Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) Read Online Free Page B

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