condescension was met with Dillon pulling the Glock from his pocket, and pressing the muzzle under his chin. Kirill’s eyes widened, and he hissed. “You cut the power, everything blows. This was a one-off, Dillon. There was never a soft option. Ever…”
“Where’s the master switch?”
Kirill did not reply.
Dillon slipped the safety catch off, and adjusted the angle of the muzzle. “Ever seen a man with half his face blown off. You won’t die, but hell would be a happy release. You’re just going to have to take my word for that, Kirill.”
Kirill met Dillon’s dark gaze. He swallowed dryly.
“Over there, behind a maintenance access panel in the central pillar.” Kirill’s words were weary, filled with pain — and a touch of fear. But there was triumph there as welclass="underline" an ultimate triumph. Kirill believed that he had won — no matter what Dillon did to him, no matter what pain was inflicted upon him.