The aircraft came in low over Grand Bahamas and touched down on the tarmac runway with a squeal of brakes and rubber. The co-pilot’s voice came over the intercom, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Grand Bahama.” “I thought we were heading for Nassau.” Snapped Tatiana.
Dillon held her gaze and nodded, “We are — eventually. But I’m still not convinced that we’re only dealing with Ezra. If it was Ezra who sent that message?”
Dillon went forward and spoke in a quiet voice to the captain. “Fly the Lear under five hundred feet until you reach the Florida coast, and then make sure you’re on the radar from there into Tampa. The authorities will assume you’ve come through the Bermuda Triangle. Then file a new flight plan from Tampa direct to Nassau.” The captain nodded, and Dillon continued. “One thing, though. Make sure you’re only on the tarmac at Tampa for as long as it takes to fully re-fuel.”
“Nassau?”
“Assuming we’re not all murdered there? Make the jet ready for a quick getaway. If I remember rightly, the partners of Ferran & Cardini have a private hanger at the edge of the airfield apron. Use it. I’ll message you when we’re in need of flight. Understood?”
“Understood, Mr Dillon.”
Dillon grinned, “It’s always a pleasure flying with you captain.”
“And life is always interesting when we fly you, Jake.”
Dillon and the others watched as the Learjet disappeared from sight within seconds, its vapour trail streaking an otherwise clear blue Bahamian sky.
The night was hot and humid. Distant sounds of a boat party echoed across the bay, followed by the splash of revellers diving into the water in high-jinx.
A quarter of a mile away, the forty-six power cruiser probed the surrounding darkness. Dillon opened the throttles as they rounded Pinders Point and entered the Northwest Providence Channel.
The calm water parted easily under the force of the cruisers bow. A deep rumble emanated from the inboard V8 engine, the sound penetrating the early hours of the morning as the small group headed towards their destination — Nassau. Dillon sat at the helm, his gaze flitting from the green lit dials of the control console to the glittering black water ahead of them. Tatiana stood beside him in the opulent gloom of the luxury cruiser’s bridge; she leaned forward, peering out through the windscreen over the lapping dark water. “I always dreamed I would visit the Bahamas.”
“Sorry luv, but this isn’t going to be a holiday visit,” said Dillon softly.
Dawn was breaking as the power cruiser entered the Northeast Providence Channel, heading in a south-westerly direction towards Nassau, the Berry Islands clearly visible on the starboard side as they raced by. Half an hour later Dillon eased back on the throttles and the hull of the forty-six foot craft eased back down into the water, half a mile off New Providence Island. He allowed the cruiser to drift with the tide, as he gazed through binoculars towards the busy port of Nassau. After a few moments he opened the throttles again and headed straight for the port entrance.
Dillon berthed the cruiser, shutdown the engine, and went down to the day saloon to join the others. Vince was busy at his laptop, Claudia and Tatiana both looked up as he came down the steps. “Anyone for breakfast?”
Vince looked up and said, “What are we talking here, chap?
Eggs, Bacon, all the trimmings?”
“I think that can be arranged, big-man. I’ll get right on it.” Dillon went up on deck and made a call from his unregistered pay-as-you-go mobile phone. If anyone was trying to track him, they’d have no luck if he only used this handset. Most of all, Tatiana did not know about this phone…
Dillon re-joined the others, and twenty minutes later a beautiful
Bahamian woman in her early forties was standing on the pontoon alongside the power cruiser with a very large rush basket in her hand.
Dillon went out onto the stern sun-deck and greeted her with a wave. “Margarita.” He went down the gang-plank and hugged her affectionately.
“Well, I’ll be damned, Jake Dillon.” She held him at arm’s length.
Man, you’re looking older and you’ve acquired more of those nasty little scars on your handsome face, since the last you were here.” “Been through a bit since my last visit to Nassau. But, it’s really good to see you, Margarita. And girl, you’re looking more beautiful with each passing year.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, you charmer.”
“Did you manage to get what I asked for?”
“Of course, Dillon. Eggs, bacon, fresh bread and, tomatoes. Oh, and I also got the other special items you asked for. At the bottom of the basket; you’ll find two Glock 20s with additional clips, along with the two-way radios you asked for, and a dozen small stun grenades.
Happy?”
“Very. Thank you, Margarita.”
“Good luck, Dillon. You know where to find me if you need anything else.”
“Sure, and thanks once again. I owe you one, Margarita.” The attractive woman walked away, disappearing up the pontoon towards the Harbour Club, got in an old battered 4x4, and then drove off in an easterly direction along E Bay Street, disappearing almost immediately in the early morning traffic. Dillon went back inside to the others, made his way straight down to the galley, and immediately extracted the weapons and grenades. He placed one of the Glocks in the waistband of his trousers, the weapon reassuringly snug in the small of his back. He then concealed a spare clip in each of his pockets, and then hid the other weapon and grenades in his rucksack, which he slung over his shoulder.
“Dillon, you going somewhere?” Vince asked.
“I’m just popping out,” said Dillon suddenly, moving towards the door.
“I thought you said you wanted breakfast first?” Tatiana said. “Time for that later. I have people to see, errands to run; like I said, I have friends here in Nassau.”
“Dillon?”
“Yes, Claudia?”
“Be careful.”
Tatiana’s head snapped round as if on a tensioned spring. A cold glint in her eyes.
Dillon paused for the briefest of moments, “I’ll see what I can do.” He stepped out on to the stern sun-deck, got in the inflatable dinghy tied up to the dive platform rail, and a few seconds later was powering out into the harbour in a cloud of two-stroke fumes.
Claudia lay relaxed on one of the day loungers on the sun-deck, weariness overcoming her. She pulled the courier bag close to her, her gaze falling on her hands, the grime under her usually manicured nails. She smiled gently. Once, that would never have happened: dirt would have been impossibility. But something had changed. She was lucky to be alive; and, it could have been so different.
Claudia removed the clear case protecting the small metallic optical disc from deep inside the bag. She held it up to the daylight, gazing at the master copy of the Chimera Programme.
“I hope you’re worth all the trouble,” she muttered, resting her head back against the pillows. They felt luxuriously soft — a complete antithesis to the last couple of days…
God, had it only been that long?
Since the facility had been destroyed.
Since Kirill had ordered everyone murdered.
Since Dillon had shot Kirill.
She shuddered, then closed her eyes and was able — for the first time in days — to relax.
Her breathing deepened and she licked her dry lips. The lounger was so comfortable that it made her want to stretch out and wallow all day long. Oh, to curl up and sleep for a lifetime; to curl up in a ball and forget… Images flashed through her mind, the Assassins.