Some eighteen minutes earlier, just as the Lynx was being scrambled, Special Branch had got busy dragging some seriously confused yachties from their beds. They’d had only a few minutes to evacuate the dock, getting any public the hell out of there.
For a brief moment Sergeant Iron wondered how those yachties would react when they saw their beloved boats getting peppered with chunks of shrapnel. In truth, he didn’t much care.
To receive an order such as this – an air strike on a civilian vessel in the heart of London – it had to be a crisis of gargantuan proportions. He wondered who could have dug up the intelligence to back such a ballsy move.
Above him the Lynx slowed, creeping closer to a firm firing position, its nose rotating around towards the target.
‘I see your laser,’ the pilot intoned. A lengthy pause. ‘I have lock-on.’ Another pause. ‘Engaging now.’
There was a second’s delay, and then a burst of violent fire bloomed on the Lynx’s snub-nosed rocket pods, slung to either side of the aircraft, and a pair of CRV7 precision-guided 70mm rockets streaked towards the marina.
The 4.5-kilo explosive-point-detonating warhead was capable of penetrating a T-72 main battle tank’s armour. Unsurprisingly, the steel hull of the Nordhavn 52 was torn open as if it had been attacked with a giant tin-opener.
The twin warheads penetrated the deck, detonating deep in the bowels of the vessel. It struck Sergeant Iron as being a tad overkill, as the two-million-dollar yacht was ripped asunder from the inside, vomiting chunks of molten aluminium in a boiling sea of flame.
As the smoke cleared, he could see what remained of the burning hulk of the Nordhavn sinking fast, the water hissing and gurgling as it sucked the twisted red-hot wreckage downwards. To either side, other boats had suffered fairly extensive damage.
He winced. Some very wealthy individuals were going to need some serious repair jobs on their oh-so-shiny vessels.
And the rebel within him loved it.
He looked at his watch: 0358.
‘Bang on schedule,’ he noted to the figure crouched beside him.
Corporal Gibson nodded. ‘Job done. Let’s get out of here.’
90
Narov punched answer, clamping the Thuraya to her head. ‘Yes.’
‘It’s Brooks. Crisis over. Tel Aviv was first. The Israelis don’t mess around. Scrambled an F-15 Strike Eagle and put a Harpoon anti-ship missile through the yacht. Fireland vaporised. New York was second. A Black Hawk headed up the Hudson and put a Hellfire through the Adler’s bridge. London was last. Typical of the Brits to push it to the wire. Slammed a couple of CRV7 rockets through the Werwolf’s deck at 0358 precisely.’
‘Two minutes to spare,’ Narov noted. ‘More than enough.’
Brooks smiled. She was one cool customer. He was glad she was on the side of the angels. ‘You managed to extract the other information we needed?’ he asked.
‘Eventually,’ Narov confirmed.
She passed the details of the other ships and their targets to Brooks. Thankfully none of the five vessels had yet to set sail, or so Kammler had claimed. Those five, plus the three already destroyed: she allowed herself a rare moment of self-congratulation. Soon now, they’d get them all; all eight of the killer devices.
‘I’ll get teams scrambled to take them down,’ Brooks confirmed. ‘Any chance the crews might have got word from Kammler to scarper?’
‘Unlikely.’ She glanced at the corpse slumped it its chair. At last he looked almost at peace. ‘He certainly won’t be warning anyone now.’
‘Maybe you can connect me to our… friend. I’d like to let him know in person that he failed.’
‘That might be a little difficult,’ Narov replied flatly. ‘The questioning: it was most robust. His heart failed.’
‘His heart? He’s dead?’ Brooks cursed. ‘I was looking forward to putting that bastard on trial.’
‘Were you? Why? He didn’t deserve a jail cell; to be made a rallying point for the Nazi cause. He deserved what he got.’
Brooks didn’t argue. Kammler was dead and the world was undoubtedly a safer place for it, no matter what the means of his removal. The CIA man knew Narov as a straight talker, which was rare in this business. He appreciated it.
‘What about you guys? Any casualties?’
‘Peter Miles has been beaten to within an inch of his life. He needs urgent medical attention. Jaeger has suffered serious blood loss due to an arterial wound. He’s in and out of consciousness, but we’ve stabilised him.’
‘You?’
‘Unwounded.’ She paused. ‘But some of Kammler’s men are unaccounted for. Among them his deputy, Steve Jones. He’s injured, but he got away.’
‘How?’
‘There were some vehicles parked in a subterranean hangar, in a hidden cave in the cliff. Jones managed to get to one of those. We tried to stop him, but he got away in a hail of bullets.’
‘Jaeger’s wife?’ Brooks prompted.
Narov’s face darkened. ‘Same as Jones. We understand she’s injured, but no sign of her either. We figure she and Jones made a joint getaway.’
‘Right, how long has that vehicle been mobile?’
‘Twenty minutes. Thirty at the outside.’
‘We’ll find it. Don’t worry, we’ll find it.’
‘And then? Bear in mind what it might be carrying. It’s unlikely, but it might just be loaded with—’
‘Understood. Don’t worry, it’s history. Even over China, we have ways and means.’
‘Good. But don’t go starting a third world war. We were so close to Armageddon this time…’
‘Leave it with me. Time to come clean with the Chinese, but since Kammler planned to hit two of their foremost nuclear plants, I think they’ll cut me some slack.
‘And Jaeger?’ Narov probed. ‘Do we come clean with him too? About his wife? That vehicle?’
There was silence for a beat, before Brooks answered. ‘I think not. Better for all if he doesn’t know. At least not yet; not before it’s all over.’
Narov allowed herself a fleeting smile. ‘Understood.’
‘Keep this line open. It’s a fast-moving situation.’
Narov told him she would, and killed the call.
91
Narov left the command cell, making her way towards the kitchen area, where the injured were being treated. Raff had got the generator working, so at least they had power and light.
As she stepped through the mess left by Jones and Jaeger – the blood and detritus from their savage close-quarters battle – her eye caught the glint of a half-obscured blade. Her heart missed a beat.
It was instantly recognisable.
She bent and retrieved it. This dagger meant the world to her.
It had once belonged to Brigadier Edward ‘Ted’ Jaeger, SAS war hero and founder of the Secret Hunters, the man who had helped rescue Narov’s grandmother from the World War II concentration camp.
Ted Jaeger had been a man of true compassion: when he’d learnt that Sonia Olchanevsky was pregnant as a result of rape, he had offered to be the unborn child’s godparent. He had been Narov’s mother’s godfather, and he had treated Narov herself as if she were his own niece.
It was from Ted Jaeger that she had first heard of her family’s dark history, and had first been drawn into the work of the Secret Hunters. When she had met Will Jaeger, she’d wondered whether he could ever be worthy of his grandfather’s legacy.
Now, as she moved towards the kitchen, she knew in her heart that he most certainly was.
After their battles here in Kammler’s lair, she had to admit it: Jaeger had the Secret Hunter spirit in spades. She also knew that without him they would never have got Kammler.