Ghost Flight

75

Jaeger waved a hand at the crates lining the Ju 390’s hold. ‘It only makes this all the more incredible. This warplane – it’s got to be the greatest collection of Nazi war secrets ever assembled. All the more vital that we get it lifted out of here, back to somewhere where we can—’

‘Where we can what?’ Narov cut in, turning her cold eyes upon him. ‘Tell the world? Much of this technology we have now perfected. Take the Röntgen Kanone; the death ray. Recently, the Americans perfected just such a thing. It is codenamed MARAUDER. It stands for Magnetically Accelerated Ring to Achieve Ultra-high Directed Energy and Radiation. Basically, it fires doughnut-shaped spheres of magnetically cemented plasma. Think balls of lightning.

‘It is a classified deniable access programme,’ Narov continued. ‘In other words, the holy grail of secrets. As is MARAUDER’s direct antecedent – the Nazi Röntgen Kanone. So no, Mr William Edward Michael Jaeger, we won’t be presenting this discovery to the world any time soon. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do everything in our power to save it, and for all the right reasons.’

Jaeger stared at Narov for a long second: William Edward Michael Jaeger – what was with the use of his full name?

‘You know something, I’ve got a million questions.’ Jaeger’s voice rose above the suck and blow of his gas mask. ‘And most of them seem to concern you. Mind telling me how you know so much? Mind telling me everything you know? Mind telling me who you are, even? Where you come from? Who you work for? Oh yeah, and mind telling me what’s with the commando knife?’

When Narov answered, her gaze remained fixed on the dead forest. ‘I might tell you some of these things, once we are safely out of this. Once we are truly safe. But right now—’

‘Plus the satchel of documents,’ Jaeger cut in. ‘The one you retrieved from the aircraft’s cockpit. Mind telling me what’s in that? The flight manifest? Air charts? The intended destination of this and the other warplanes?’

Narov ignored the question. ‘Right now, William Edward Michael Jaeger, I think you need to know only this: I knew Edward Michael Jaeger, your grandfather. Grandfather Ted, as all we who knew him called him. He was an inspiration and a guide to us all.

‘I worked with your grandfather, or rather I worked in his memory; I worked with his inheritance.’ Narov pulled out her knife. ‘And it was your grandfather who bequeathed me this. I was curious to meet his living legacy: you. I remain curious. I do not know if he is everything – or even anything – that I had hoped he would be.’

Jaeger was speechless. Before he could think of a suitable response, Narov spoke again.

‘He was the grandfather I never had. That I couldn’t have.’ For the first time since Jaeger had met her, Narov fixed him with a very direct, piercing look, one that held. ‘And you know something else? I have always resented the relationship you had with him… and that you were left free to follow your dreams.’

Jaeger held up his hands. ‘Whoa… Where did that come from?’

Narov turned away. ‘It is a long story. I do not know if I am ready. If you are ready… And now—’

Her words were cut short by a fearful cry that rang out over the radio intercom. ‘Arggghhh! Get it off! Get it off!’

Jaeger spun around, only to find that Dale had blundered into a place where the spiders’ webs seemed at their thickest. The cameraman had been so focused on his lens that he’d not kept a proper watch on where he was going. Tough, sticky filaments wrapped around him, as he fought to retain hold of his camera and sweep the suffocating silken threads – and their arachnid hordes – away.

Jaeger dashed to his aid.

He figured there was little chance that even a Phoneutria’s fangs could pierce Dale’s gloves or mask, and presumably the NBC suit was tough enough to resist a bite. But Dale was unlikely to know that, and his terror sounded all too real.

Jaeger used his thick rubber mitts to swipe the writhing mass of spiders aside, punching their squishy, hissing forms into the darkness. With Narov’s help he dragged Dale free, still desperately clutching at his camera. But as they pulled him out of the tangle of webs, Jaeger caught sight of the real cause of Dale’s fear.

Lying in the crushed mass of silken threads was a ghostly skeleton, its fleshless face a rictus of horror, the bones of its body still clad in a half-decayed SS officer’s uniform. As Jaeger stared at the dead man – doubtless one of the Ju 390’s original passengers – he heard a voice over the radio intercom.

‘It wasn’t the bloody spiders that got me!’ Dale gasped. ‘It was being in the clutches of some long-dead Nazi general!’

‘I see him,’ Jaeger confirmed. ‘And you know something? He makes you look almost handsome. Come on – let’s hustle.’

Jaeger was all too aware that they’d been in the suffocating confines of this aircraft for approaching an hour now. It was time to get moving. But as he led Dale and Narov back towards the cockpit, he was struck by a shocking realisation: he’d yet to spare a thought for how this warplane might hold the key to discovering the fate of his wife and child.

Luke and Ruth: their disappearance was tied up inextricably with whatever they had discovered here. The Reichsadler – the stamp of evil – was all over both this warplane and Jaeger’s family’s abduction.

And somehow he had to start searching for the answers.