Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (3 page)

Flint squatted, the heat from the mid-day sun pounding his
tropical fatigues; he listened to the radio and glanced at the Matrix G8
in his hand. Blue LEDs flickered. A voice in his ear said, “They’re on
the move.”

Flint crawled forward, then glanced down, checking the magazine
of the AMSD OM 50 Nemesis 12.7mm sniper rifle. He repositioned
himself, peering from the rooftop of the building towards the other
side of the harbour. The government building was hazy in the heat,
the harbour spread out before him like the stage set of an enormous
theatre. Flint reached out and steadied himself on the narrow parapet
- he felt the usual tension flowing through every muscle and sinew
of his body. He felt alive. He pushed a small electronic button just
above the trigger guard of the rifle and placed his forefinger over the
large touch-screen of the G8; a tiny red light illuminated and a click
as the rifle synchronised with the device. For a brief moment Flint
watched the scope automatically rotate and focus; then he placed his
eye against it and the world seemed to become very clear.

The building had been evacuated except for a small number of
officials who had been taken hostage by the terrorists. The scene was
rendered in a blue purple tint; he zoomed the scope quickly forward,
until he could see even the finest details of the building, each bullet
hole and shrapnel scar. Then he pulled back and swept round to the
right along the harbour front, searching for the 4x4s and power boats
that he knew were coming.

“You in position, Flint?” said the gruff Yorkshire accent in his
ear.
“In position - all systems synchronised and itching to go,
Gordie.” Flint said smiling, picturing the small wiry man who had
the fiercest looking crop of red hair he’d ever seen. He shifted his
weight, sighting on a distant skyscraper and a rooftop position that he
knew Gordie had secured for himself. He raised a thumbs-up, and he
returned the signal. “Is Jacko synchronised?”
Jacko only spoke over his comm-link when he had to. From his
position on board a motor launch belonging to the Argentine Navy,
which was conveniently moored directly opposite the Ministry of
Defence building, his reply was self-evident as he stuck up two fingers
in the V sign. Flint’s comment was a derisory blow below the belt.
Flint moved his own sniper sight back to focus on the Ministry
of Defence building. Jacko was there, all in black, ready and steady.
He had opted for the most dangerous position out of the three, on
the water itself, and despite being well concealed Flint still shivered
involuntarily. But then, he thought, Jacko was a wild fucker, untamed.
Some said he was mentally unstable; Flint decided that you had to be
to do the job and that Jacko probably was more than most.
“Game on, boys.”
The words came from the ground support soldiers, Argentinean
Anti-Terrorist Special Forces led by a swarthy captain named
Santiago, who were waiting in the wings as the scene unfolded. They
were monitoring the suspected terrorist vehicles from vantage points
around the Puerto Madero area. The Scorpion 3 Unit was positioned
as sniper support.
“Three target vehicles on route: Range Rovers, three occupants.
ETA zero three minutes. Over.”
Flint waited. Every few seconds he glanced at the army issue
chrono watch strapped to his wrist.

Jacko spent the limited time going through his drill, checking his
weapon, scope focus, Matrix G8 synchronisation. “Fucking heat,” he
muttered as he wiped away the sweat from his forehead, and shifted
his weight slightly to ease the cramping in his muscles. The boat was
gently rocking with the swell from a passing craft, this meant that he
would have to rely on his expertise and experience when aiming.

Gordie swept the area with his scope. Through the audio link
he was listening intently to the ground soldiers tailing the suspect
vehicles.

The tip-off had come from an extremely reliable source: an ex
CIA agent turned international techno-weapons dealer who was in the
process of negotiating his way out of a firing squad for crimes against
the Argentine regime. He had given them masses of information
about terrorist funding activity in South America - he had contacts all
over the planet and was well positioned to know about such things. So
far everything had checked out fine and the Argentine Government
was feeling confident about the outcome of this latest outrage. Eight
terrorists of South American origin had taken over the building and
taken hostage a senior computer systems analyst and his personal
staff of four assistants who had been working for the Argentine
Government on a top secret project. They appeared to have got
hold of a full set of blueprint plans of the entire building and, had
known exactly where and when to plant the bombs for maximum
damage. At least one hundred people had been instantly killed by the
first explosion which had torn out three entire floors and another
seventy when the second and third charges had detonated, taking out
another three floors and completely destroying them. Shortly after the
explosions, the terrorist leader had come on-line and had made his
demand. Three Range Rovers to be left outside of the main entrance
to the building, each to be loaded with twenty-million US dollars
in gold bullion. There was to be no negotiation and if the demand
was not met, they would blow up the rest of the building and kill
the hostages, one by one, live on the Internet for the entire world to
witness.

“Fucking terrorists,” snorted Gordie, and swept the area with his
scope one more time.
No Range Rovers approaching.
Come to think of it, no ground support soldiers, either.
“GS leader, confirm status. Over!” Gordie was using the standard
issue radio comm-link to raise, Santiago.
No response.
“GS leader, come in. Over!”
Again, no reply.
“You there, Flint?” This time he spoke into the G8.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“You see anything?”
“Not even a fly having a shit.”
“Something’s very wrong,” came the quiet West Country accent
that was Jacko’s rarely heard voice; both Flint and Gordie felt the tiny
hairs on the back of their necks stand up and a shiver run down their
spines. And yet their G8s were still picking up the chatter of the pursuit
vehicle that was following the three Range Rovers.
“Heading south
towards the harbour area
,
down La Rabida Norte, heading towards-”
Gordie
scanned the area once more through the rifle scope. He sensed rather
than felt a movement of air beside him, a mere fanning of the intense
heat - and then the garrote was around his throat before he knew what
was happening. His gloved hand, instinctively and with a lightening
quickness, came up under the cheese-cutter wire as his eyes suddenly
widened and searing pain sliced into both sides of his neck, he felt
blood flowing freely down under the collar of his fatigue jacket and
body armour as his rifle clattered noisily onto the concrete rooftop.
Gordie was heisted into the air, his legs kicking. He slammed
his head backwards, once, twice, three times, hearing a crunch each
time. The grip slackened but did not let go. “Flint!” he managed to
shout into the G8 Bluetooth earpiece, then rammed his elbow back
into the solar plexus of his assailant with all of his remaining strength.
The garrotte loosened and Gordie stumbled to his knees, coughing,
scrabbling at the fine wire that was biting viscously into his flesh.
Flint sighted his rifle on the rooftop of the building that he was
positioned on, could see Gordie struggling, but his attacker was far
too close for a clear shot and the heat haze was fuzzing the whole
scene and obscuring his aim. Then Gordie struck back. The assailant
stumbled backwards and Flint squeezed off a shot, and then two more
in quick succession. He grinned nastily just as the silenced machine
pistol touched the back of his head and blew his brains and most of
his face over the rooftop.
Gordie heard the hiss of the bullets as they flew past him. He
spun round, crouching low as he drew his Glock 9mm automatic
pistol. The black-clad figure moved forward towards him with
lightning speed, kicking the gun out of his grip and out over the edge
of the skyscraper. Dazed and confused about what was happening
- he heard three dull thuds, knew that Flint’s bullets had hit their
mark.
Kevlar?
The question flashed through his mind as reflexes took
over. Punch, left kick, right kick, punch - he blocked each with his
arms, then smashed a straight left that the figure dodged with ease
as it moved around him. Gordie came close up and personal with his
assailant - the eyes were ocean blue, focused, sharp - and he brought
his knee up hard into the crotch of the Assassin. The figure twisted,
went down onto the concrete and immediately spun round to take out
Gordie’s legs from under him. He hit the concrete with sudden shock,
the back of his head cracking against the edge of the rooftop. The
whirling blackness of semi unconsciousness flooded his vision - he
struck out wildly, but hit nothing. He realised with horror that he was
being manhandled closer to the edge. “No!” he yelled his arms and
legs scrabbling for some sort of hold on the concrete rooftop. But
wind rushed up past him as his eyes widened in terror and despair.
The sound of his scream remained silent. Then he hit the ground and
it was over.
Jacko was considered a total loner by those who worked with
him. He appeared to have no friends and was - emotionally and
socially inept. He was however, dedicated, professional - and almost
the best long range sniper in the business. Rumour had it that he could
part the hairs on a target’s head from over a mile away with a single
shot without them even knowing about it.
He was angry with himself that he not seen them coming. Three
figures in black had climbed on-board the boat without being seen.
“
Impossible!
“ screamed his mind as they closed in for the kill. He
swung his rifle and shot the first figure between the eyes - there was a
crack as the bullet ripped open the back of the Assassin’s skull, a spray
of blood and brains, and it fell back limply and fell over the side and
into the water.
Jacko grinned malevolently at the other two figures.
They drew silenced pistols in fluid movements and then
everybody started shooting at the same time. Another dark-clad shape
fell, hurled backwards onto the deck like a rag doll by the 12.7mm
round. Then Jacko was hit by a bullet in the shoulder, spinning him
round as a second smashed through his side and a third into his
stomach. He could feel the blood rising up into his throat and mouth.
He groaned and through crimson lips the blood spewed out over
the white of the deck. He could feel himself starting to drift away,
“Bastards”, as he started to loose consciousness. Blood dripped from
his limp corpse. The only remaining Assassin crept closer and put
three more bullets into Jacko’s head. Ocean blue eyes stared down for
the briefest moment. Then the black-clad figure dived over the side,
into the harbour and disappeared.

The heavy military truck screeched to a halt on the hot tarmac.
Kody stared hard past the shimmering heat haze, then barked, “Out.”
Six men from the Argentine Special Forces leaped out from the rear
of the truck and moved around to the side where he was standing.
They spread out, American issue machine pistols covering each
other’s arc of fire. Kody looked through binoculars towards the high
rise skyscraper and then at the rooftop of the building opposite the
Ministry of Defence. He then trained them on the power cruiser in
the harbour and on the dead body of Jacko. His head riddled with
bullets and he assumed that Gordie and Flint had met their ends in
a similar way. “What the fuck has gone down here? Three of you
take the truck and head over to where the sniper on the roof of that
high-rise was positioned, you three get over to that rooftop on the
other side of the harbour - bring back their bodies. I’ll go and take a
closer look inside that building - we will re-group back here in fifteen
minutes. Xavier, have we got comms back yet?”

Squad’s G8 link.”
“Fuck. Well, let’s get on with it boys.”
Kody was shocked at the devastation caused by the terrorist’s

bombs, but there were no terrorists, dead bodies or anyone inside the
building. It didn’t take him long to realise that the whole thing was
looking decidedly odd. Kody knew - could feel it - had been at this
game for far too long.

They had been well and truly shafted - but to what purpose?
Had the terrorists planted the explosives, set them off remotely, and
then from some elaborate studio played out their demands - without
actually being in the building?

Fifteen minutes later, Kody was leaning against a wall, a Cuban
cigar between his teeth, smoke spiraling around his face. At his feet, on
stretchers, lay the dead bodies of the three Scorpion unit personnel,
Flint, Gordie and Jacko. Flint’s face was completely missing from the
bullet in the back of the head. Gordie’s body was so smashed that
there wasn’t one single bone that wasn’t broken. And Jacko lay face up
with unseeing eyes from his multiple bullet wounds to his body and
head. Kody stared at the bodies and shuddered, bent down and gently
closed Jacko’s eyes before zipping up the black body bags.

Xavier approached. “All comms are back on-line, Boss. But, the
G8 network is still out. We’ve scanned the entire area and there are no
other bodies. Hell man, what went on here?”

“Smoke and shadows. They were brought here on a fool’s
errand.”
“What? But, what about that fucking big hole in the Ministry
building?”
“This was never about the building or the gold bullion demand,”
said Kody. Reluctantly, he took the cigar from between his lips and
tossed it into the harbour below. He faced Xavier and their stare met.
“Somebody wanted those Scorpion snipers dead.”
“So you think this was a hit?”
Kody nodded. “Oh yes, my old friend. And of one thing I am
absolutely certain of: whoever did this, whoever killed this Scorpion
unit - I’m sure as hell glad they’re not looking for me.”
“How do you know they’re not?” whispered Xavier.
Kody shrugged. “Because, I’d already be dead,” he said simply.