by Bear Grylls
As Jaeger steered for the heart of the explosion, he just had time to release a second grenade. His demolitions instructor had once told him that PE – plastic explosives – actually stood for ‘plenty everywhere’ if they were ever in any doubt how much was needed for a job.
The second grenade detonated; this time the plume of spray blasted almost as high as Jaeger’s feet. Already he could see stunned fish floating to the surface, belly to the sky. He prayed like hell that this was going to work.
His boots hit, and the instant they did so, Jaeger tugged at the release straps that allowed him to ditch his parachute harness, freeing Puruwehua at the same time. To his left he saw Irina Narov hit the water; to his right, Leticia Santos. Alonzo followed a moment later to his front, with Kamishi to his rear – each of them with an Amahuaca warrior likewise strapped in the tandem.
Five down – ten with the Indians included.
It was time to make for shore.
After studying the waters intently from their vantage point high above, Puruwehua had advised Jaeger exactly where to make splashdown. He’d chosen a point adjacent to an evi-gwa – a place where a tongue of land jutted into the river, ending in a sharp drop to deep water.
A few powerful strokes with arms and legs, and Jaeger made dry land. He hauled himself out and turned to check behind him. More and more stunned fish were bobbing to the surface, and his team – Indians included – were striking out for land.
Above him, the unmistakable form of Joe James spiralled in to make the last but one splashdown. James had Gwaihutiga strapped to his person, plus the folded kayak hanging on a line below him. The kayak hit first, James and the Indian followed, and they too unclipped themselves and struck out for land, James towing the kayak in his wake.
Last down would be Dale.
He’d remained on the high point filming the jumps, until the final man was gone. Then he’d powered down his camera, stuffed it into a canoe bag so as to keep it safe and dry, and shoved that deep into his backpack.
Jaeger watched him jump and pull his chute, floating towards the surface of the pool.
Suddenly, there was a yell of alarm: ‘Purug! The fish! They are jumping!’
It was Puruwehua. Jaeger looked where he was pointing. Sure enough, a gleaming black form broke the surface and leaped high. In amongst the flash of glistening water Jaeger caught sight of its gaping mouth, lined with two rows of fearsome serrated teeth, below eyes that were staring wide and black as death.
It was like a miniature, and intensely evil-looking, bullet-headed shark, all powerful body and cruelly armed jaws. An instant later, the patch of water where Jaeger and his team had landed began to seethe and boil.
‘Piraihunuhua!’ the Indians yelled.
Jaeger didn’t need the warning. He could see the black piranhas tearing into the dead and dying fish thrown up by his grenade blast. There were hundreds of them, and Dale was headed right for their very midst.
For a split second Jaeger was about to hurl a third grenade, but Dale was too low and he would be caught in the explosion.
‘Piranha!’ Jaeger yelled at him. ‘PIRANHA!’ He jabbed his hands at the water at his feet. ‘Land here! Here! We’ll drag you in!’
For a horrible moment he feared that Dale had failed to hear him, and that he was about to plunge into the centre of the feeding frenzy, where his body would be stripped of its flesh in seconds.
At the last moment Dale made a tight left turn – too tight – and came whooshing in towards where Jaeger and his team were standing. He approached too fast and at the wrong angle, his chute striking the treetops where they reached out over the water.
The topmost branches splintered under the impact, and Dale became stuck fast, dangling over the water, swinging to and fro.
61
‘Let’s get him down!’ Jaeger cried.
His words were drowned out by an explosive crack from above, as the main branch holding Dale snapped in two. He plummeted downwards, his chute ripping as he fell, and moments later he hit the water.
‘Drag him in!’ Jaeger yelled. ‘GET HIM IN!’
All around Dale he could see powerful black shadows darting to and fro just below the surface. All it would take was one bite and the taste of blood, and the piranha would realise that Dale was prey. It would send a signal pulsing through the water to the entire shoal: come and eat, come and eat.
Alonzo and Kamishi were nearest. They dived in.
Even as they hit the water, Dale let out a fearful scream. ‘Shit! Shit! Shit! Get me out! Get me out!’
A stroke or two across the pool, and the two men grabbed Dale by his harness and hauled him towards the bank. His eyes wide with terror – and pain – they dragged the screaming cameraman out of the water.
Jaeger bent to inspect him. Dale had been bitten in several places. He’d gone as white as a sheet, mostly with the shock. Jaeger could hardly blame him: a few seconds more and he would have been terminally chewed. He asked Leticia Santos to do her stuff with the medical kit as Alonzo and Kamishi issued their own damage reports.
‘Man! Freakin’ fish bit me on the ass!’ Alonzo complained. ‘I mean, what kind of fish does that?’
Joe James stroked his massive beard. ‘Piranha, dude. Don’t ever get back in the water. They got a taste for you now. They’ll smell you coming.’
Kamishi glanced up from where he was inspecting a wound to his thigh. ‘I would like to know if this fish tastes as good as it clearly thinks I tasted.’ He eyed Jaeger. ‘I would like to catch one and eat it, preferably with some wasabi sauce.’
Jaeger couldn’t help but smile. In spite of everything, morale still seemed high among his team. Despite being hunted by Predator and piranhas, they were on message and sparking.
He turned to the next task in hand. ‘Narov, James – let’s ready the boat.’
Together the three of them unfolded the Advanced Elements kayak, inflated it and got it into the water. They loaded it with a few rocks for ballast, and added some of the bundled-up parachutes for bulk. Finally, Narov threw in her backpack plus weapon and climbed aboard.
She was about to paddle off, heading for the point where the Rio de los Dios snaked off into the wall of thick jungle, when she turned to Jaeger. She eyed the scarf he had knotted around his neck; Santos’s carnivale scarf.
‘I need something to wrap it in,’ she remarked. ‘The tracker device – to shield it from any impacts. It is delicate; it needs cushioning.’ She held out a hand for the scarf. ‘That – it is a useless piece of decoration, but it is perfect for my needs.’
Jaeger shook his head. ‘No can do, I’m afraid. Leticia told me it’s a lucky charm. “Lose my scarf, darling, and it brings bad luck on you all.” She was speaking Portuguese, so you probably missed it.’
Narov scowled. The scowl became a sulk.
Jaeger was heartened. He was needling her. Getting right beneath her skin – which was about the only way he figured he would ever start to unpick the enigma that was Irina Narov.
There was so much about her that didn’t add up: her bizarre attachment to her knife; her fluent German; her seemingly encyclopedic knowledge of all things Nazi; her burning hatred of Hitler’s legacy; not to mention her seeming lack of emotional literacy or empathy with others. One way or another Jaeger was determined to discover what made Irina Narov tick.
Without another word, she turned moodily and dipped her paddle into the piranha-infested waters.
Once Narov was a good distance away – the current starting to pull and tug fiercely at her kayak – she headed into shore. She climbed out of the craft, took the Night Stalkers coin from her pocket, switched the tracking device to the ‘on’ position, and taped the two halves together with black gaffer tape.
Then she popped the coin into a waterproof Ziploc bag, dropped it into one of the kayak’s secure stowage compartments, and went to shove the craft out into midstream.
For an instant, she hesitated.
An idea – a spur-of-the-moment f
lash of inspiration – blazed through her eyes. She rifled in her pack and retrieved one of the small pay-as-you-go cell phones she kept in her grab bag. She carried a few for emergency communications if she were ever forced to go on the run.
She switched the phone on and threw it into the Ziploc bag alongside the tracking device. She doubted if there was a cell phone tower anywhere within a thousand kilometres of where they were now. But perhaps it didn’t matter. Maybe the simple act of calling for a signal would be enough to get it detected, traced and tracked.
That done, she shoved the kayak away from the shore.
The current caught it, and within moments the boat was whisked away. With its triple-skin hull, six inflatable chambers, plus flotation bags, it should remain afloat no matter what it ran into downstream. It could capsize, get holed on rocks and still keep going, which meant the tracker unit would keep on bleeping out its signal.
Narov shouldered her pack, grabbed her weapon and began to make her way back to the main body of the team, being careful to keep well away from the water and sticking to the cover of the jungle.
Ten minutes later she was back with Jaeger.
‘It is done,’ she announced. ‘From here the Rio de los Dios veers northwards. Our route – it lies almost due south. By sending the tracking device that way, it will help spread confusion amongst our enemies.’
Jaeger stared at her. ‘Whoever they may be.’
‘Yes,’ Narov echoed, ‘whoever they may be.’ She paused. ‘I added a final touch of my own. A cell phone – I sent it onwards with the canoe. I understand that even without being able to acquire a signal, it can be tracked.’
Jaeger cracked a smile. ‘Nice one. Let’s hope so.’
‘Grey Wolf, this is Grey Wolf Six,’ a voice intoned. ‘Grey Wolf, Grey Wolf Six.’
The speaker was hunched over the same radio set as before, in the same camouflaged tent positioned at the edge of the same rough and ready airstrip. To all sides lay the jagged fringe of jungle, the rank of unmarked black helicopters lining the dirt runway, mountains rising dark and lowering on all sides.
‘Grey Wolf Six, this is Grey Wolf,’ a voice confirmed.
‘Sir, we lost them for a good hour there. The tracker went off air.’ The radio operator eyed a laptop. It showed a computer-generated map of the Serra de los Dios, with various icons dotted across the screen. ‘They’ve popped up again at the base of the Devil’s Falls, heading downriver into the jungle.’
‘Which means?’
‘They managed to descend the falls. They’re moving on the water, so presumably by canoe, but they’re heading northwards. The warplane – it lies more or less due south of their position.’
‘Which means?’
The figure shrugged. ‘Sir, they’re headed the wrong way. I’ve no idea why. I’ve got a Predator vectored into their position, and just as soon as we have visual with their craft we’ll send the video feed. If it is them, that’s where we’ll finish them.’
‘What d’you mean – if it is them? Who else could it possibly be?’
‘Sir, there’s no one else moving on that stretch of water. Once we have the video feed, we’ll make doubly certain and execute the kill.’
‘About time. Now, patch me into the images of the last strike. The hit on the bridge.’
‘Sir.’ Hands punched the laptop’s keyboard, and a new image appeared on the screen.
Footage played of a grainy video feed – showing what the Predator had filmed of the recent Hellfire strikes. The first missile hit the vine-rope bridge. The image was lost, pixelating badly, before it stabilised once more, and for an instant the face of the lone figure remaining on the bridge was clear.
‘Rewind,’ the voice demanded. ‘That figure: freeze-frame it. Let’s see who we’re up against here.’
‘Sir.’ The operator did as requested, freezing the image and zooming in on the features.
‘Grab several video frames from around that exact point.’ The voice had hardened, growing in intensity. ‘Send them to me via secure means. In the next minute, please.’
‘Sir,’ the operator confirmed.
‘And Grey Wolf Six, I’d like your next communication to be “mission complete”. You understand? I don’t like to be kept waiting or repeatedly disappointed.’
‘Understood, sir. Next time, the Predator won’t miss.’
‘And remember – that aircraft: that warplane – it never flew. It never even existed. You are to obliterate every trace of it – after, of course, we’ve retrieved what we’re looking for.’
‘Understood, sir.’
The operator killed the call.
The figure on the other end – code name Grey Wolf – leaned back in his chair, his mind lost in thought. He eyed the framed photo on his desk. He and the middle-aged man in the grey pinstriped suit – eyes arrogant, confident, exuding absolute power – bore more than a striking resemblance.
It wasn’t hard to imagine them as father and son.
‘They are proving remarkably difficult to kill,’ the figure muttered, almost as if he were speaking to the man in the photo.
A message dropped into his computer’s inbox. It was the secure email from Grey Wolf Six. He leaned forward and tapped at his keyboard. He clicked on the attachment, and the frozen video frame of the figure on the bridge appeared on the screen.
He stared at it for a long moment, studying the grainy image intently. His face darkened.
‘It is him,’ he muttered. ‘It has to be.’
His fingers punched the keyboard, pulling up a private email account. He began typing with a fierce intensity.
Ferdy,
Something troubles me. Will email you images. Face of one of the targets in the vicinity of Adlerflug IV. It looks unpleasantly familiar. I fear it is William Jaeger.
You said he was hit by your people working out of London. You said you left him alive ‘to torture him over the loss of his family’. I am all for vengeance, Herr Kamerade. Indeed, with those like Jaeger, revenge is long overdue.
However, he now seems to be in the Amazon searching for our warplane. Let’s hope he’s not taken up the mantle from his grandfather.
Jaeger Senior, as you know, caused us no end of trouble.
Experience has taught me not to believe in coincidences. I will send the pictures.
Wir sind die Zukunft.
HK
He punched send.
His gaze returned to the image on his screen. His eyes were focused inwards; brooding pools of inky darkness that sucked all energy – all life – into them.
62
The forest dripped and glistened.
All around there was the noise of trickling, dribbling, oozing water. With the clouds low and glowering above the canopy, and the rain falling thick and fast, even less light made it through to ground level.
The first belt of storms sweeping down from the mountains had put a real chill in the air; after several hours of torrential rain it was dark, damp and sodden underfoot, not to mention surprisingly cold.
Jaeger was soaked to the skin, but in truth he welcomed the conditions. As water oozed from the rim of his jungle hat, he said a few quiet words of thanks. Puruwehua had warned him that this was kyrapo’a – heavy rain that wouldn’t clear for days on end – as opposed to the many other types of rain they had here.
There was kyrahi’vi, a light rain that would pass quickly; ypyi, driving, wind-blown rain; kyma’e, rain that lasted no more than a day, after which it quickly became hot; kypokaguhu, drizzly, intermittent rain that was little more than mist; japa, rain and sun together, forming a permanent rainbow; and so many more.
Anyone who passed British special forces selection became a rain connoisseur. The southern Welsh mountains – the Brecon Beacons – were a bleak, glowering, windswept mass, where it seemed to rain 364 days of the year. In fact, from Jaeger’s experience those forbidding hills seemed to have as many types of rain as the Amazon jungle. It had made him glad that hum
an skin was waterproof.
But this, Puruwehua had concluded, this was definitely kyrapo’a: rain without a break for days and days on end. And Jaeger was glad of it.
It wouldn’t do much for Dale, Alonzo and Kamishi’s piranha bites. Wet, dirty clothing rubbing against wet, dirty bandages didn’t tend to help wounds heal. But right now that was the least of Jaeger’s worries.
Prior to departing the piranha-infested pool at the base of the Devil’s Falls, Jaeger had risked taking receipt of a data-burst message from the Airlander. Raff had kept it short and sweet, and entirely to the point.
Confirm your grid: 964864. Moving into overwatch. Predator detected 10 klicks north of your location. Watch Kral; Narov. Listening watch. Out.
Decoded a little, the message meant that the Airlander was moving into orbit over their location. Sure enough, they had at least one Predator drone in the skies above them – although the fact that it was ten kilometres north suggested it was very likely tracking their decoy, the unoccupied kayak moving downriver.
‘Listening watch’ meant that Raff would maintain a 24/7 watch for any data-burst message from Jaeger. Plus he had alerted Jaeger to who was suspect amongst his team: Kral and Narov.
Before leaving the UK, Jaeger had had precious little opportunity to check out the team’s backgrounds. After Andy Smith’s death he’d figured he had every right to do so, but time had run out on him. He’d left it up to Raff to do some digging, and clearly those two – Kral and Narov – had come up suspect.
Over time, Jaeger had found himself warming to Dale, but there was also a part of him that had sympathised with the Slovakian cameraman, who was undeniably Wild Dog Media’s little guy. Yet clearly there was something in Kral’s background that had thrown up a red flag.
And in the back of Jaeger’s mind there was the niggling worry that Kral had failed to disable the GPS units on Dale’s cameras. Had he done so deliberately? Jaeger had no way of knowing, and Kral wasn’t exactly around to ask.
As to Narov, she was proving to be as much of a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma as that air wreck ever was. Jaeger figured she’d have stumped even Winston Churchill himself. He felt as if he knew her less now that when they’d first met. One way or another he was determined to crack her seemingly granite exterior, and get to the kernel of whatever truth lay within.
