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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

To most people it would have been a shocking sight: the half-naked figure tied to the chair, one eye purpled and swollen shut, blood dripping from his battered nose and lips. This was interrogation 1.0: crude, basic, occasionally effective. Colonel Petrov showed no emotion when he walked into the room. He barely glanced at the prisoner before reading through the sheet that was handed to him. There was the man’s name, Konstantin Makarov, originally from the city of Magnitogorsk, his current address, his job specification within the CBRN division: biomedical supply assistant. A junior position, then, but still one with access to controlled materials. So far, the notes said, he had failed to give a satisfactory explanation as to why he had placed calls from inside the GRU building in Moscow to a number on the Norwegian archipelago of Svalbard.

‘Research?’ Colonel Petrov addressed him from across the floor of the laundry room. ‘What kind of research needs contact with a NATO country? Who authorized this?’

Silence. The man’s head hung low on his chest. Colonel Petrov walked over and lifted Makarov’s head with his hand. No reaction. Petrov turned to the others in the room and issued a stream of orders.

‘Bring him round. Work on him until you get all the answers. Go to his home, search it from top to bottom. Laptops, phones, USB sticks, everything. Then bring his wife in here and start on her. Keep him conscious for that. When you have all the answers …’ Colonel Petrov walked to the bottom of the flight of stairs that led up to the ground floor and turned back towards his team of investigators ‘… and only then, I want you to call me.’ He gave them a mirthless smile. ‘Keep up the good work.’

55

Battersea, London

Sunday, 13 March, 1955hrs GMT

DODGING DEATH WAS nothing new to Luke. He’d done it for years in uniform and then gone on to have some narrow escapes while on assignment for SIS in Colombia, Armenia and Iran, but what had happened today in that backstreet in Vilnius had left him more shaken than he’d want to admit. Was he getting careless? Forgetting the vital drills that had kept him alive? Or was it that he’d been on his own, operating solo with no recourse to close support on the ground and without the back-up team the Service normally provided? Either way, he had to sharpen up from now on.