Burning Angels

Jaeger swung his gaze from Narov to James and back again. ‘That’s you two. Mr and Mrs Bert Groves, whose wallets are stuffed with cash and whose brains are addled with love.’

Narov stared at the hulking bearded form of Joe James. ‘Me and him? Why us?’

‘You, ’cause none of us is sharing a safari lodge with another guy,’ Jaeger answered. ‘And James, ’cause once he’s shaved his beard and cut his hair, he’ll be perfect.’

James shook his head and smiled. ‘And what’ll you be doing, while the lovely Irina and I head off into the African sunset?’

‘I’ll be right behind you,’ Jaeger answered, ‘with the guns and the backup.’

James scratched his massive beard. ‘One problem, aside from shaving this off… Can I be trusted to keep my hands off Irina? I mean, much as I—’

‘Zip it, Osama bin Liner,’ Narov cut in. ‘I can look after myself.’

James shrugged good-naturedly. ‘But seriously, there is a problem. Kamishi, Alonzo and me — we’re under the cosh, remember. We’ve got cutaneous leishmaniasis; we’re banned from any strenuous activity. And by anyone’s reckoning, this is going to be tough.’

James wasn’t bullshitting about the sickness. At the end of their Amazon expedition, he, Alonzo and Kamishi had been trapped in the jungle for several weeks. During their epic exfiltration they’d been eaten alive by sand flies — tiny tropical mites the size of a pinhead.

The flies had laid their larvae under the men’s skin, to feed off the living flesh. The bites had turned into open, weeping sores. The only treatment was a series of injections of Pentostam, a highly toxic drug. Each shot felt as if acid was burning through your veins. Pentostam was so noxious it could weaken your heart and respiratory systems — hence the ban on any strenuous physical activity.

‘There’s still Raff,’ Jaeger ventured.

James shook his head. ‘With all due respect, Raff just won’t cut it. Sorry, mate, but it’s the tattoos and the hair. No one would buy it. And that,’ he eyed Jaeger, ‘leaves only you.’

Jaeger glanced at Narov. She didn’t appear the slightest bit perturbed at what was being proposed here. He wasn’t entirely surprised. She seemed to possess few of the normal human sensitivities to how people should and shouldn’t interact, especially between the sexes.

‘What if Kammler’s people recognise us? We’ve got reason to believe they have photos of me, at the very least,’ Jaeger objected. It was the main reason he hadn’t suggested that he team up with Narov in the first place.

‘Two options,’ a voice cut in. It was Peter Miles. ‘And let me just say — I like this plan. You’ll be disguised. The extreme option is to have plastic surgery. The less extreme option is to change your appearance as much as we can without going under the knife. Either way, we have people who can do this.’

‘Plastic surgery?’ Jaeger queried, incredulous.

‘It is not so unusual. Ms Narov has already had it done twice. Each time we suspected that those she hunted knew of her appearance. In fact, the Secret Hunters have a long history of going under the knife.’

Jaeger threw up his hands. ‘Okay, look, can we just do this without a nip ’n’ tuck and nose job?’

‘We can, in which case you will be a blonde,’ Miles announced. ‘And for good measure, your wife will be a ravishing brunette.’

‘Or how about a fiery redhead?’ James suggested. ‘That’s far more suited to her temperament.’

‘Get a life, Osama,’ Narov hissed.

‘No, no. A blonde and a brunette.’ Peter Miles smiled. ‘Trust me, that will be perfect.’

With that agreed, the briefing broke up. All were tired. Being locked away deep underground made Jaeger feel strangely restless and irritable. He longed for a breath of wind and a touch of sunshine.

But there was one more thing he needed to do first. He loitered as the room thinned out, before approaching Miles, who was busy packing away his computer gear.

‘Any chance of a private word?’

‘Of course.’ The elderly Miles glanced around the bunker. ‘We’re pretty much alone, I think.’

‘So, I’m curious,’ Jaeger ventured. ‘Why the stress you keep placing on human testing? The relevance you seem to think it has to me personally?’

‘Ah, that… I’m not very good at hiding things, not when they trouble me…’ Miles powered up his laptop again. ‘Let me show you something.’

He clicked on a file and pulled up an image. It showed a shaven-headed man, in a black and white striped pyjama suit, slumped against a plain tiled wall. His eyes were screwed shut, his brow heavily furrowed and his mouth open in a silent scream.

Miles glanced at Jaeger. ‘The Natzweiler gas chamber. As with most things, the Nazis documented their poison gas experiments in great detail. There are four thousand such images. Some are far more disturbing, because they feature tests on women and children.’

Jaeger had a sickening sense of what Miles was driving at here. ‘Give it to me straight. I need to know.’