During the long motorway slog his mind had drifted. Andy Smith. Friends like that didn’t come easy. Jaeger could count those he had – Raff included – on the fingers of the one hand. And now there was one fewer, and Jaeger was damned if he wasn’t going to find out exactly how and why Smithy had died.
Those Brazilian anti-narcotics training missions had been some of the last on which they had served together. Jaeger had left the military shortly thereafter, to found Enduro Adventures. Smithy had stayed in. He’d argued that he had a wife and three young kids to provide for, and he couldn’t risk losing his regular military pay.
It was on their third Brazilian training mission that events had taken an unexpected turn. In theory, Jaeger and his men were there purely to train the Brazilian special forces – the Brigada de Operacoes Especiais; the Brazilian Special Operations Brigade (B-SOB). But over time, bonds had been forged, and they’d come to revile the drugs traffickers – the narco gangs – almost as much as the B-SOB boys did.
When one of Captain Evandro’s B-SOB teams had gone missing, Jaeger and his men had taken matters into their own hands. It had become the longest foot patrol in Brazilian special-forces history. Jaeger had led it, with an equal number of B-SOB operators accompanying. They’d located the narco gang’s deep jungle hideout, studied it for several days, then launched a blistering assault.
In the ensuing bloodbath, the bad guys had been wiped out. Eight of Captain Evandro’s twelve men had been rescued alive – which in the circumstances was a result. But in the process, Jaeger himself had come close to losing his life, and it was Andy Smith’s bravery and selfless actions that had saved him.
And like Captain Evandro, Jaeger was not one to forget.
He eased the Explorer down the exit road signposted to Fonthill Bishop. He hit the outskirts of the picture-postcard village of Tisbury and flicked his eyes right, towards a house set a little back from the road. Its windows were lit up a faint yellow – mournful eyes blinking on to a fearful outside world.
The Millside: Jaeger had recognised the address the moment Raff had handed it to him.
Thatched, mossy, cottagey, creepers climbing hither and thither, with its own stream and a decent half-acre of land – Smithy had always had his eye on the place, ever since he’d moved into the area to be closer to his former commander and best friend, Will Jaeger. Evidently he’d finally got the house of his dreams – only Jaeger would have been a good two years into his disappearing act by then.
He pushed onwards out of the village, taking the winding, switchback lane leading towards Tuckingmill and East Hatch. He eased the bike beneath the railway bridge that carried the main line to London – the one he often used to take, when the weather was too cold and wet to countenance the long motorbike ride.
Momentarily his headlight caught the sign for New Wardour Castle. He turned right, pulled up a short length of lane and in through the modest stone gateposts.
His tyres hit the grand sweep of the gravel drive, the ranks of chestnut trees to either side like ghostly sentinels. An imposing country house, Wardour had been purchased as a near wreck by a school friend. Nick Tattershall had made a fortune in the City, using the money to restore New Wardour Castle to its former glory.
He’d split it into several apartments, keeping the largest for himself. But just as the work was nearing completion, Britain had hit one of her cyclical recessions and the property market had tanked. Tattershall had risked losing everything.
Jaeger had stepped in and purchased the first – still to be completed – apartment, his vote of confidence luring other buyers in. He’d got it at a knock-down price, so acquiring a piece of real estate the likes of which he could never normally have afforded.
In time, it had proven the perfect family home.
Set in the heart of a beautiful, sweeping expanse of parkland, it was utterly private and peaceful – yet only a couple of hours’ ride or train journey from London. Jaeger had managed to split work between here, the Thames barge and the Global Endeavour, never spending long away from the family.
He parked the bike in front of the imposing limestone facade. He slipped his key into the communal lock, stepped across the cool, marbled entranceway and made for the staircase. But even as he took the first of the stone steps, his legs felt weighed down with bittersweet memories.
So many good times had been had here.
So much happiness.
How could it all have gone so wrong?
He paused at the door to his apartment. He knew what awaited. He steeled himself, turned the key in the lock and stepped inside.
He flicked on the lights. Most of the furniture had been covered with dust sheets, but once a week his faithful cleaner, Mrs Sampson, came to dust and to hoover, and the place was scrupulously clean.
Jaeger paused for an instant. Right before him on the wall was a massive painting – a striking orange-fronted bird: the rufous-bellied thrush, one of the national symbols of Brazil. Painted by a well-known Brazilian artist, it had been a gift from Captain Evandro – his way of saying a very special thank you.
Jaeger loved the painting. It was why he’d placed it on the wall opposite the entrance, so it was the first thing you saw as you walked in.
When he’d left for Bioko, he’d asked Mrs Sampson not to sheet it over. He didn’t quite know why. Maybe he’d expected to be back sooner, and he’d wanted to know that the bird would be there, as always, waiting to greet him.
He turned left and stepped into the wide expanse of the living room. No point in throwing open the massive wooden shutters; it had long been dark outside. He flicked on the lights, and his eyes came to rest upon the indistinct form of the writing desk pushed against one wall.
He stepped towards it and very gently pulled the dust sheet aside.
He reached out with one hand, his fingers touching the face of the beautiful woman in the photo frame. His fingertips lingered, momentarily frozen to the glass. He sank to his haunches, until his eyes were level with the desk.
‘I’m back, Ruth,’ he whispered. ‘Three long years, but I’m back.’
He let his fingers drift down the glass, coming to rest upon the features of a young boy, standing somehow protectively at his mother’s side. Both were dressed in ‘Save the Rhino’ T-shirts; they’d purchased them on a family holiday to East Africa’s Amboseli National Park. Jaeger would never forget the midnight walking safari the three of them had taken, along with their Masai guides. They’d trekked across the moonlit savannah amongst herds of giraffe, wildebeest and, best of all, rhinos, the family’s favourite animal.
‘Luke – Daddy’s back…’ Jaeger murmured. ‘And God only knows how much I’ve missed you guys.’
He paused, a heavy silence echoing off the walls. ‘But, you know – there’s never been the slightest hint; not the vaguest proof of life. If you could just have sent me something; the barest sense of a sign. Anything. Smithy kept watch. He was eyes-on. Always. He promised to let me know.’
He picked up the photo and cradled it. ‘I went to the ends of the earth to try to find you. I’d have gone to the ends of the universe, even. Nowhere would have been too far. But for three long years there’s been nothing.’
He ran a hand across his face, as if brushing away the pain of those long missing years. When it came away, his eyes were damp with tears.
‘And I guess if we’re honest – if we’re truthful with each other – maybe it’s time. Time to say a proper goodbye… time to accept that you really are… gone.’
Jaeger bowed his head. His lips brushed the photograph. He kissed the woman’s face. Kissed that of his son. Then he placed the picture back on the desk, laying it gently on the dust sheet.