Burning Angels

by Bear Grylls

  Well, Wirth had had that look . . . and it was utterly stomach-churning.

  ‘She’s not quite what we were expecting, Herr Generals,’ he stammered. ‘It’s best you come see for yourselves.’

  Kammler was the first to his feet, a faint frown creasing his forehead. The SS General had appropriated the name of a third Nordic goddess for the frozen corpse. ‘She will be cherished by all who set eyes upon her,’ he had declared. ‘That is why I have told the Führer that we have named her Var – “the beloved”.’

  Well, it would take a true saint to love that bloody, corrupted corpse. And of one thing Wirth was certain: there were few saints in that tent right now.

  He led the men across the ice, feeling as if he were heading his own funeral cortège. They entered the cage and were lowered, the floodlights flaring to life as they sank beneath the surface. Wirth had ordered the lights kept extinguished, unless someone was working on or inspecting the corpse. He didn’t want the heat thrown off by the powerful illumination melting the ice and thawing out their lady-in-waiting. She would need to remain utterly deep-frozen for safe transport back to the Deutsche Ahnenerbe’s headquarters in Berlin.

  He glanced across the cage at Rahn. His face lay in dark shadow. No matter where he might be, Rahn wore a wide-brimmed black felt fedora hat. A self-styled bone-hunter and archaeological adventurer, he had adopted it as his trademark.

  Wirth felt a certain camaraderie with the flamboyant Rahn. They shared the same hopes, passions and beliefs. And, of course, the same fears.

  The cage came to a lurching halt. It swung back and forth for an instant like a crazed pendulum, before the chain holding it brought it to some kind of standstill.

  Four sets of eyes stared into the face of the corpse entombed within the block of ice; ice that was streaked with hideous swirls of dark red. Wirth could sense the impact the apparition was having upon his SS colleagues. There was a stunned, disbelieving silence.

  It was General Kammler who finally broke the quiet. He turned his gaze on Wirth. His face was inscrutable as ever, a cold reptilian look flaring behind his eyes.

  ‘The Führer expects,’ he announced quietly. ‘We do not disappoint the Führer.’ A pause. ‘Make her a figure worthy of her name: of Var.’

  Wirth shook his head disbelievingly. ‘We go ahead as planned? But Herr General, the risks . . .’

  ‘What risks, Herr Lieutenant?’

  ‘We have no idea what killed her . . .’ Wirth gestured at the corpse. ‘What caused all—’

  ‘There is no risk,’ Kammler cut in. ‘She came to grief on the ice cap five millennia ago. That’s five thousand years. You will clean her up. Make her beautiful. Make her Nordic, Aryan . . . perfect. Make her fit for the Führer.’

  ‘But how, Herr General?’ Wirth queried. ‘You have seen—’

  ‘Unfreeze her, for God’s sake,’ Kammler cut in. He gestured at the block of ice. ‘You Deutsche Ahnenerbe people have been experimenting on live humans – freezing and unfreezing them – for years, have you not?’

  ‘We have, Herr General,’ Wirth conceded. ‘Not myself personally, but there have been human freezing experiments, plus the salt-water—’

  ‘Spare me the details.’ Kammler jabbed a gloved finger at the bloodied corpse. ‘Breathe life into her. Whatever it takes, wipe that death’s-head smile off her face. Banish that . . . look from her eyes. Make her suit the Führer’s prettiest dreams.’

  Wirth forced out a reply. ‘Yes, Herr General.’

  Kammler glanced from Wirth to Rahn. ‘If you do not – if you fail in this task – on your heads be it.’

  He yelled an order for the cage to be lifted skywards. They rose together in silence. When they reached the surface, Kammler turned to face the Deutsche Ahnenerbe men.

  ‘I have little stomach for breakfast any more.’ He clicked his heels together and gave the Nazi salute. ‘Heil Hitler!’

  ‘Heil Hitler,’ his SS colleagues echoed.

  And with that, General Hans Kammler stalked across the ice, heading for his aircraft – and Germany.

  3

  Present day

  The pilot of the C-130 Hercules cargo aircraft turned to eye Will Jaeger. ‘Kinda overkill, buddy, hiring a whole C-130 for just you guys, eh?’ He had a strong southern drawl, most likely Texas. ‘There’s just three of you, right?’

  Through the doorway into the hold Jaeger eyed his two fellow warriors, seated on the fold-down canvas seats. ‘Yeah. Just the three.’

  ‘Bit over the top, wouldn’t you say?’

  Jaeger had boarded the aircraft as if ready to do a high-altitude parachute jump – decked out in full-face helmet, oxygen mask and bulky jumpsuit. The pilot had not the slightest hope of recognising him.

  Not yet, anyway.

  Jaeger shrugged. ‘Yeah, well we were expecting more. You know how it is: some couldn’t make it.’ A pause. ‘They got trapped in the Amazon.’

  He let the last words hang in the air for a good few seconds.

  ‘The Amazon?’ the pilot queried. ‘The jungle, right? What was it? Jump that went wrong?’

  ‘Worse than that.’ Jaeger loosened the straps that held his jump helmet tight, as if he needed to get some air. ‘They didn’t make it . . . because they died.’

  The pilot did a double take. ‘They died? Died like how? Some kinda skydiving accident?’

  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.

  4

  ‘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.’

  ‘Ok
ay, 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.