let his fingers drift down the glass, coming to rest upon the features of a young boy, standing somehow protectively at his mother’s side. Both were dressed in ‘Save the Rhino’ T-shirts; they’d purchased them on a family holiday to East Africa’s Amboseli National Park. Jaeger would never forget the midnight walking safari the three of them had taken, along with their Masai guides. They’d trekked across the moonlit savannah amongst herds of giraffe, wildebeest and, best of all, rhinos, the family’s favourite animal.
‘Luke – Daddy’s back . . .’ Jaeger murmured. ‘And God only knows how much I’ve missed you guys.’
He paused, a heavy silence echoing off the walls. ‘But, you know – there’s never been the slightest hint; not the vaguest proof of life. If you could just have sent me something; the barest sense of a sign. Anything. Smithy kept watch. He was eyes-on. Always. He promised to let me know.’
He picked up the photo and cradled it. ‘I went to the ends of the earth to try to find you. I’d have gone to the ends of the universe, even. Nowhere would have been too far. But for three long years there’s been nothing.’
He ran a hand across his face, as if brushing away the pain of those long missing years. When it came away, his eyes were damp with tears.
‘And I guess if we’re honest – if we’re truthful with each other – maybe it’s time. Time to say a proper goodbye . . . time to accept that you really are . . . gone.’
Jaeger bowed his head. His lips brushed the photograph. He kissed the woman’s face. Kissed that of his son. Then he placed the picture back on the desk, laying it gently on the dust sheet.
Face up, so he could see both of them, and remember.
10
Jaeger padded across the living room to the far side, where double doors opened on to what they’d dubbed the music room. One wall was shelved high with racks of CDs. He chose one – Mozart’s Requiem. He slipped it into the CD deck, flicked the power switch and it started to play.
The lilting melodies brought everything flooding back; all the family memories. For the second time in as many minutes, Jaeger found himself having to fight back the tears. He couldn’t allow himself to break down; to properly grieve. Not yet.
There was something else – something deeply, deeply troubling – that he had come here for.
He dragged the battered steel trunk out from its place beneath the music stand. For a moment his eyes lingered on the initials stencilled on the lid: W. E. J. – William Edward ‘Ted’ Jaeger. His grandfather’s war chest, which he’d gifted to Jaeger shortly before he died.
As the Requiem swelled to a first crashing crescendo, Jaeger thought back over the times Grandpa Ted had sneaked him into his study, allowing Jaeger to share a pull on his tobacco pipe, and enjoy a few precious moments – grandfather with grandchild – rifling through this very trunk.
Grandpa Ted’s pipe, eternally clamped between his teeth. The smell: Player’s Navy Cut and whisky-steeped tobacco. Jaeger could almost see the scene now – the occasional smoke ring blown by his grandfather dancing soft and ethereal in the light of his desk lamp.
Jaeger flicked open the clasps and hinged back the trunk’s heavy lid. On top lay one of his favourite mementoes: a leather-bound file, stamped in faded red lettering: TOP SECRET . And below that: Officer Commanding No. 206 Liaison Unit.
It had always struck Jaeger as odd that the contents of the file had never quite lived up to the promise of the cover.
Inside were booklets of Second World War radio frequencies and codes, diagrams of main battle tanks, blueprints of turbines, compasses and engines. It had proven utterly fascinating to a child; but as an adult, Jaeger had realised that there was nothing in there with much relevance to the file’s cover, or warranting such excessive secrecy.
It was almost as if his grandpa had put together the file’s
‘Luke – Daddy’s back . . .’ Jaeger murmured. ‘And God only knows how much I’ve missed you guys.’
He paused, a heavy silence echoing off the walls. ‘But, you know – there’s never been the slightest hint; not the vaguest proof of life. If you could just have sent me something; the barest sense of a sign. Anything. Smithy kept watch. He was eyes-on. Always. He promised to let me know.’
He picked up the photo and cradled it. ‘I went to the ends of the earth to try to find you. I’d have gone to the ends of the universe, even. Nowhere would have been too far. But for three long years there’s been nothing.’
He ran a hand across his face, as if brushing away the pain of those long missing years. When it came away, his eyes were damp with tears.
‘And I guess if we’re honest – if we’re truthful with each other – maybe it’s time. Time to say a proper goodbye . . . time to accept that you really are . . . gone.’
Jaeger bowed his head. His lips brushed the photograph. He kissed the woman’s face. Kissed that of his son. Then he placed the picture back on the desk, laying it gently on the dust sheet.
Face up, so he could see both of them, and remember.
10
Jaeger padded across the living room to the far side, where double doors opened on to what they’d dubbed the music room. One wall was shelved high with racks of CDs. He chose one – Mozart’s Requiem. He slipped it into the CD deck, flicked the power switch and it started to play.
The lilting melodies brought everything flooding back; all the family memories. For the second time in as many minutes, Jaeger found himself having to fight back the tears. He couldn’t allow himself to break down; to properly grieve. Not yet.
There was something else – something deeply, deeply troubling – that he had come here for.
He dragged the battered steel trunk out from its place beneath the music stand. For a moment his eyes lingered on the initials stencilled on the lid: W. E. J. – William Edward ‘Ted’ Jaeger. His grandfather’s war chest, which he’d gifted to Jaeger shortly before he died.
As the Requiem swelled to a first crashing crescendo, Jaeger thought back over the times Grandpa Ted had sneaked him into his study, allowing Jaeger to share a pull on his tobacco pipe, and enjoy a few precious moments – grandfather with grandchild – rifling through this very trunk.
Grandpa Ted’s pipe, eternally clamped between his teeth. The smell: Player’s Navy Cut and whisky-steeped tobacco. Jaeger could almost see the scene now – the occasional smoke ring blown by his grandfather dancing soft and ethereal in the light of his desk lamp.
Jaeger flicked open the clasps and hinged back the trunk’s heavy lid. On top lay one of his favourite mementoes: a leather-bound file, stamped in faded red lettering: TOP SECRET . And below that: Officer Commanding No. 206 Liaison Unit.
It had always struck Jaeger as odd that the contents of the file had never quite lived up to the promise of the cover.
Inside were booklets of Second World War radio frequencies and codes, diagrams of main battle tanks, blueprints of turbines, compasses and engines. It had proven utterly fascinating to a child; but as an adult, Jaeger had realised that there was nothing in there with much relevance to the file’s cover, or warranting such excessive secrecy.
It was almost as if his grandpa had put together the file’s
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