Chapters (124)
- Cover
- About the Author
- Acclaim for Frank Gardner’s Luke Carlton thrillers
- Also by Frank Gardner
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- 112
- 113
- 114
- 115
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgements
- THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
And then he spotted it. The thin black iron bar was protruding horizontally from the wall just above and a few metres beyond him. At one time it must have held some sort of a sign. Right now Luke knew it was his only chance of salvation if he could reach it in time. With the deafening roar of the Mercedes-Benz 2-litre engine filling his ears, Luke exploded into action, launching himself into the air, his hands reaching out until they locked around the bar. Oh, God, please let it hold. Using the momentum of his jump, Luke swung his legs up and clear, feeling the rush of the saloon car as it roared past beneath him, missing him by centimetres. There was a hideous scraping noise as the side of the vehicle careered into the wall and, for a moment, the driver nearly lost control. Then the car righted itself and accelerated down the centre of the narrow street and was gone. It was all over in less than five seconds, and Luke cursed himself. He should never have dropped his guard like that, and he had never had a chance to catch sight of the registration number.
Luke let himself fall to the ground, remaining in a crouch for a moment, poised to break into a sprint if the Mercedes returned for a second run at him. Then he doubled back down the street the way he had come, heart still pounding. Things were getting out of control here in Vilnius. Someone was trying to kill him – that much was obvious. Turning left on to a street full of shops, he ducked into a doorway, got out his phone while scanning the road left and right. Accessing the secure line, he typed in a single word: CRUCIBLE. Then he waited.
Seconds later, the reply came back: CHANDOS.
Luke put away the phone. He knew what he had to do now. He had just activated the emergency abort signal and the coded response from Vauxhall Cross had been immediate. It meant: ‘Acknowledged. Abort the mission and get out.’ He moved to the corner of the pavement and ignored the first taxi that passed, and the second, in case they were somehow in on the act – another piece of tradecraft learned in basic training back at the Fort. Then he flagged down the third. ‘Airport,’ he told the driver. ‘And take the highway – no backstreets.’