The Hunt

81

There was a squawk of static in Jaeger’s earpiece. Message incoming.

‘Going dark,’ Raff confirmed.

Seconds later, the dull, rhythmic thud of the generator ceased. Raff had considered a few options for stopping it: blowing it up, cutting the wires, slicing through the fuel pipe. But in the circumstances – and once he’d picked the lock on the generator shed – it was just as easy to press the STOP button.

Sure, Kammler might send out his gunmen to get it restarted, but to do so they’d have to leave the bunker’s entrance, which any second now was going to get hosed down by Alonzo. And the big African American wasn’t exactly short of ammo: Jaeger and Raff had handed over all their remaining 40mm grenade rounds.

Screw it, Raff told himself. He ripped off the generator’s fuel hose and stuffed it in his pocket. Now it definitely wouldn’t start.

Raff’s radio message had been the signal. As Alonzo opened fire, the noise of the blasts echoed through the stunted tree cover. Jaeger figured Kammler had set his command bunker here, in the densest thicket of bush, so as to hide it from the air.

Well, thanks to Hing, they’d found it anyway.

Jaeger glanced over his shoulder and saw Hing give a reassuring thumbs-up. He added a tug of the earlobe, which in this part of the world signified that all was well.

Hing struck Jaeger as being remarkably cool under such circumstances. But then you didn’t exactly get wrapped in cotton wool in the People’s Liberation Army. Having found himself working for Kammler and enduring whatever horrors that had entailed, the man would have a core of inner toughness.

Raff rejoined them, and they crept closer to their intended point of entry. The skylight proved to be perfectly disguised amongst the vegetation. Without Hing, they would never have found it.

It allowed natural light to enter the bunker complex, and there was also a thin metal ladder running from the skylight down to the floor inside. Clearly it was designed to act as an emergency exit in case of fire or attack.

In his left hand, Jaeger cradled a grenade. He counted down the seconds. When he figured they were long enough into Alonzo’s assault, he crept forward, pulled the pin and rolled the grenade across the skylight.

By the time he heard it come to a stop, he was dashing for cover. The standard NATO fragmentation grenade had a four-second fuse, and a lethal rage of five metres. The delay gave Jaeger just enough time to go to ground. Moments later, there was a deafening crack, and the howl of shrapnel cut through the air.

The team were instantly on their feet, sprinting for the breach. Jaeger reached it first, dropping some seven feet through the shattered opening, aiming for a clear patch of floor in the smoke-filled interior.

He hadn’t even bothered with the ladder. He needed speed and surprise. He landed in a crouch, his P228’s flashlight sweeping the room as he steadied himself. He blanked all else from his mind, scanning for human figures.

He panned right with his weapon, the torchlight dancing in the ghostly swirls of smoke. The light caught on a form slumped over a desk.

Kammler.