He lived by the mantra: Expect the unexpected. It was what had kept him alive all these years. But this – it just seemed so impossible.
He pressed play, eyes glued to the movements of the hulking figure. There was little doubt about it any more: the bulging forearms and shoulders; the sheer power of the man as he smashed apart the film gear with his bare hands.
The way his stance radiated rage and hatred; hatred and rage.
No doubt about it: it was Jones.
Jaeger killed the image, then sat back and tried to get his breathing under control. The realisation alone had set him hyperventilating. One thing was clear: if Steve Jones had survived, Jaeger was going to have to kill him. Again.
He was tempted to fire up the Evoque right now and drive hell for leather for St Georgen, in case Jones was still somewhere in those tunnels. To finish this for good. But gradually he gained control over his blind shock and rage. Jones would be long gone, he reasoned. Even if he wasn’t, there were more of them, and Jones alone had proved a fearsome adversary.
But most importantly, Jaeger had Uncle Joe to care for.
Plus there was something else. Something that went far deeper. Jones’s reappearance was shock enough: but his reappearance there, at St Georgen, in a top-secret tunnel built by the Nazis and overseen by SS General Hans Kammler…
Well, the ramifications were hard even for Jaeger to fully comprehend.
If Jones had been placed in command of a team of killers charged with evacuating the tunnel and terminating all who might have discovered its dark secret, what was that secret? Who had sent him? And why?
Whatever the answers, Jaeger sensed they couldn’t be good. Not with Jones involved. Not with such a direct link to a dark Nazi past and to SS General Kammler himself.
This was bigger than Jaeger alone. Jaeger knew in his gut what he had to do: he had to make for Falkenhagen, to see if the full resources of the Secret Hunters might fathom this one.
He picked up his smartphone and dialled. It was four o’clock in the morning, but Peter Miles – the group’s chief – had assured him that he was always on duty. No matter what time of day, Jaeger should feel free to make contact.
A sleepy voice answered. ‘William? What time d’you call this?’
Despite everything, Jaeger smiled. Miles’s voice had that effect on him. No matter what might happen, the man seemed imperturbable; he had an unshakeable calm about him. It made him the perfect boss for the movement, and for brainstorming what on earth Jaeger’s discoveries might signify.
‘Something’s cropped up. We need to meet. I’m with Uncle Joe, so summon whoever else you can muster.’
Miles chuckled. ‘Funny you should say that. I was about to call you. Though I would have left it to a more sociable hour. Something’s cropped up our end too. So yes, we very much do need to meet.’
‘Fine. We’ll come to you. Normal place?’
‘The usual.’
‘We’ll be there by midday.’
Jaeger signed off the call and logged onto the internet. Even as he’d been speaking to Peter, he’d made the decision that he needed to let Ruth know – at least the very basics.
He didn’t know what the St Georgen discovery might signify exactly, but the last thing he wanted was for Ruth to read something in the press, finding out that way that their nemesis might still be alive.
That would send her into a total tailspin.
He typed out a short email. After their last, fractious phone call, he figured he’d keep it businesslike and short.
Hi Ruth,
Listen, don’t want to alarm you, but I’ve stumbled upon something here. There’s a chance that Kammler might still be alive. I’m looking into it – low-profile, so don’t fret – but it’ll delay me a day or so. Didn’t want you to see something on the news that might freak you out.
W
Email sent, he googled the quickest route from Munich to Falkenhagen.
20
The Falkenhagen Bunker: it was a while since Jaeger had been here. It brought back memories both good and bad. It was from here that they’d masterminded the destruction of Kammler and his co-conspirators, or so Jaeger had thought; but after the last thirty-six hours, he was assailed by doubts.
The Secret Hunters had been gifted the use of the bunker by the German government. As Miles had reminded Jaeger, if there was one nation who would never forget the excesses of the Nazi regime, it was the Germans. It was a somewhat ironic venue: a vast subterranean complex where Hitler had manufactured his most fearsome chemical weapons.
At war’s end it had been seized by the Russians, who had transformed it into a Cold War headquarters complete with a command bunker that could survive a nuclear meltdown – a massive domed structure set six storeys below ground.
Peter Miles had made this the nerve centre of the Secret Hunters.
There were few creature comforts in the bare and echoing concrete chamber, and Miles liked it that way: it kept meetings short and focused. There was one bare wooden table, bearing Miles’s laptop, with some plastic chairs arranged in a semicircle facing it. That was about all.
Apart from Jaeger, Uncle Joe and Miles, there was one other figure present: Takavesi ‘Raff’ Rafarra, long hair braided Maori-style. Maori by birth, Royal Marines by training, and a fellow veteran of the SAS, Raff was larger than life in every sense. Jaeger and he had gone through their commando training and SAS selection together, and they were inseparable.
Tough, resourceful, a natural-born warrior, Raff was the kind of guy Jaeger would choose to fight back-to-back with every time. There was no better soldier or more loyal friend. He was also a fearsome drinker, hopeless where women were concerned, and incapable of accepting orders from those he didn’t respect, which had pretty much done for his prospects in the military.
Jaeger and Raff had left the SAS at around the same time to found an executive adventure company – though that had taken something of a back seat once they’d been drawn into the world of the Secret Hunters. They’d just started trying to resuscitate the business when the present unforeseen developments had transpired.
Considering what had happened over the past few days, Jaeger was doubly glad of Raff’s presence. He was the man to have beside you if the likes of Steve Jones were back on the scene.
It seemed odd not to have a fifth figure present: Irina Narov. Jaeger had asked. Miles hadn’t been able to shed much light. A few weeks back, Narov had disappeared: no email, no phone contact, nothing. Miles wasn’t overly concerned. She had a habit of doing this. She’d be back in her own good time.
As succinctly as he could, Jaeger proceeded to deliver a briefing on all that had happened in the St Georgen tunnels. Once he was done, they played the footage from the smashed camera.
Neither Raff nor Miles had laid eyes on Steve Jones before. It was only Jaeger who had got close enough to the man, and the more he watched the footage, the more convinced he was that it was Jones giving the orders. Which begged the million-dollar question: what had he and his team been seeking at St Georgen? What had they retrieved?
With Jones back on the prowl, did that mean that his employer was too? Had his mission been ordered by his erstwhile boss, Hank Kammler? It seemed possible, and it was a deeply disturbing proposition.
Kammler’s death had been confirmed by none other than Daniel Brooks, the director of the CIA and a good friend and ally to their cause. Likewise, Jones had been left for dead by Jaeger: shark food, or so he’d presumed.
But had both returned to haunt them?
It seemed unthinkable, but footage didn’t lie.