Burning Angels

58

It was Narov who woke first. In an instant she’d grabbed her P228 from beneath the cushions. She could hear a desperate hammering on the door.

It was 3.30 a.m. – not the best of times to have been dragged out of such a deep and leaden sleep. She stepped across the room and wrenched the door open, thrusting her gun into the face of… Falk Konig.

Narov brewed coffee as a visibly distressed Konig went about explaining why he was there. Apparently, when he’d reported their trespassing into the caves, Kammler had asked to see some of the video surveillance footage. Konig had thought nothing of it; he’d emailed over some clips. He’d just received a call.

‘The old man seemed very agitated; overwrought. He wants you detained for twenty-four hours, minimum. He said that after what you achieved with the poachers, you were the kind of people he could use. He said he wants to recruit you. He told me to use all means necessary to make sure you do not leave. If necessary, to disable your vehicle.’

Jaeger didn’t doubt that Kammler had somehow recognised him. The blonde makeover seemingly wasn’t as foolproof as its Falkenhagen creators had intended it to be.

‘I just don’t know what to do. I had to tell you.’ Konig hunched over his knees, as if in severe pain. Jaeger figured it was the tension and nerves twisting up his guts. He lifted his head slightly and gazed at the two of them. ‘I do not think he wants you kept here for any good reason. I fear he is lying. There was something in his voice… Something… predatory almost.’

‘So, Falk, what do you suggest?’ Narov asked.

‘You must leave. At times Mr Kammler has been known to have a… long reach. Leave. But take one of the Katavi Lodge Toyotas. I will send two of my men in a different direction, driving your Land Rover. That way, we will have a decoy vehicle.’

‘Surely those guys will be bait?’ Jaeger queried. ‘Bait in a trap.’

Falk shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But you see, not all of our workers here are what they seem. Almost all of us have been offered bribes by the poaching gangs, and not all have stayed strong. For some the temptation proves too much. The men I will send have sold many of our secrets. They have much innocent blood on their hands. So if something happens, it is…’

‘Divine retribution?’ Narov suggested, finishing the sentence for him.

He smiled weakly. ‘Something like that, yes.’

‘There is a lot you’re not telling us, isn’t there, Falk?’ Narov probed. ‘This Kammler; his warplane beneath the mountain; your fear of him.’ She paused. ‘You know, it always makes it easier to share a burden. And maybe we can help.’

‘Some things can never be altered,’ Falk muttered, ‘or helped.’

‘Okay, but why not start with your fears?’ Narov pressed.

Konig glanced around nervously. ‘All right. But not here. I will be waiting by your vehicle.’ He got up to leave. ‘And do not ask for help when you leave. No one to carry your bags. Who we can trust – I do not know. The story I will tell is that you stole away secretly, in the night. Please – make it convincing.’

Fifteen minutes later, Jaeger and Narov were packed. They’d travelled light, and they’d already given Falk all the kit and weaponry they’d used to execute the assault. He was going to drive it out to Lake Tanganyika shortly, where he would dump it, never to be discovered.

They made their way to the lodge’s vehicle park. Konig was waiting, a figure at his side. It was Urio, the co-pilot.

‘Urio you know,’ Konig announced. ‘I trust him absolutely. He will drive you south, towards Makongolosi – no one ever leaves that way. Once he’s got you on to a flight, he’ll return with the vehicle.’

Urio helped them to load their kit into the Toyota’s rear, then grabbed Jaeger’s arm. ‘I owe you. My life. I will get you out of here. Nothing will happen with me at the wheel.’

Jaeger thanked him, and then Konig led him and Narov into the shadows, talking as he did so. His voice was barely above a whisper. They had to lean in close to hear.

‘So, there is a side to the business you know nothing about: Katavi Reserve Primates Limited. KRP for short. KRP is a monkey-export business, and it is Mr Kammler’s baby. As you’ve seen, the monkeys are like pests around here and it is almost a blessing whenever they do a round-up.’

‘And?’ Narov prompted.

‘Firstly, the level of secrecy surrounding KRP’s business is unprecedented. The round-ups happen here, but the exports go out from some other place – one that I have never seen. I do not even know its name. The local staff are flown there blindfolded. All they see is a dirt airstrip, where they unload the crates of animals. I have always wondered: why the need for such secrecy?’

‘Have you never asked?’ Jaeger probed.

‘I have. Kammler just says the trade is highly competitive and he doesn’t want his rivals to know where he keeps his monkeys immediately prior to transport. If they did, he claims they could give the animals some kind of sickness. And exporting a batch of sick primates would not be good for business.’

‘Where do the exports go?’ Jaeger asked.

‘America. Europe. Asia. South America… All the world’s major cities. Anywhere with medical laboratories involved in testing drugs on primates.’

Konig was silent for a second. Even by the faint light, Jaeger could tell how troubled he looked. ‘For years I chose to believe him – that it was a legit business. But that was until the case of… the boy. The monkeys are flown to the export house by a chartered aircraft. A Buffalo. Maybe you know it?’

Jaeger nodded. ‘Used for getting cargo into and out of difficult places. The US military flies them. Carries about twenty thousand pounds of freight.’

‘Exactly. Or in primate terms around a hundred crated monkeys. The Buffalo shuttles the primates from here to the export house. It flies out loaded, and returns empty. But six months back it flew in here with something unexpected. It had a human stowaway.’

Konig’s words were coming faster now, almost as if he was desperate to unburden himself now that he had started to talk. ‘The stowaway was a kid. A Kenyan boy about twelve years old. A kid out of the Nairobi slums. You know of those slums?’

‘A little,’ said Jaeger. ‘They’re big. Several million people, so I heard.’

‘One million at least.’ Konig paused, darkly. ‘I was away from here at the time. On leave. The kid sneaked off the aircraft and hid. By the time my staff found him, he was more dead than alive. But they build them tough in those slums. If you live to the age of twelve, you are a true survivor.

‘He didn’t know his exact age. Kids tend not to in the slums. There is rarely any reason to celebrate birthdays.’ Konig shuddered, almost as if he was sickened by what he was about to say. ‘The boy told my staff an unbelievable story. He said he was part of a group of orphans who’d been kidnapped. Nothing so unusual there. Slum children being sold like that – it happens all the time.

‘But this kid’s story – it was unreal.’ Konig ran his hand through his wild blonde hair. ‘He claimed they were kidnapped and flown to some mystery location. Several dozen of them. At first things weren’t so bad. They were fed and looked after. But then came a day when they were given some kind of injections.

‘They were placed in this huge sealed room. People only ever entered in what the kid described as spacesuits. They fed them through these slots in the walls. Half the kids had had the injections, half not. The half who had no injections started to get ill.

‘At first they started sneezing and their noses ran.’ Konig gave a dry retch. ‘But then their eyes turned glazed and red and they took on the look of a zombie; of the living dead.

‘But you know the worst thing?’ Konig shuddered again. ‘Those kids – they died weeping blood.’