Free Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) by Andrew Towning Page A

rolled
back his shoulders to relieve the tension in them and craved a cigar
and a cup of hot tea. Yes, he could almost taste the richly satisfying
tobacco and steaming brew.
    A sound behind him made Stevenson glance over his shoulder.
Despite knowing that the other members of the security unit were
posted at the rear, protecting his back from infiltration, Stevenson
nevertheless felt that something was not quite as it should be. He
scratched at his short trimmed beard and frowned, eyes trying to pick
out any movement in the gloom. Then he brought round the rifle
and sighted down the scope. There - he definitely saw something... A
figure darting behind a tree? Or a trick played by the swaying branches
in the shadowy gloom fuelled by the desire for tobacco?
    He adjusted the scope slightly, but could see nothing more
between the tree’s dense foliage. He shifted his aching muscles in the
rain, feeling trickles run down the back of his neck.
    “God, will this effing rain ever give up?” Stevenson muttered.
He lowered the rifle for a brief moment to wipe his face dry, and
in the same instant the black cross-bow bolt hissed through the
darkness and slammed into his forehead, disappeared into soft brain
tissue and on exit lodged itself in the timber cladding of the potting
shed. Stevenson hadn’t had any time to close his eyes or even shout
a warning to his colleagues. He had been pinned silently backwards
against the side of the timber building that he had been crouching
next to, his unseeing eyes now staring straight ahead. Blood and gore
mixed with rain seeped out from the exit wound of his smashed skull,
congealing in his hair and soak into the timber at the back of his head.
There were soft footsteps; four figures crouched by the corpse. One
of them lifted the weapon from the ground and ran a black gloved
hand over the cold metal.
    “Leave it. We don’t need it.” The words were spoken in a clipped
military fashion. The weapon was dropped onto the soft earth beneath
their feet and the figures disappeared into the night.
* * *
    Ninety minutes had passed. Dillon could feel himself growing
weary and motioning to Zhenya he followed her into the relative calm
and cool of the glasshouse located just off one of the many sittingrooms. He took a small pen-like cylinder from his pocket, twisted the
top off to reveal a short needle, and stuck it decisively into his neck
and then replaced it back in his pocket.
    “What was that?” asked Zhenya.
“A stimulant. Made specifically for me by our chemists at
Ferran & Cardini. Allows me to keep going and stay alert, but more
importantly it takes my primary senses to a higher-level. Lasts about
twelve hours, but I’ll pay for it tomorrow.”
Zhenya smiled, and shivered. “It’s cold in here.”
Dillon looked at her, then turning, walked back inside the sittingroom and through to the hall, Zhenya was only one step behind him.
His gaze moving up the sweeping staircase. “Do you feel that cold
air?”
Zhenya nodded.
“Well, it wasn’t there earlier.”
“One of the guests have probably just opened a window, said
Zhenya, as Dillon discreetly withdrew the Glock and with his free
hand waved Zhenya to keep close behind him. He pulled free his
mobile phone and opened the channel that the security service was
using.
“Palmer?”
“Yes?”
“Can you come to the foot of the main staircase? I think we
have uninvited company.”
“Okay.”
Mark Palmer was there within twenty seconds, a small black
Berretta pistol in his hand. “Stay with Zhenya for a moment or two,”
said Dillon. “I have a really bad feeling about this...”
“Wait, I’ll get some of my men to back you up.”
“No time.”
Dillon followed the cold air, his running shoes silent on the
thick carpet. He felt adrenalin and the recently injected stimulant kick
his system and with this surge of energy and heightened awareness
he climbed two steps at a time to the first floor