Ghost Flight

92

Jaeger glanced across the warm aquamarine waters at Irina Narov. ‘Your wave,’ he challenged. ‘If you think you’re man enough.’

Behind them a massive swell was rolling towards the shimmering white sands, growing taller and more powerful as it neared the beach.

‘Schwachkopf ! Race you!’ Narov threw back the challenge.

They turned and began to paddle furiously in the direction of the shoreline. For an instant Jaeger felt the roar of the surf fill his ears and then the powerful thrust of it lifted up the rear of his board. He paddled faster, trying to catch the wave and become a part of it, as it thundered towards the thin sliver of silver that was the beach.

He accelerated, the surfboard tearing down the face of the water, and in one smooth move sprang to his feet, his legs bent at the knees to better cushion the ride. As his speed increased, Jaeger felt the familiar adrenalin rush, and he figured he’d execute a quick roller turn, just to ensure he beat Narov in style.

He swivelled his shoulders towards the wave, his board riding up the twelve-foot wall of water. He reached the foaming white crest and went to flip himself around so he could come tearing down again. But he’d underestimated just how much five weeks in Black Beach Prison followed by almost as long again in the Amazon had affected him.

As he tried to shift his weight to his front foot, Jaeger realised how stiff his legs still were. He lost his balance, and an instant later he wiped out. The big wave swallowed him, sucking him under and thrashing him around and around within its roaring, throaty depths.

He felt the raw power of the ocean take hold of him and surrendered himself to it. It was the only way to survive such a massive wipeout. As Jaeger had told his son when he’d first taken him surfing: ‘Take your time. Imagine you have ten seconds to save the world; always spend five of them having milk and cookies.’ It was his way of teaching Luke to stay calm in the storm.

When the wave was done with him, Jaeger knew it would spit him out the far side.

Sure enough, several seconds later he surfaced.

He took a massive gulp of air and felt around for the leash of his board. He found it, pulled the board towards him, climbed on and paddled towards land. Narov was waiting on the sands, victory blazing in her eyes.

It was a week since the epic code-breaking session on Jaeger’s barge, and the Operation Werewolf discovery. The idea of the Bermuda visit had been his. The intention: to spend a few days recharging batteries and making plans, courtesy of Jaeger’s parents.

A rest before the coming fight.

Being a tiny British overseas territory set smack bang in the midst of the Atlantic Ocean, Bermuda was about as far away from any prying eyes as it was possible to get. Jaeger’s parents didn’t even live in the largest settlement, Main Island. They’d made their home in Horseshoe Bay, on the breathtaking territory of Morgan’s Point.

Perfectly isolated. Perfectly beautiful.

And a long way from the hell of the Serra de los Dios…

Oddly enough for one so driven by the mission – by the hunt – Narov had seemed to jump at the chance of paying a visit to this tiny island paradise. Jaeger figured that once they were away from it all, she would be willing to talk at last about her hidden past, and not least her connection to his grandfather.

He’d tried to broach the subject a couple of times in London – but even there Narov had appeared to be stalked by demons.

The Bermuda trip also offered Jaeger the chance to talk to his parents about how Grandpa Ted had died, something that was long overdue. Sure enough, foul play had been suspected, though Jaeger had been too young to pick up on it at the time.

As the police had failed to uncover any evidence, the family had been forced to accept the suicide verdict pretty much at face value. But their suspicions had endured.

Predictably enough, his mother and father had interpreted Jaeger’s arrival with Narov as being something other than what it was. His father had even gone as far as taking Jaeger into his study for a private chat.

He’d remarked upon how Narov – though at times somewhat odd in her mannerisms – was quite beautiful, and how refreshing it was to see Jaeger taking up with a… lady friend once more. Jaeger had pointed out that his father was ignoring one seminal fact – he and Narov were sleeping in separate rooms.

His father had made it clear that he didn’t believe a bit of it. As far as he was concerned, the separate bedrooms act was just that – an act. It was all for show. And with Jaeger’s wife and child absent pushing four years now, his father had made it clear that he and his mother believed it was time.

Time for Jaeger to move on.

Jaeger loved his parents to death. His father in particular had bequeathed to him his joy of all things wild – the sea, mountains, forests. Jaeger hadn’t quite managed to tell him that he’d never felt more convinced that Ruth and Luke were alive. Most probably he’d held off doing so to save his parents any more uncertainty and anguish.

He didn’t really know how to explain his new-found conviction. How could he tell his father that a psychotropic cocktail administered by an Amazon Indian – a brother warrior – had given him back his memories, and with them, his hope?