Well, Wirth had had that look… and it was utterly stomach-churning.
‘She’s not quite what we were expecting, Herr Generals,’ he stammered. ‘It’s best you come see for yourselves.’
Kammler was the first to his feet, a faint frown creasing his forehead. The SS General had appropriated the name of a third Nordic goddess for the frozen corpse. ‘She will be cherished by all who set eyes upon her,’ he had declared. ‘That is why I have told the Führer that we have named her Var – “the beloved”.’
Well, it would take a true saint to love that bloody, corrupted corpse. And of one thing Wirth was certain: there were few saints in that tent right now.
He led the men across the ice, feeling as if he were heading his own funeral cortège. They entered the cage and were lowered, the floodlights flaring to life as they sank beneath the surface. Wirth had ordered the lights kept extinguished, unless someone was working on or inspecting the corpse. He didn’t want the heat thrown off by the powerful illumination melting the ice and thawing out their lady-in-waiting. She would need to remain utterly deep-frozen for safe transport back to the Deutsche Ahnenerbe’s headquarters in Berlin.
He glanced across the cage at Rahn. His face lay in dark shadow. No matter where he might be, Rahn wore a wide-brimmed black felt fedora hat. A self-styled bone-hunter and archaeological adventurer, he had adopted it as his trademark.
Wirth felt a certain camaraderie with the flamboyant Rahn. They shared the same hopes, passions and beliefs. And, of course, the same fears.
The cage came to a lurching halt. It swung back and forth for an instant like a crazed pendulum, before the chain holding it brought it to some kind of standstill.
Four sets of eyes stared into the face of the corpse entombed within the block of ice; ice that was streaked with hideous swirls of dark red. Wirth could sense the impact the apparition was having upon his SS colleagues. There was a stunned, disbelieving silence.
It was General Kammler who finally broke the quiet. He turned his gaze on Wirth. His face was inscrutable as ever, a cold reptilian look flaring behind his eyes.
‘The Führer expects,’ he announced quietly. ‘We do not disappoint the Führer.’ A pause. ‘Make her a figure worthy of her name: of Var.’
Wirth shook his head disbelievingly. ‘We go ahead as planned? But Herr General, the risks…’
‘What risks, Herr Lieutenant?’
‘We have no idea what killed her…’ Wirth gestured at the corpse. ‘What caused all—’
‘There is no risk,’ Kammler cut in. ‘She came to grief on the ice cap five millennia ago. That’s five thousand years. You will clean her up. Make her beautiful. Make her Nordic, Aryan… perfect. Make her fit for the Führer.’
‘But how, Herr General?’ Wirth queried. ‘You have seen—’
‘Unfreeze her, for God’s sake,’ Kammler cut in. He gestured at the block of ice. ‘You Deutsche Ahnenerbe people have been experimenting on live humans – freezing and unfreezing them – for years, have you not?’
‘We have, Herr General,’ Wirth conceded. ‘Not myself personally, but there have been human freezing experiments, plus the salt-water—’
‘Spare me the details.’ Kammler jabbed a gloved finger at the bloodied corpse. ‘Breathe life into her. Whatever it takes, wipe that death’s-head smile off her face. Banish that… look from her eyes. Make her suit the Führer’s prettiest dreams.’
Wirth forced out a reply. ‘Yes, Herr General.’
Kammler glanced from Wirth to Rahn. ‘If you do not – if you fail in this task – on your heads be it.’
He yelled an order for the cage to be lifted skywards. They rose together in silence. When they reached the surface, Kammler turned to face the Deutsche Ahnenerbe men.
‘I have little stomach for breakfast any more.’ He clicked his heels together and gave the Nazi salute. ‘Heil Hitler!’
‘Heil Hitler,’ his SS colleagues echoed.
And with that, General Hans Kammler stalked across the ice, heading for his aircraft – and Germany.
3
Present day
The pilot of the C-130 Hercules cargo aircraft turned to eye Will Jaeger. ‘Kinda overkill, buddy, hiring a whole C-130 for just you guys, eh?’ He had a strong southern drawl, most likely Texas. ‘There’s just three of you, right?’
Through the doorway into the hold Jaeger eyed his two fellow warriors, seated on the fold-down canvas seats. ‘Yeah. Just the three.’
‘Bit over the top, wouldn’t you say?’
Jaeger had boarded the aircraft as if ready to do a high-altitude parachute jump – decked out in full-face helmet, oxygen mask and bulky jumpsuit. The pilot had not the slightest hope of recognising him.
Not yet, anyway.
Jaeger shrugged. ‘Yeah, well we were expecting more. You know how it is: some couldn’t make it.’ A pause. ‘They got trapped in the Amazon.’
He let the last words hang in the air for a good few seconds.
‘The Amazon?’ the pilot queried. ‘The jungle, right? What was it? Jump that went wrong?’
‘Worse than that.’ Jaeger loosened the straps that held his jump helmet tight, as if he needed to get some air. ‘They didn’t make it… because they died.’
The pilot did a double take. ‘They died? Died like how? Some kinda skydiving accident?’
Jaeger spoke slowly now, emphasising every word. ‘No. Not an accident. Not from where I was standing. More like very planned, very deliberate murder.’
‘Murder? Shoot.’ The pilot reached forward and eased off on the aircraft’s throttles. ‘We’re nearing our cruise altitude… One-twenty minutes to the jump.’ A pause. ‘Murder? So who was murdered? And – heck – why?’
In answer, Jaeger removed his helmet completely. He still had his silk balaclava tight around his face, for warmth. He always wore one when leaping from thirty thousand feet. It could be colder than Everest at that kind of altitude.
The pilot still wouldn’t be able to recognise him, but he would be able to see the look in Jaeger’s eyes. And right now, it was one that could kill.
‘I figure it was murder,’ Jaeger repeated. ‘Cold-blooded murder. Funny thing is – it all happened after a jump from a C-130.’ He glanced around the cockpit. ‘In fact, an aircraft pretty similar to this one…’
The pilot shook his head, nervousness creeping in. ‘Buddy, you lost me… But hey, your voice sounds kinda familiar. That’s the thing with you Brits – you all sound the goddam same, if you don’t mind me sayin’.’
‘I don’t mind you saying.’ Jaeger smiled. His eyes didn’t. The look in them could have frozen blood. ‘So, I figure you must’ve served with the SOAR. That’s before you went private.’
‘The SOAR?’ The pilot sounded surprised. ‘Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did. But how… Do I know you from somewhere?’
Jaeger’s eyes hardened. ‘Once a Night Stalker, always a Night Stalker – isn’t that what they say?’
‘Yeah, that’s what they say.’ The pilot sounded spooked now. ‘But like I said, buddy, do I know you from somewhere?’
‘Matter of fact, you do. Though I figure you’re gonna wish you’d never met me. ’Cause right now, buddy, I’m your worst nightmare. Once upon a time, you flew me and my team into the Amazon, and unfortunately no one got to live happily ever after…’
Three months earlier, Jaeger had led a ten-person team on an expedition into the Amazon, searching for a lost Second World War aircraft. They’d hired the same private air charter firm as now. En route the pilot had mentioned how he had served with the American military’s Special Operations Aviation Regiment, also known as the Night Stalkers.