Ghost Flight (33 page)

Dale’s eyes swivelled to his backpack. ‘I’ve got a second in there. Back-up.’

‘Then get beneath the canopy and make sure it’s turned off!’

Dale hurried to it.

Jaeger struggled to his feet. He felt like death – his head and forearms throbbing in agony – but he had bigger issues to deal with right now. He had his own pack to search and verify. He stumbled across to it and began turfing out the contents. He was certain everything had been switched off, but one mistake now could easily prove the death of all of them.

Five minutes later, the checking was complete.

No one had had a GPS unit running at the time of the Hellfire strikes, let alone a satphone. They’d been moving fast, following a route and a pace set by the Amahuaca Indians. No one on Jaeger’s team had needed to navigate, plus they’d been under deep canopy, where there was zero satellite signal.

Jaeger gathered his team. ‘Something triggered the Predator,’ he announced, through teeth gritted with pain. ‘We emerged from under the canopy at the edge of the falls, and
bleep!
A signal popped up on a Predator’s screen. It takes a satphone, GPS or similar to do that: something instantly trackable.’

‘It’s got infrared,’ Alonzo volunteered. ‘Predator. Via IR it’ll see us as heat sources.’

Jaeger shook his head. ‘Not beneath a hundred feet of jungle it won’t. And even if it could penetrate all of that – and trust me, it can’t – what would it see? A bunch of indistinct heat blobs. We could just as easily be a herd of forest pigs as a bunch of humans. No, it was tracking something; something that threw up an instant, traceable signal.’

Jaeger eyed Dale. ‘Were you filming when the first Hellfire hit? Was your camera powered up?’

Dale shook his head. ‘Are you kidding? On that bridge? I was bloody shitting myself.’

‘Okay, everyone: double-check your gear,’ Jaeger announced grimly. ‘Search the side pockets of your backpacks. Your trouser pockets. Shirt pockets. Hell, your underwear even. It was tracking something. We’ve got to find it.’

He proceeded to rifle through his own pack once more, before running his hands through his pockets. His fingers came to rest upon the smooth form of the Night Stalkers coin, stuffed deep into his trousers. Oddly, it seemed to have become bent – almost buckled – during the chaos and mayhem of the last few minutes.

He pulled it out. He figured the coin must have taken some serious punishment when the end of the broken bridge slammed him into the rock face. He studied it for a moment. There seemed to be a tiny crack running around the circumference. He forced a broken, bloodied nail into it and applied some pressure.

The coin pinged in two.

Inside, one half was hollow.

Jaeger couldn’t believe the evidence before his eyes.

The hollowed-out interior of the coin held a miniaturised electrical circuit board.

58

‘Death Waits in the Dark.’ Jaeger spat out the words of the Night Stalkers’ motto, stamped on one side of the so-called coin. ‘It sure does – when you’re carrying one of these.’

He placed it on a nearby rock, circuit board face up, then grabbed a second, smaller rock. He was going to smash the thing to smithereens, using the rocks like a hammer and anvil. He raised one fist, and was poised to bring the rock powering downwards – all his pent-up rage and his burning sense of betrayal focused into the blow – when a hand reached out to stop him.

‘Don’t. There is a better way.’ It was Irina Narov. ‘All tracking units have a battery. They also have an on–off button.’ She reached for the device and flicked a tiny switch. ‘It is now off. No more signal.’ She glanced at him. ‘The question is, where did you get it?’

Jaeger’s fingers curled around the coin, as if he could crush it in his grip. ‘The C-130 pilot. We got chatting. He said he was a SOAR veteran. A Night Stalker. I know the SOAR well. There’s no better unit. I told him as much.’ He paused, darkly. ‘He offered me his coin.’

‘Then let me posit a scenario,’ Narov suggested, her voice as cold and empty as a frozen Arctic wasteland. ‘The C-130 pilot slipped you a tracking device. That now is clear. We – you and I in tandem – were snagged when we made our jump. His crew – his PDs – deliberately did that to us, to send us into the spin. And they loosened your weapon, to destabilise us still further.’

Narov paused. ‘The C-130 crew was charged either to kill us or to enable someone to follow us. And whoever it was is now tracking us using that coin, they are also trying to kill us.’

Jaeger nodded, acknowledging that Narov’s scenario was the only one that seemed to make any sense.

‘So who is trying to kill us?’ Narov continued. ‘It is a rhetorical question. I do not expect you to answer. But right now it is the million-dollar question.’

There was something about Narov’s tone that set Jaeger’s teeth on edge. At times she was so cold and robotic, like an automaton. It was hugely disconcerting.

‘I’m glad you’re not expecting an answer,’ he rasped. ‘’Cause you know something? If the pilot of that C-130 could slip me a tracking device, I don’t have the slightest damn clue who is friend or foe any more.’

He jerked a thumb in the direction of the Indians. ‘About the only people I know I can trust right now is that lot – a supposedly uncontacted Amazon Indian tribe. As to who the enemy are, all I know is they’ve got some serious hardware to hand – like a Predator, tracking devices, and God only knows what else.’

‘Carson hired the C-130 and crew?’ Narov queried.

‘He did.’

‘Then Carson is a suspect. I never liked him anyway. He is an arrogant
Schwachkopf
.’
She glanced at Jaeger. ‘There are two kinds. The nice
Schwachkopfs
, and those I utterly despise. You – you are one of the nicer ones.’

Jaeger glared. He couldn’t get his head around Narov. Was she flirting with him now, or playing with him like a cat did a mouse? Either way, he figured he might as well take the backhanded compliment.

Alonzo appeared beside them. ‘I figure you gotta call the HAV,’ the big Afro-American suggested. ‘The Airlander. They’re doing P-WAS, right? Persistent wide-area surveillance – they should have it up and running by now. Ask them what they’ve seen.’

‘You’re forgetting something,’ Jaeger objected. ‘I make a call, we get a Hellfire up our ass.’

‘Send data,’ Alonzo suggested. ‘Data-burst mode. Predator takes a good ninety seconds to trace, track and acquire a target. Data-burst – it’s gone in the blink of an eyelid.’

Jaeger thought about it for a second. ‘Yeah. I guess it should work.’ He glanced at the edge of the chasm. ‘But I do this out there. Myself. Alone.’

Jaeger powered up his Thuraya. He typed a quick message, secure in the knowledge that he’d only acquire the satellites to send it when out in the open.

The message read:
Grid 964864. Comms being intercepted. Team targeted: Hellfire. Query drone? Comms now only encrypted data-burst. What has Airlander seen? Out.

Jaeger stepped to the brink of the river gorge.

He emerged from under the canopy and held the Thuraya at arm’s length, watching as the satellite icons bleeped on to the screen. The instant he had a usable signal, the message was gone, and he powered down, hurrying back beneath the jungle.

Jaeger and the team waited in the shadows, the tension thick as they counted out the seconds. A minute passed: no Hellfire. Two minutes passed: still no missile strike.

‘That’s three minutes, buddy,’ Alonzo growled at last, ‘and still no Hellfire. Data-burst – looks like it’s gonna do the business.’

‘It does,’ Jaeger confirmed. ‘So, what next?’

‘First, you need to let me tend to that head of yours.’ It was Leticia Santos. ‘It is too handsome to get so hurt and damaged.’

Jaeger acquiesced, letting Santos do her stuff. She cleaned the abrasions to his arms, rubbing some iodine – a steriliser – into them, after which she wrapped a thick gauze around his forehead.

‘Thanks,’ he told her, once she was done. ‘And you know what – as far as medics go, you’re a big improvement on the hairy commandos I’m used to.’

He moved across to Puruwehua, spending a minute or two explaining what had happened. Few of the Indians had had the slightest idea what the Hellfires might be. Death from the skies like that – it might as well have been a bolt of lightning sent by their gods. Only Puruwehua – who’d watched a bunch of war movies – seemed to have any sense of an understanding.

‘Brief your guys on what it means,’ Jaeger told him. ‘I want them to fully understand what we’re up against. Against Predator, blowpipes and arrows are utterly useless. They decide they want to turn back, I can’t say I’d blame them.’

‘You saved us on the bridge,’ Puruwehua replied. ‘There is a debt of life to be repaid. Our women send us out with a saying whenever we go to fight. It would translate something like “Return victorious, or dead”. It would be a deep dishonour to return to the village having achieved neither death nor glory. There is no question: we are with you.’

59

Jaeger’s eyes glowed with relief. It would have been one hell of a blow to lose the Indians right now. ‘So, I’m curious. Tell me – how the hell did
I
survive the fall on the bridge?’

‘You were unconscious, but your arms remained locked around the
pyhama
.’ Puruwehua glanced at his brother. ‘Gwaihutiga and me – we climbed down to fetch you. But it was my brother who finally prised you free and lifted you to safety.’

Jaeger shook his head in amazement. The simple understatement embodied in the Indian’s words masked what must have been a moment of sheer death-defying terror.

He eyed the young Amahuaca warrior – for Puruwehua was far more than just a translator in Jaeger’s eyes now. ‘So what you’re telling me, Puruwehua – the bravest damn frog in the entire jungle – is that the debt of life is owed both ways.’

‘It is,’ he confirmed simply.

‘But why Gwaihutiga?’ Jaeger asked. ‘I mean, he’s the guy who most wanted us killed.’

‘My father decreed otherwise, Koty’ar.’

‘Koty’ar?’

‘Koty’ar: it is what my father named you. It means “the permanent companion”; the friend who is always at your side.’

Jaeger shook his head. ‘More like you’re the
koty’ar
to us lot.’

‘True friendship – it goes both ways. And as far as Gwaihutiga sees it, you are now of our tribe.’ Puruwehua eyed Narov for an instant. ‘As is the
ja’gwara
, and the small man from Japan, plus the big bearded one on your team.’

Jaeger felt humbled. He stepped across the short distance to Gwaihutiga. The Amahuaca warrior rose to his feet at his approach. They came up against each other, face to face, each about the same height and breadth. Jaeger extended his hand for Gwaihutiga to shake in a gesture of heartfelt gratitude.

The Indian stared at it for an instant, then brought his eyes up to Jaeger’s face – his gaze a dark pool of nothingness. Unreadable. Again.

For a long moment Jaeger feared that the gesture had been rejected. But then Gwaihutiga reached out, gathered both Jaeger’s hands and cupped them within his.

‘
Epenhan
,
koty’ar,
’ Gwaihutiga announced. ‘
Epenhan.’

‘It means welcome,’ Puruwehua explained. ‘Welcome to the friend who is always at our side.’

Jaeger felt emotion well up in his stomach. Moments like this, he knew, were rare. He was face to face with the warrior leader of a largely uncontacted people – one who had risked his life to save a complete stranger and an outsider. He grabbed Gwaihutiga in a momentary embrace, then pulled away.

‘So, tell me, guys, any idea how we get down from here?’ Jaeger asked, not knowing quite what else to say. ‘Now the rope bridge has been blown in two.’

‘This is what we have been discussing,’ Puruwehua volunteered. ‘We have no way to cross the river, and from there to take the route down. The only alternative is the path you originally planned to use. But it is a three-day detour, maybe more. We will reach the target long after those we are trying to beat—’

‘Then there’s no time to waste,’ Alonzo cut in. ‘Man, we’ll run the entire way if we have to. Let’s get goin’.’

Jaeger held up a hand for silence. ‘One second. Just the one.’

He glanced around the faces ranged before him, a wild smile playing across his features. It had been a given in special forces that they’d always endeavour to do the unorthodox and the unexpected, to outfox the enemy. Well Jaeger was about to do the unexpected big time – right here and now.

‘We’ve got the parachutes back at the cache, right?’ he declared. ‘Eight of them – double that number if we separate out the reserve chutes.’ A beat. ‘Anyone here ever done a base jump?’

‘Done a few,’ Joe James volunteered. ‘Almost as wild as taking a hit on an Amahuaca snuff pipe.’

‘I too have base-jumped,’ Leticia Santos confirmed. ‘It is good, but never as exciting as dancing at
carnivale
. Why?’

‘Base-jumping is basically the shortened version of HAHO-ing from 30,000 feet – only you’re jumping off a cliff face or a tower block, as opposed to a C-130’s open ramp, and you’ve got a fraction of the distance in which to pull your chute.’

The raw excitement was burning in Jaeger’s eyes now. ‘That’s what we’re going to do: we’re going to grab our chutes from the cache and jump the Devil’s Falls.’

It took a few moments for his words to sink in. It was Hiro Kamishi who raised the first – wholly sensible – objection.

‘What about the Amahuaca? Puruwehua, Gwaihutiga and their warrior brothers? It would not be . . . wise to leave them behind.’

‘We’re seven – so that leaves nine spare chutes. Plus we can tandem a good number of ’em down.’ Jaeger glanced at Puruwehua. ‘You ever wanted to fly? Like that eagle you told me about – the
topena,
wasn’t it? The white hawk that can steal a chicken from the village?’

‘The
topena,’
Puruwehua confirmed.
‘I have flown as high as the
topena
, when taking
nyakwana
snuff.
I have flown over wide oceans and to distant mountains – but these are the mountains of my mind.’