Burning Angels

by Bear Grylls

The Sunseeker’s life raft was a large inflatable contraption, hexagonal in design and enclosed within a rain cover. Jones and his three fellow survivors were inside it, the flap open, going through the craft’s supplies.

  Jones must have seen his shot hit Narov; seen her blasted into the sea. Not one to give up or give in, he would know he had a job to finish.

  It was time for Jaeger to end this.

  He had to cut the head off the snake.

  The life raft was far more visible than a lone swimmer, one keeping low in the sea. When Jaeger reached its rear, he stopped and began to tread water, his eyes and nose barely above the waves. He composed himself for a second, then took a massive gulp of air and slipped beneath the surface.

  He dived deep under the craft, surfacing silently at the point where the flap lay open. He could see the massive form of Jones weighing down the side of the raft. He kicked up powerfully, rising from the sea directly behind his target, and in one lightning move snaked his right arm around the man’s neck in a savage chokehold, jerking his chin upwards and to the right.

  Simultaneously, his left arm came around in a powerful thrust, sinking the blade of the knife down through the man’s clavicle, driving it towards his black heart. Seconds later, their combined weight pulled them from the vessel, and they sank as one.

  It was hard to kill a man with a knife. And with an adversary as powerful and as experienced as this one, doubly so.

  As they sank into the ocean depths, the two men twisted, writhed and fought, Jones struggling to break free from Jaeger’s death grip. For long seconds he clawed, elbowed and gouged, desperately trying to break free. In spite of his wound, he was immensely – unbelievably – powerful.

  Jaeger couldn’t believe how strong he was: it was like being tethered to a rhino. Just as Jaeger figured he could hold him no longer, a sleek, arrow-headed form flashed across his peripheral vision, its sharp V-shaped fin cutting through the water.

  Shark. Drawn here by the smell of blood. Steve Jones’s blood. Jaeger glanced in the shark’s direction and realised with a jolt that there were a dozen or more circling them.

  He gathered his strength, released his grip and kicked away from Jones as powerfully as he could. The big man spun around, muscled arms groping for Jaeger in the half-light.

  But it was then that Jones must have sensed its presence. Their presence. Sharks.

  Jaeger saw his eyes go wide with fear.

  Jones’s wound was pumping a cloud of blood into the water. As Jaeger kicked further away, he saw the first shark bump Jones aggressively with its nose. Jones tried to fight back, punching it in the eye, but the animal had the taste of his blood now.

  As Jaeger made a desperate surge towards the surface, he lost sight of Jones’s form within a sea of writhing bodies.

  He was painfully short of breath now, but he knew what was waiting above: gunmen, scanning the sea. With a last burst of energy, he swam beneath the raft, using Narov’s blade to slice open the entire length of its underside.

  The bottom of the vessel collapsed, the three figures inside it plummeting into the water. As they fell, one of them kicked out and caught Jaeger in the head. His eyes rolled, and for a moment Jaeger felt himself black out. Moment’s later his hand caught the torn edge of the craft where it was spilling air, and he pulled himself upwards.

  He thrust his head and shoulders through the breech, grabbed a few lungfuls of oxygen, and dived again. As he kicked deep, he noticed that Narov’s blade was gone from his grasp. He would worry about that later . . . if he ever got out of this alive.

  He struck out in the direction of his own life raft. The gunmen in the water might well have seen him, but their thoughts would be all for their own survival now. There would be life vests in their stricken craft, and even now they would be trying to save themselves. Jaeger would leave them to the sea and the sharks. He was done here. He needed to get away, and get Narov safe.

  Minutes later, Jaeger heaved his sodden form into the Airlander’s life raft. As he lay back, panting exhaustedly, he saw Narov try to rouse herself so she could take up the oars, and he had to physically restrain her from doing so.

  He got in position and began to row, heading away from the carnage and for the coastline. As he worked at the oars, he glanced at Narov. She was overcome with exhaustion, the shock kicking in big time now. He needed her to remain conscious, to keep rehydrating and to stay warm, and they would both need energy as the adrenalin began to wear off.

  ‘See what’s in the stores. The emergency rations. We’ve got a long row ahead and you need to keep drinking and to eat. I’ll do the work, but only if you promise to live.’

  ‘I promise,’ Narov murmured, her voice sounding close to delirious. She reached to investigate with her one good arm. ‘After all, you came back for me.’

  Jaeger shrugged. ‘You’re on my crew.’

  ‘You had your wife on that aircraft – dying. Me in the sea – dying. You came back for me.’

  ‘My wife has got a team of medics caring for her. As for you . . . well, we’re a honeymooning couple, remember?’

  She smiled absent mindedly. ‘Schwachkopf.’

  Jaeger needed to keep her talking and to keep her focused. ‘How’s the pain? The shoulder?’

  Narov tried to shrug. The movement made her grimace. ‘I’ll live.’

  Good for you, Jaeger thought. Unyielding, blunt and honest to the end.

  ‘Better sit back and enjoy the ride then, while I row you home.’

  93

  Five weeks had passed since Jaeger had paddled the Airlander’s life raft to shore and got Narov to the nearest hospital. It had taken him to the edge of his endurance and had seemed to age him. At least that was what Narov had said.

  He reached for a surgical mask, slotting it over his mouth and nose, doing the same for the diminutive figure standing beside him. Over the past few weeks he’d spent barely a day apart from Simon Chucks Bello, and the two of them had grown close.

  It was almost as if the kid who had saved the world had become like a second son to him.

  Jaeger glanced up. Spotted someone. Smiled. ‘Ah, great. You’re here.’

  The man in the white surgical suit, Dr Arman Hanedi, shrugged. ‘Over the past few weeks, when have I not been here? It’s been a little busy . . . I think I have forgotten what my wife and children look like.’

  Jaeger smiled. He got on well with Ruth and Luke’s doctor, and over time he’d learned a little of his story. Hanedi was originally from Syria. He’d come to the UK as a child in the first wave of refugees, back in the 1980s.

  He’d got himself a good education and had gone on to rise through the ranks of the medical profession, which was no small achievement. He clearly loved his chosen field, which was a bonus, for during the last few weeks he’d had his work cut out, combating the world’s most fearsome epidemic.

  ‘So she’s pulled through? She’s conscious?’ Jaeger prompted.

  ‘She is. She came round thirty minutes ago. Your wife is made of incredibly strong stuff. That long an exposure to such a virus – to survive it . . . it’s little short of a miracle.’

  ‘And Luke? Did he sleep better last night?’

  ‘Well, the son is rather like the father, I suspect. A born survivor.’ Hanedi ruffled Simon Bello’s hair. ‘So, little chap, are you ready to say hello to another of the thousands that you have saved?’

  The kid blushed. He’d found the media attention hard to deal with, to put it mildly. It all felt so over the top. All he’d done was donate a few drops of blood.

  ‘Sure, but Jaeger did the hard bit. I didn’t do shit.’ Simon glanced at Jaeger a little sheepishly. Jaeger had been trying to get him to curtail the language, not always successfully.

  They all laughed. ‘Call it teamwork,’ Hanedi suggested modestly.

  They pushed through double doors. A figure was propped up on pillows. A mass of thick dark hair; fine, almost elfin features; plus those huge sea-green eyes, flecked wit
h specks of gold. Were they more green than blue, or more blue than green? Jaeger never had been quite able to decide; they seemed to constantly change, both with the light and with her moods.

  He was struck again by just how extraordinarily arresting his wife’s appearance was. He’d spent every hour possible with her and Luke, just staring at them or holding their hands. Each time, he’d been hit by the same thought: where the heck does love like this come from? It’s the only thing that totally breaks me.

  Ruth smiled at him weakly. This was her first conscious moment since the virus had truly taken her, sucking her down into its dark and whirling vortex; since Jaeger had seen her thrust into that portable patient isolation unit aboard the Airlander.

  He smiled. ‘Welcome back. How’re you feeling?’

  ‘How long have I been . . . fighting it?’ she replied, a little confusedly. ‘It feels like a lifetime.’

  ‘Weeks. But you’re back now.’ Jaeger glanced at the kid. ‘And this is how. This is Simon Chucks Bello. I thought – we thought – you’d like to meet him.’

  She turned her gaze on the boy. Her eyes smiled, and when they did, the world smiled with them. She’d always had this miraculous ability to light up an entire room with her laughter; her magic. It was what had first drawn Jaeger to her.

  She held out a hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Simon Chucks Bello. I understand that without you, none of us would still be . . . breathing. You’re one hell of a kid.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. But I didn’t exactly do much. Just got stuck by a needle.’

  Ruth shook her head in amusement. ‘That’s not what I heard. I heard you got chased by the bad guys, jumped into a boat to escape, survived the sea ride from hell, not to mention an epic rescue by airship. Welcome to life with my husband – the very lovely but equally dangerous Will Jaeger.’

  They laughed. That was Ruth for you, Jaeger thought. Always calm, always kind and always bloody right.

  He pointed at the door leading into an adjacent room. ‘Go check on Luke. Go beat him at chess. You know you want to.’

  Simon Bello patted the rucksack he had slung over his shoulder. ‘In here. Plus I brought him some snacks. We’re good to go.’

  He disappeared through the door. Luke had been conscious for a good week now, and he and Simon had developed a certain repartee.

  There wasn’t much in terms of electronic entertainment in the slums. Few were the households with computers or even TVs, and there was even less for orphans. Accordingly, they played a lot of board games, thought most were home-made – cobbled together from bits of cardboard and other trash.

  Simon Chucks Bello was a demon at chess. Luke was using all his insider theories and trying various fancy sequences, but still Simon could defeat him within fifteen moves. It drove Luke crazy. He had inherited his father’s competitive spirit. He came from a long line of bad losers.

  Ruth patted the bed. Jaeger sat beside her, and they hugged as if neither ever wanted to let the other go. Jaeger could barely believe that she was back. There had been so many moments over the past few weeks when he had feared they were losing her.

  ‘So, he’s quite the kid,’ Ruth murmured. She eyed Jaeger. ‘And you know something – you’re quite the dad.’

  He held her gaze. ‘What are you thinking?’

  She smiled. ‘Well, he did save the world. And us. And Luke has always wanted a brother . . .’

  A while later Jaeger and Simon left the hospital. Once they were outside Jaeger switched on his mobile. There was the ping of an incoming message. He clicked on it.

  My father took refuge in his lair beneath the mountain. Burning Angels Peak . . . I am innocent. He is a madman.

  It needed no sign-off.

  Finally, Falk Konig had surfaced.

  It gave Jaeger just the kind of lead that he’d been looking for.

  EPILOGUE

  Within a matter of days of being plucked from the sea, Simon Chucks Bello had been rushed to the Centre for Disease Control and Prevention, in Atlanta, Georgia.

  The source of his immunity was isolated from his blood. It was in turn synthesised into an inoculation that could be mass-produced, so that those not infected by the virus could be rendered immune.

  A cure took longer to develop, but it was still ready in time to save most of those infected with the Gottvirus. The final death toll from the pandemic was less than thirteen hundred souls – still a huge tragedy, but nothing compared to what Hank Kammler had been intending.

  At the height of the epidemic, the world had been on the verge of global meltdown. That number of people couldn’t die without there being panic on the streets. But the worst of the trouble and chaos had been averted. For once world governments had been open about what exactly the virus was and where it had come from. It had taken such honesty to re-establish confidence amongst the world’s peoples.

  Even so, it was several months before the United Nation’s World Health Organisation was able to declare the pandemic over. By then, Simon Chucks Bello had been granted British citizenship and was a part of the Jaeger family.

  He’d also been given the US Presidential Medal of Freedom, America’s highest civilian honour for those who have made an

  exceptional contribution to the security of the United States and to world peace.

  However, US President Joseph Byrne did not get to present him with the medal: amidst something of an intelligence-driven scandal, he had been voted out of power. Thankfully.

  Jaeger’s team at Amani Beach – Raff, Alonzo, Kamishi and James – had taken a few injuries under intense fire, but they had escaped via the cover provided by the Taranis. All had survived. They still called Jaeger a glory boy and refused to let him forget leaving them to fight it out on that beach.

  Irina Narov had made a full recovery – from both the virus and her injuries. But of course she blamed Jaeger for losing her precious commando dagger in the struggle with Jones.

  At the time of writing, Hank Kammler – the former deputy director of the CIA – was still at large, location unknown. Unsurprisingly, he was now the world’s most wanted man.

  And in the meantime, Jaeger, Ruth, Luke and ‘Bellows’, as he’d been nicknamed, were a family again. And Jaeger had commissioned a new dagger for Narov.

  He’d made a special request that the blade be razor sharp.

  Also by Bear Grylls

  Novels

  Ghost Flight

  Non-Fiction

  Facing Up

  Facing the Frozen Ocean

  Born Survivor

  Great Outdoor Adventures

  Living Wild

  To My Sons

  Mud, Sweat and Tears

  A Survival Guide for Life

  True Grit

  Your Life – Train For It

  Extreme Food

  Fuel for Life

  Mission Survival

  Gold of the Gods

  Way of the Wolf

  Sands of the Scorpion

  Tracks of the Tiger

  Claws of the Crocodile

  Rage of the Rhino

  Strike of the Shark

  Lair of the Leopard

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Special thanks to the following: literary agents at PFD Caroline Michel, Annabel Merullo and Laura Williams, for their hard work and effort to support the publication of this book; Jon Wood and Jemima Forrester, and all at Orion – Malcolm Edwards, Mark Rusher and Leanne Oliver – who make up ‘Team Grylls’. Thanks also to all at BGV, for making the movie side of the Will Jaeger thriller series such an exciting reality.

  Thanks also to the following: Hamish de Bretton-Gordon, Ollie Morton and Iain Thompson of Avon Protection, for their invaluable insight, advice and expertise on all things CBRN, and their input into the chemical, biological and nuclear aspects of this book, including the defence and protection measures. Chris Daniels and all at Hybrid Air Vehicles, for their unique insight and expertise on all things Airlander, and for pushing the envelope in term
s of what is possible with such an airship; to Paul and Anne Sherratt, for such potent insight into Cold War relations immediately following World War Two; to Bob Lowndes, of Autism Wessex, for advice on all things autism and regarding those on the spectrum; to Peter Message, for a youthful critique of the early stages of the manuscript for this book; and to Ash Alexander-Cooper OBE for your technical military advice.

  And a final special thank you to Damien Lewis, for helping to build upon what we discovered together in my grandfather’s war chest marked ‘Top Secret’. Bringing those World War Two documents, memorabilia and artefacts to life, in such a modern context, is pure brilliance.

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  This book is inspired by the true life exploits of my grandfather, Brigadier William Edward Harvey Grylls, OBE, 15/19th King’s Royal Hussars and Commanding Officer of Target Force, the covert unit established at Winston Churchill’s behest at the end of World War Two. The unit was one of the most clandestine bands of operators ever assembled by the War Office, and its mission was to track down and protect secret technologies, weaponry, scientists and high-ranking Nazi officials to serve the West’s cause against the world’s new superpower, the Soviet Union.

  No one in our family had any idea of his covert role as Commanding Officer T Force – ‘T’ standing for ‘Target’ – until many years after his death and the release of information under the Official Secrets Act seventy-year rule – a process of discovery that inspired the writing of this book.

  My grandfather was a man of few words, but I remember him so fondly from when I was a child growing up. Pipe-smoking, enigmatic, dry-humoured and loved by those he led.

  To me, though, he was always just Grandpa Ted.

  Copyright

  AN ORION EBOOK

  First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Orion Books.

  This ebook first published in 2016 by Orion Books.

  Copyright © Bear Grylls Ventures 2016