Dillon and the Pirates of Xonira

By Derrick Ferguson

Once upon a time in the far away island nation of Xonira, Dillon was instrumental in halting a bloody revolution and handing the reins of power over to Lord Chancellor C'jai. Now, a mysterious group of international businessmen contact Dillon with evidence that Dillon's old friend, the Lord Chancellor C'jai, is engaging in high seas piracy in the oceans surrounding Xonira. In order to discover the truth behind the matter, Dillon decides to fight fire with fire and assembles a motley crew of rogues and cutthroats aboard the diesel-powered submarine, Morgan Adams, and sails for Xonira. In Xonira, it seems, beautiful women, traitors, and tyrants are in no short supply, and Dillon's less than triumphant return is is marked by a cascade of bullets, bombs, and blood!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Derrick Ferguson
• Release date: Aug 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476024097

Derrick Ferguson

Much like removing a band aid I suppose the best way to get through this is to rip it off as quickly as possible, accept the pain and move on. I'm really not all that good at talking about myself and can't imagine why anybody would be interested in the extraordinarily quiet life I live but... My name is Derrick Ferguson and I'm from Brooklyn, New York where I have lived for most of my still young life. Been married for 28 years to the wonderful Patricia Cabbagestalk-Ferguson who lets me get away with far more than is good for me. My interests include radio/audio drama, Classic Pulp from the 30's/40's/50's and New Pulp being written today, Marvel/DC fan fiction, Star Trek in particular and all Science Fiction in general, animation, television, movies, cooking, loooooong road trips and casual gaming on the Xbox 360. Running a close second with writing as an obsession is my love of movies. I'm currently the co-host of the BETTER IN THE DARK podcast where my partner Thomas Deja and I rant and rave about movies on a bi-weekly basis. I'm also a rotating co-host of the PULPED! podcast along with Tommy Hancock, Ron Fortier and Barry Reese where we interview writers of the New Pulp Movement as well as discuss the various themes, topics, ebb and flow of what New Pulp is and why you should be reading it. That’s it for now. Anything else you wanna know, just ask!

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PRAISE FOR

DILLON AND THE PIRATES OF XONIRA

"The best @#$% Dillon book yet!"

-- Kelen B Hyphen Conley, Hip-Hop Artist

~~~~~

Dillon and the Pirates of Xonira

Derrick Ferguson

Cover art and design by Sean Ali

Published by PulpWork Press at Smashwords

This book is also available in print at most online retailers.

Copyright 2012 by Derrick Ferguson

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

~~~~~

CHAPTER ONE

Madrid, Spain

Somewhere Near the Waterfront

Are you sure that they’re dead, Morgan?

The speaker was a man who moved more like a wonderfully crafted mechanical mechanism than a human being. The precision with which his body performed made hard men wary and easy women wonder about the possibilities. He looked at his subordinate with pewter gray eyes that were unnerving with the intelligence radiating from them. He kept his thick, wavy brown hair cut in a severe military cut so precise it hurt to look at, while his high forehead lent him a scholarly, intellectual air. Of average height, he boasted an athletic build that hadn’t been earned in high-priced gymnasiums or health clubs.

Morgan nodded slowly. I saw to it myself, sir. There’s no connection to any of your operations remaining in Madrid.

Except for Carl here. The gray-eyed man pointed at the third person in the room. Carl’s bald head gleamed in the bright lights of the room. The amount of sweat pouring off of him would have been comical if the situation hadn’t been so serious. He’d been brought here to die and he full well knew it. Carl was tied securely to a plain wooden chair and gagged with a simple rag stuffed in his mouth.

Morgan stood ramrod firm at attention, his back straight, arms held rigidly at his side. Might I suggest that we leave this part of the world immediately, sir? There’s going to be holy hell when the operation jumps off and even though your tracks are covered, there’s going to be considerable beating of the grass to rouse the snakes.

The other man smiled and walked over to a kidney shaped mahogany desk. Meaning us, eh? But you’re right, Morgan. There’s no sense in us hanging around. We’ve done well. I just need to wipe these computers— he waved a hand at half a dozen computers occupying the space on top of a round wooden table in the center of the room, and we can go. Is the boat ready?

With your permission, sir, I’ll see to it right away.

By all means. And send in Johnny. I’ll need him to carry some personal items to the boat for me.

Very good, sir. Morgan saluted smartly and left the well-lit room by means of a large, round iron-bound wooden door, one of several in the room. It was not the only door. There were four that could be seen but there were two others that were well hidden and kept secret from even the faithful Morgan. The room could have belonged to an English country squire or a writer of serious, scholarly tomes. Light flooded in through the stained glass dome in the ceiling. A fifteen foot tall chandelier with cream-colored metal leaves blooming into ornate candelabras was the magnificent showpiece of the room and the only rival in its beauty was a delicate looking giant Chinese Chippendale aviary.

The gray-eyed man slowly opened a drawer of the desk. He withdrew a Glock-17 and casually screwed on a silencer while softly whistling Spanish Harlem. He walked over to where the profusely perspiring Carl sat. With his black suit, shoes, white shirt and blood red tie, the gray-eyed man resembled nothing else but an executioner come to do his duty. He stopped right in front of Carl, whose eyes appeared to be on the verge of bursting from their sockets. He trembled all over as if he were about to have a grand mal seizure.

You must understand that there is nothing personal in this, Carl. In fact, you performed your duties admirably well and I dearly wish that I could continue to make use of your services. However, you have been identified by the authorities. That makes you a liability. I can’t take you with me because there would be the chance you would be recognized by the law enforcement agents of another country and they would be on you in no time at all. I can’t allow that. And I can’t leave you here alive because you may discover a morsel of honesty somewhere inside your otherwise corrupt heart and nurture it enough to tell the authorities everything you know. Therefore— The gray-eyed man placed the muzzle of the gun against Carl’s forehead and pulled the trigger. At the same time he placed his right foot on Carl’s chest and shoved him over backwards so that the splattering brains wouldn’t splash on his suit. Carl hit the floor with a meaty crash.

The gray-eyed man returned to his desk, still whistling Spanish Harlem when the door Morgan had used to leave the room exploded inwards in a blizzard of wooden splinters caused by the impact of two grown men slamming into it.

One of the men was Morgan, his face an awful sight. He’d been worked over good by the other man who delivered a final devastating roundhouse that corkscrewed Morgan around twice before he hit the floor, out cold. The gray eyed man brought his Glock up but before he could get off a shot the other man drew a Jericho 941 from a cross draw holster on his left hip and trained it on him.

You have me at a disadvantage, sir. To whom do I have the pleasure of entertaining? The gray-eyed man’s voice was just as cultured and calm if they were discussing which opera to attend that evening.

I know who you are, right enough, the other man answered, Professor Alonzo Sunjoy. You hold so many degrees in the fields of Molecular Biology, Quantum Chemistry and Plasma Physics it makes my head hurt just to think of them. You could have distinguished yourself in the world as a brilliant scientist. Instead you became a brain for hire, using your genius to think up new and more efficient ways to kill people instead of helping them.

I still have no idea of who you are, sir.

The name is Dillon.

Professor Sunjoy’s eyes opened wider. Well, this is a surprise! I’ve heard of you, naturally. Who in our profession has not? I never dreamed our paths would cross under these circumstances. Sunjoy talked pleasantly and smiled even more pleasantly. When he and Morgan didn’t show up at the boat Johnny would investigate. All Professor Sunjoy had to do was keep Dillon talking until—

Your other man isn’t coming to help you. He’s at the top of the staircase enjoying the asskicking I gave him. It’s over, Sunjoy. Ten, fifteen minutes more or so and you’ll be in the hands of Interpol and A.C.E.S.

Ah. That would be the Advanced Counter Espionage Syndicate, I take it?

And now a smile spread across Dillon’s face as well. They’ve been after you for the past three years, Professor Sunjoy. They thought I was spinning them a yarn when I approached them and offered my help to track you down, but they changed their mind after they saw how I spent the past nine days dismantling your operation here in Madrid.

For the first time Professor Sunjoy’s eyes showed alarm as he leaned forward. And just exactly what do you mean by that, sir?

I mean that your plan to destroy The Vega/Murrieta Protectorate isn’t going to happen. The conference is going ahead as scheduled and even as we speak A.C.E.S. has dismantled the nerve gas canisters and is rounding up your people.

Sunjoy’s eyes narrowed with anger. Morgan just reported to me. He said that everything was progressing according to schedule.

Don’t be too hard on your boy. As far as he knew, everything was going according to plan. It took a little more time and effort to keep him convinced that everything was cool but it was worth it. Dillon’s grin was now that of a shark who’s tasted blood in the water. It was worth it because I got YOU.

We’re never crossed paths before. Why do you interfere in my affairs?

Think back. Eight months ago. On your orders a man named Randolph Ryan was killed right in his house in Mexico. He was taking a bath and somebody pumped five bullets into him. I’m guessing it was your man Morgan.

Sunjoy waved a hand dismissively. Ryan had done some work for me, but he didn’t know it. Through him I was able to secure several items I needed to transport the canisters of nerve gas safely. Once his purpose had been served I had no more use for him. I couldn’t take the chance he might talk.

Randolph Ryan wouldn’t have talked if his wife and kids were having their throats slit right in front of him. I know because he was my man and in the seven years we did business he never once sold me out.

Well, if he was your man then why was he taking jobs on the side?

Dillon shrugged. I don’t know. I don’t care. But I do know two things: I know that Randolph would never have taken a dime from you if he had known what you were planning. And I know that you didn’t have to kill him.

You mean to stand there and tell me that you dismantled an operation it took me ten months to plan and organize simply because I killed a man?

Oh, c’mon, Sunjoy. You know how this works. The word gets around you killed one of my people and I did nothing about it and pretty soon I have no people at all. But it goes past that. Randolph was a good friend. A good man. And an even better father and husband. There’s a family mourning and you’re responsible. There’s no way I let that go unpunished. The fact that you were planning on gassing eight thousand innocent people to death and I prevented it is a bonus.

Sunjoy’s voice lowered as he fought to control the boiling rage inside of him. You have no idea what you’ve done. The people I’m working for will withdraw the considerable sum of money they’re paying me and send their dogs to hunt me down and kill me for not fulfilling my end of the bargain.

And what part of that concerns me? Dillon asked. I should just blow your brains out and walk away happy. But that wouldn’t be enough. You need to be put away, Professor Sunjoy. Studied like a lab rat for the next fifty years. Maybe somebody can take that brain of yours apart and figure out where freaks like you come from and how we can keep any more like you from happening. Dillon’s grin increased. However, if that doesn’t happen, I can think of other solutions.

This is absolutely intolerable. I cannot have this operation disrupted. I was counting on the funds I would receive from this operation to finance other projects.

You’re boring me, Sunjoy. Dillon’s eyes under severe eyebrows were not their usual sparkling copper color. They slowly darkened to a moody molten gold. The good guys are on their way so we’re just going to stand here pointing our guns at each other and pass the time in pleasant discussion until they come, with that funny white tuxedo that ties in the back, to take you away to the Ha-hacienda where you can spend the rest of your days playing Parcheesi with the rest of the Napoleons. Doesn’t that sound like fun?

Professor Sunjoy carefully took a step to his left, his gun still trained on Dillon. 100 million dollars.

Dillon didn’t bat an eye as he took a matching step to his left. Beg pardon?

I’m prepared to give you 100 million dollars for my safe passage out of Spain. Sunjoy risked taking another step to the left.

Dillon extended the gun in his hand slightly. You take one more step and you’ll be going to the booby hatch minus a leg.

You would actually turn down such a princely sum of money?

I’m not exactly poor myself, Sunjoy. I’ve got money of my own and in any case, I wouldn’t take yours.

Professor Sunjoy’s eyes radiated quiet hatred. I assure you that I am not a man that you would want to have as an enemy. Let me make arrangements to take care of Mr. Ryan’s family in recompense for my error. Shall we say five million dollars a year for the next five years? Would that be satisfactory?

I’ll take care of Randolph’s family, Sunjoy. They’re not your concern. They’re mine. Just as he was mine and you had no business getting him involved in your filth.

Professor Sunjoy’s agitation increased and it could be heard in his voice as he said, I cannot afford to be captured, Dillon. My enemies are numerous and once they know where to find me they will have me killed.

You’ll have to give me a minute while I switch on the part of my brain that gives a damn. Dillon grinned immensely, as if he were having the time of his life. I’d heard a lot about what such a cool customer you are but I do believe you’re beginning to sweat razor blades, Sunjoy.

Name your own price for my release, then!

Stop begging. It’s undignified.

Dimly, the two men could hear faint gunshots and yells. Dillon cocked his head to listen better. Looks like my backup has arrived. Now you just relax and take it easy and it’ll be all over very—

Sunjoy suddenly moved with an easy grace that took Dillon by surprise. He hadn’t expected Sunjoy to be able to move quite that fast. Dillon snapped off a shot that punched through the chair behind which Professor Sunjoy had been standing, leaving a hole big enough for a man to comfortably put a fist through. Then Dillon flung himself to the right as Professor Sunjoy sent three shots his way.

Dillon rolled, got under the table with the computers and used his right shoulder to send it toppling. The computers hit the polished Brazilian teak floor with an impressive cascade of sparks. Two more shots from Professor Sunjoy’s Glock thudded into the table but it was so thick Dillon was as safe as if he were behind armor plating.

He popped up and fired twice, the bullets whining dangerously past Sunjoy’s head as the scientist dived behind his desk. The room suddenly went dark. Sunjoy had cut all illumination within and without thanks to a master switch and Dillon couldn’t see anything but utter blackness. He cursed himself. He had been having too good a time watching Sunjoy suffer and this was the price he paid for being careless. If his time pursuing Professor Sunjoy should have taught him anything it was that he was not a man to get reckless with.

However, the advantage was still his. Sunjoy would have to make a move soon if he wanted to get away. Once he did, Dillon would be on him like dots on dice. He could hear the yells, curses and shots getting closer. Interpol and A.C.E.S. sounded as if they were making quick work of the thirty men Professor Sunjoy had guarding this hideout. Professor Sunjoy would have to make a move soon.

The room suddenly flooded with light as a secret door in the floor behind the desk opened and Professor Sunjoy dived into the hole. Dillon followed after, pumping two shots before him. But Professor Sunjoy was gone, moving with uncanny speed he slid down the short aluminum ladder, whipped around and took off like an Olympic sprinter down an escape tunnel. Dillon climbed down the ladder and found himself in a tunnel barely big enough to accommodate his six foot four frame. He could see Sunjoy up ahead of him, running flat out. Dillon pursued. He didn’t want to kill Sunjoy if he could help it. He had promised Randolph’s wife while standing over his grave at her side that he’d see to it that her husband’s killer was taken alive and, if at all possible, he intended to honor that promise.

Dillon came to a sharp corner and slowed up. Surely Sunjoy would be waiting right around that corner with his gun ready to blast Dillon as soon as Dillon showed himself. Dillon dropped a hand down to the Steranko belt he wore with the stylized, raised letter ‘D’ on the oval bronze belt buckle. The Steranko belt had numerous snap shut pouches filled with devices that Dillon often found useful in his work. The device he used now was among the simplest, but had saved his life on more than on occasion: a small round mirror barely an inch wide, and set on a 45 degree angle at the end of a telescoping metal wand that he used to look around the corner.

Sunjoy stood at the far end of the tunnel, a Russian RPG-7 in his hands. And now he was the one grinning. Dillon turned and ran back the way he came just as Professor Sunjoy fired.

The rocket hit the wall and the following explosion echoed like uncaged thunder as the ceiling collapsed, the roaring of the shattering stone loud in Dillon’s ears as he scrambled up the ladder and back into Professor Sunjoy’s office, kicking the hatch shut.

He waved his arms to disperse the cloud of dust surging up through the cracks and turned around to find more than a dozen automatic weapons pointed at him. He slowly raised his hands saying; Hey, fellas...I’m on your side.

Dammit, Dillon! Where’s Sunjoy? The statuesque, well-built woman in combat fatigues looked mad enough to shoot Dillon herself. Thick wavy platinum gray hair had been tied into an economic ponytail that wouldn’t get in her way. She wasn’t a young girl but even in tiger stripe camouflage fatigues it was obvious she had an hourglass figure professional fashion models would cheerfully strangle their own mothers to have. She pushed her way in front of her soldiers who still kept Dillon covered. I violated a dozen protocols to give you your shot at Sunjoy because you swore you’d deliver him! Now where is he?

Look, Hartless—

That’s Captain Hartless to you, mister! And if you don’t produce Sunjoy in a hurry I’m going to give you to Interpol as a consolation prize!

Dillon had worked with Captain Edna Hartless only a few weeks now. But that was enough for him to know that the fiery Chief of Field Operations for A.C.E.S. meant what she said.

He got away down a secret underground tunnel. But I can still catch him. I know where he’s going.

And I suppose you expect me to let you go after him?

What have you got to lose at this point? Either I get him or I don’t. If he gets away from us now he’ll hide so well we’ll never find him.

Go. But I’m sending this squad with you as backup.

If they can keep up with me, swell. Dillon ran from the room and bounded up the stone staircase to the outside. Bodies were either lying in the street or draped over the hoods of parked cars. The gunfire he heard was Professor Sunjoy’s men putting up a fierce last fight. The squad of A.C.E.S troops were right behind Dillon as he sprinted across the paved street and looked toward the docks which were crowded together like commuters in a New York City subway car. Dillon saw Professor Sunjoy emerge from a hidden exit, in a seemingly abandoned building, and sprint towards the docks.

Dillon turned around and pushed past the bewildered squad to where one of their transport trucks waited, idling quietly. Dillon climbed into the back, hoping that they had brought his bike like he asked. They had. He breathed a sigh of relief as he climbed on board the modified BMW R1200C and cranked it into booming life. Dillon drove it right out of the back of the truck, the soldiers cursing and yelling as they ducked out of the way, the motorcycle sailing over their heads. The