Bear Grylls - Burning Angels

He stabbed a finger at the image. ‘If Kammler has a germ warfare lab, we believe it’s hidden deep beneath Burning Angels mountain.’

Peter Miles ended his briefing by calling for a brainstorming session, utilising the vast military expertise in the room.

‘Stupid question,’ Lewis Alonzo began, ‘but what’s the worst that can happen?’

Miles eyed him quizzically. ‘The Armageddon scenario? If we’re faced with a madman?’

Alonzo flashed his signature smile. ‘Yeah, a real nutter. A fruitcake. Not pulling any punches – tell us.’

‘We fear we are facing a germ agent that just about no one would survive,’ Miles replied darkly. ‘But only if Kammler and his people have worked out how to weaponise it. That’s the nightmare scenario: a worldwide release of the virus, with enough simultaneous outbreaks so no government has the time to develop a cure. It would be a pandemic of unprecedented lethality. A world-changing – a world- ending – event.’

He paused, letting the chilling import of those words sink in. ‘But what Kammler and his cronies may be intending to do with it – that’s another guess entirely. An agent like that would be priceless, obviously. Would they sell it to the highest bidder? Or somehow blackmail world leaders? We just don’t know.’

‘Couple of years back, we war-gamed some key scenarios,’ Alonzo remarked. ‘Had the top guys in from US intelligence. They listed the three foremost threats to world security. The absolute numero uno was a terror group acquiring a fully functioning weapon of mass destruction. There are three ways they could do that. One, buy a nuclear device off a rogue state – most likely a former Soviet bloc country gone to rack and ruin. Two, intercept a chemical weapon being moved from one state to another; so maybe sarin gas from Syria, en route to disposal. Three, acquire the necessary technology to build their own nuclear or chemical device.’

He eyed Peter Miles. ‘Those guys sure knew their stuff, and no one ever mentioned some crazed son-of-a-bitch offering a ready-made germ weapon to the highest bidder.’

Miles nodded. ‘And for good reason. The real challenge is to deliver it. Presuming they’ve perfected an airborne version, it’s easy enough to board an aircraft and wave around a handkerchief liberally sprinkled with the dry virus. And remember, one hundred million crystallised viruses – that’s the populations of England and Spain put together – would cover the full stop at the end of your average sentence.

‘Once our man’s shaken out his handkerchief, he can rely on the aircraft’s air-conditioning system to do the rest. By the end of the flight – let’s say it’s an Airbus A380 – you’ve got some five hundred people infected, and the beauty is that not a soul amongst them will know it. Hours later, they disembark at London Heathrow. Big airport, crammed with people. They board buses, trains or tubes, spreading the virus via their breath. Some are in transit to New York, Rio, Moscow, Tokyo, Sydney or Berlin. In forty-eight hours, the virus has spread across all cities, nations and continents… And that, Mr Alonzo, is your Armageddon scenario.’

‘How long’s the incubation period? How long before people realise something’s wrong?’

‘We don’t know. But if it’s similar to Ebola, then it’s twenty-one days.’

Alonzo whistled. ‘That’s real badass shit. You couldn’t design a more fearsome agent.’

‘Exactly.’ Peter Miles smiled. ‘But there’s one catch. Remember the man who boarded the Airbus A380 with a handkerchief spiked with one hundred million viruses? He’s got to be some kind of a guy. In infecting the people on that aircraft, he’s also infecting himself.’ He paused. ‘But of course, in certain terror groups there is an abundance of young men ready to die for the cause.’

‘Islamic State; al-Qaeda; AQIM; Boko Haram.’ Jaeger listed the usual suspects. ‘There’s any number of similarly minded crazies out there.’

Miles nodded. ‘Which is why we fear Kammler may sell the agent to the highest bidder. Some of those groups have a practically unlimited war chest, and they certainly do have the means – the suicidal human means – to deliver the agent.’

A new voice cut in. ‘There is one problem with all that. One flaw.’ It was Narov. ‘No one sells such an agent to anyone without possessing the antidote. Otherwise they’ll be signing their own death warrant. And if you have the antidote, the man waving the handkerchief would be immune. He would survive.’

‘Maybe,’ Miles conceded. ‘But would you like to be that person? Would you want to rely on that vaccine – one that in all probability has only ever been tested on mice, rats, monkeys? And where is Kammler going to get live humans on whom to try out his vaccines?’

At the mention of human testing, Miles’s gaze flicked across to Jaeger, as if drawn to him irresistibly. Almost guiltily. What was it about human testing that kept forcing the man’s attention his way? Jaeger wondered.

His habit of doing so was starting to get Jaeger seriously spooked.

Jaeger figured he’d tackle Miles on the human testing issue later. ‘Right, let’s cut to the chase,’ he announced. ‘Whatever Kammler’s planning to do with his Gottvirus , this Katavi ranch is the most likely location to nail it down, right?’

‘That’s our understanding,’ Miles confirmed.

‘So what’s the plan?’

Miles glanced at Uncle Joe. ‘Let’s just say we’re open to all suggestions.’

‘Why not simply go to the authorities?’ volunteered Alonzo. ‘Send in SEAL Team Six to bust Kammler’s ass?’

Miles spread his hands. ‘We have tantalising clues, but we don’t have anything like proof. Plus there is no one we can absolutely trust. Power has been infiltrated at the highest echelons. Certainly the present director of the CIA, Dan Brooks, has reached out to us, and he is a good man. But he has concerns, even up to the level of his own President. In short, we can only rely on ourselves; on our network.’

‘Just who is that network?’ Jaeger queried. ‘Who exactly is this we you keep referring to?’

‘The Secret Hunters,’ Miles replied. ‘As formed after the Second World War and kept alive until today.’ He gestured in Uncle Joe’s direction. ‘Sadly, the only one of the originals left is Joe Jaeger. We are blessed that he is still with us. Others have taken up the reins. Irina Narov is one.’ He smiled. ‘And we are hoping for six new recruits in this room today.’

‘What about funding? Backup? Top cover?’ Jaeger pressed.

Peter Miles grimaced. ‘Good questions… You’ll all have heard about this Nazi gold train that’s recently been discovered by a bunch of treasure hunters, hidden beneath a Polish mountain. Well, there were a lot more such trains, most from the looting of the Berlin Reichsbank.’

‘Hitler’s treasury?’ Jaeger prompted.

‘The treasury for his Thousand-Year Reich. At war’s end, its wealth was staggering. As Berlin descended into chaos, the gold was loaded on to trains and dispersed into hiding. One such train came to the attention of the Secret Hunters. Much of its cargo was ill-gotten loot, but once melted down, gold is untraceable. We figured it was best if we kept hold of it, as working capital.’ He shrugged. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers.

‘As for top cover, we have some. Originally the Secret Hunters were formed under the Ministry for Economic Warfare. Churchill established the ministry to run his most secret wartime operations. At the end of the war it was supposedly shut down. In fact, there’s a small executive branch still in existence, operating out of an unremarkable Georgian town house in London’s Eaton Square. They are our benefactors. They oversee and support our activities.’