Free Ghost Flight by Bear Grylls Page B

sound of the door being unbolted and then it swung wide.
    A pair of eyes peered out from beneath a mop of snowy-white hair. Beady, shining, full of life, they seemed to have lost none of their sharpness over the intervening years.
    Jaeger held out the box of groceries. ‘I thought you might be needing these.’
    Great Uncle Joe stared at him from under craggy brows. Since Grandpa Ted’s death, Uncle Joe, as Jaeger called him, had taken on the role of honorary grandpa, and very good at it he’d proven too. The two of them were close.
    Uncle Joe’s eyes lit up as he recognised the unexpected visitor. ‘Will, my boy! Needless to say, we weren’t expecting you . . . But in. In. Come in. Get out of those wet things and I’ll put the tea on. Ethel’s out. Gone for a stroll in the snow. Eighty-three and still going on sixteen.’
    It was typical Uncle Joe.
    Jaeger hadn’t seen him for pushing four years. He’d sent the odd postcard from Bioko, but with precious little news; just to let them know that he was still alive. And now here he was, unannounced, on their doorstep, and Joe had taken it firmly in his stride.
    Just another day on Buccleuch Moor.
    For a while they did the necessary; exchanging respective news. Jaeger related the story of his time in Bioko, made short. Great Uncle Joe told of the last four years in Buccleuch – no great changes there. Then Joe asked about Ruth and Luke. He didn’t feel able not to, although he knew in his heart of hearts that if Jaeger had heard anything, he’d have been amongst the first to know.
    Jaeger confirmed that their disappearance was as much of a mystery now as ever it had been.
    The catching-up done, Joe fixed Jaeger with one of his looks – half steely inquisition, half light-hearted teasing. ‘So, don’t try telling me you rode all this way in the depths of winter just to bring an old man some groceries – much that they are appreciated. What’re you really here for?’
    In answer, Jaeger reached inside his Belstaff jacket and pulled out his phone. He flipped through to the photo of the eagle symbol – the one displayed on the Operation Werewolf document.
    He laid it in front of Joe on the kitchen table.
    ‘Forgive the new-fangled technology, but does that image mean anything to you?’
    Great Uncle Joe fiddled around in his cardigan pocket. ‘I’ll need my glasses.’
    He picked up the phone at arm’s length, and angled it this way and that. He was clearly unfamiliar with the technology, but as his eyes made out the image, a change came over him as dramatic as it was unexpected.
    In a matter of moments the colour had drained from his face completely. He’d turned as white as a ghost. His hand shaking, he slowly set the phone down on the table. When he glanced up, there was a look in his eyes that Jaeger had never seen before, and never expected to see, for that matter.
    Fear .

 
    13
    ‘I . . . I half expected . . . I always feared . . .’ Great Uncle Joe gasped, gesturing towards the sink for some water.
    Jaeger hurried to fetch some.
    The old man took it in a hand that was trembling, and drank, spilling half of it across the kitchen table. When his eyes met Jaeger’s again, all life seemed to have been sucked out of them. He glanced around the room, almost as if the place was haunted; as if he was trying to remember where he was, to anchor himself in the here and now, the present.
    ‘Where in the name of God did you get it?’ he whispered, gesturing at the image on the phone. ‘No, no – don’t answer! I dreaded that this day might come. But I’d never imagined it would come through you, my boy, and after all you have suffered . . .’
    His eyes drifted to some distant corner of the room.
    Jaeger didn’t know quite what to say. The last thing he’d ever wanted was to cause this dear old man any discomfort; any distress. What right did Jaeger have to do so in the twilight of Joe’s years?
    Great Uncle Joe shook himself out of his