They’d pushed on across the German border. On the face of it they were heading home. But it would be just as easy to turn a little further north and east and make for the Falkenhagen Bunker, the makeshift headquarters of the Secret Hunters. But only if whatever they might discover on the memory cards from the tunnel seemed to warrant such a diversion.
As luck would have it, the first opportunity to stop proved to be at the Munich Park Hilton, on the outskirts of the city. Once they had checked into their room, Jaeger made sure that Uncle Joe was comfortable, settling him in an armchair, amply propped up with pillows. ‘You good? It may take some time. Each of the cards can hold several hours.’
Uncle Joe forced a smile. He was tired, but he was also incredibly resilient. ‘Will, my boy, I’m fine. Let’s see what you’ve got here.’
Jaeger pulled out his MacBook Air and placed it on the desk. With a feeling of foreboding, he slotted the first memory card into the laptop’s port. He tried several times, but no joy. It wouldn’t open. It must have been too badly damaged.
The second card looked somewhat more promising. Jaeger slid it in. On the third attempt, an icon popped onto his screen: ‘SONY XDCAM’. He double-clicked the icon, his MacBook automatically pulling up the video-player screen, then clicked the play button.
A ghostly image appeared. It showed a figure seated in the tunnel entrance, giving an interview. Jaeger had little idea who it was, but he recognised him as one of the bloodied corpses lying deep in the tunnel’s interior.
It was like the man had come back from the dead.
From his dress and manner, it was clear he was some kind of expert; a World War II historian no doubt. He was speaking German, but even so Jaeger could tell by his hand gestures that he had been one excited interviewee.
He used the digital menu to flip through the scenes. They were deep inside the mountain now. The tunnel was lit by powerful film lights, set on tripods to either side. Figures worked at the slope using pickaxes and shovels to clear a wider path.
Jaeger pointed at the pile of rubble. ‘See. By the time this was filmed, they’d already made the breakthrough.’
Uncle Joe nodded. ‘The man giving the interview – was he speaking about whatever they had discovered?’
‘Most probably.’
Jaeger spun through the footage at twelve-times speed. There was nothing much of note, until the screen went suddenly very dark. He stopped, and replayed the image at normal speed. All was seemingly normal, until a harsh yelling could be heard echoing down the tunnel.
The words were in German and hard to catch, but the aggression and menace was clear. Moments later, the film lights were extinguished, as if by order. A few seconds after that, the camera was removed from its tripod, the image going wobbly as it was lowered towards the floor.
Jaeger could sense hands flipping various switches, then the screen suddenly turned a weird, smudgy fluorescent green, producing an image that was instantly familiar.
Even as he’d lowered it, the cameraman had flicked his camera on to night-filming mode. Jaeger recognised it instantly: it produced the same kind of grainy green image he’d experienced so often on elite operations when using NVGs – night-vision goggles.
Crucially, as he’d placed it on the ground, the man had left the camera running. Given what he had been facing – the shock and fear of an assault by a gang of armed gunmen – Jaeger was amazed by his poise and bravery.
Figures stepped into view: ghostly, menacing, sinister. They were dressed in black, with balaclavas covering their faces. Jaeger counted six of them. Two stood back, pistols at the ready, herding the camera crew and excavators against one wall, while a third started smashing apart the filming gear.
Jaeger figured there was only a few seconds remaining before the image would die on him, and as yet there was nothing to give the barest hint as to the identity of the gunmen. Moments later, the camera gave a savage jerk as the blade of a shovel smashed into it, and the image went suddenly very dead.
He replayed that section of footage several times, trying to glean something of value from the vital last minutes of film. There was something tugging at the edge of his consciousness. He was missing something. A vital clue. He knew it, and yet he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
Finally, he ejected the memory card and stared disconsolately at the blank screen. ‘Anything, Uncle Joe? Anything that strikes you?’
No answer.
He turned to check. His great-uncle had fallen asleep in his chair.
Jaeger smiled to himself. He guessed the question could wait until morning.
He suddenly felt utterly shattered. He lifted his uncle onto the bed, marvelling at how light his elderly frame was. Then he lay down on the floor and pulled a blanket over himself.
Just like the old days, he thought. He’d revisit this enigma with a fresh head come morning.
19
Jaeger awoke sometime later. The stress and shock of the day had exhausted him. But now he sat bolt upright, the image of the nightmare playing through his mind.
He’d been underwater. At sea. Fighting against a hated assailant. He’d already stabbed the man, using Irina Narov’s dagger, but his opponent just wouldn’t die. This was the man who had kidnapped Jaeger’s wife and child. Jaeger hated him as he would never have imagined possible.
His opponent was massive and hugely powerful, and not the type to give in. That much Jaeger knew, for way back they had been on SAS selection together. Jaeger had passed, but the big man had crashed and burnt, and all because he’d tried to cheat by taking performance-enhancing drugs.
It was Jaeger who had discovered that he was doping, and he was immediately binned.
In that moment had been born a lifelong enmity, although Jaeger hadn’t realised it at the time. Hence why the big man had been so keen to come after Jaeger’s wife and child. Revenge. Sweet revenge. But not so sweet when Jaeger had finally tracked him down, driving the blade in deep.
Steve Jones. Jaeger had left him entangled within a mass of writhing sharks driven wild by the smell of blood. A dead man, or so he had presumed. So why were those dark scenes coming back to haunt him now?
A new set of images came unbidden into his head. He remembered how, as he’d swum towards the surface, he’d dropped Narov’s knife. An iconic commando fighting knife, the razor-sharp tapered blade had slipped from his grasp and sunk from view.
But now he could see its fate somehow playing out before him: the knife drifting downwards… coming to rest in Steve Jones’s grasp… The big man using it to eviscerate the nearest shark, slicing its gut cavity open… The wounded animal spinning away voiding gouts of blood… the other sharks following.
Blood was blood: the sharks didn’t care.
And a final image: Steve Jones, one hand gripping his wounded neck, the other the knife, kicking for the surface.
Jaeger flicked on the light. He sat for several seconds in utter silence. Jones alive? Was it even possible? And what had made him imagine all of this now?
The answer came to him with a jolt. He roused himself and moved to the desk, powering up the laptop. He stared at the screen as he replayed the last few minutes of footage, showing the team of killers going about their murderous work.
There. He punched pause. The image froze and he gazed at it in silent disbelief. There, strapped to the thigh of the largest of the mystery gunmen, was a Fairbairn–Sykes commando fighting knife, to give it its full name. The same knife that Irina Narov had carried, and Jaeger had let slip from his grasp in the sea.