The two Assassin helicopters attempted to evade the heavycalibre bullets… And in doing so, collided in a sudden tangle of twisting metal and razor sharp rotor blades cutting through canopies and then came fire and explosions. They plummeted towards the sea in a ball of fury.
Tatiana smiled; she tried to calm her pounding heart but failed. Vince looked round and smiled, “You okay, luv? You look awfully pale.” “I’m fine, Vince. Really, I’m fine.”
Dillon flew the Apache low over the sea. The helicopters that he had destroyed had sunk slowly beneath the cold waves of the English Channel.
Bringing the helicopter round in one last sweep of the area, Dillon’s mood was lifted by the sight of the catamaran — sunk…
The rain and wind continued to lash down.
Before very long, it was all over and the damaged Apache helicopter limped back to the hanger.
Chapter 26
A bitterly cold north-easterly wind blew in off the water, rain lashed down, beating the smooth surface of the tarmac. The new BMW-7 Series saloon sped through the torrent of surface water, along roads that were as quiet as a graveyard; towards Baiter Park near to Poole Quay. Turned left at the bottom of the road and headed out towards the deserted car park by the slip-way
It was early. Four-thirty a.m. and not yet light.
The BMW stopped, engine ticking over, headlights beaming out over the water; one of the back doors opened and a bruised and battered Dillon, yet cleaned up and bandaged, feeling very nearly whole again — stepped out onto the gravel and breathed deeply of the salt laden morning air. The rain had stopped, he limped slowly across to the water’s edge, wincing with every step, and halted, staring out at the black water lapping at the shore. He pulled free a packet of cigarettes, took one and lit the weed with his gold lighter.
Smoke plumed and danced on the cold damp air and Dillon sighed.
He turned at the sound of another car; the Porsche Cayenne cruised slowly past the luxury BMW and approached Dillon where he stood beside the water.
A cold wind whipped across the open space as the Porsche Cayenne cut its engine.
Dillon glanced in at the four suited men. One of the doors opened and two men stepped out; it was Edward Levenson-Jones and a man Dillon had never met before, and yet Dillon instinctively knew that he was part of the Whitehall machine; he was tall, had the air of authority, and was expensively dressed. Somewhere in his late fifties with neatly groomed sandy coloured hair, wearing a full length black overcoat of impeccable quality and tailoring.
“Jake.” LJ smiled at Dillon.
The other man stood beside the chief operations director of Ferran & Cardini. “Mr Dillon.”
Dillon shook the man’s extended leather gloved hand.
Dillon nodded, drawing deep on his cigarette. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Yes, I’m sure it will be later,” said the stranger. “Come, walk with us.”
They walked along the path at the water’s edge, the wind blowing beneath their collars and making coat tails flap. An occasional seagull cried as it swept low in its quest for a breakfast…
“You know who I am?”
“No, I haven’t got a clue who you are.”
“That is probably for the best. But it has been brought to my attention that after your recent… exploits, shall we say, you have come to know rather a lot of things about Scorpion that maybe you shouldn’t. And yet we cannot forget that you have sacrificed much, coming out of your retirement — leading us to the core of the Assassin network, and destroying this terrorist scum Ramus along with the traitor Kirill.”
“Thanks. It’s not often a field agent gets paid a compliment or words of thanks, I appreciate it.”
The man stopped and gazed out across the world’s second largest natural harbour. He then turned and gazed deeply into Dillon’s eyes.
“Hmm,” he said. And then Dillon spotted something in the man’s gloved hand.
The man smiled.
“Here, this is our way of showing our appreciation. We thought it was the least we could do in light of your contribution.”
Dillon opened the white envelope, and read the contents carefully.
Looking the tall man in the eye, he said. “Well I’ll be… This is dubiously generous.”
“Putting your castle in Scotland back together as it was, along with the impressive hi-tech security equipment, is the least we can do, Dillon. After all, if it hadn’t been for your sheer determination and those extraordinary skills that you possess. We would all be in a very different place now. A dark place that one shouldn’t think too much about as it’s quite unthinkable.”
“I had a lotof help from a few very good friends. They deserve to be rewarded as much as I do.”
“Oh, they will all be suitably rewarded for the vital part they all played in averting the threat of a global meltdown.”
Dillon smiled warmly, staring out over the water. “Did they ever find him?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Dillon scratched an imaginary itch on his chin. “Look, you can be assured of my loyalty and secrecy concerning the things that I have seen and heard during this assignment. I admit that I was maybe a little hacked off about being tricked back into service; only because I thought I had been targeted for a hit at the beginning of these… shall we say, adventures. But it soon became apparent that I was mistaken.” Dillon’s voice had turned somewhat cool. His eyes had a glint and his mouth had set into a grim line.
The tall man nodded. “Information is power, Dillon. Look what too much information did for Ramus and Kirill. You cannot tell everybody everything; as the best field agent that Ferran & Cardini has, you are still a tiny cog in the machine, only a small player in a very large game. Those two individuals were enemies of every state, who very nearly succeeded in bringing this planet to its knees because of information: their knowledge; their complete understanding: the things that they shouldn’t have known.”
Dillon ran a hand back through his hair. He flicked his cigarette butt into the water. The black waves took it and extinguished the glowing tip. The wind howled softly; Dillon shivered, remembering the beatings he’d endured over the last few days.
“I have questions…” said Dillon.
The man held up his gloved hand. He shook his head in the negative, just once.
“Maybe another time, Dillon.”
Dillon smiled sardonically. “You mean another time as in never?”
“It’s for your own protection,” said the man. He smiled then, but it was an uncertain smile, a smile without humour — a smile used by a face not used to the expression. “I want you to remember Dillon, that contrary to popular belief — people like you are not expendable.” He lit a slim Cuban cigar. Held it delicately.
Dillon met the tall man’s gaze: greenish eyes, hooded from years of overworking and masking a thousand emotions. Their stares locked for a long time. Dillon held the man’s cool look. Without another word, he nodded, turned and strolled leisurely along the path, admiring the beauty of the natural harbour.
LJ held back for a moment, both men staring out across the water, hands deep in pockets. “You did well, Jake. You did really well. The partner’s want me to convey their eternal thanks and; I know this is not really the time, but that a situation has come to light that requires someone with special talents — the kind of talent that you possess. If you’re interested, then come and see me when you return from your holiday.” The two men shook hands. LJ turned and strode off to the waiting luxury 4x4. He climbed back into the Porsche Cayenne which started its engine, turned, and was gone.