Ghost Flight

87

Boerke wasn’t one for overdramatising things.

The file from the Bioko Government House archive was as shocking as it was revelatory. And as Jaeger packed it into his carry-on flight luggage, he was reminded of a phrase that Narov had used recently: ‘poisoned chalice’.

The bag with the file in it seemed to weigh so heavily in his hands. It was another clue to the puzzle, and doubtless one the Dark Force would kill for.

Jaeger rejoined Boerke with his luggage. The South African had offered him a tour of the island before he was scheduled to catch a return flight to London. He’d promised further extraordinary revelations, not that Jaeger could imagine what would possibly top the Government House file.

They drove east out of Malabo, heading into the thick tropical bush. By the time Boerke had turned on to the tiny dirt track threading towards the coast, Jaeger knew where they were going. They were making for Fernao, the place where he had spent three long years teaching English to the children of a fishing village.

Jaeger was trying desperately to think what he would say to the village chief, whose son, Little Mo, had died during the battle on the beach. It was less than two months back, but to Jaeger it felt like a whole lifetime and a world away.

Boerke must have noticed the worry etched on his features. He laughed. ‘Jaeger, man, I tell you – you look more scared now than when I ordered my guys to throw you into Black Beach. Relax. Next big surprise coming up.’

As they rounded the final bend in the road, Jaeger was surprised to see some kind of a reception party up ahead.

They drew closer, and it seemed as if most of the village had turned out… but for what? To welcome him? After what had happened, he really did not deserve that.

Jaeger noticed a home-made banner had been strung from one palm tree to another, stretching across the dirt road.

It read: WELCOME HOME WILLIAM JAEGER.

As Boerke pulled to a halt and Jaeger’s former pupils mobbed the vehicle, he could feel a lump forming in his throat. Boerke and his guards left him to it, as little hands dragged him out and propelled him towards the chief’s house. Jaeger steeled himself for what he knew was going to be a bittersweet reunion.

He stepped inside. After the harsh sunlight, the dark interior momentarily blinded him. The familiar sound of the surf from the nearby beach echoed through the thin mud walls of the hut. A hand was thrust forward in greeting, but the chief’s welcome turned rapidly into a powerful bear hug.

‘William Jaeger… William Jaeger, welcome. Fernao village – it will always be your home.’

The chief seemed close to tears. Jaeger fought back the emotion.

‘Insh’Allah, you have travelled well?’ the chief asked. ‘After your escape, we did not know if you had made it across the waters – you and your friend.’

‘Insh’Allah,’ Jaeger replied. ‘Raff and I – we made it through that and many more adventures.’

The chief smiled. He gestured into a dark corner of the hut. ‘Come,’ he commanded. ‘We have kept Mr Jaeger waiting long enough.’

A figure leapt out of the shadows, throwing himself into Jaeger’s arms. ‘Sir! Sir! Welcome back! Welcome home! And look!’ The small boy gestured at the sunglasses perched on his forehead. ‘I still have these! Your sunglasses! Your Oakleys!’

Jaeger laughed. He could barely believe it. Little Mo still had a thick bandage wrapped around his head, but he was very much alive!

Jaeger hugged him close, savouring the sweet miracle of the boy’s survival. But at the same moment he felt the pang of an irreplaceable loss deep inside his heart. His own son would be around Little Mo’s age now. That was if he was still alive…

With perfect timing, Boerke joined them, and the chief proceeded to relate the story of Little Mo’s miraculous survival.

‘We have God – and you, Mr Jaeger – to thank for this… this miracle. Plus Mr Boerke, of course. The bullet fired on the night of your escape hit my son a glancing blow. He was left for dead and we feared he would indeed die. And of course, there was no money to send him to the kind of hospital where they might save him.

‘Then came the coup, and this man turned up,’ the chief gestured at Boerke, ‘with a piece of paper and some numbers. And that gave access to a bank account, in which you had left… money. With that money and Mr Boerke’s help, I sent Little Mo to the best hospital in all of Africa, in Cape Town, and there they were able to save him.

‘But it was a very large amount of money, and much was left over.’ The chief smiled. ‘So first I bought some new boats, to replace the ones that were taken or shot up. And then we decided to build a new school. A proper one, so teaching does not have to be done under a palm tree any more. And finally – if Mrs Topeka can show herself – we hired a permanent teacher.’

A young, smartly dressed local woman stepped forward, giving Jaeger a shy smile. ‘All the children speak very fondly of you, Mr Jaeger. I am trying to carry on the good work that you began.’

‘Of course, there is still a place for a teacher of your talents,’ the chief added. ‘And Little Mo misses your skills at beach soccer very much! But I sense that maybe you have business that has taken you back into the wider world, and that maybe this is a good thing.’ He paused. ‘Insh’Allah, William, you have found your path.’

Had he? Had he found his path?

Jaeger thought about that dark warplane, the debris of which now lay scattered across the jungle; he thought of Irina Narov and her precious dagger; he thought of Ruth and Luke, his missing wife and child. There seemed to be many paths before him now, but maybe, somehow, they were all converging.

‘Insh’Allah,’ he agreed. He ruffled Little Mo’s hair. ‘But do one thing for me, will you – keep that teaching post open, just in case!’

The chief promised he would.

‘So, now the time has come,’ he announced. ‘You must come and see the site we have chosen for the school. It overlooks the beach where you made your escape, and we would like you to lay the foundation stone. We are thinking of calling it the William Jaeger and Pieter Boerke School, for without you there would not be one.’

Boerke shook his head in amazement. ‘I’m honoured. But no, just the William Jaeger School is enough. Me – I was simply the messenger.’

The visit to the school site was a special moment. Jaeger laid the first stone, upon which the walls would be built, and he and Boerke stayed for the obligatory feast. But eventually they had to say their goodbyes.

Boerke had one more destination scheduled on their island tour, and Jaeger had a flight to catch.