Ghost Flight (31 page)

Jaeger eyed Puruwehua. ‘I am sure we can broker some kind of deal with the chief and his warriors.’

Puruwehua nodded. ‘The elders – they believe your camera hurts their soul. With the younger men – the warriors – I’m sure I can persuade them otherwise.’

Dale hesitated for an instant, clearly torn between his desire to go and his fear of what lay ahead. He shrugged. ‘Then I guess it’ll be the film to die for.’

Jaeger turned to Santos. ‘Leticia?’

Santos gave a faint shrug. ‘I would like to very much. To come. But my conscience tells me I am better here, staying with my Indians. What do you think? No?’

‘If you think you should stay, you should stay.’ Jaeger pulled out her silk scarf. ‘And here’s your scarf – like you, a survivor.’

An emotional Santos took the length of material. ‘But you must wear it, no? It is . . . good luck for the coming journey.’

She reached up and proceeded to knot it around Jaeger’s neck, kissing him on the cheek once she’d done so.

Jaeger fancied he could see Narov burning with that same jealousy that he’d detected before. It made him all the more determined to wear the scarf through all that was coming. Anything to rattle Narov; to try and find a way to get to the hidden person that lay within.

‘Four are in; one’s staying,’ Jaeger summed up. ‘And the rest?’

‘I’ve got three kids at home,’ a voice volunteered. It was Stefan Kral. ‘In London. Correction. Not London any more. We’ve just moved out to lovely Luton.’ He threw a resentful look at Dale. ‘Can’t afford London, not on an assistant producer’s wage. I’m staying alive and I’m getting home in one piece.’ He glanced at Jaeger. ‘I won’t be coming.’

‘Understood,’ Jaeger told him. ‘Get home safely, and be the father your kids need you to be. That matters more than any air wreck lying lost in the jungle.’

As he said those words, Jaeger felt a spit of bile rise from his stomach. He forced it back down. He’d spent a year searching for his own family after they disappeared. He’d travelled every highway; turned over every stone. He’d chased down every clue and pursued every lead, until all had turned cold. But had he really done everything he could to find them?

Had he given up on his family and given up on life – running to Bioko – just when he should have kept going? Jaeger kicked the thought away.

He glanced at Narov. ‘You?’

She met his gaze. ‘Do you need to ask?’

He shook his head. ‘I guess not. Irina Narov’s in.’

The Amahuaca chief glanced at the sky. ‘And so, you have your team. You leave at sun-up, maybe three hours away. I will order my warriors to make ready.’

‘One thing,’ a voice cut in. It was Narov’s, and she was directing her words at the chief. ‘Have you ever been to the site of that air beast?’

The chief nodded. ‘Yes,
ja-gwara,
I have.’

Ja-gwara
– it was a uniquely fitting name for Narov, reflecting her incredible ability to adapt and survive.

‘How well do you remember it?’ Narov asked. ‘And will you draw for me any marking that you saw there.’

The chief started sketching something in the sandy floor of the hut. After a few false starts, it gradually resolved itself into a darkly familiar image: an eagle in silhouette, wings outstretched, hooked beak thrown over its right shoulder, and with a bizarre circular symbol superimposed over its tail.

A
Reichsadler
.

This symbol was stamped on the rear of the aircraft, the chief explained, just forward of its tail. And it was the same symbol that had been carved into the skin of his warriors, he added – those who had been captured by the Dark Force and killed.

Jaeger stared at the image for a long second, his mind a whirl. He sensed that they were closing in, towards an end point; towards a reckoning. Yet at the same time he was gripped by an overwhelming feeling of dread, as if the fates were crowding in on him from all sides and he had no control . . .

‘There are words stamped beside that eagle symbol,’ Puruwehua volunteered. ‘I made a note of them.’ He scrawled something in the sand:
Kampfeswader 200
and
Geswaderkomodore A3.
‘I speak English, Portuguese and our native language,’ he added. ‘But this – I believe it is maybe German?’

It was Narov who responded, her voice low and burning with a barely suppressed loathing. ‘Your spelling is a little off, but Kampfgeschwader 200 was the Luftwaffe’s special forces flight. And Geschwaderkommodore A3 was one of the titles given to SS General Hans Kammler, the commander of that flight. After Hitler, Kammler was one of the most powerful men in the Nazi Reich.’

‘He was Hitler’s plenipotentiary,’ Jaeger added, remembering the archivist’s mystery email. ‘Towards the end of the war – that’s what Hitler made him.’

‘He was,’ Narov confirmed. ‘But do you know what that confers – the status of plenipotentiary?’

Jaeger shrugged. ‘Kind of a special representative?’

‘So much more . . . A plenipotentiary is someone given full power to act on behalf of a regime, and with total impunity. After Hitler, Kammler was the most powerful and evil man in a uniquely evil group. By the end of the war he had the blood of many thousands on his hands. And he had also become one of the richest men in the world.

‘Priceless artworks, gold bullion, diamonds, cash,’ Narov continued. ‘Across all of conquered Europe the Nazis plundered everything of value they could lay their hands on. And you know what happened to SS Oberst-Gruppenführer Hans Kammler and his loot when the war was over?’

The bitter anger behind Narov’s words was bleeding through now. ‘Disappeared. Vanished off the face of the earth. It is one of the greatest mysteries – and scandals – of the Second World War: what happened to Hans Kammler and his ill-gotten fortune? Who protected him? Who hid his millions?’

She glanced around the faces, her burning gaze coming to rest on Jaeger’s. ‘This aircraft – it is very likely Kammler’s personal warplane.’

55

They were ready to depart the Amahuaca village just after first light. Jaeger and his team were accompanied by twenty-four Indians, including the chief’s youngest son, Puruwehua, and his eldest, the distinctive warrior-leader. His name was Gwaihutiga, which meant ‘the biggest pig in the wild boar herd’ in the Amahuaca’s language.

It struck Jaeger as being peculiarly appropriate: the wild boar was one of the most prized and feared animals in the jungle. No Amahuaca male was ever truly a warrior until he had faced one down and killed it.

By now, Gwaihutiga appeared to have accepted that his father didn’t want Jaeger and his team speared to death; indeed, he wanted them hastened to that air wreck, and safeguarded from all harm along the way.

But Jaeger was glad to see that the chief’s eldest son was still in the mood for battle, if only against the right enemy. He carried spear, bow and arrow, blowpipe and club, and around his neck he wore a collar of short feathers. It was a
gwyrag’waja,
Puruwehua explained,
each feather signifying an enemy killed in battle. He likened it to a white man carving notches on his gun – something that he had seen in the movies when he had lived in the outside.

At the eleventh hour there had been an unexpected change in the make-up of Jaeger’s team. Leticia Santos had decided that she was coming after all. Impetuous, impulsive – a hot-blooded Latino through and through – she hadn’t been able to bear seeing the others preparing to depart without her.

Earlier that morning, Jaeger had given Dale and Kral a short interview, to help capture all that had happened during the last twenty-four hours. It was also the final scene that Stefan Kral would be filming with them. After he’d packed away the camera and tripod, the Slovak asked for a few private words with Jaeger.

Kral had outlined his reasons for dropping out of the expedition. He should never have accepted the present contract, he explained. He was years Dale’s senior and far more experienced in remote-area filming; he’d taken it purely because he needed the money.

‘Just imagine it,’ he had reasoned, ‘serving under a guy like Dale and knowing you’re better, more professional. Could you stand it?’

‘Shit like that happens all the time in the military,’ Jaeger told him. ‘Rank rising above capability. Sometimes you’ve just got to roll with the punches.’

He didn’t dislike Kral, but in truth he was relieved to be losing him. Their Slovakian cameraman seemed to have a chip on both shoulders, and Jaeger figured they’d be better off without him. Dale would doubtless have his hands full filming solo, but better a one-man crew than two guys who were permanently at each other’s throats.

One of them had had to go – and for the film’s sake, it was better that it was the Slovak.

‘Whatever happens from here on in with the expedition,’ Kral had explained, ‘I guess you know my reasons.
Whatever happens
. Or at least, you know most of them.’

‘Something you’re trying to tell me?’ Jaeger prompted. ‘You’re leaving us. You’re free to say whatever you want.’

Kral shook his head. ‘I’m done. Good luck with whatever path you’re taking. You know the reasons why I’m not on it with you.’

The two men said an amicable enough goodbye, Jaeger promising to meet Kral for a beer in London when all was done.

Scores of Amahuaca turned out to see them off – seemingly the entire village. But as Jaeger led his team towards the fringe of dark jungle, he was struck powerfully by one thing: Kral had a decidedly troubling expression on his features.

He’d grown used to the Slovak’s crooked half-smile, but for the briefest of moments he caught him staring at Dale with a look that could freeze the blood. His pale blue eyes seemed hooded, his gaze oddly triumphant.

Jaeger had little time to dwell upon that look, or what it might signify. A path opened before them – one that a casual observer would have missed – and they were quickly swallowed by the jungle. But one thought did linger in Jaeger’s mind.

At several junctures – in particular back at the river, when Kral had reported on Dale’s secret filming antics – something had struck Jaeger as being not quite right. It had only just become clear to him now. There was something in Kral’s manner that had seemed too holier-than-thou; his see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil routine. His righteous indignation had been overplayed, almost as if it was a cover.

But a cover for what, Jaeger didn’t know.

He forced the thought – that nagging worry – to the back of his mind.

As soon as they’d entered the jungle, he’d realised what a murderous pace the Amahuaca warriors were going to set. They had begun to move at a slow run, singing out a deep, rhythmic, throaty chant as they went. It would take all Jaeger’s concentration to press ahead at such a speed.

He glanced at Puruwehua, who’d taken up a position at his side. ‘So, does your name have any meaning?’

Puruwehua grinned sheepishly. ‘Puruwehua – it is a big, smooth reddish-brown frog, speckled black and white underneath. A very fat one came and sat on my mother’s belly just prior to her giving birth.’ He shrugged. ‘We tend to name our children after such things.’

Jaeger smiled. ‘So a wild boar came and sat on your mother just prior to your brother Gwaihutiga’s birth?’

Puruwehua laughed. ‘My mother – she was a fine hunter in her youth. She and a wild boar had a fierce battle. Finally, she speared it and killed it. She wanted her firstborn to have the spirit of that boar.’ He glanced at his elder brother at the head of the column. ‘Gwaihutiga – he has that spirit.’

‘And the frog? The one you were named after? What happened to the frog?’

Puruwehua fixed Jaeger with a dark, blank-eyed stare. ‘My mother was hungry. She killed it and ate it as well.’

They walked on in silence for several minutes, before Puruwehua pointed at something high in the treetops. ‘That green parrot feeding off the fruit – it’s a
tuitiguhu’ia
. People keep them as pets. The bird can learn to talk, and it will warn you when the jaguar is about to attack your village.’

‘Very useful,’ Jaeger remarked. ‘How d’you go about taming it?’

‘You must first find a
kary’ripohaga
bush. You cut a bunch of leaves and hit the parrot a few times around the face with them. Then it is tamed.’

Jaeger raised one eyebrow. ‘That easy?’

Puruwehua laughed. ‘Of course! Many things become easy when you know the ways of the forest.’

They moved on, passing by a rotten log. Puruwehua brushed his hand against a blackish-red fungus, then put his fingers to his nose. ‘
Gwaipeva
. It has a distinct smell.’ He patted his stomach. ‘Good to eat.’

He pulled it out by its roots, and stuffed it into a woven bag that he carried over his shoulder.

A few paces further on he pointed out a big black insect clinging to the trunk of a nearby tree. ‘
Tukuruvapa’ara
. The king of grasshoppers. It chews on the tree until it falls.’

As they passed the tree, Puruwehua warned Jaeger to step carefully on the path, for there was a twisted vine underfoot. ‘
Gwakagwa’yva
– the water vine with thorns. We use the bark for making the cord from which we weave our hammocks. Its seed pods are shaped like bananas, and when they burst open the seeds float away on the wind.’

Jaeger was fascinated. He’d always viewed the jungle as entirely neutral: the more you learned of its secrets, the more you could make it your ally and your friend.

A short while later, Puruwehua cupped a hand to his ear. ‘You hear? That
prrrikh-prrrikh-prrrikh-prrrikh-prrrikh
. It is the
gware’ia
– a big brown hummingbird with a white front and a long tail. It sings only when it sees a wild pig.’ He reached for an arrow. ‘Food for the village . . .’

As Jaeger’s hand went to his shotgun, he saw Puruwehua transform himself from a translator into a hunter, stringing an arrow to a bow almost as tall as he was. Puruwehua was barely an inch shorter than his warrior brother, and just as broad and powerful in the shoulder.

When the moment came for battle, Jaeger figured Puruwehua was one frog that wouldn’t allow himself to be eaten very easily.