Retribution had to be served — and revenge was always best served cold.
The Apache banked low and hard, sweeping around the catamaran in a wide arc, so close that Vince could see the deck rails and the windows of the bridge. The Apache banked again, this time past the huge machine cannons, menacing and black, multiple barrels spinning, rotating, rising and falling as the laser guided system tracked and attempted to lock on to their target. The catamaran flashed past in a blur, the Apache roared just above the surface of the turbulent water. Alone on board, Vince flew the helicopter from his touch-screen linked directly to a virtual pilot that he had up-loaded to the Apache’s flight management system. Vince dragged the tip of his forefinger across the screen, and the helicopter responded by swooping down, Vince tapped his finger once, the nose of the Apache lifted slightly and then dropped onto the deck with a clashof metal upon metal. The rotors howled as they continued to spin.
“Dillon, that was far too easy,” said Vince calmly into his comm link.
“Like I give a shit,” snapped Dillon.
Vince lifted the cockpit canopy and wind and rain lashed in, stinging his skin. He stood, climbed up onto the rim, then lowered himself and dropped onto the deck. His boots made dull thumps and he could feel the cold beneath him. “You’ve been bloody marvellous,” he said, patting the Apache’s fuselage. The wind snatched his words in an instant and swept them awayin a tumble. The JetRanger helicopters were twisting and swooping, machine guns raging, missiles roaring. From within the stealth ship a missile shot skywards and sent one of the JetRangers tumbling, a flaming ball pitched into the freezing water.
Dillon turned; focused; orientated himself. His stare roved the dark surroundings lit sporadically by emergency lighting and he could see nobody as he gripped his battered Glock 9mm automatic — a small reassurance, but at least it gave him the certainty to deal out death to anybody who came near.
Tatiana.
Where would she be?
With Kirill.
“That fucker,” growled Dillon. He moved quickly forward along the metal gangway, his gaze constantly shifting, scanning his surroundings for any unwanted company in the semi-darkness. This felt crazy, totally crazy and Dillon felt the burden of his life lift from his shoulders because it did not matter any more, truly nothing mattered and if he was to die, then so be it.
Dillon sprinted towards the nearest doorway. But then everything happened at once — there was a deafening boomfrom somewhere above him, and Dillon whirled, crouching, bringing the Glock up to see.
“Nothing,” whispered the voice inside his head.
Behind him, Kirill slid from the shadows, from the darkness, like a ghost or a demon emerging from another plane of existence. He held a snub-nosed Smith & Weston handgun and his expression was almost serene.
Dillon turned and Kirill nodded slowly. He smiled, showing tobacco stained teeth. “Mr Dillon, we’ve been expecting you.” Dillon fixed his glittering gaze on the muzzle of the gun that pointed straight at his heart…
He tried hard to conceal his shock at seeing Kirill.
“I left you for dead on that mountain in Scotland.”
“No, Mr Dillon. You left me dying. There is a subtle difference. The pain I have had to endure at your hands — will make it a pleasure for me to finally kill you. Now, your weapon, please?”
“What makes you think I’ll give it to you?”
An explosion rocked the catamaran. Kirill did not waver. But nodded to something behind Dillon. He turned. Behind him stood two black-clad Assassins, both bearing lethal looking Uzi mini submachine pistols. They blocked the corridor in silence, and to his shame he had not heard them creep up on him. These killers were subtly different to the others that Dillon had come into contact with; they seemed larger, broader, more athletic.
“Previously, you met Assassins who were smaller, slimmer, but equally capable of killing. These are different. These — well, they have been genetically enhanced.”
Dillon licked his lips and smiled broadly.
“Is Tatiana on board?”
“She is. She has asked that you join her; she would weep and wail in your arms and seek one final kiss and your forgiveness before you both die. Please come this way, Mr Dillon. Let me show you exactly what we are creating aboard this ship…”
“And what might that be, Kirill. Armageddon?”
“On the contrary. What we are on the brink of is going to change this planet forever. When Chimera is launched, information technology everywhere will cease to exist in its present form,” said Kirill softly. He gestured with his gun, and Dillon allowed the Glock to be taken from him. “This way.”
Dillon stepped forward.
Towards the black door.
And the gaping maw of uncertainty beyond.
Kirill led Dillon through the dimly lit corridors, metal floors and metal grilles beneath their boots. As they walked, Dillon could hear the deep distant drone of the catamaran’s massive nuclear powered engines.
Kirill seemed different; Dillon could see that something had changed. The back of Kirill’s neck and head — it was scar tissue. Severe scar tissue, bright pink and painful looking; something about the hair, of course it was not his, instead he was wearing a wig. So he had been caught in the blast when the device had detonated deep within the top-secret facility in Scotland. Dillon smiled, the hair-piece had slipped to one side, different, he thought… Dillon shivered, thinking. What the hell is going on?
He glanced behind him; the two Assassins were there, weapons trained on his back.
Dillon followed Kirill.
There was little else that he could do.
They descended; steep metal staircases that led down. The mustiness that hung heavy in the freezing cold air was all around them, and condensation on the metal handrail brought a chill beneath Dillon’s fingers, and he felt his mind numbing, his sub-conscious stirring, coming into focus…
Good, thought Dillon.
They reached wider corridors and there were more Assassins, Dillon counted ten as he was led past them, some of them were without their hoods and Dillon could observe their faces for the first time. Each and every one of these young women had natural beauty and raven coloured hair.
“Kirill, where in God’s name did you get all of these beautiful women from. And how come they’re all so fucking dangerous?” Dillon asked softly.
“Quiet.”
“Or what? You’ll kill me?” Dillon laughed a sneering cold bark. Dillon looked Kirill up, then down. His smile was sickly sweet. “Come on, Kirill, answer my question.”
Kirill halted. He turned and his gaze was burning.
“They are beautiful, aren’t they, Dillon? And they are killers, very efficient killers. But do you mean to tell me that Ezra never explained about the Assassins? Kirill sneered. “We — Ezra, Ramus and I — found them, or rather, they found us. The Assassins you have encountered so far have all come from the same secret society in northern France. But these that you see before you are something completely different. All of the Assassins on this ship are true bloods, descendants of the first band of Carpathians that were collected by a clever fellow named Hassan, the Old Man of the Mountains, so called because he made Mount Lebanon his stronghold. These original Assassins were the terror of the world for two centuries, and then they were hunted down by Sultan Bibaris and almost eradicated. As a result, those who survived disbanded and scattered to all four corners of the planet, where they continued to ply their lethal skill from secret locations. You asked what makes them so dangerous. Haschisch or bang turned into intoxicating liquor and then enhanced and refined in the lab by Ramus. They use the liquor just before they go on a mission to kill.”