Burning Angels

He bent over Leticia’s crumpled form. She lay face down, unmoving. He placed a hand on her neck, checking for a pulse. Nothing. He shuddered. He could barely believe it: the body was still warm, but she was dead, just as he had feared.

Narov appeared beside him. Jaeger glanced up, eyes blazing. ‘Nice bastard work. You just—’

‘Take a closer look,’ Narov’s voice cut in. It had the characteristic cold, flat, emotionless ring to it — the one that Jaeger found so disconcerting. ‘A proper look.’

She reached forward, grabbed the fallen figure by the hair and jerked the head roughly backwards. No respect, not even for the dead.

Jaeger stared at the ashen features. It was a Latino woman all right, but it wasn’t Leticia Santos.

‘How the—’ he began.

‘I am a woman,’ Narov cut in. ‘I recognise another woman’s posture. Her gait. This one — it wasn’t Leticia’s.’

For a moment Jaeger wondered whether Narov felt even the slightest remorse for having killed this mystery captive, or at least for taking the shot that had sent her plunging to her doom.

‘One more thing,’ Narov added. She reached inside the woman’s jacket and fished out a pistol, holding it up to Jaeger. ‘She was a member of their gang.’

Jaeger gawped. ‘Jesus. The drama on the roof. It was all an act.’

‘It was. To draw us in.’

‘How did you know?’

Narov turned her blank gaze upon Jaeger. ‘I saw a bulge. A gun-shaped bulge. But mostly — instinct and intuition. A soldier’s sixth sense.’

Jaeger shook his head to clear it. ‘But then — where the hell’s Leticia?’

With a sudden flash of inspiration he yelled into his radio: ‘Raff!’ The big Maori had remained in the target house, checking the survivors and looking for clues. ‘Raff! You got Vladimir?’

‘Yeah. Got him.’

‘Can he talk?’

‘Yeah. Just.’

‘Right. Bring him here.’

Thirty seconds later Raff emerged from the building with a figure thrown across his massive shoulders. He dumped the man at Jaeger’s feet.

‘Vladimir — or so he claims.’

The leader of the kidnap gang showed the unmistakable symptoms of a Kolokol-1 attack. His heart rate had slowed to a perilously low level, as had his breathing, his muscles going strangely slack. His skin was clammy and his mouth dry.

He’d just been hit by the first waves of dizziness, which meant that vomiting and seizures would quickly follow. Jaeger needed to get some answers, before the guy was rendered beyond any use. He whipped a syringe out of his breast pouch and held it before the man’s eyes.

‘Listen good,’ he announced, his voice reverberating through the mask’s voice-projection system. ‘You’ve been hit by sarin,’ he lied. ‘Know much about nerve agents? Horrible way to die. You’ve only got a few minutes left.’

The man’s eyes rolled in terror. Clearly he understood enough English to get the gist of what Jaeger was saying.

Jaeger waved the syringe. ‘You see this? Compoden. The antidote. You get this, you live.’

The man thrashed about, trying to reach for the syringe.

Jaeger shoved him with his foot. ‘Right, answer the following question. Where is the hostage, Leticia Santos? You get the injection in exchange for an answer. If not, you’re dead.’

The man was twitching violently now, saliva dribbling from his nose and mouth. Yet somehow he raised a shaking hand and pointed back into the villa.

‘Basement. Under rug. In there.’

Jaeger raised the needle and plunged it into the man’s arm. Kolokol-1 requires no antidote and the syringe contained a harmless shot of saline solution. A few minutes in the open air would be enough to ensure his survival, though it would take him many more weeks to fully recover.

Narov and Jaeger headed inside, leaving Raff to keep tabs on Vladimir. Back in the basement, Jaeger’s torch revealed a bright Latino-style rug laid across the bare concrete floor. He scuffed it aside, uncovering a heavy steel trapdoor. He tugged at the handle, but it didn’t budge. It had to be locked from the inside.

He dug out a shaped explosive charge from his rucksack and unrolled it, exposing the sticky strip, then chose a spot at the back of the trapdoor and taped the charge along the crack.

‘Soon as the charge blows, get the gas in,’ he announced.

Narov nodded and readied a Kolokol-1 grenade.

They took cover. Jaeger triggered the fuse, and instantaneously there was a sharp explosion, a thick cloud of smoke and debris billowing through the air. The trapdoor was now a blasted ruin.

Narov lobbed the gas canister into the smoke-filled interior. Jaeger counted down the seconds, allowing the gas to take hold before lowering his frame through and letting himself drop. He hit the deck, taking the impact on his knees, and immediately had his gun in the aim, sweeping the room with the flashlight attached to the weapon. Through the thick fog of gas in the air he could see two figures lying on the floor, comatose.

Narov dropped in next to him and Jaeger swept his torch over the two unconscious men. ‘Check them.’