That allowed no time for messing up.
But likewise, it gave zero time for the enemy to spot you, or to prevent you from reaching the ground – or the water – alive.
6
The jump light flashed green for go.
In one continuous stream lasting bare milliseconds, Jaeger, Raff and Narov dived out of the C-130’s open ramp. Their stick-like figures were sucked into the howling void. Jaeger felt himself buffeted like a ragdoll in a giant wind tunnel. Below him, he could just make out the seething ocean rushing ever closer: impact had to be just seconds away.
Not a moment too soon he triggered his rocket-assisted chute, and suddenly he felt as if he was being blasted into the heavens on the tail of some roaring missile. Moments later the rocket motor died, and the chute’s canopy bloomed high in the darkness above him.
It inflated with a sharp snap, catching the air just seconds after the rocket pack reached the apex of its climb. Jaeger’s stomach did a series of sickening somersaults… and the next instant he found himself drifting gently downwards towards the heaving sea.
As his feet hit the water, Jaeger punched his quick-release mechanism, discarding his bulky parachute rig. The prevailing ocean current was south-easterly, so it would carry the chutes towards the open waters of the Atlantic, which meant they’d very likely never be seen again.
That was just as Jaeger wanted it: they needed to get in and out leaving no sign that they had ever been here.
Very quickly the Hercules disappeared, its ghostly form being swallowed up by the empty night. Roaring darkness was all around Jaeger now. All he could hear was the growl of the ocean surf; all he could feel was the warm punch and drag of the Caribbean Sea, its salty tang strong in his mouth and nostrils.
Each of their rucksacks was lined with a waterproof canoe bag. The tough black sacks transformed the heavy packs into makeshift flotation devices. Holding these before them, the three figures began to kick out for the ragged fringe of palm trees that marked the shoreline. They began surfing inwards on the powerful breakers. Barely minutes after hitting the water they made landfall, crawling on to the sand and dragging their sodden forms into the nearest patch of cover.
For five minutes they waited and listened in the shadows, scanning their surroundings with eagle eyes.
If someone had spotted the C-130 making the drop, it was now that they were most likely to put in an appearance. But Jaeger could detect nothing. No unusual noise. No surprise movement. Seemingly no life out there at all. Apart from the rhythmic pounding of the waves on the pristine white sand, all around was utter stillness.
Jaeger could feel the adrenalin of the coming attack kicking into his veins now. It was time to get moving.
He pulled out a compact Garmin GPS unit to check his position. It wasn’t unknown for aircrew to put troops down on the wrong grid, and tonight’s pilot would have had more excuse than most to do so.
Grid confirmed, Jaeger grabbed a tiny, luminous compass, took a bearing and signalled the way forward. Narov and Raff moved in behind him and they set off noiselessly into the forest. No words were necessary between such battle-hardened professionals.
Thirty minutes later, they’d traversed the largely deserted landmass. The island was cloaked in thick groves of palm trees, interspersed with swathes of shoulder-high elephant grass, which meant they’d been able to move like wraiths through its cover, unseen and undetected.
Jaeger signalled a halt. By his calculations they should be one hundred metres short of the villa complex in which Leticia Santos was being held.
He crouched low, and Raff and Narov closed in.
‘Suit up,’ he whispered.
The threat from an agent like Kolokol-1 was twofold: one, breathing it in; two, absorbing it via a living, porous membrane like the skin. They were using Raptor 2 protective suits, a special forces variant made of an ultra-lightweight material, but with an inner layer of activated carbon microspheres to soak up any droplets of agent that might be sloshing around in the atmosphere.
The Raptor suits would prove hot and claustrophobic, and Jaeger was glad they were going in during the dead of night, when the Cuban air was at its coolest.
They also had state-of-the-art Avon FM54 gas masks, to shield face, eyes and lungs. They were superlative pieces of kit, having a flame-hardened exterior, a single visor and an ultra-flexible, close-fitting design.
Even so, Jaeger loathed donning these respirators. He was a man who thrilled to the open and the wild. He detested being locked up, entrapped or unnaturally constrained.
He steeled himself and threw his head forward, dragging the respirator over his face, making sure that the rubber formed an airtight seal with his skin. He tightened the retaining straps, and felt the mask pull in close around his features.
They’d each selected a mask personally tailored to fit their own face size, but had had to bring a looser-fitting escape hood for Leticia Santos. The hoods were universal in size, yet still provided a decent period of protection in high concentrations of toxic gas.
Jaeger placed his hand over the respirator’s filter and breathed in hard, drawing the mask tighter on to his face, doing a ‘confidence check’ to make sure the seal was good. He dragged in a few gasps of air, hearing the alien suck and blow of his own breathing roaring in his ears.
Mask checked, he stepped into the cumbersome rubber overboots, and dragged the hood of his CBRN smock over his head, the elastic sealing around the front of the mask. Finally he pulled on the thin cotton under-gloves, plus the heavy rubber over-gloves, to doubly protect his hands.
His world was now reduced to the view provided by the eyepiece of the mask. The bulky filter was attached to the front left-hand side, so as to prevent it from blocking his vision, but already he could feel the claustrophobia starting to build.
It was all the more reason to get in there fast and get this done.
‘Mic check,’ he announced, speaking into the tiny microphone embedded within the rubber of the mask. There was no need to press any buttons to talk; they were all permanently on send. His voice sounded weirdly muted and nasal, but at least the short-range radio intercom would mean they were able to communicate during the coming action.
‘Check,’ Raff responded.
‘Check… Hunter,’ Narov added.
Jaeger allowed himself a smile. ‘The Hunter’ was the nickname he’d earned during their mission to the Amazon.
On Jaeger’s signal, they moved ahead into the darkness. Shortly, they spotted the lights of the target building glimmering through the trees. They crossed a patch of waste ground until they were directly opposite the rear of the villa. All that separated them from it was a narrow dirt track.
From the cover of the trees they studied the target. It was bathed in a halo of intense illumination from the security lighting. Right now, there was no point trying to use night vision equipment. The harsh light would overload any such kit, rendering their surroundings into a blinding whiteout.
In spite of the night-time chill, it was proving hot and sticky inside the suits and masks. Jaeger could feel drops of sweat trickling down his forehead. He thrust a gloved hand across the eyepiece of his respirator, in an effort to clear it.
Windows were lit up on the villa’s second floor, which was all that was visible above the high perimeter wall. Every now and then Jaeger spotted a silhouette passing back and forth. As expected, Vladimir’s men were keeping careful watch.