Authors: Bear Grylls
Jaeger spoke slowly now, emphasising every word. ‘No. Not an accident. Not from where I was standing. More like very planned, very deliberate murder.’
‘Murder? Shoot.’ The pilot reached forward and eased off on the aircraft’s throttles. ‘We’re nearing our cruise altitude . . . One-twenty minutes to the jump.’ A pause. ‘Murder? So who was murdered? And – heck – why?’
In answer, Jaeger removed his helmet completely. He still had his silk balaclava tight around his face, for warmth. He always wore one when leaping from thirty thousand feet. It could be colder than Everest at that kind of altitude.
The pilot still wouldn’t be able to recognise him, but he would be able to see the look in Jaeger’s eyes. And right now, it was one that could kill.
‘I figure it was murder,’ Jaeger repeated. ‘Cold-blooded murder. Funny thing is – it all happened after a jump from a C-130.’ He glanced around the cockpit. ‘In fact, an aircraft pretty similar to this one . . .’
The pilot shook his head, nervousness creeping in. ‘Buddy, you lost me . . . But hey, your voice sounds kinda familiar. That’s the thing with you Brits – you all sound the goddam same, if you don’t mind me sayin’.’
‘I don’t mind you saying.’ Jaeger smiled. His eyes didn’t. The look in them could have frozen blood. ‘So, I figure you must’ve served with the SOAR. That’s before you went private.’
‘The SOAR?’ The pilot sounded surprised. ‘Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did. But how . . . Do I know you from somewhere?’
Jaeger’s eyes hardened. ‘Once a Night Stalker, always a Night Stalker – isn’t that what they say?’
‘Yeah, that’s what they say.’ The pilot sounded spooked now. ‘But like I said, buddy, do I know you from somewhere?’
‘Matter of fact, you do. Though I figure you’re gonna wish you’d never met me. ’Cause right now,
buddy
, I’m your worst nightmare. Once upon a time, you flew me and my team into the Amazon, and unfortunately no one got to live happily ever after . . .’
Three months earlier, Jaeger had led a ten-person team on an expedition into the Amazon, searching for a lost Second World War aircraft. They’d hired the same private air charter firm as now. En route the pilot had mentioned how he had served with the American military’s Special Operations Aviation Regiment, also known as the Night Stalkers.
The SOAR was a unit that Jaeger knew well. Several times when he’d been serving in special forces, it was SOAR pilots who’d pulled him and his men out of the crap. The SOAR’s motto was ‘Death waits in the dark’, but Jaeger had never once imagined that he and his team would end up being the target of it.
Jaeger reached up and ripped off his balaclava. ‘Death waits in the dark . . . It sure did, especially when you helped guide in the hit. Very nearly got the whole lot of us killed.’
For an instant the pilot stared, eyes wide with disbelief. Then he turned to the figure seated beside him.
‘Your aircraft, Dan,’ he announced quietly, relinquishing the controls to his co-pilot. ‘I need to have words with our . . . English friend here. And Dan, radio Dallas/Fort Worth. Abort the flight. We need them to route us—’
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ Jaeger cut in. ‘Not if I were you.’
The move had been so swift that the pilot had barely noticed, let alone had any chance to resist. Jaeger had whipped out a compact SIG Sauer P228 pistol from where it was concealed within his jumpsuit. It was the weapon of choice for elite operators, and he had the blunt-ended barrel pressed hard against the back of the pilot’s head.
The colour had drained completely from the man’s face. ‘What . . . what the hell? You hijacking my aircraft?’
Jaeger smiled. ‘You better believe it.’ He addressed his next words to the co-pilot. ‘You a former Night Stalker too? Or just another traitorous scumbag like your buddy here?’
‘What do I tell him, Jim?’ the co-pilot muttered. ‘How do I answer this son of a—’
‘I’ll tell you how you answer,’ Jaeger cut in, releasing the pilot’s seat from its locked position, and swinging it violently around until the guy was facing him. He levelled the 9mm at the pilot’s forehead. ‘Swiftly, and truthfully, without deviation, or the first bullet blows his brains out.’
The pilot’s eyes bulged. ‘Freakin’ tell him, Dan. This guy’s crazy enough to do it.’
‘Yeah, we were both SOAR,’ the co-pilot rasped. ‘Same unit.’
‘Right, so why don’t you show me what the SOAR can do. I knew you as the best. We all did in British special forces. Prove it. Set a course for Cuba. When we’re across the US coastline and out of American airspace, drop down to wave-top level. I don’t want anyone to know we’re on our way.’
The co-pilot glanced at the pilot, who nodded. ‘Just do it.’
‘Setting a course for Cuba,’ he confirmed, through gritted teeth. ‘You got a specific destination in mind? ’Cause there’s several thousand miles of Cuban coastline to choose from, if you know what I mean.’
‘You’re going to release us over a small island via parachute drop. You’ll get the exact coordinates as we close in. I need us over that island immediately after sundown – so under cover of darkness. Set your airspeed to make that happen.’
‘You don’t want much,’ the co-pilot growled.
‘Keep us on course due south-east and steady. Meantime, I’ve got a few questions to ask your buddy here.’
Jaeger folded down the navigator’s seat, positioned to the rear of the cockpit, and settled himself into it, lowering the SIG’s barrel until it menaced the pilot’s manhood.
‘So. Questions,’ he mused. ‘Lots of questions.’
The pilot shrugged. ‘Okay. Whatever. Shoot.’
Jaeger eyed the pistol for a brief moment, then smiled, evilly. ‘You really want me to?’
The pilot scowled. ‘Figure of speech.’
‘Question one. Why did you send my team to their deaths in the Amazon?’
‘Hey, I didn’t know. No one said anything about any killin’.’
Jaeger’s grip on the pistol tightened. ‘Answer the question.’
‘Money,’ the pilot muttered. ‘Ain’t it always thus. But hell, I didn’t know they were gonna try and kill you all.’
Jaeger ignored the man’s protestations. ‘How much?’
‘Enough.’
‘How much?’
‘One hundred and forty thousand dollars.’
‘Okay, let’s do the maths. We lost seven. Twenty thousand dollars a life. I’d say you sold us cheap.’
The pilot threw up his hands. ‘Hey, I had no freakin’ idea! They tried to wipe you out? The hell was I supposed to know!’
‘Who paid you?’
The pilot hesitated. ‘Some Brazilian guy. Local. Met him in a bar.’
Jaeger snorted. He didn’t believe a word, but he had to keep pressing. He needed details. Some actionable intelligence. Something to help him hunt down his real enemies. ‘You got a name?’
‘Yeah. Andrei.’
‘Andrei. A Brazilian named Andrei you met in a bar?’
‘Yeah, well maybe he didn’t sound too Brazilian. More like Russian.’
‘Good. It’s healthy to remember. Especially when you’ve got a 9mm pointed at your balls.’
‘I ain’t forgettin’.’
‘So, this Andrei the Russian you met in a bar – got any sense who he might have worked for?’
‘Only thing I knew was some guy named Vladimir was the boss.’ He paused. ‘Whoever killed your people, he’s the guy giving the orders.’
Vladimir
. Jaeger had heard his name before. He’d figured he was the gang leader, though there were certain to be other, more powerful people above him.
‘You ever met this Vladimir? Got a look at him?’
The pilot shook his head. ‘No.’
‘But you took the money anyway.’
‘Yeah. I took the money.’
‘Twenty thousand dollars for each of my guys. What did you do – throw a pool party? Take the kids to Disney?’
The pilot didn’t answer. His jaw jutted defiantly. Jaeger was tempted to smash the butt of the pistol into the guy’s head, but he needed him conscious and compos mentis.
He needed him to fly this aircraft as never before, and get them over their fast-approaching target.
‘Right, now that we’ve established how cheaply you sold my guys, let’s agree on your route to redemption. Or at least part way there.’
The pilot grunted. ‘What you got in mind?’
‘Here’s the thing. Vladimir and his lot kidnapped one of my expedition team. Leticia Santos. Brazilian. Former military. Young divorcee mother with a daughter to care for. I liked her.’ A pause. ‘They’re holding her on a remote island off the Cuban mainland. You don’t need to know how we found her. You do need to know we’re flying in to rescue her.’
The pilot forced a laugh. ‘And who the hell are you? James freakin’ Bond? You’re three. A three-person team. And what? You think the likes of Vladimir won’t have company?’
Jaeger levelled his grey-blue eyes at the pilot. There was a calm but burning intensity about them. ‘Vladimir has thirty well-armed men under his command. We’re outnumbered ten-to-one. We’re still going in. And we need you to ensure that we hit that island with maximum stealth and surprise.’
With his dark hair worn longish, and his slightly gaunt, wolfish features, Jaeger seemed younger than his thirty-eight years. But he had the look of a man who had seen much, and who wasn’t to be messed with, especially when his hand was gripping a weapon, as now.
The look wasn’t lost on the C-130 pilot. ‘Assault force hitting a well-defended target: in US spec ops circles we always figured on three-to-one odds in our favour.’
Jaeger delved into his rucksack, pulling out an odd-looking object: it resembled a large baked bean tin with the label removed, and with a lever clipped to one end. He held it out in front of him.
‘Ah, but we have this.’ His fingers traced the lettering stamped around one side of the canister:
Kolokol-1
.
The pilot shrugged. ‘Never heard of it.’
‘You wouldn’t. Russian. Soviet-era. But put it this way: if I pull the pin and let fly, this aircraft gets pumped full of toxic gas, and it’s going down like a stone.’
The pilot eyed Jaeger, tension knotting his shoulders. ‘You do that, we’re all dead.’
Jaeger wanted to push this guy, but not too far. ‘I’m not about to pull the pin.’ He dropped the canister back into his rucksack. ‘But trust me, you don’t want to mess with Kolokol-1.’
‘Okay, I got it.’
Three years back, Jaeger himself had had a nightmarish encounter with the gas. He’d been camping with his wife and son in the Welsh mountains. The bad guys – the same group as were holding Leticia Santos now – had come in the depths of the night and struck using Kolokol-1, leaving Jaeger unconscious and fighting for his life.
That was the last he had seen of his wife and eight-year-old son – Ruth and Luke.
Whatever mystery force had taken them had proceeded to torment Jaeger with the fact of their abduction. In fact, he didn’t doubt any more that he’d been left alive just so they
could
torture him.
Every man has his breaking point. After scouring the earth for his missing family, Jaeger had finally been forced to accept the horrific truth: they were gone, seemingly without trace, and he had been powerless to protect them.
He had pretty much cracked up, seeking solace in drink and oblivion. It had taken a very special friend – and the
re-emergence of evidence that his wife and son were still alive – to draw him back to life. To himself.
But he’d come back a very different person.
Darker. Wiser. More cynical. Less trusting.
Content with his own company: a loner, even.
Plus the new Will Jaeger had proved far more willing to break every rule in the book to hunt down those who had torn his life to pieces. Hence the present mission. And he wasn’t averse to learning a few dark arts from the enemy along the way.
Sun Tzu, the ancient Chinese master of war, had had a saying: ‘Know your enemy’. It was the simplest message of all, yet during Jaeger’s time in the military he’d come to treat it like a mantra.
Know your enemy:
it was the first rule of any mission.
And these days he figured the second rule of any mission was
learn from your enemy
.
In the Royal Marines and the SAS – the two units in which Jaeger had served – they’d stressed the need to think laterally. To keep an open mind. To do the unexpected. Learning from the enemy was the zenith of all that.
Jaeger figured the last thing the force on that Cuban island would be expecting was to be hit in the depths of night by the same gas they themselves had used.
The enemy had done that to him.
He had learned the lesson.
It was payback time.
Kolokol-1 was an agent that the Russians kept swathed in secrecy. No one knew its exact make-up, but in 2002 it had taken a sudden leap into the public consciousness when a bunch of terrorists had taken control of a Moscow theatre, holding hundreds hostage.
The Russians hadn’t messed around. Their special forces – the Spetsnaz – had pumped the theatre full of Kolokol-1. Then they’d hit the place like a whirlwind, breaking the siege and killing all the terrorists. Unfortunately, by that time many of the hostages had also been affected by the gas.
The Russians had never admitted to what exactly they had used, but Jaeger’s friends in Britain’s secret defence laboratories had got hold of some samples and confirmed that it was Kolokol-1. The gas was supposedly an incapacitating agent, but prolonged exposure to it had proved lethal for some in that Moscow theatre.
In short, it was well suited to Jaeger’s purposes.
Jaeger wanted some of Vladimir’s men to survive. Maybe all of them. If he wiped them out, he’d very likely end up with the entire Cuban police, army and air force on his tail. And right now he and his team were winging it; they needed to slip in and out without being noticed.
Even for those who survived, Kolokol-1 was a knockout agent. It would take them weeks to recover, by which time Jaeger and his people – plus Leticia Santos – would be long gone.
There was one other reason why Jaeger wanted Vladimir, at least, alive. Jaeger had questions to ask. Vladimir would be providing the answers.
‘So this is how we’re going to do it,’ he told the pilot. ‘We need to be over a six-figure grid at 0200 hours. That grid is a patch of ocean just to the west of the target island, two hundred metres off shore. You’re to fly in at treetop height, then blip up to three hundred feet to release us in an LLP.’