Who wanted him dead?
Ramus?
There were easier and much cheaper ways to kill him than this. But then, now he had the Chimera Programme master copy, with which to do a little bargaining…
He glanced left and right, pressed the intercom, and took a step back.
“Come in,” came a clear, feminine voice.
Dillon blinked. He realised that his hand was slippery around the metallic bulk of the Glock. He slipped the automatic into his waistband and wiped his hand on his trousers. He smiled nastily. Waited for the electromagnetic lock to release; before nudging open the gate as he drew the Glock once more.
Gentle laughter came from inside the villa. “Don’t be shy, Dillon. Come on in and join us.” There’s no Assassin waiting with a silenced gun to blow your head off. No elaborate plan of entrapment to ensnare you.”
Dillon moved cautiously forward, hesitating before stepping up onto the deck. He kept to the shadows, peering around the large plants. Ezra was sitting in a chair by the open window of the living area, a large glass of red wine by one hand, a cigarette in the other, and two beautiful women stood either side of him. Dillon glanced around one more time, then stepped up onto the deck and went inside. He still gripped the Glock 9mm automatic in his left hand…
“Nice to see you again, Ezra. And with such lovely companions. But I had this notion in my mind that you would be rather dead.”
Ezra turned then, got up out of the chair, and stood. Dismissing the two women with the wave of a hand; he beamed warmly at Dillon, and raised his glass, sipping the richly deep burgundy wine, his eyes fixated on Dillon’s left hand and the Glock held within it. “Always the cautious man, eh, my friend? I do quite understand your concern… If our situations had been reversed, and then I too would think it a trap…”
Dillon moved forward suspiciously, all senses alert, the Glock’s safety set to off. Only when he was satisfied that they were alone in the room, did he fix his stare back on Ezra, who had turned, his dark-eyed gaze settling on Dillon.
Ezra smiled warmly. He motioned for Dillon to sit in a chair opposite his own.
Dillon remained standing. Ezra said, “I know you will find this hard to believe, but I was wearing one of Vince Sharp’s prototype Chameleon Para-vests. As I went over the cliff-top, I pulled the ripcord in plenty of time. When I hit the water seconds later, there were four Special Boat Service scuba divers waiting to make sure I didn’t surface and to take me to a Royal Navy submarine that was stationed half a mile off the coast in deep water. You see, the British desperately wanted the optical disc I was carrying but the irony was in rescuing me, they bundled me onto one of those underwater jet-sled things, and in the process I dropped that bloody disc — and it became lost, leaving Kirill, yet again, with the only working programme in existence. MI6 was very precise — they had tracked me via my cellphone, which I had been instructed to leave switched on, that’s how they knew where I would make a splash when I took that fucking leap of faith. They pulled me through the water so fast, I felt like a fishing lure, I was the bait.”
Dillon looked him up and down. The man stood before him had lost at least a couple of stone in weight, since Santorini; everything else about Ezra was exactly how Dillon remembered him. Dillon grinned wryly.
“You dolook pretty good, Ezra. For a dead man.” He lowered the Glock. “Tatiana will be thrilled that her uncle is alive.”
“Ahh, my beautiful niece, Tatiana! I thought you might bring her along, but then — you thought this was an elaborate trap. A trap, as you thought me dead. Hah! Had you no faith in my cunning — even though it appeared that I’d plunged to my certain death…” Ezra’s eyes sparkled as he took a step closer. “But then I have Vince Sharp to thank. His extraordinary parachute works incredibly well and makes the user completely invisible from a distance.”
Dillon smiled, holding Ezra’s dark gaze. “How about a drink? You’re there enjoying that large glass of wine without offering me any? And after all the crap I’ve been taking from Tatiana these past days…”
“Yes I’ve been hearing about your exploits. MI6 has been following your progress with interest — although, it must be said, always a few steps behind you. I hear the Priest was with you in Scotland. Did that religious rogue behave himself?”
“He was just fine.” Dillon slipped the Glock back under his waist-band again but kept hold of the small grenade, hidden in his palm. He accepted the wine and took a sip.
Ezra’s gaze remained transfixed on the glass and Dillon forced himself not to tip the wine into the nearest plant-pot as the other man turned to stare out of the open patio window once more. Something is wrong, screamed Dillon’s brain. He sniffed the wine but didn’t drink any of the deep red liquid…
Ezra turned to face Dillon again, a swift movement, a small black gun now in his large hand. “You should have trusted your instincts, Dillon. And, I truly am very sorry,” he said. “Really sorry.”
Chapter 22
Alix, Lola and the Priest stood beside the deserted hulk of the Chinook Ch-47 on the Norfolk beach. The cold northerly wind whipped up tiny whirlwinds of sand around their feet as they gazed inside the hold of the giant cargo carrying helicopter. “Well, this is definitely one of the Chinooks that flew out of
Kirill’s facility,” said Alix quietly.
“But the question is, what is it doing here in Norfolk,” said the
Priest, as he climbed up into the back and pulled free a large aluminium case. Using a small fire axe he smashed off the heavy padlock and lifted the lid. Inside were three metallic flasks, secured in the profile laser-cut foam lining. The Priest photographed the contents and in particular the identification number, and sent the image through a secure line to the main-frame at Ferran & Cardini International.
Within seconds a response came back. He carefully closed the lid again and jumped down to join the others.
“What’s in the big metal box?” Lola asked her voice nervous. “It’s yours, mine and every other sane person’s worse nightmare, Lola.”
“What, it’s a case full of some sort of lethal weapon?” “Something like that. London believes it to be a variant of
Bacillus anthracis…”
“Anthrax? What the fuck is Anthrax doing on this Chinook?” “Well, if I had to guess, I’d say that our late friend Kirill was and now Ramus, on his own, isplanning mass murder. Now, this helicopter if I’m not mistaken came down pretty hard and was unloaded in haste.”
The Priest went back up into the cargo hold of the Chinook and pulled the aluminium case out through to the open doorway.
Lifting the lid, he said. “These three flasks not only contain one of the deadliest bacteria known to man, but according to F&C’s intelligence, this modified variant is a hundred times nastier.” He stared hard at
Alix and Lola. They both looked from his eyes, that were the colour of coal, to the flasks then back to his eyes.
Alix shrugged. “You’re going to have to enlighten us, Godlyman.”
“This is a terrorist’s dream weapon; they’d crawl over hot embers to get their hands on this stuff. This Anthrax would make governments everywhere sit up and pay attention. In the wrong hands these three flasks could wipe out many hundreds of millions of human lives, as well as wild and domesticated herbivorous and carnivorous mammals in the most devastatingly painful way. This is truly a fearsome weapon.”
“So why have these three flasks been left behind?” Lola asked. “Most likely because the case was up the front behind a bulkhead.”