The Hunt

27

A day earlier, they’d been flying across the Atlantic on an airliner routed to Rio when Narov had levered open the topic of Ruth’s disappearance with all the subtlety of a bulldozer.

‘I have been thinking about your wife’s condition,’ she had announced flatly. ‘I know about the diagnosis of PTSD. That might be a part of what she is suffering. But I don’t believe that is all that is wrong with her.’

As she’d been speaking, Narov had rearranged the food on her plate. For dinner she’d chosen grilled salmon fillet with bulgur wheat and green mango salad. Typically, she’d separated out the foodstuffs so that none touched, sorting them into their various colours.

As Jaeger knew, Narov was autistic; high-functioning, but autistic nonetheless. It explained so many things about her: her apparent icy reserve; her odd, robotic way of speaking; the fact that she seemed to mimic so many different accents – American, English, Russian – her speech a total mishmash.

And of course, her absolute perfectionism about the thing she did so very well, which was soldiering; or more specifically, man-hunting.

Plus it explained why foods of differing colours should never be in contact with each other, especially green on red. By way of answer, Jaeger had prodded the fish so that it touched the salad – a real no-no as far as Narov was concerned.

She’d glared at him. ‘Look, you know why I do this. With my food. I have explained it to you, so why mock?’ She paused. ‘You may not understand it, but equally I cannot understand why you bury your head in the sand. Nothing about your wife’s disappearance makes any sense, yet you stay loyal to her, blindly.’

Jaeger’s face hardened. He could sense Raff shrinking in the seat beside him. There were clearly far gentler ways to broach such a topic – not that Jaeger agreed with her in any case. Narov was hardly unbiased. She’d never warmed to Ruth, and he figured the reasons why were anchored in the attraction she’d felt towards him from the get-go – one that Jaeger had found it hard not to reciprocate.

But right now, she was really riling him. ‘She was escorted out of the clinic by an unknown male,’ Jaeger grated. ‘She was abducted the last time. Taken captive. Stands to reason it’s the same now.’

‘And her visiting your boys? How do you explain that? How does that fit with an abduction?’

They’d lapsed into a moody silence. It had given Jaeger more than a moment to reflect. He was stressed – tight as a razor blade. For a moment he’d wondered whether he should continue with the mission. Wasn’t it more important to be at home with the boys, to protect them? Maybe start the search for Ruth from that end?

But if she had gone after Kammler, then this was the only way to find her. On balance, he had no choice.

Or maybe this was all total bullshit. People suffering from PTSD tended to act irrationally. Unpredictably. Maybe she had disappeared as a veiled cry for help, taking herself off for some quality ‘alone’ time. It wouldn’t be the first time. There was just no way of knowing.

Jaeger forced his thoughts back to the present: he could feel the Super Puma starting to lose what little altitude it had.

Moments later, it flared out, the rear end dropping into a jungle clearing some ninety yards across, the turbines screaming at fever pitch. The Puma’s loadmaster – the guy who looked after the passengers and cargo – was hanging out of the doorway, checking the rotors weren’t about to slam into one of the massive trees that fringed the clearing.

A sudden jolt signified that the rear wheels had made contact with the hot earth. The loadie spun around and gave a thumbs-up – the universal signal for ‘go, go, go’. Keeping low, Jaeger and Narov leapt off the helo and Raff and Alonzo started hurling packs down to them.

They grabbed the bergens and got down in a crouch, covering Raff and Alonzo with their weapons. The Super Puma was still turning and burning, the downwash of the rotor blades kicking up a storm of choking dust and vegetation. Jaeger flashed a thumbs-up, and seconds later, the chopper had pulled away from the clearing and was gone.

The key priority now was to get off the LZ, in case any of the narcos were around. But first, Jaeger needed to check they’d been dropped in the right location. He pulled out his map, compass and GPS. Having used these to verify their grid, he took a compass bearing pretty much due west, checked the map for any obvious features, and signalled the off.

Heaving his massive pack onto his shoulders, he led the way silently towards the ragged fringe of trees, pushing beneath the canopy, where all was shade and shadow. A hundred yards in, he halted, signalling the others to do likewise. Here they’d execute a listening watch, crouching in silence, using eyes and ears to scrutinise their surroundings.

If anyone had got wise to their arrival, now was the time they were likely to put in an appearance. Silent and watchful, Jaeger and his team would be ready to mount an ambush, as opposed to blundering into one.

As he crouched there, letting the sounds, sights and smells of the jungle seep into him, Jaeger felt his mind wander. Losing Ruth again, and in such shocking circumstances, had hit him hard. He’d been totally blindsided. And it hurt. Really hurt.

He’d barely slept this past week. He had dark bags beneath his eyes. He hoped that the present mission, and the sheer physical exertion, would help drive the worry from his mind.

Deep in his heart he still loved her. She was the mother of his son, and the woman he had fallen for all those years ago, with those magical green eyes flecked with gold. She could light up a room with her laughter and her razor-sharp sense of humour. But that had been Ruth Jaeger prior to Kammler getting his hands on her.

If she had been kidnapped, the present mission was the best way – perhaps the only way – of finding her.