The Hunt

13

As she passed the seventy-second floor, Narov could detect a faint bluish tinge to the horizon: first light was maybe an hour away. Plenty of time to get to the top. It was never truly dark in this city: the glare thrown off by the jungle of brightly lit skyscrapers ensured that she had more than enough light by which to climb.

She’d opted to scale the building at night chiefly because of temperature. Come dawn, the heat and humidity would rise and the fierce Dubai sunlight would be reflected off the glass, making the present task near-impossible.

At least at this hour it was still relatively cool.

She felt her heart rate rising as she edged further and further away from the safety of the elevator cage. She ensured that she was always secured by at least three cups, yet still it was daunting hanging off the wall of glass.

She’d first learnt this climbing technique in England, courtesy of Will Jaeger. Following their mission to stop Kammler, Jaeger had been invited to the passing-out parade of a group of Royal Marines recruits at the Commando Training Centre in Lympstone, Devon, known simply as CTCRM.

Eighteen young men had just completed the gruelling thirty-two-week selection course, and they were scheduled to be awarded their coveted green berets.

Jaeger, a former commando officer, had asked Narov to join him for the ceremony. He’d intended to take his wife, but at the last minute he’d realised that her behaviour was far too unpredictable these days.

Since her rescue, Ruth Jaeger had grown increasingly introverted, spurning most of their family and friends. Jaeger had confided all this to Narov during one of their quieter moments. He hadn’t told her that Ruth was growing increasingly moody and prone to violence, but Narov knew as much from what others had said. It pained her to think of Will Jaeger being on the receiving end of so much psychological – and physical – hurt.

With his chiselled features, longish dark hair, grey eyes and wolfish demeanour, Will Jaeger was blessed with gaunt, rugged good looks. Over time, Narov had fallen for him hook, line and sinker. She’d got skin-close. Heart-close.

She’d longed for him. Dreamed about him. Believed in him.

And then his wife had come back from the dead.

Well, shit happened. Narov wasn’t one to hold grudges. She’d accepted Jaeger’s invitation to Lympstone because you never knew. For someone like her, who found it difficult to get close to anyone, hope sprang eternal. And with Will Jaeger, she sensed there was reason to hope.

At CTCRM, she’d learnt how the Royal Marines prided themselves on recruiting the ‘thinking man’s soldier’. Their motto was: Royal Marines: It’s a state of mind. They stressed that being a commando was as much about mental as physical ability.

‘Be the first to understand,’ the commanding officer had urged the new recruits, ‘the first to adapt and respond; the first to overcome.’ He’d finished by reminding them that ‘In the midst of every difficulty lies opportunity.’

Narov had been sceptical at first. She’d heard too much bullshit military-speak in her time. But then they’d taken her for a tour of the mountain cadre, where they trained some of the world’s most accomplished combat mountaineers.

It was there that she’d watched a demonstration of how to scale a glass-fronted skyscraper using nothing more than what looked like a set of builder’s tools. Of course, when they offered her a try, she couldn’t resist. She’d been an instant convert.

But what had impressed her most was the character of the Marines. They knew their job, they did it well, yet there was a humility to their words and actions that she hadn’t seen before in fighting men. Even with the inevitable banter, the soldiers seemed to have respect at the heart of all they did.

Indeed, Lympstone was where the young Will Jaeger had been shaped as a soldier, and as a man.

The words of the chief instructor ran through her head now as she scaled the highest floors of the Al Mohajir Tower: Trust the gear, it works.

From her dizzying vantage point she could hear the distant hum of traffic, the city’s heartbeat, punctuated by the blaring of horns. She glanced east. Sunrise soon. A thin blanket of white coated much of the coast, where smog mixed with the mist sweeping in off the sea.

Narov didn’t put much store by the climber’s mantra: Never look down. She liked looking down. She liked to see how high she had come. She knew how far she had to fall. It was a fact. So how could seeing it unsettle her?

She didn’t understand fear of dying. She always took risks in the full knowledge of what the consequences might be. That was her way.

She turned back to the task, shoulder muscles bunching as she detached a suction pad, reached higher and clamped it on again. Just a few more panes of glass and she’d have made it.

Show time.