Burning Angels Read Online Free PDF Page A

fellow operators. Takavesi ‘Raff’ Raffara was a massive hunk of a man – a rock-hard Maori and one of Jaeger’s closest friends from their years in the SAS. A totally bulletproof operator, Raff was the man Jaeger would choose to fight back-to-back with if ever the shit went down. He would trust Raff – who wore his long hair braided, traditional Maori style – with his life. He’d done so many a time when they’d soldiered together over the years, and again more recently, when Raff had come to rescue Jaeger from drink and ruin at the ends of the earth.
    The second operator was a quiet, sylph-like figure, blonde hair whipping around her fine features in the tearing slipstream. A former Russian special forces operator, Irina Narov was striking-looking and unflappable, and she had proved herself many times during their expedition to the Amazon. But that didn’t mean Jaeger had got the measure of her, or found her any the less troublesome.
    Oddly, though, he’d almost come to trust her; to rely upon her. Despite her awkward and sometimes downright maddening manner, in her own way she was as bulletproof reliable as Raff. And at times she’d proved herself just as deadly – a cold, calculating killer without equal.
    Nowadays Narov lived in New York and had taken American citizenship. She’d explained to Jaeger that she operated off-grid, working with some international outfit whose identity he had yet to fully get to grips with. It stank of shady, but it was that outfit – Narov’s people – who had bankrolled the present undertaking: rescuing Leticia Santos. And right now that was all Jaeger cared about.
    Then there were Narov’s mysterious links to Jaeger’s family, and in particular to his late lamented grandfather, William Edward ‘Ted’ Jaeger. Grandpa Ted had served with British special forces during the Second World War, inspiring Jaeger to go into the military. Narov claimed to have regarded Grandpa Ted as her own grandfather, and to be working in his name and memory today.
    It made little sense to Jaeger. He’d never heard anyone in his family make the barest mention of Narov, Grandpa Ted included. At the end of their Amazon expedition he’d vowed to get some answers from her; to break the enigma she embodied. Yet the present rescue mission had had to take priority.
    Via Narov’s people and their contacts in the Cuban underworld, Jaeger’s team had been able to monitor the location where Leticia Santos was being held. They’d been fed useful intelligence, and as a bonus they’d been passed a detailed description of Vladimir himself.
    But worryingly, in the last few days Leticia had been moved, from a relatively low-security villa to the remote offshore island. The guard had been doubled, and Jaeger was worried that if they moved her again he might lose her completely.
    There was a fourth figure in the C-130’s hold. The loadmaster was roped tight to the aircraft’s side, so he could perch on the ramp without being torn out by the raging slipstream. He pressed his headphones closer as he listened to a message from the pilot. Nodding his understanding, he got to his feet and flashed five fingers in front of their faces: five minutes to the jump.
    Jaeger, Raff and Narov levered themselves to their feet. The success of the coming mission would rely on three things: speed, aggression and surprise – ‘SAS’ for short, the unofficial slogan of special forces operators. For that reason it was vital that they were light on their feet and could move swiftly and silently across the island. Accordingly, their kit had been kept to the absolute minimum.
    Apart from their LLP parachute, each team member carried a backpack containing Kolokol-1 grenades, explosives, water, emergency rations, a medical kit and a small, sharp-bladed axe. The rest of the space was taken up by their CBRN protective suits and respirators.
    When Jaeger had first served in the military, the emphasis had all been on NBC: nuclear,