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Chapters (124)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Acclaim for Frank Gardner’s Luke Carlton thrillers
  4. Also by Frank Gardner
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. 70
  77. 71
  78. 72
  79. 73
  80. 74
  81. 75
  82. 76
  83. 77
  84. 78
  85. 79
  86. 80
  87. 81
  88. 82
  89. 83
  90. 84
  91. 85
  92. 86
  93. 87
  94. 88
  95. 89
  96. 90
  97. 91
  98. 92
  99. 93
  100. 94
  101. 95
  102. 96
  103. 97
  104. 98
  105. 99
  106. 100
  107. 101
  108. 102
  109. 103
  110. 104
  111. 105
  112. 106
  113. 107
  114. 108
  115. 109
  116. 110
  117. 111
  118. 112
  119. 113
  120. 114
  121. 115
  122. Epilogue
  123. Acknowledgements
  124. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

A girl in a bright scarlet dress was coming towards him down the corridor with a trayful of ice-cream tubs, an eyebrow raised. He waved her away with a forced smile.

‘So listen,’ Angela continued, ‘there’s a plane at Northolt waiting to fly you up there and it’s being fuelled as we speak. D’you have your passport with you?’

‘Always.’

‘Good. I told them you would. You’ll be met off the plane in Svalbard and fully briefed. The Norgies will give you all the kit and protective gear you need before you set off.’

There were a hundred and one things Luke wanted to ask her, but he had only the one question. ‘Small point, Angela, and forgive me for asking. But bubonic plague? You’re asking me to go to Norway and track down someone who might be carrying plague, right? Sorry, just wanted to be clear on that.’

‘You can cut out the sarcasm, Luke. This is a deadly serious situation. And, yes, you’ll be given the full range of protection necessary. They’re lining you up for a course of injections the moment you land. Good luck.’

‘That sounds joyful. Thanks.’

‘Oh, and Luke? Make sure you find him, won’t you?’ He could hear her anxiety down the line, her sharp intake of breath. ‘There’s rather a lot riding on this.’

6

Barentsburg, Svalbard

Monday, 7 March, 2015hrs GMT, 2115hrs local

VICTOR SKEET PULLED open the heavy outer door beneath the blinking neon sign that said ‘Hostel Pogol’ in English and, beneath that, in Cyrillic. He stamped the worst of the snow off his boots on to the frayed and threadbare doormat and opened the inner door into Reception. Immediately he felt a welcome surge of warmth as the central heating swept over him. The elderly woman behind the desk looked up from her novel, adjusted her glasses on a chain as she gave him the once-over, then pushed the register towards him across the desk. She pointed to a sign pinned to the wall: ‘750 Norwegian krone for a bed for the night. Or 5,000 roubles.’ She shrugged. She didn’t care, the choice was his. Skeet did not need to see the room to know it was a rip-off. Beggars couldn’t be choosers in a place as remote as this and he was in no position to argue, so he handed over the notes without a murmur.