Burning Angels

His tackling was fearsome, and few were the opposition players who managed to get past him. And in spite of his mother’s worries, he wore his bruises and cuts as badges of honour. He seemed to have a natural appreciation of the saying — ‘What doesn’t break you makes you stronger’.

That Christmas’s sport — Rugby Sevens; seven-a-side — tended to be more fast-flowing and less bogged down by the brutal attrition of the regular game. Jaeger had lured Ruth to that first sevens match, and once she had seen her son running like the wind and scoring a fine try, she’d been hooked.

From then on she and Jaeger had stood arm in arm on the sidelines, screaming out their support for Luke and his team. It had been one of those precious moments when Jaeger had felt the simple joy of being a family.

He had videoed one of the toughest matches, so they could play the tape to the boys and analyse how best to improve their game. Lessons learned. But now, those were some of the last images he had of his missing son.

And he had replayed those scenes over and over during the three dark years since losing him.

14

On the spur of the moment, they’d driven north that Christmas, to Wales, to do some winter camping, the car stuffed full of gear and presents. Ruth was a lover of all things nature, and a diehard conservationist, and her son had inherited those same interests. As a threesome, they loved nothing more than to head out into the wild.

But it was there on the Welsh mountains that Ruth and Luke had been ripped away from him. Jaeger — traumatised and driven wild by grief — had cut off all links to the world they had once inhabited, Jules Holland and his son Daniel included.

Daniel — who had Asperger’s, a form of autism — had been Luke’s best friend at school. Jaeger could only imagine how suddenly losing his battle buddy had affected him.

Holland waved a hand vaguely towards the match. ‘As you’ll have noticed, Dan’s still blessed with two flat feet. Takes after his dad, a cack-handed monster at any sport. At least with rugby you can bumble through with a bit of fat and muscle.’ He glanced at his paunch. ‘More the former, when you’re talking about a son of mine.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jaeger offered. ‘About the disappearance. The silence. Stuff happened.’ He glanced around at the rain-swept scene. ‘I guess maybe you heard.’

‘A little.’ Holland shrugged. ‘I feel for you. No need to apologise. No need to say anything at all.’

A silence lay between them. Companionable. Understated. Accepting. The thud of boots on wet turf and the yells of the parents punctuated their thoughts.

‘So how is Daniel?’ Jaeger asked eventually. ‘It must’ve been hard for him. Losing Luke. Those two were utterly inseparable.’

Holland smiled. ‘Kindred spirits, that’s how I always thought of them.’ He glanced at Jaeger. ‘Dan’s made some new friends. But he never stops asking, “When’s Luke coming back?” That kind of thing.’

Jaeger felt a lump in his throat. Maybe it had been a mistake coming here. It was twisting him up inside. He tried changing the subject. ‘You busy? Still up to the same old monkey business?’

‘Busier than ever. Once you earn a certain reputation, every agency and their mother comes knocking. I’m freelance still. For hire to the highest bidder. The more competitors, the more my rates keep rising.’

Holland had earned his reputation — and his nickname — in a decidedly uncertain field: computer and internet piracy. He’d started in his teens, by hacking into the school portal and replacing the photos of the teachers he didn’t like with donkeys.

He’d gone on to hijack the A-level examination board website, awarding himself and his school mates straight A’s. A natural-born social activist and rebel, he’d graduated to hacking a wealth of criminal and gang-related groups, taking money from their bank accounts and transferring it direct to their opponents.

As just one example, he’d hacked the bank account of a Brazilian mafioso outfit that traded illegal narcotics and timber out of the Amazon, transferring several million dollars to Greenpeace.

Of course, the environmental activists hadn’t been able to keep the cash. They couldn’t be seen to profit from the very thing they fought against, not to mention the illegality. But the resulting press coverage had dragged the mafioso group into the limelight, speeding their demise. And it had been one more step in earning the Ratcatcher his notoriety.

With each success, Holland left the same message: Hacked by the Rat. And so it was that his unique skills had come to the attention of those who make it their business to know.

At that stage, he had found himself at a crossroads: either go to court facing a plethora of hacking charges, or start working quietly for the good guys. Accordingly, he was now a much-sought-after consultant to an alphabet soup of intelligence agencies, with an enviable security clearance.