Bear Grylls: Burning Angels

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.

‘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.’