The intelligence men and woman all nodded.
Alix continued, “Ramus is the man who has systematically destroyed Scorpion and has murdered many good people, some of whom were friends as well.”
More nods from around the gathering.
Alix’s wide-eyed gaze roved over the small, yet, elite group. He exchanged glances with Dillon, Lola, Vince and the Priest. Sophia Mazzaro gave him a tiny smile, the sunlight catching her mane of auburn hair, and her dark eyes flashing bright with a sort of inappropriate flirtatiousness, and Alix beamed her a huge smile: they had got together from time to time. His gaze took in the eight MI5 officers: all were ready, all had weapons primed, all were ready to do their duty for Queen and country against the evil that was attempting to change the world and change it bad.
Alix smiled slowly.
“Intelligence reports are that the virus programme is not ready to be launched, the Chimera version the enemy possesses — is missing some of the vital script. The optical disc with it on is locked inside a safe on board the stealth ship that Ramus uses as his mobile operations centre…”
Dillon stepped forward, turned and stood in front of the group.
“And this,” he held up his hand holding the optical disc that Claudia Dax had given him. “Is the disc that contains the vital script. In fact this is a copy that has been modified, so that anyone trying to merge this version with the one that Ramus has, will automatically erase both. Rather cunning, really.”
“But, it would appear that Ramus has had some very capable people working on Chimera and is now very close to cracking these last vital elements. Once that happens, he will be unstoppable… So, it’s lucky for us that the Americans have located the stealth ship using one of their newest spy satellites — and now we know where he is — we are the only ones who can make a difference.” Alix said, and jumped down off the fifty-gallon drum. “And we will win,” he said, his words soft as he tossed his spent cigarette down.
“We will be given a sat-link assignment briefing by Edward Levenson-Jones at 14.30 this afternoon; be ready people, we move out at sunset. We have a madman to kill.”
Dillon walked slowly around the hanger, looking up at the battered fuselage of the Lear and the Apache, both looked worse for wear. He knew how they felt! He suddenly needed to be in the daylight. Outside, he walked over to take a closer look at the three JetRangers on the hard-standing; red fuselage gleaming in the sunlight, heavy calibre machine guns and air-to-air missile launchers attached to the underside of their airframes. Inside the cockpit more fire-power; Heckler & Koch MP6 carbines, grenades, cases of ammunition and high-explosive. “Impressive.” Dillon said out loud, and thought that these men were supposed to be the best. Although they were all travelling under the auspice of MI5, Dillon and the others knew that everyone of them had been hand-picked from the elite regiments and security agencies, and that they all knew exactly what was expected of them.
Sophia Mazzaro was something quite different. A contract liquidator for hire; Interpol, MI5 and MI6, Mossad and the CIA all having employed her special talent, and all having lost good agents to the Assassins and those who were behind the Assassins — and on behalf of them all, she wanted a slice of the payback cake.
Dillon halted. The Priest had followed him outside, was quoting from the Bible and reciting mantra-like phrases akin to a man possessed. Dillon turned and looked into the tall man’s dark eyes. The Priest was muscular; one of the most muscular men of God he had ever seen.
“Can you fuck off and leave me alone,” Dillon said.
“I see, Dillon. That you are annoyed by my intrusion,” said the Priest closing his Bible slowly. The book looked small in his hands. “But I seek merely to make light of your pain, to fill your soul with joy in this most stressful of times, to fill you with light before we embark on our quest to eradicate this evil Satanic God-mocking heathen. from the face of this planet…”
“Well don’t — just don’t. I need to collect my thoughts on my own. I need calm. And you know, because now you’re the only one who does know, why I need to collect my thoughts.”
“Ah yes, of course. Tatiana was the only other person who knew, wasn’t she?” He held up a hand, “No need to answer, I know that is so. I’m still wondering, though, how the hell you have kept such a secret from the shrinks, for so long.”
Dillon looked at the Priest for a few long moments. “You’re wondering, aren’t you how I keep the secret of my psychosis, my psychopathic alter-ego? Well, it only comes to the surface during moments of extreme stress. And lucky for me, I don’t find a fortyfive minute post-assignment assessment with a shrink, that stressful! That’s how…”
“I see. Thank you for being so candid, Dillon. I know that you have suffered great loss at the hands of Ramus. The Lord will pay back this evil man with bolts of lightning from Heaven; the Lord shall smite down our enemies. He shall fuck him up real bad.” The Priest grinned then, “Dillon, put your trust in the Lord and he will surely guide you.”
“I’ll put my trust in my Glock 9mm, Priest,” said Dillon, smiling.
“It’s worked wonders on Kirill, and it will work wonders on Ramus today.”
The Priest’s smart-phone sounded. He took a moment to decipher the encrypted message and read it, twice. Frowning, he looked up, his face filled with confusion and anger.
“Kirill still has to be punished.”
Dillon shook his head. I shot Kirill in Scotland, Priest; I killed that son-of-a-bitch myself and left him to be fried by his own fucking bomb.”
“You are wrong, my friend. By some perverted fluke of injustice, he somehow escaped a fiery death”.
“How do you know this?”
“The encryption I received just a minute ago was from GCHQ. They intercepted a bounced transmission, a video. He had sent a message to Ramus; their arrogance is colossal, they actually think we are as nothing. They think they can flaunt themselves with impunity. But Kirill is alive, Dillon.” The Priest handed his smart-phone to Dillon, who read the intercept and watched the video clip.
Dillon’s jaw dropped. “That fucker just will not die.”
“There is more.”
“More?”
The Priest nodded. “They have Tatiana on the stealth ship. You saw her shot and then fall from the aircraft, yes, but she did not die; she was mentioned in Kirill’s message to Ramus.”
“Tatiana! Alive?” Hope died as soon as it had flared. “Definitely not,” Dillon growled.
“Well, it wouldn’t seem bizarre that they would seek to save a bartering tool against you, their greatest proven adversary?”
“Me?”
“You scare them, Dillon. They know what you’re capable of. There is a dark demon in your soul, and they can see that it’s your protector.”
“So what are you saying that they’re reeling me in?”
“Like a lamb to slaughter,” said the Priest softly.
Dillon moved back into the freezing cold interior of the hanger. He paced like a caged tiger, for what seemed like an age, his mind whirling, images of Tatiana flickering through his brain, sadness overtaking him, then anger, then frustration, and then utter disbelief.