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

Dillon. Dillon’s stare met that of the older man. There was coldness
in his eyes - a steely hardness that Dillon had previously seen. The
hardness was that of a cold blooded killer.
“What is you want from me?” Dillon spoke softly and with total
calmness.
“What indeed you bastard,” hissed Kirill in a spray of spittle and
blood. “Drop the Glock - now!”
Dillon glanced across at Zhenya; and she had changed, a change
that was so dramatic that it actually shocked him. The tears had dried,
the frightened young girl - gone. She was standing, a small Russian
handbag pistol in her hands. The lethal looking weapon was pointing
at him.
“I don’t get any of this,” growled Dillon. “I thought you were
working for the British Government?”
“I told you to drop your fucking weapon!” Screamed Kirill, the
pain of his beating was showing as each word was heavily laced with
an edge of urgency.
Something cold and sinister inside Dillon’s head - came alive.
Zhenya smiled at him and gave a small shrug.
“Don’t act so surprised, Dillon. It’s not as if you’re a blood
relative.”
Dillon knew then: knew that he would die. There were two
targets, both brandishing guns and the odds were against him dropping
them both in the blink of an eye... He was surely going to die, in that
kitchen under the bastard’s country castle. Murdered and so obviously
betrayed by... By who? And for what reason? What game was being
played here? And why was he the centre of attention all of a sudden?
“ Because you were always the target - you cock ,” whispered the stony
voice deep within his mind. A sudden calmness took over Dillon’s
mind - excitement made his finger-tips tingle - adrenalin pumped into
his heart - and Dillon knew exactly what he had to do...
Kirill was still standing a few feet away. He dabbed at his split lip
with a fore-finger and it came away flecked with blood. He waved the
heavy looking Browning in his right hand, his face a contorted animal
snarl. “I said drop your fucking weapon now!”
Dillon held both hands in the air as a sign of surrender, and then
began to stoop, as if to place the Glock on the ground.
Dillon blinked and the world changed from Technicolor to the
harsh black and white tones of a 1960’s film set. His brain screamed
at him; “ Do it now ...”
And, slowly, the merciless killer inside the darkest recess of
Dillon’s mind opened his eyes.
Chapter 3
    The scene was a stark colourless black and white picture. He
smiled at the blood smeared Kirill; the Glock felt good in his left
hand, reassuring, like an old friend. It had become a part of him, his
body and soul. It was held low as he stooped, at an angle. All it took
was a twitch.
    Dillon flicked his wrist - faster than thought - and squeezed the
trigger.
Kirill was blown backwards, folding in half with a grunt of
expelled air, and he slumped, sprawling to the ground with a look of
sudden horror on his face. He dropped the gun. He looked down to
where his hands clutched a widening patch of crimson at his belly.
Dillon, in the same movement, spun on his heel, the Glock flashing
up sideways and, again, he pulled the trigger - the bullet smashed into
Zhenya’s shoulder, spinning her back to rebound from a tall stainless
steel cabinet. She hit the ground hard, moaning, blood splashing down
onto the cold stone floor, her small ornate Russian gun forgotten.
“Fucking devious woman,” snarled Dillon, and moved forward to
kneel beside Kirill.
“It takes a very long time and pain like you’ve never before
experienced to die from a stomach wound,” he said with malice. “It
really is going to hurt - a lot.” He smashed the butt of the Glock
across Kirill’s already broken nose. Kirill screamed out in pain - and
another two heavy blows silenced him, reducing his scream to a
foaming gurgle.
Dillon moved back across the room to the door at the rear of
the kitchen. He flicked open the mobile phone to scan