They needed the element of surprise, not a welcoming committee.
And he wanted the serenity of the sea…
The Apache, followed by the three JetRangers, came over the brow of the hill and swooped down through the secluded bay of Lulworth Cove and out into the English Channel, just fifty foot above the waves.
Dillon, with a shock, thought his chances of survival were slim at very best. He realised that this assignment had tested him to the absolute limit, and that he was most likely going to die; so he would have to take this fight to Ramus and his Assassins, mess them up bad and sour their plans to hold the world to ransom and then die…
And Tatiana… well, Tatiana could already be dead.
So be it, he mused bitterly.
He forced himself to relax as the Apache flew out over the sea. Occasionally they passed fishing boats heading out to sea, and the fishermen on board would sometimes look up into the moonlit sky as they passed over, forcing Dillon to smile sadly.
What happy uncomplicated lives they lead, he thought.
What normal lives?
Why couldn’t I have been normal? He thought…
Because you kill. Came the voice from deep within his subconscious.
Because you kill and you’re good at killing.
You might not like it.
You might even loath it.
But you can’t deny it. You’re really good at it.
A natural- born killer.
The four helicopters skimmed over the English Channel heading towards their destination; the harsh, yet intensely beautiful cliffs of the Jurassic coastline on their port-side. The last bastion against a ferocious sea; constantly pounded by the severity of the elements over thousands of years.
The Apache flew low, staying in formation on the tail of the three Bell JetRangers as they veered away from the coast and headed out to sea.
Dillon shivered. Alix spoke into his ear through the closed comms link that all three of them were now wearing.
“Dillon, the final destination coordinates have just been uploaded onto the Apache’s navigation system. Our ETA to target is four minutes.
Dillon checked the coordinates and Alix slowed his air-speed as he started to approach the estimated location of the stealth ship. The scanners still read zero: nothing. They flew. The Apache, despite having taken a number of hits over the last few days, was responding well and as long as nothing else slammed into the state-of-the-art helicopter, Alix knew the machine would get them all there in one piece…
A crazy thought careered into his mind.
The Priest was wrong.
They were all wrong.
There was nothing there; nothing but a lot of open water, and a bitterly cold easterly wind.
From under the blackened full-face visor, Alix laughed out loud. Both Dillon and Vince looked at him as the visor opened and Alix grinning face greeted them. “Sorry, just had a funny thought that we might have been sent on a wild goose chase.” Then he saw it. A black dot moving at speed on the screen in front of him. Dillon and Vince both saw it as well. Dillon said, “It must be the stealth ship, and it’s heading straight for the entrance to Poole Harbour. But I still can’t work out why Ramus has come to the Dorset coast?” All the time, Dillon was mentally preparing himself for what was to come; he would have to be totally focused, and without any fear…
The black dot started to grow; to materialise; to enlarge before Dillon’s eyes.
The stealth ship was moving at a rapid speed for a craft so large; a churning wake of white foam followed it.
Dillon smiled nastily.
All I want, he thought, are answers before I die.
All I want, he thought, is to kill those involved — before I die.
He had resigned himself to meeting his maker, or whatever else was waiting for him on the other side. Kirill had asked him once if he was ready to die and now he understood; now he truly understood.
Dillon knew.
Knew that he wasn’t coming back.
Alix reached over and tapped Dillon on the shoulder, pointing at the comm screen in front of them. The de-coded text told them that the Apache’s on-board computer system had been remotely locked onto the CIA at Langley, along with the UK security service and Interpol. From this point forward, they were to have big-brother looking over their shoulder during the attack on the stealth ship, whatever the outcome…
The stealth ship, while not the largest catamaran ever built, was certainly the most menacing. Its dull matt black twin-hulls crouched low and it growled through the sea water, smashing the waves apart as it powered towards its destination. Dillon, like the other members of the hastily put-together team, had listened to Alix’s briefing, based on information gathered by many hundreds of field operatives around the globe, including the Priest. Spy planes had been used without success, but an undercover CIA agent working as a docker in the Bahamas had seen the catamaran close up. He was able to get on board when it had made an unscheduled port of call at Nassau to restock with provisions.
The agent had reported back to Langley that the vessel was heavily armed with extensive weapons and guidance systems, far superior to those of even the most sophisticated military craft. As well as the standard surface-to-air and surface-to-surface missiles and large calibre machine guns, it had extensive anti-submarine sensors and weapons, and powerful radar giving complete coverage and able to track multiple targets simultaneously. It also had two heavily armed and armoured half-size remote controlled support helicopters. And the catamaran was nuclear powered. Unlike normal stealth ships, this state of the art machine had a top speed of 65 knots. And there had been no sign of any crew…
Alix hovered for a while at a distance, the Apache humming softly, the data-stream display inside his helmet screaming proximity warnings at him. Dillon and Vince were picking up the same information on their screens. Below them, the sea spun away in circular patterns, brushed aside by the down draughts from the four helicopters.
And yet, and yet the catamaran was not on the displays. Chimera, Dillon thought.
Ramus has uploaded the programme to the stealth ship’s computer system, and this was now acting as the ‘originating’ host.
Chimera would automatically take over the existing operating system; make it quicker, intuitive, and very dangerous. Chimera would rewrite every script to its own specification and do everything in its considerable power to protect the host. Including; intercepting satellite, radar and scanner readings.
It’s already found a way of enhancing the catamaran’s stealth mode, but also of bouncing everything away from the catamaran!
Was he too late?
Behind, despite their agreed radio silence, Alix used his smartphone to connect with the other helicopters. “You okay, Priest?”
“Yes, Alix. Are you ready?”
“Oh, we’re ready. Vince and I are all set. Dillon is as ready as he’ll ever be…”
“Stay close to him, Alix. May God be with you.”
“I don’t need your God, Priest.” Snarled Alix, and terminated the link.
Grinning, Alix eased the Apache forward in step with the three JetRangers. They grouped closer now, machines flanking and leading the Apache to form a metal cloak around it… Dillon found himself suddenly tense, awaiting incoming fire, waiting for those large calibre machine guns to spit their welcome…
The matt black catamaran thrashed and growled through the choppy sea. Waves smashed against its twin prows. Seagulls cawed overhead. Small sailing craft, tied up to their swinging moorings were brushed easily aside by the stealth ship’s ram.
Dillon grimaced.
It had started to rain, lightly at first, then a downpour of heavy droplets laced with sleet from a tumultuous cold night sky; clouds gathered and bunched, bruised and swollen.