Burning Angels

by Bear Grylls

  Jaeger placed his hand over the respirator’s filter and breathed in hard, drawing the mask tighter on to his face, doing a ‘confidence check’ to make sure the seal was good. He dragged in a few gasps of air, hearing the alien suck and blow of his own breathing roaring in his ears.

  Mask checked, he stepped into the cumbersome rubber overboots, and dragged the hood of his CBRN smock over his head, the elastic sealing around the front of the mask. Finally he pulled on the thin cotton under-gloves, plus the heavy rubber over-gloves, to doubly protect his hands.

  His world was now reduced to the view provided by the eyepiece of the mask. The bulky filter was attached to the front left-hand side, so as to prevent it from blocking his vision, but already he could feel the claustrophobia starting to build.

  It was all the more reason to get in there fast and get this done.

  ‘Mic check,’ he announced, speaking into the tiny microphone embedded within the rubber of the mask. There was no need to press any buttons to talk; they were all permanently on send. His voice sounded weirdly muted and nasal, but at least the short-range radio intercom would mean they were able to communicate during the coming action.

  ‘Check,’ Raff responded.

  ‘Check . . . Hunter,’ Narov added.

  Jaeger allowed himself a smile. ‘The Hunter’ was the nickname he’d earned during their mission to the Amazon.

  On Jaeger’s signal, they moved ahead into the darkness. Shortly, they spotted the lights of the target building glimmering through the trees. They crossed a patch of waste ground until they were directly opposite the rear of the villa. All that separated them from it was a narrow dirt track.

  From the cover of the trees they studied the target. It was bathed in a halo of intense illumination from the security lighting. Right now, there was no point trying to use night vision equipment. The harsh light would overload any such kit, rendering their surroundings into a blinding whiteout.

  In spite of the night-time chill, it was proving hot and sticky inside the suits and masks. Jaeger could feel drops of sweat trickling down his forehead. He thrust a gloved hand across the eyepiece of his respirator, in an effort to clear it.

  Windows were lit up on the villa’s second floor, which was all that was visible above the high perimeter wall. Every now and then Jaeger spotted a silhouette passing back and forth. As expected, Vladimir’s men were keeping careful watch.

  He noted a couple of 4x4s parked next to the perimeter wall. They would need immobilising, just in case anyone tried to give chase. He flicked his eyes up to the flat roof of the building. It was the obvious place to post sentries, but there was no movement that he could detect. It looked to be deserted. Yet if there was access on to it, the roof was the one point they would have problems keeping covered.

  Jaeger spoke into his throat mic. ‘We’re a go. But be wary of the roof. Plus we immobilise those vehicles.’

  There were replies in the affirmative.

  Jaeger led them in a dash across the open track. They paused at the vehicles, using grenades rigged to motion-sensitive triggers to booby-trap them. If anyone tried to pull away in either vehicle, the movement alone would detonate the explosives.

  Raff veered off alone now, heading for the main power line. He would use a compact sabotage device to send a powerful surge of current through the villa’s electrics, blowing the fuses and light fittings. Vladimir was sure to have an emergency generator, but it would be of little use, for the circuitry would have been fried.

  Jaeger glanced at Narov. He placed the palm of his hand on the crown of his head – the signal for ‘on me’. Then he rose to his feet and hurried across to the villa’s front entrance, his pulse pounding in his ears as he went.

  If there was a moment when they were most likely to be spotted, it was now, as they prepared to scale the high wall. Jaeger inched his way around the corner and took up position to one side of the front gate. A split second later, Narov was beside him.

  ‘In position,’ he breathed into his radio mic.

  ‘Affirmative,’ came Raff’s whispered reply. ‘Going dark.’

  A split second later there was a fizzing and a popping from the villa’s interior.

  In a shower of sparks the entire complex went suddenly very dark.

  7

  Jaeger hoisted Narov by her legs, and propelled her upwards. She reached for the top of the wall and hauled herself on to it. Then she leant down and helped him to scramble up. Seconds later they dropped on to the far side.

  All was pitch darkness.

  It had taken only seconds to scale the wall, but already Jaeger could hear muffled shouts coming from the building.

  The front door swung open and a figure stumbled out, flashlight sweeping the darkened compound and glinting off the assault rifle gripped in his hand. Jaeger froze. He watched the figure make his way to a shed set in one corner – very likely the backup generator house.

  As the figure disappeared inside, Jaeger dashed forward, Narov bang on his shoulder. He flattened himself to one side of the villa’s doorway, Narov doing the same on the other. Jaeger whipped out a canister from one of his pouches, unhooking a small hand-axe at the same time.

  He glanced across at Narov.

  She gave a thumbs up.

  Eyes cool like ice.

  Jaeger grabbed the pin holding the retainer clip. Once he pulled it, the grenade was primed to pump out its gas. They were on the point of no return now.

  Gently he eased the pin free, his fingers holding the fly-off lever closed. If he relaxed his grip, the clip would spring free, and the grenade would start gushing.

  ‘In position,’ he breathed into his radio.

  ‘In position,’ Raff echoed. Having killed the villa’s power, the big Maori had made his way to the rear, the only other way in or out of the building.

  Jaeger steeled himself. ‘Going in.’

  He swung the axe through the window. The sound of breaking glass was drowned out by those inside crashing about in the darkness. He dragged the axe out again and heaved the canister in, letting the fly-off lever ping free.

  Opposite him, Narov mirrored his movements, hurling her canister through the window that she’d just smashed.

  Jaeger mouthed off the seconds. Three. Four. Five . . .

  Through the broken glass he could hear a fierce hissing, as the grenades gushed out their choking contents. It was followed by a gasping and retching, as the Kolokol-1 began to take effect, and panicked bodies stumbled into unseen obstructions.

  Suddenly there was a cough and a roar at Jaeger’s back as the generator kicked into life. The figure emerged to check if the power had come back on, but all remained pitch black. He swung his flashlight this way and that, trying to identify the reason for the blackout.

  Jaeger had a split second in which to deal with him. He dragged his SIG Sauer from its chest holster. The silhouette of the pistol was different now: longer, and more barrel-heavy. He, Raff and Narov had each fitted an SWR Trident silencer to the business end of the P228s. They’d also loaded the magazines with subsonic rounds – ones that travelled slower than the speed of sound, so avoiding the crack that a bullet makes when going through the sound barrier.

  To compensate for the lack of velocity, the rounds were heavier in weight, the combined effect rendering the weapon almost silent but no less lethal for it.

  Jaeger raised the P228, but before he could open fire, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows and squeezed off a double tap – pzzzt, pzzzt; re-aim; pzzzt. Raff had been a split second faster than Jaeger, and one step ahead in taking the shot.

  Ten. Eleven. Twelve . . . The voice in Jaeger’s head continued counting out the seconds, as the Kolokol-1 did its work.

  Momentarily, he was struck by a sense of what it must be like inside the building. Pitch darkness. Utter confusion. Then the first chilling caress of the Kolokol-1. A moment’s panic as each man tried to make sense of what was happening, before the terror hit, the gas searing
down windpipes and flaming into lungs.

  Jaeger knew from personal experience what such a gas did to people; what a horrible way it was to go under. You might well survive, but it was something you would never forget.

  For a terrible moment he was back on that Welsh mountainside, as a knife sliced through the thin canvas of his tent and a nozzle was thrust inside, disgorging a cloud of choking gas. He saw hands reach in and grab his wife and child, dragging them out into the darkness. He tried to raise himself to fight, to save them, but the Kolokol-1 seared into his eyes, freezing his limbs completely.

  And then a gloved fist grabbed him savagely by the hair, forcing his face upwards, until he was staring into the hate-filled eyes behind the mask.

  ‘Get this moment burned into your brain,’ a voice hissed. ‘Your wife and child – they’re ours. Don’t ever forget: you failed to protect your loved ones.’

  Though distorted by the mask, Jaeger had figured he’d recognised the man’s vicious, hate-filled tones, but he couldn’t for the life of him put a name to the voice of his tormentor. He knew him, and yet he didn’t know him, and that had proved to be a torture from which it had been impossible to hide.

  Jaeger forced the images from his mind, He reminded himself just who they were gassing here. He’d witnessed the murderous horrors visited on his team in the Amazon, not to mention on poor Leticia Santos herself. And of course there was a part of him that hoped to discover here something that might lead him to his wife and child.

  Every second was precious now. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty!

  Jaeger stepped back, raised his leg and smashed his boot savagely into the door. The rich tropical hardwood hardly gave an inch, but the frame was made of cheap plywood and it splintered, the door cannoning inwards on its hinges.

  Jaeger fought his way into the dark interior, SIG at the ready. He swept the room with the beam of the torch attached to the underside of the barrel. The air was thick with an oily white fog that danced in the light. Bodies writhed on the floor, clawing at their faces as if they wanted to rip their own throats out.

  No one even noticed that he was there. Their eyes were blinded by the gas, their bodies on fire.

  Jaeger moved deeper into the room. He vaulted over a figure heaving and writhing underfoot. He used his boot to roll another over, taking a good look at faces as he passed.

  None was Leticia Santos.

  Momentarily his torch beam caught in a slurry of vomit, a body writhing in the shadows. The stench would have been sickening, but no smell could make it through Jaeger’s respirator.

  He forced himself to keep pressing ahead, to blank out the horror. He had to remain focused on the job: find Leticia.

  As he moved through the eerie, disorientating cloud of gas, his flashlight picked out a ghostly white fountain – a Kolokol-1 canister gushing out the last of its contents – and then he was at the rear of the room. A set of stairs lay ahead: one flight up, the other down. Instinct told him that Leticia would be held underground.

  He fished inside his smock and pulled out a second canister. But as he ripped out the pin, ready to hurl the grenade down the stairwell, a spike of blinding claustrophobia hit him like a punch to the stomach. He felt himself freeze, his mind locked in that dark moment on the mountainside, which seemed to play through his head on a continuous loop.

  It was crucial to keep the momentum going on an assault such as this. But waves of nausea swept up from the pit of Jaeger’s stomach, doubling him over in their vice-like grip. He felt as if he was back in that tent, drowning in the sea of his own failure, unable even to defend his own wife and child.

  His limbs seemed utterly frozen.

  He couldn’t hurl the canister.

  8

  ‘Throw it!’ Narov screamed. ‘THROW IT! Santos is in there somewhere! Throw the goddam canister!’

  Her words ripped through Jaeger’s paralysis. It took a stupendous effort of will, but somehow he managed to regain his grip on his senses and let fly, launching the grenade far into the darkness below. Seconds later, he was pounding down the steps, sweeping the area before him with his weapon, Narov right behind him.

  During the years he’d served with elite units, clearing buildings was one of the most heavily rehearsed of all of their drills. It was fast, natural and instinctive.

  Two doors led off the staircase, one to either side. Jaeger went right, Narov left. He let fly the retainer clip on a third canister of Kolokol-1. His boot hit the door, crashing through the wood and shunting it wide open, and he tossed the canister inside.

  As the gas began to pump, a figure stumbled towards him, choking and cursing in some language that Jaeger didn’t understand. The figure opened fire, spraying wildly with his weapon, but he was blinded by the gas. An instant later he keeled over, his hands grasping at his throat as he gasped for air.

  Jaeger advanced into the room, expended brass bullet casings crunching under the soles of his overboots. He did a rapid scan for Leticia Santos. Not seeing her anywhere, he was about to leave when he was struck by a blinding realisation: he recognised this place.

  Somehow, somewhere, he had seen it before.

  And then it hit him. In an effort to torture him remotely, Santos’s captors had emailed Jaeger images of her captivity. One had shown her bruised, bound and kneeling before a torn and dirtied bed sheet, on which had been scrawled the words:

  Return to us what is ours.

  Wir sind die Zukunft.

  Wir sind die Zukunft: we are the future.

  The words had been crudely daubed in what appeared to be blood.

  Jaeger could see that very sheet before him now, pinned to one of the walls. Below it on the floor was the detritus of captivity: a dirty mattress, a toilet bucket, lengths of frayed rope, and a few dog-eared magazines; plus a baseball bat, no doubt used to beat Santos into submission.

  It wasn’t the room that Jaeger had recognised; it was the instruments of Leticia Santos’s incarceration and torture.

  He whipped around. Narov had cleared the room opposite, and still there was no sign of Santos. Where had they taken her?

  The two of them paused for a second at the bottom of the stairs. They were soaked in sweat and their breath was coming in heaving gasps. Each grabbed a canister and prepared to press on. They had to keep the momentum going.

  They hammered up the flights of stairs leading towards the roof, hurling more canisters, then spreading out to search, but the entire floor appeared empty. After a few seconds Jaeger heard a burst of static in his earpiece, and Raff’s voice came over the radio.

  ‘Stairway at rear leads to the roof.’

  Jaeger turned and sprinted in that direction, fighting his way through the thick swirling gas. Raff was standing at the bottom of a flight of worn metal rungs; above him a trapdoor was open to the sky.

  Jaeger barely hesitated before he started to climb. Leticia had to be up there. He could feel it in his bones.

  As his head neared the opening, he flicked off the torch beam on his pistol. There would be enough moonlight to see by, and the flashlight would simply make him an obvious target. With one hand he eased his way up the ladder, the other keeping his gun at the ready. No point unleashing the gas up here. It was little use in the open.

  He stole his way up the last few inches, sensing Narov on the rungs below him, then eased his head and shoulders above the opening, scanning all around for the enemy. For several seconds he stayed utterly still, watching and listening.

  Finally, in one swift move, he vaulted on to the roof. As he did so, he heard a crash. It sounded deafening in the comparative silence. A battered television set had been dumped in the centre of the roof, a pile of old furniture heaped up behind it.

  A broken chair had tumbled over as a figure raised a weapon from behind the patch of cover.

  A moment later there was a savage burst of fire.

  Jaeger came to his feet, keeping low, his pistol in the aim. All around him, bullets were ricocheti
ng off the slick concrete of the roof. Either he dealt with this pronto, or he was a dead man.

  He took aim on the muzzle flash, and squeezed off three rounds in quick succession: pzzzt, pzzzt, pzzzt! In this game it was all about being able to unleash rapid but deadly accurate fire.

  This was life and death in the kill zone. Here, the dividing line was measured in fractions of an inch and milliseconds. And Jaeger’s aim had been that much faster and better.

  He moved position and went into a crouch, scanning all around him. As Narov and Raff leapt out of the stairwell to either side of him, Jaeger crept forward, perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet, a cat stalking its prey. He swept the heap of broken furniture with his weapon. More of the enemy were hiding there, he just knew it.

  All of a sudden a figure broke cover and began to run. Jaeger pinned the runner in his sights, but as he tensed to fire, his finger bone-white on the trigger, he realised it was a woman; a dark-haired woman. Leticia Santos, it had to be!

  He saw a second figure sprint after her, the silhouette of a pistol gripped in his hand. It was her captor and would-be killer, but they were too close for Jaeger to open fire.

  ‘Drop the gun!’ he snarled. ‘Drop the gun!’

  The FM54 mask had an inbuilt voice-projection system, which acted like a megaphone, making his words sound weirdly metallic and robotic.

  ‘Drop your weapon!’

  In response the gunman snaked a powerful arm around the woman’s neck, forcing her towards the edge of the roof. Jaeger advanced, keeping them covered.

  In his respirator and suit he looked twice as large as normal. He figured Leticia would have little idea who was behind the mask, and his steely, voice-projected tones would be equally unrecognisable.

  Was he friend or foe?

  She would have no way of telling.

  She took a fearful step backwards, the bad guy fighting to keep her under control. The edge of the roof was right at their backs. There was nowhere to retreat or to run.