Burning Angels

‘Blome was ordered to isolate and culture this mystery pathogen. This he did, and it proved utterly devastating. It was perfect; a God-given germ agent. The ultimate Gottvirus. He wrote about it in his journal: “It is as if this pathogen has not originated on this planet; or at least has come from a time of ancient prehistory, long before modern man walked the earth”.’

Uncle Joe steadied himself. ‘There were two challenges to unleashing the Gottvirus. One, the Nazis needed a cure: an inoculation that could be mass-produced to safeguard the German population. Two, they needed to alter the virus’s means of infection, from fluid-to-fluid contact to airborne means. It needed to act like the flu virus: one sneeze, and it would burn through a population in a matter of days.

‘Blome worked feverishly. His was a race against time. Fortunately for us, it was one that he lost. His lab was overrun by the Allies before he could either perfect a vaccine or re-engineer the virus’s method of infection. The Gottvirus was categorised Kriegsentscheidend, the highest security classification ever assigned by the Nazis. At war’s end, SS General Hans Kammler was determined it would remain the Reich’s topmost secret.’

Uncle Joe braced himself against his walking stick; an old soldier coming to the end of a long tale. ‘That is where the story pretty much ends. Blome’s journal made it clear that he and Kammler had safeguarded the Gottvirus, which they began developing again in the late sixties. There is one final thing: in his journal, Blome repeated the same phrase over and over again.

Jedem das Seine. Over and over he wrote: Jedem das Seine… It is German for “everyone gets what they deserve”.’

He ran his eyes around the room. There was a look in them that Jaeger had rarely if ever seen before: fear.

27

‘Excellent work — the London job. I understand there was little left of anything. And not a trace as to who was responsible.’

Hank Kammler had addressed the remark to an absolute monster of a man who was seated on the bench beside him. Shaven-headed, with a goatee beard and a fearsome cut to his hunched shoulders, Steve Jones reeked of menace.

He and Kammler were in Washington’s West Potomac Park. All around, the cherry trees were in full bloom, but there was nothing remotely joyful about the look on the big man’s scarred features. Younger — maybe half Kammler’s sixty-three years — Jones had a stone-cold expression and the eyes of a dead man.

‘London?’ Jones snorted. ‘Could’ve done it with my eyes closed. So what’s next?’

As far as Kammler was concerned, Jones’s fearsome physicality and his killer instincts were useful, but he still doubted whether he should make him a truly trusted part of his team. He suspected Jones was the kind of man best kept in a steel cage and only brought out at a time of war… or to blow to pieces a London edit suite, which had been his last contract.

‘I’m curious. Why do you hate him so much?’

‘Who?’ Jones queried. ‘Jaeger?’

‘Yes. William Edward Jaeger. Why the all-consuming hatred?’

Jones leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘’Cause I’m good at hating. That’s all.’

Kammler lifted his face, enjoying the feel of the warm spring sunshine on his skin. ‘I would still like to know why. It would help me bring you into my… innermost confidence.’

‘Put it this way,’ Jones replied darkly. ‘If you hadn’t ordered me to keep him alive, Jaeger would be dead by now. I’d have killed him when I ripped his wife and child away from him. You should have let me finish this when I had the chance.’

‘Perhaps. But I prefer to torture him for as long as possible.’ Kammler smiled. ‘Revenge, as they say, is a dish best served cold… And with his family in my hands, I have every means to deliver it. Slowly. Painfully. Oh so satisfyingly.’

The big man gave a cruel bark of a laugh. ‘Makes sense.’

‘So back to my question: why the all-consuming hatred?’

Jones turned his gaze on Kammler. It was like looking into the eyes of a man without a soul. ‘You really want to know?’

‘I do. It would be helpful.’ Kammler paused. ‘I have lost practically all confidence in my… Eastern European operators. They were occupied with business of mine on a small island off the coast of Cuba. A few weeks back Jaeger hit them hard. He and his team were three, my people thirty. You can understand why I’ve lost trust in them; why I may want to use you more.’

‘Amateurs.’

Kammler nodded. ‘My conclusion also. But the hatred for Jaeger. Why?’

The big man’s gaze turned inwards. ‘A few years back, I was on SAS selection. So too was an officer name of Captain William Jaeger of the Royal Marines. He saw me supplementing my supplies and took it upon himself to impose his misjudged morals on my personal business.