Беар Гриллс - The Hunt [=The Devil's Sanctuary]

She dialled Brooks’s number, and he reassured her that a medevac team had been scrambled. It should be no more than twenty minutes away. ‘And the vehicle?’ she queried. ‘The getaway car? Jones and his… sidekick?’

‘Found,’ Brooks confirmed.

Narov felt her pulse quicken. ‘And? How are you tracking it? What are you intending? Whose take-down is it – ours or the Chinese?’

‘I can’t say,’ Brooks demurred. ‘That’s beyond highly classified. But what I can tell you is this: I’m eyes on a video feed of that vehicle, even as we speak.’ Brooks paused. ‘I can patch you in, if you have a screen handy and a broadband connection running.’

As it happened, Narov had. With Falk’s help she’d managed to log onto the base’s wireless connection. She passed Brooks the details and a grainy image flashed up on a nearby screen. It showed a Great Wall Haval H6, a Chinese manufactured 4x4 that was hugely popular in the country, speeding along a frozen track that snaked through a grey-walled gorge.

‘Thermal imaging reveals four individuals aboard,’ Brooks remarked. ‘So along with Ruth Jaeger and Steve Jones, we have two other escapees. Don’t suppose you have any idea who they might be?’

‘None.’

As the powerful 4x4 took a series of sharp bends, it slewed alarmingly, spraying snow and dirt from its wheels.

‘Notice the less-than-impressive handling,’ Brooks added. ‘No fault of the vehicle. See how low it sits on its springs. We figure it’s armoured, and whoever’s at the wheel isn’t used to how the extra weight affects the cornering.’ Brooks paused. ‘But armour or no armour, it won’t help those aboard much with what’s coming.’

‘Which is?’

‘Put it this way: they could be riding in an Abrams main battle tank, and they’d still not stand a hope in hell of surviving.’

At last , Narov told herself.

‘As it happens, the… termination is due about any time now,’ Brooks added. ‘Keep your eyes on the prize…’

The seconds ticked by as Narov studied the screen closely. She could barely stand the wait. It was like watching some kind of computer game – not that Narov was in the habit of doing so much. With those who truly deserved it she preferred hunting – and killing – for real. Just like now.

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light, which whited-out whatever observation platform Brooks was using to track the vehicle. As the image adjusted, and pulled back into focus, Narov could see shattered chunks of smoking debris scattered across a wide swathe of the gorge.

She didn’t have a clue what asset – what weapon – Brooks had deployed in the strike, but whatever it was, the 4x4 had been totally obliterated. Shredded into blasted, fiery ruin. And whoever had been riding in it had been vaporised along with the vehicle.

Narov smiled. At last: Steve Jones and Ruth Jaeger – good riddance to the both of them.

Jaeger stumped down from the Range Rover. His right leg was still painful, but he hated using the walking stick. While it was healing, he wasn’t too proud to lean on Narov’s arm.

She’d offered to drive, for which Jaeger had been grateful. He wasn’t supposed to get behind the wheel, not with the powerful painkillers that he was taking.

What mattered most right now was that he was alive, he was out of hospital and he was about to see his boys again. Plus the world was safe – for now, at least. Until another madman like Kammler tried to wreak havoc and destruction.

Luke and Simon strode across from the far side of the playing field: muddy, soaked and steaming, but proud in their new school colours.

They’d lost the match, yet they’d played like demons, which was all that really mattered in a game of rugby. Or indeed in life, Jaeger told himself. As they approached, he marvelled how a few months at a school such as this could have turned his sons from boys into young men.

They had matured so much. They weren’t just bigger, taller and with voices noticeably gruffer; they walked with a new sense of purpose.

They stopped a few yards short of him. Eyes smiling, but a little unsure whether to go for a hug in front of all their rugby mates, and with this stranger of a woman standing by their father’s side.

Jaeger eyed the thick mud plastered over them. ‘Glad I cleaned the Pinkie for you guys – caked in all that crap!’

Pinkie: it was their in-joke. During World War II, the SAS had learnt that a light pink colour was the best camouflage for their vehicles while on desert operations. Not brown or khaki or yellow or ochre, but pink. SAS Land Rovers were still painted that hue for desert ops, hence the nickname for the Range Rover.

Despite the mud, they piled into the vehicle.

‘So, does every SAS soldier get a gorgeous blonde to ride shotgun?’ asked Simon, Jaeger’s adopted son, tilting his head in Narov’s direction.

Jaeger choked back a chuckle. ‘Sadly not. But just to be clear, she’s driving; I’m crook; and I’m former SAS. Plus you need to wind your neck in.’

‘Hey, I’m winding it.’

They laughed.

Narov got the vehicle under way and they pulled out of the school grounds, heading for the motorway.

‘So, guys, this is Irina,’ Jaeger announced, realising he’d failed to do the introductions. ‘She offered to help me get you home, so be real nice to her.’ He paused. ‘She can be very scary when she wants to be.’

The boys looked at each other.

‘Like we’re ever not nice.’

‘Yeah, as if.’

‘You know why we lost the match?’ Luke volunteered. He lived, ate and breathed rugby, and like his dad he was one bad loser. ‘We got greedy in the second half. We thought we’d won. We took stupid risks and paid the price.’

‘Just like your father tends to,’ Narov volunteered flatly.

Jaeger rolled his eyes.

Luke glanced at his dad, his face all serious for a second. ‘I miss Mum.’

‘I know. We all miss her.’ In a way, Jaeger did.

After Brooks had contacted the Chinese authorities, they had descended on Kammler’s lair in force. They’d flown the wounded out to the nearest hospital, which had been equipped with the most advanced medical facilities. That had been critical to Jaeger and Miles’s recoveries.

It was in hospital that Jaeger had learnt all that had been discovered about his errant wife. The remains of Ruth’s laptop had been retrieved from the scorched wreckage of Kammler’s lair. That, plus her emails, had revealed the full extent to which she had been seduced by Kammler’s crazed schemes.

In his own gentle way Miles had explained to Jaeger that Ruth’s warped allegiances had been more anchored in trauma than in any coherent beliefs or philosophy. She’d demonstrated all the classic symptoms of Stockholm syndrome.

Stockholm syndrome was something studied during the kidnap and ransom phase of SAS counter-terrorism training. Jaeger remembered it well. It was named after a Stockholm bank heist in which the hostages had ended up siding with the robbers. It referred to the propensity of a hostage to bond with his or her captor, especially if they shared similar values and views.

Jaeger had forced himself to contemplate this with regard to his wife. It would explain an awful lot of her behaviour over the past few months, though forgiving her would still take time. Serious amounts of time. As for the love, it was there, but warped forever by grief and anger.

Several bodies had been discovered in the getaway vehicle, one of which was that of a woman. The Chinese authorities had promised DNA samples to confirm that Ruth Jaeger and Steve Jones were amongst the dead, but they were taking their time.

It was hardly surprising. Brooks and the CIA had hardly rushed to alert them when Kammler was plotting world devastation from Chinese soil. Why would they hurry now to share their findings?