He placed his forefinger on the biometric fingerprint reader and told the device his name. Instantly it locked onto the Ferran & Cardini mainframe. A moment later the information he had requested appeared on the screen.
Kirill; Russian professor, born Kiev, educated Moscow and Prague. Born to parents of aristocratic ancestry, who were accused of treason and murdered by the KGB. Kirill brought up by aged aunt — attained honours degrees with distinctions in applied mathematics and quantum physics. On leaving university he was enrolled on a Soviet space programme and under direct supervision of the Kremlin.
Expert in computing systems, specialising in advanced programming scripts and artificial intelligence scripts for military applications. Assisted to defectto UK after approach from MI6 double agent inside Kremlin. Currently developing the ‘Chimera’ military software programme for the British armed forces — Scorpion Units testing prototype model. Kirill based in underground bunker facility — exact location top secret, but Highlands of Scotland most likely. The technologically advanced research facility has been set up with the utmost security in what is largely inhospitable and inaccessible terrain. The facility is fitted with a stealth mode and therefore is virtually untraceable from the ground — air — or space.
Kirill has been the target of various death threats; suspect terrorist activity, most likely Middle Eastern influences with attention fixed on the ‘Chimera’ Programme which is still in the development stage. British SAS units are involved with protecting Kirill while in Cornwall. One weak link could be his niece, only child of his late brother who died of cancer three years ago; she lives and travels everywhere with him and could be a target for kidnapping, or possibly murder in order to blackmail Kirill to obtain information on the new programme.
Dillon peered out of the glass cockpit as the rotor blades above picked up pace with a rhythmic whooshing sound. He grinned like a young boy — unable to contain his pleasure — as he felt the power of the machine around him wind-up to take-off speed.
The Bell-Robinson R22 Beta II, lifted off from the snow-covered heli-pad, located on the west lawn of Dillon’s castle, and rose up into the crisp morning air of the Scottish Highlands. Snow tumbled off the helicopters skids as Dillon banked it around to the right and he watched the mountains drop away beneath him. Exhilaration filled him as the nose of the Bell dipped and the helicopter increased speed as he eased forward and the Bell’s air-cooled four-cylinder engine pitch changed with the adjustment. He had always felt alive from the thrill of flying and ensconced in his specially adapted HIDSS — a Helmet Integrated Display Sighting System — Dillon could execute any procedure with the blink of an eye.
The intercom in Dillon’s helmet came alive as a familiar voice filtered out through the tiny speakers.
“Hi, Jake, you hear me up there with the birds, mate?” “I hear you loud and clear, Vince.”
“I thought those choppers were for millionaire playboys, not roughnecks like you?”
“They are, but they made an exception in my case.” “Is it fast?”
“Tops out at around 102 knots and climbs at a rate of 1000 feet per minute. I’m currently cruising at two thousand feet, heading due south down the coast towards Cornwall.”
“Taking the scenic route, I don’t blame you. Let me know when you’re nearing your destination. And remember to stay on this secure channel.” “Roger that. Over and out.”
Dillon settled back in his seat as the Bell hummed at its cruising speed of 96 knots. He activated the stealth mode, one of the extras he had fitted by the manufacturer before it had left their factory, and cruised down the coastline of England. He checked the mobile phone that Tatiana had given him and noticed that he had one new email. It contained the operational instructions for the assignment. Protection duties in support of British Special Air Service and MI6 operatives. That’s all he needed, these boys would not welcome him in Cornwall with open arms and smiling faces. These boys would resent him being there at all. This was LJ’s way of easing him back into the Ferran & Cardini fold… and then he would feel the dark side of his psyche spread its wings and wait in abeyance for the killing to start…
He felt a cold shiver run up and down his spine.
He returned the mobile device back to his jacket pocket. “I should have stayed in Scotland,” he mused, settling deeper into the helicopter’s padded seat; the original had been structured in hard polycarbonate, very uncomfortable, so Dillon had it replaced with something more luxurious.
Dillon had engaged the auto-pilot system which was now flying the compact two-man helicopter at low altitude down the east coast of England, the cold dark waters of the North Sea a few hundred feet below him as the Bell’s stealth system worked seamlessly to automatically adjust its course so as to evade detection by radar stations and other more sophisticated probing detection equipment. He continued on down the coast, only stopping once to re-fuel at a small private airfield just outside Ipswich. He then set a course inland over Oxfordshire, and then headed due south towards the Isle of Wight, picking up the southern coast of England and passing over Bournemouth on his way down the rugged Jurassic coastline towards Cornwall and his final destination — Castle Drago. The further west he flew the worse the weather became; rain and wind buffeting the small helicopter.
The speakers inside his helmet crackled and the next moment Vince Sharp’s voice was being piped into his ears. “You okay, Jake?”
“If you call high winds and torrential rain okay, then yes, I’m doing just fine.”
“I’ve estimated that you should be at Castle Drago in approximately ten minutes. LJ has asked me to thank you for undertaking this assignment and wishes you all the very best.”
“Sounds ominous. Couldn’t he have said that to me personally?”
“Sorry mate. He’s currently in Argentina — some sort of government crisis thing…”
“What’s Castle Drago like?”
Nice little pad they’ve got hidden away in the middle of nowhere, mate. We’ve been given strict instructions that you’re not to land anywhere near to the main building. There’s a Heli-pad in the middle of a wooded area due south of the main residence — that’s where you put down and they’ll send a reception party to meet you.”
“Nice.”
“Do I detect thereturn of that legendary surly contemptuousness, Mr Dillon?”
“Vince?”
“Yes mate?”
“Fuck off.”
“Okay. Before I forget, de-activate that stealth mode you’ve got fitted before you get within three miles of them. They’ll want to track you on their radar screens as you approach.”
“Roger that. Over and out.” Dillon grinned; flicked two switches and the Bell swooped down from the sky towards the undulating and heavily wooded landscape below. He watched the treetops as he headed inland from the coast and eventually spotted the clearing with a large ‘H’ in the middle of a concrete hard-stand. A few moments later he had touched down and had shut down all on-board systems. At the edge of the clearing a black Range Rover was waiting for him. He stepped down from the cockpit, the wind and rain hitting him with all its might, closed the cockpit door and armed the security system. Should the Bell be tampered with or stolen, Dillon was able see what was going down on the small LCD screen on the remote key, which was wirelessly linked to the Bell’s on-board camera. The remote operated a small explosive device that would detonate inside the engine compartment. The end result was the same whether the helicopter was in the air or on the ground — instantaneous death to anyone in or close to the machine at the time of detonation — the remote had a range of one hundred miles.