Burning Angels

16

‘OUT! GET OUT! OUT!’ a voice screamed. ‘OUT! BASTARD MOVE!’

Jaeger felt the vehicle’s door being ripped open as a horde of dark figures wearing balaclavas swarmed around, weapons held at the ready. Hands reached in and dragged him out violently, as Peter Miles was likewise hauled from the driver’s side.

After a solid fourteen hours’ sleep, Jaeger had joined Miles on a ride to the airport, to collect two of the others from his team. But as they’d wound their way along the narrow forest track leading out of Falkenhagen, they’d found their way blocked by a fallen tree. Miles had slowed to a halt, clearly suspecting nothing. Moments later, a crowd of balaclava-clad gunmen had swarmed out of the trees.

Jaeger was thrown to the ground, his face forced into the sodden dirt.

‘KEEP DOWN! FUCKING DOWN!’

He felt powerful arms pinioning him. His face was driven so hard into the earth that he couldn’t breathe. As he choked and spluttered on the smell of rot and decay, he was gripped by a rising sense of panic.

They were suffocating him.

He tried to lift his head to grab a gasp of air, but a series of savage kicks and punches rained down.

‘GET DOWN!’ the voice screamed. ‘Get your ugly, shitty face down into the dirt!’

Jaeger tried to break away, flailing at his attackers and screaming curses. All it earned him was a fusillade of vicious blows, this time from a rifle butt. As he went down under the beating, he felt his hands being wrenched violently backwards, as if his arms were about to be ripped out of their sockets, and then his wrists were lashed vice-tight with gaffer tape.

The next moment the forest chill was rent by gunshots. Bang! Bang! Bang! Wild shots, echoing deafeningly amongst the shadows beneath the thick cover. Shots that made Jaeger’s heart skip a beat.

This is bad. Real bad.

He managed to force his head up enough to grab a quick peek. He saw that Peter Miles had managed to make a break for it and was weaving through the trees.

More shots were unleashed. Jaeger saw Miles falter and stumble, and then he tumbled on to his front and lay still. One of the gunmen rushed across to him. He levelled a pistol at the fallen man, pulling the trigger three times in quick succession.

Jaeger felt himself shaking. They’d executed Peter Miles – that gentle old man – in cold blood. Who in the name of God was behind this?

An instant later, someone grabbed Jaeger’s hair and yanked his head backwards. Before he could say a word, he felt a strip of gaffer tape being slapped across his mouth, then a black cloth bag was dragged over his head and tied around his neck.

Everything went very dark.

Stumbling blindly, Jaeger was yanked to his feet and propelled forward helter-skelter through the woodland. He tripped over a fallen branch and fell hard.

Wild screams: ‘GET UP! UP! UP!’

He was dragged onwards across a patch of boggy ground, the smell of rotten leaf matter assailing his senses. The frantic forced march went on and on, until Jaeger felt totally disorientated. Finally he detected a new noise up ahead: the rhythmic throb of an engine. They were taking him to some kind of vehicle. Through the bag he could just make out two bright spots piercing the thick shadows.

Headlamps.

With two guys gripping him by the armpits, he was thrust towards the lights, his feet dragging uselessly. The next moment he was slammed face-first into the front grille of the vehicle, pain shooting through his forehead.

‘BASTARD KNEEL! ON YOUR KNEES! KNEEL!’

He was thrust into a kneeling position. He could feel the headlamps playing across his face, the blinding light bleeding through the bag. Without a word of warning it was torn away. He tried to turn his head from the glare, but he was held by his hair in a savage grip, eyes forced into the light.

‘NAME!’ the voice snarled. It was right beside his ear now. ‘Let’s hear your bastard name!’

The speaker was hidden from Jaeger, but the voice sounded foreign, and thick with some Eastern European accent. For a terrible moment Jaeger had visions of the gang who’d suffered the Kolokol-1 attack – Vladimir and his lot – taking him captive. But surely it couldn’t be them, for how in God’s name would they have found him?

Think, Jaeger. Fast.

‘NAME!’ the voice yelled again. ‘NAME!’

Jaeger’s throat was dry with shock and fear. He managed to rasp out the one word: ‘Jaeger.’

The men holding him slammed his face into the nearest headlamp, leaving his features scrunched up tight against the glass.

‘Both names. Both bastard names!’

‘Will. William Jaeger.’ He coughed out the words through a mouthful of blood.

‘So, this is better, William Jaeger.’ The same voice, sinister and predatory, but a fraction calmer now. ‘Now you tell me: what are names of the rest of your crew?’

Jaeger said nothing. No way would he answer. But he could sense the anger and aggression rising again.

‘One more time: what are the names of the rest of your crew?’

From somewhere Jaeger found his voice. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

He felt his head being wrenched backwards, then his face was rammed into the forest dirt, deeper than it had been before. He tried to hold his breath as the insults and curses began again, punctuated by expertly aimed kicks and blows. Whoever his captors were, they sure knew how to hurt someone.

Finally he was pulled upright and the bag was yanked over his head once more.

The voice spat out a command. ‘Lose him. He’s no use if he won’t talk. You know what to do.’

Jaeger was dragged around to what had to be the rear of the vehicle. He was lifted up and hurled aboard. Hands forced him into a sitting position – legs out straight, arms linked behind his back.

Then silence. Just the rasp of his own laboured breathing.

The minutes dragged on. Jaeger could sense – taste – the metallic tang of his own fear. Eventually he had to try to shift position, in an effort to ease his aching limbs.

Slam! Someone booted him in the stomach. Not a word had been spoken. He was forced back into the same seated pose. He knew now that in spite of the spikes of pain, he was not permitted to move. He’d been put into a stress position, one designed to deliver a relentless and unendurable torture.

Without warning, the vehicle gave a sudden lurch and began to move. The unexpected motion threw Jaeger on to his front. Instantly he was booted around the head. He dragged himself into position again, but moments later the truck hit a ditch and he was catapulted on to his back. Again, elbows and fists rained down, driving his head into the cold metal skin of the vehicle.

Finally one of his tormentors dragged him back into the same stress position as before. The pain was intense. His head throbbed, his lungs were bursting and he was still winded from the beating. He felt as if his heart was about to explode out of his chest. Fear and panic gripped him.

Jaeger knew he’d been captured by utter professionals. The question was, who were they exactly?

And where in God’s name were they taking him?