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

between large pillars, returned
fire as he ran, taking down two more of the Assassins, before he’d
made it to the door. Glass and wood splintered as he dashed through
and down the stone steps to the main kitchen, all the time the tirade
of bullets kept coming. He made it to the bottom of the steps and
launched himself onto the tiled floor, sliding between stainless steel
cabinets on his belly until he came up against the far wall.
“Palmer?” he yelled.
“Over here, Dillon,” came the shout from one of the adjoining
rooms.
Dillon looked around the stainless steel cabinets - all clear - he
then peered over the tops, pans sat atop gas burners, their contents
bubbling and simmering with half cooked soups and vegetables. There
were no cooks to be found and, as he moved between the cabinets
and around the room, the hairs on the back of his neck bristled with
anticipation.
“Hold your fire - I’m coming in.”
He stepped into the large brightly-lit room; a long overhead
fluorescent light hung from two short chains in what appeared to
be the kitchens main walk-in larder cold-room. There were sacks of
vegetables and crates of produce stacked against the walls. Dillon
looked around and saw Palmer, not more than five feet away, standing
beside an ashen-faced Zhenya.
Dillon turned and, met Palmer’s stare and he knew - knew that
something was definitely wrong - the Browning in Palmer’s hand rose
and was now pointing at Dillon.
“I am very sorry, my friend. But it’s now time for you to really
retire - permanently.
Dillon looked Palmer in the eye, and nodded gently. “I hadn’t
figured...” He brought the Glock up in a blur, and fired a rounddirectly
into Palmer’s throat; the bullet entered the throat at the Adam’s Apple
and made an explosive exit through the back of Palmer’s head across
the wall and ceiling. Palmer was thrown backwards landing against
wooden crates, as if in slow motion, sliding down them until sitting
almost upright on the tiled floor.
“…on having to kill so early in the evening,” Dillon finished.
“Dillon,” Zhenya ran to him and fell into his arms. He hugged
her briefly, and then closed the door - sealing them inside the storage
room. He sat the girl down onto one of the wooden crates and moved
to Palmer’s blood-drenched body and checked through his pockets.
He took the dead man’s Browning, pushing it into the waistband of
his trousers in the small of his back and collecting the spare magazine
clips.
“What’s happening?” said Zhenya.
“Bad shit, that’s what. Something very dark.” Dillon said with
malice. “The question is. How the fuck did they get past MI6 and
all of their security sensors that are placed throughout the grounds
and inside the house? Either a very large sum of money has changed
hands, or something is at play. Something that I don’t understand.”
“What about my uncle?”
“The guests have all been herded to one end of the ball room
and there’s the possibility that the Professor is with them. There are
at least eight gunmen...” Palmer’s word’s came back to him again. Was
this whole thing a set-up? Something didn’t feel right - everything was
too easy - too neat.
Like attempting to unravel a puzzle with some of the pieces
missing, Dillon’s brain grappled with the implications.
“Trust me about this, Zhenya, and don’t ask questions. We’ve
got to get out of here and away from the main house.”
The mobile phone vibrated in his hand. “Yes?”
“It’s Vince. I hear you have company down there. I’ve secured
the use of an American satellite that’s passing over. I’m now your
eyes, old son. There are at least twelve of them. They came in from
the woods - and have already killed the three MI6 boys who were
stationed in that sector. Where’s Palmer?”
“Dead,” said Dillon. “We now have at least eight Assassins in the
main ballroom. Two were on the first floor and I’ve already taken