Bear Grylls: The Hunt (Will Jaeger Book 3) Read online

  She pulled her commando knife from her sheath, bent to Kammler’s forearm and began to slice away enough tape to attach a tourniquet, searching for a usable vein.

  ‘I insert a two-way valve so I can pump in both the chemical and the antidote. That way, I can make you experience what it is like to die over and over and over again.’

  She reached up with the knife and cut an opening where Kammler’s mouth had to be. She smiled. ‘If you don’t want me to go ahead, now is the time to talk.’

  She had partially freed Kammler’s lips. They were surrounded by a ragged rosette of torn and sliced tape. His expression was a mixture of fear and rage, as he turned his bile on his son.

  ‘You always were a filthy little commie shit! A traitor of the worst sort!’ he spat, the words mixed with gobbets of blood. ‘You bring shame—’

  Narov’s pistol hand whipped around in another blow, the vehemence behind it throwing Kammler to the floor once more. In an almost involuntary action, Konig reached to help his father, but Narov stopped him.

  She dragged Kammler up by his hair.

  ‘Is that the answer to the question I asked? No.’ Her voice rose an octave, the trace of a killer rage burning in her eyes. The effect was utterly terrifying. ‘Your son has more honour and integrity than you could ever wish for. So, answer very carefully, or keep your mouth shut.’

  She turned to Falk. ‘You don’t need to see this.’

  Falk shook his head. ‘I should have done more to stop him. I could have done more to stop him.’ He paused. ‘I am staying, at least until we have the information we need.’

  Wordlessly, Narov turned back to Kammler. ‘So, I insert the first shot. This will stop you from breathing. During that time you can think about how you want to answer. The question is: where are your INDs dispersed and how do we stop them? After one minute without oxygen, your brain cells start to die. After three, you will suffer serious brain damage. Better have your answers ready.’

  She held up the first syringe and carefully flicked any air bubbles to the top. The last thing she needed was to inject air into Kammler’s veins and kill him. She pushed the syringe until the first drops of liquid spurted out of the end.

  That done, she reached out and inserted it into the valve hanging out of Kammler’s vein.

  She plunged the syringe home. For a second there was no visible reaction, and then it was as if the top half of Kammler’s body just seemed to cease functioning. The regular rise and fall of his chest cavity, the intake and outflow of breath, even the movement of his eyes – all had stopped.

  But his eyes remained open. Frozen wide with terror.

  She checked his pulse. It was there, beating away. He had simply stopped breathing, and was utterly helpless to do anything about it.

  Kammler was alive and conscious, yet experiencing what it was like to die.

  86

  Jaeger eased his head around the concrete support beam, his flashlight probing the darkness.

  Kammler’s bunker appeared to be designed in a T shape. At the lower terminus of the T lay his command cell; at the right-hand end was the entranceway. It was when he’d cleared the left-hand arm that Jaeger had discovered Falk Konig, locked in a side room.

  It had made sense for Raff to take the right arm, moving towards the entrance. As for Jaeger, he felt driven by a burning need to find his wife – and Peter Miles. He figured they would be in a room positioned somewhere off this dark corridor, as far from the entrance as possible.

  But more haste, less speed: he couldn’t rescue them if he got himself killed.

  He stole along inch by inch, balanced on the balls of his feet.

  Up ahead he spotted movement. A hint of a dark patch of shadow braced against a doorway. He swung his weapon around just as the figure showed himself. Or rather, herself. Suddenly Jaeger was face to face with his wife.

  She stepped forward, further into the light. No denying it – she was still beautiful. His finger hovered bone-white over the trigger, but his brain felt utterly paralysed.

  ‘You wouldn’t,’ she whispered. ‘Kill the mother of your own child? After all we’ve been through . . . You and I, Will Jaeger, we’re a team.’

  Silence. Jaeger was utterly lost for words. He kept his gun in the aim, though he knew in his heart that no matter what she might say, or do, he didn’t have it in him to pull the trigger.

  She gestured at a pistol she had gripped in her hand. ‘I was waiting. For you. In good cover, just like you always taught us. I could have taken the shot. I didn’t. I wanted to talk.’

  Jaeger found his voice at last. ‘Then talk. Like for a start, what the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? Kammler – he’s our coming saviour.’ A glazed expression came into Ruth’s eyes. It was one that Jaeger recognised from having come face to face with extremists the world over. Call it brainwashing. Blind fanaticism. Whatever. It always had the same look.

  ‘We humans, plague-like, are eating up this precious earth,’ Ruth continued. ‘Devastating it. Destroying it. Kammler plans to put a stop to all that. He’s an eco-saviour for our times; for the new age.’

  She glanced at Jaeger imploringly. ‘I tried talking to you back in London. Tried to share this. But you wouldn’t listen. No time. Never any time. Nature needs protecting – from us. Wipe out half of humanity to save it: it has a simple and beautiful logic to it, don’t you see?’

  Jaeger felt punch-drunk. Narov had been right, all along. Kammler and his wife – there always had been that bond between them. They shared one, overarching belief: wildlife and environmental protection. She had run here, to him, to join forces in some kind of unholy alliance. Some kind of save-the-world-via-Armageddon death cult.

  ‘Nothing to say?’ she probed, a hint of emotion choking her up now. ‘Can’t you see, this is the right – the only – thing to do. Can’t you see that?’

  ‘I can’t,’ Jaeger countered. ‘All I can see is someone who is desperately lost.’ He paused. ‘One thing you are right about. I should have been there when you needed me. I wasn’t. Which makes this my fault.’

  ‘Don’t.’ She reached a hand towards him tearfully. ‘I don’t regret this. This awakening. It’s what I wanted, always. I’m only sorry—’

  ‘I’m the one who’s sorry,’ Jaeger cut in.

  ‘No, no,’ she countered, shaking her head vigorously. ‘There’s no time. Not for apologies. Regrets. The clock’s ticking. No time for anything but to join us. No time—’

  Her words were choked off as a huge, hulking figure burst out of the shadows and without a word of warning slammed a massive fist against the side of her head. She catapulted into the darkness, hitting the wall with a horrific thud, slumping down in a heap at its base.

  ‘That shut the bitch up,’ her assailant snarled.

  Jaeger had recognised him even before he spoke. Steve Jones, his nemesis. Now to finish this. As Jones tried to duck back into cover, Jaeger pulled his trigger.

  Click.

  He tried again. Click.

  His P228 had misfired.

  He dived for cover even as Jones opened fire. Rounds hammered into the concrete pillar, and for an instant Jaeger felt a jabbing stab of pain in his left thigh.

  Shit, he’d been hit. It felt like a flesh wound, but even so, he could sense warm liquid oozing down his leg.

  Hugging the pillar, he checked the topside of his pistol. There was nothing stuck in the ejector port, so maybe the magazine was jammed. The P228 was normally bulletproof reliable, but their weapons had taken a hammering as they’d charged through the dirty floodwaters.

  Jones stepped more fully into the corridor now, weapon levelled in Jaeger’s direction. ‘Dead man’s click or fucking stoppage,’ he grated, ‘doesn’t make a fat lot of difference when faced with this.’ He brandished his weapon, a Type 79 machine gun. ‘Long time no see, Jaeger. And by the way, welcome to hell.’

  Jaeger didn’t answer. Injured, with his gun jammed and no spare mags remaining, he was in a whole world of trouble right now.

  ‘Come here seeking your little wifey, did you?’ Jones sneered. ‘Let you in on a secret: we ruined her.’

  He fired again. Rounds tore chunks of masonry off the wall, ripping into the pillar. Hands working feverishly, Jaeger slipped the magazine off the pistol, but it still wouldn’t unjam.

  ‘Well, you’ve seen her,’ Jones sneered. ‘Your loyal wife? Somehow I don’t think so.’

  He reached to the floor and dragged Ruth forward. She looked a mess. Barely conscious. Jaeger’s heart skipped a beat as Jones yanked on her hair, bringing her upright.

  Was Jaeger imagining it, or did he see her lips move, mouthing: I’m sorry.

  ‘Let her go,’ he rasped. ‘I’ll fight you any which way you choose, but let her go.’

  ‘I’ll do better than that,’ Jones snarled, letting Ruth’s head drop with a sickening thump. ‘I’ll offer you a chance. More than you ever did for me on selection. I put down my Type 79; you put down your spud gun. We fight. No shooters. We end it. Here.’

  Jaeger figured he had no option: he’d have to kill Jones first, before he could go to his wife’s aid. He slid his pistol out into the corridor, the metal making a rasping noise on the rough concrete floor.

  ‘Kick it away,’ Jones barked, as he menaced Jaeger with his weapon.

  Jaeger did as he was told.

  ‘Good boy.’

  Jones paused. He gripped his weapon and brought it around, slamming the butt into Ruth’s head, before spinning it back, barrel pointed directly at Jaeger once more.

  ‘Now we’re ready. Ready to see what you’re made of, Jaeger, you fucking pussy.’

  ‘You’re dead,’ Jaeger whispered under his breath. ‘This very day, you die.’

  87

  Jones lowered his machine gun to the floor and booted it into the shadows.

  Jaeger stepped further into the open. As he did so, he felt an excruciating pain shoot through his leg. He was wounded and facing an uninjured Jones: not the best place to be. But his burning hatred of the man, plus the rage that was surging through him, had to give him an edge.

  The two figures approached each other warily. Jones was a good six foot four, and with all the performance-enhancing drugs he used, he was as muscle-bound as Jaeger remembered. He almost didn’t look human.

  Jaeger had always been faster, but with an injured leg, there was no telling. He went into a combat stance, his feet shoulder-width apart, toes slightly turned inwards, knees slightly bent, arms up and out in front of his face, ready to lash blows.

  It was then that Jones did something utterly unexpected. Reaching down to his thigh, he drew out a blade. What had once been Narov’s commando knife – all seven inches of tapered, razor-sharp steel – was now gripped in his hand.

  ‘Recognise this?’ He smiled evilly. ‘I said no shooters. I didn’t mention blades. I call it the Shark Killer. Though it’s just as good for disembowelling humans. Take a look at what I did to Old Man Miles.’

  Jaeger didn’t reply. His entire focus was on the coming fight.

  They circled each other like big cats, ready to pounce. From his martial arts training, Jaeger knew that so often the key to such a fight was to strike first and strike hard. The man who hesitated was dead.

  He made his move – and it was fast, very fast.

  He drove the outside edge of his right boot low and hard into the side of Jones’s knee.

  Jones tried to whip his leg back to avoid the blow. But it was a case of simple cause and effect; the attacker will always have a speed advantage. Jaeger’s kick made partial contact. It wasn’t the devastating strike that he’d hoped for; no crippling crunch of bone. But it was a start.

  Jones backed away, regaining his balance, just as Jaeger swung the side of his right hand hard into his bull-like neck. Again, it was a glancing blow, but it opened the door for the next move. A split second later, he drove his left fist straight out like a battering ram, smashing into Jones’s windpipe with devastating force.

  Jones’s shaven head whipped backwards violently, then rebounded forward from the impact of the killer strike.

  The fight had lasted barely seconds. But as Jaeger watched Jones’s massive form crumple to the floor, he felt a stab of sheer agony shooting through his good leg, which gave way beneath him. Even as he had collapsed, Steve Jones had struck Jaeger a savage blow with the knife.

  Jaeger found himself sprawled in a heap, his knifed leg a mass of spurting blood. He started to crawl, trying to drag his body to a safe place.

  Behind him, Jones was starting to come round. Jaeger heard a voice spitting out the words. ‘Was I too quick? Didn’t see the blade? Oh yeah! I’m going to enjoy every last minute of this.’

  Jones sheathed his bloodied knife and staggered to his feet, towering over Jaeger’s prone form. ‘I have wanted this for so long,’ he sneered. ‘I am going to kick your head until what little brains you have are smeared across the walls.’

  He moved to give himself room for the run-up. ‘I’m gonna beat you to the very brink of death. But you ain’t gonna die. Not yet. Not today. Oh no. This is far too personal . . . I’m gonna keep you alive. You know why? So you can watch your family fry.’

  Jaeger was hunched against the wall, bloodied and helpless before the towering figure of his assailant.

  ‘You think that by hitting this place you can stop us?’ Jones scoffed. ‘We’re unstoppable. And we’re coming for the Jaeger clan like you’d never imagined possible!’

  As Jones braced himself to attack, Jaeger felt something digging into the small of his back. Suddenly he remembered: the Chinese QSZ-92 – the pistol that he’d taken from Ustanov.

  His backup backup weapon.

  As Jones began to charge, Jaeger whipped out the hidden handgun. There was a momentary look of disbelief in the big man’s eyes, before his kick to Jaeger’s head became a desperate attempt to boot the pistol from his hands.

  Jaeger fired. The first round struck Jones high in the leg, two further shots following. By the time Jones’s body joined Jaeger’s on the cold concrete floor, he was splattered in blood and gore.

  As for Jaeger, he was drifting into a dark unconsciousness.

  88

  Suxamethonium chloride – known as ‘sux’ for short by medical practitioners – is widely used in hospital procedures. It is also the perfect poison for those intent on murder.

  It had taken three doses for Narov to break Kammler; three near-death experiences administered by her hand, before he had crumbled.

  As he had begun to talk, the scenario that had unfolded had made Narov’s blood run cold: three INDs moored at three world capitals, set to detonate in thirty-eight minutes and counting.

  Right now she was hunched over the Thuraya satphone speaking to Brooks, her voice tight with tension and fear.

  ‘Boat one is the Adler, a Nordhavn 64 yacht moored at New York’s Chelsea Piers Marina. Boat two is the Werwolf, a Nordhavn 52 moored at London’s St Katharine Docks. Boat number three is the Fireland, another Nordhavn 52, docked at the Tel Aviv Marina.’

  Brooks repeated the details back to her. ‘Okay, I’m on it.’ He ordered Narov to stick by the Thuraya and not to move a muscle.

  In addition to the three devices parked in those city marinas, Kammler had confessed to five other planned attacks, designed to hit nuclear power plants; five other Nordhavn yachts complete with their forty-kilo INDs, eight being the sacred number of the SS. Thanks to the sux, Narov had extracted the full details.

  Target one was the Qinshan nuclear power plant, set on the East China Sea, on the very outskirts of Shanghai, a city of twenty-four million souls. Target two was America’s Calvert Cliffs plant, on the Chesapeake Bay, just to the south of Washington, a city of eight million. Target three was France’s Flamanville nuclear plant, west of Paris. There had also been a Canadian target and a second plant in China. Thankfully, due to the destruction of Kammler’s lab, none of those devices had been dispatched. Which made the priority dealing with the nukes that were in place and primed to blow.

  Narov didn’t relish Brook’s position right now. He had to coordinate three seek-and-destroy missions, on three different continents, and with precious little time. There would be no chance to attempt to defuse the devices; the only option would be to blow the yachts out of the water.

  Weapons-grade uranium wasn’t particularly radioactive, not unless you could smash together two heavy lumps with immense force. It was the collision of two such masses that led to fission, the self-sustaining chain reaction that would engender a nuclear explosion, which in turn would produce massive amounts of radioactivity.

  If the devices were torn to pieces in the yacht’s holds and sent to the bottom, they would be rendered relatively harmless. It was all up to Brooks now.

  Narov turned to Falk. ‘Go find Jaeger and Raff. Plus Alonzo. We need to regroup, in case there’s anything Brooks needs from this end.’

  ‘What about Peter Miles and Jaeger’s wife?’ Falk queried.

  ‘Search for them too. But I don’t hold out any great hope.’

  Falk hobbled off to do as he’d been bidden. Narov knew him to be a brave and courageous individual, and she wasn’t surprised that he had done the right thing. But right at this very moment, she needed him out of the way for an entirely different reason.

  Once he had gone, she reached for a freshly charged syringe of sux, which she inserted into the tube hanging out of Kammler’s forearm.

  She brought her face close to his, so she was speaking barely above a whisper. ‘I guess you thought it was all over? I am afraid not.’ She paused. ‘You see, Mr Kammler, this is personal.