‘You wouldn’t. Russian. Soviet-era. But put it this way: if I pull the pin and let fly, this aircraft gets pumped full of toxic gas, and it’s going down like a stone.’
The pilot eyed Jaeger, tension knotting his shoulders. ‘You do that, we’re all dead.’
Jaeger wanted to push this guy, but not too far. ‘I’m not about to pull the pin.’ He dropped the canister back into his rucksack. ‘But trust me, you don’t want to mess with Kolokol-1.’
‘Okay, I got it.’
Three years back, Jaeger himself had had a nightmarish encounter with the gas. He’d been camping with his wife and son in the Welsh mountains. The bad guys – the same group as were holding Leticia Santos now – had come in the depths of the night and struck using Kolokol-1, leaving Jaeger unconscious and fighting for his life.
That was the last he had seen of his wife and eight-year-old son – Ruth and Luke.
Whatever mystery force had taken them had proceeded to torment Jaeger with the fact of their abduction. In fact, he didn’t doubt any more that he’d been left alive just so they could torture him.
Every man has his breaking point. After scouring the earth for his missing family, Jaeger had finally been forced to accept the horrific truth: they were gone, seemingly without trace, and he had been powerless to protect them.
He had pretty much cracked up, seeking solace in drink and oblivion. It had taken a very special friend – and the
re-emergence of evidence that his wife and son were still alive – to draw him back to life. To himself.
But he’d come back a very different person.
Darker. Wiser. More cynical. Less trusting.
Content with his own company: a loner, even.
Plus the new Will Jaeger had proved far more willing to break every rule in the book to hunt down those who had torn his life to pieces. Hence the present mission. And he wasn’t averse to learning a few dark arts from the enemy along the way.
Sun Tzu, the ancient Chinese master of war, had had a saying: ‘Know your enemy’. It was the simplest message of all, yet during Jaeger’s time in the military he’d come to treat it like a mantra. Know your enemy: it was the first rule of any mission.
And these days he figured the second rule of any mission was learn from your enemy.
In the Royal Marines and the SAS – the two units in which Jaeger had served – they’d stressed the need to think laterally. To keep an open mind. To do the unexpected. Learning from the enemy was the zenith of all that.
Jaeger figured the last thing the force on that Cuban island would be expecting was to be hit in the depths of night by the same gas they themselves had used.
The enemy had done that to him.
He had learned the lesson.
It was payback time.
Kolokol-1 was an agent that the Russians kept swathed in secrecy. No one knew its exact make-up, but in 2002 it had taken a sudden leap into the public consciousness when a bunch of terrorists had taken control of a Moscow theatre, holding hundreds hostage.
The Russians hadn’t messed around. Their special forces – the Spetsnaz – had pumped the theatre full of Kolokol-1. Then they’d hit the place like a whirlwind, breaking the siege and killing all the terrorists. Unfortunately, by that time many of the hostages had also been affected by the gas.
The Russians had never admitted to what exactly they had used, but Jaeger’s friends in Britain’s secret defence laboratories had got hold of some samples and confirmed that it was Kolokol-1. The gas was supposedly an incapacitating agent, but prolonged exposure to it had proved lethal for some in that Moscow theatre.
In short, it was well suited to Jaeger’s purposes.
Jaeger wanted some of Vladimir’s men to survive. Maybe all of them. If he wiped them out, he’d very likely end up with the entire Cuban police, army and air force on his tail. And right now he and his team were winging it; they needed to slip in and out without being noticed.
Even for those who survived, Kolokol-1 was a knockout agent. It would take them weeks to recover, by which time Jaeger and his people – plus Leticia Santos – would be long gone.
There was one other reason why Jaeger wanted Vladimir, at least, alive. Jaeger had questions to ask. Vladimir would be providing the answers.
‘So this is how we’re going to do it,’ he told the pilot. ‘We need to be over a six-figure grid at 0200 hours. That grid is a patch of ocean just to the west of the target island, two hundred metres off shore. You’re to fly in at treetop height, then blip up to three hundred feet to release us in an LLP.’
The pilot stared. ‘LLP? It’s your funeral.’
The LLP – low-level parachute drop – was an ultra-stealthy elite forces technique rarely used in combat, due to the risks involved.
‘Once we’re gone, you drop down as low as possible,’ Jaeger continued. ‘Give the island a wide a berth. Shield your aircraft – and the noise – from any watching—’
‘Hell, I’m a Night Stalker,’ the pilot cut in. ‘I know what I’m doin’. I don’t need telling.’
‘Glad to hear it. You pull away from the island and set a course for home. At which stage, we’re done. You’re free of us.’ Jaeger paused. ‘Are we clear?’
The pilot shrugged. ‘Kind of. Thing is, yours is one shitty kind of a plan.’
‘Try me.’
‘Simple. There are any number of ways I can double-cross you. I can drop you over the wrong coordinates – how about the middle of the goddam ocean? – and leave you to swim for it. Or I pull up high and buzz the island. Hey, Vladimir! Wake up! The cavalry’s comin’ – all three of ’em! Hell, your plan’s got more holes than a freakin’ sieve.’
Jaeger nodded. ‘I hear you. But the thing is, you won’t do any of those things. And here’s the reason why. You’re guilty as hell about my seven dead men. You need a shot at redemption, or it’ll torture you for the rest of your days.’
‘You figure I got a conscience,’ the pilot growled. ‘You figure wrong.’
‘You’ve got one all right,’ Jaeger countered. ‘But just in case, there’s a second reason. You shit on us, you’ll end up in a whole world of hurt.’
‘Says who? Like how?’
‘Thing is, you’ll have just completed an unsanctioned flight to Cuba at below radar level. You’ll be routing back to DFW, as you got nowhere else to go. We have good friends in Cuba. They’re awaiting a one-word signal from me: SUCCESS. If they don’t get that signal by 0500 hours, they’ll contact US Customs with a tip-off that your aircraft has been flying shuttle runs stuffed full of drugs.’
The pilot’s eyes blazed. ‘I never touch the stuff! It’s an evil business. Plus the guys at DFW – they know us. They’ll never buy it.’
‘I think they will. At the very least they’ll have to check. They can’t ignore a tip-off from the director of Cuban Customs. And when the DEA bring their sniffer dogs aboard, they’ll go crazy. You see, I’ve made sure to scatter some white powder around the rear of your aircraft. Lots of hiding places in a C-130’s hold for a few grams of cocaine.’
Jaeger could see the pilot’s jaw cramping with tension. He eyed the pistol in Jaeger’s hand. He was desperate to jump him, but he knew for sure he’d take a bullet.
Every man has his breaking point.
You could push a guy too far.
‘It’s carrot and stick, Jim. The carrot is your redemption. Leaves us just about even. The stick is life imprisonment in a US penitentiary for running drugs. You fly this mission, you’re home and dry. You’re clean. Your life goes back to normal, only you’ve got a little less on your conscience. So every which way you look at it, it makes sense to fly the mission.’
The pilot levelled his gaze at Jaeger. ‘I’ll get you to your drop zone.’