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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

‘Well,’ Hugo began amiably, ‘after I left the bank and set up a small boutique outfit with a couple of friends we rather went our separate ways. Oh, look, you haven’t got any wine. Let me fetch you some.’ And off he went into the kitchen, Luke and Elise’s kitchen, seemingly oblivious to the hostile vibes Luke was giving off, leaving him and Elise alone together, sitting in silence over the Thai green chicken and fast congealing jasmine rice.

Luke realized he had nothing to say to her.

56

Royal Free Hospital, London

Monday, 14 March, 0533hrs GMT

IT WAS STILL dark when they brought her in. Shiny with perspiration. Feverish. Contagious. Samantha Bradley – ‘Sam’ – had started working at the children’s toy shop in Epsom at the beginning of the year. The pay was minimal, the hours weren’t great, but it was only ever intended to be a means to an end, nothing more, just a way of saving up enough cash for her big South East Asia trip in the summer with her mates. Angkor Wat, Luang Prabang, Hue, they would visit them all. But Sam’s plans were holed below the waterline the moment an off-duty Arctic scientist had walked into that shop and handed her a pink toy dinosaur at the till. When Chris Coppinger tapped his debit card against the contactless machine on that Friday morning, it didn’t register, so instead she took his card to try it on a different machine. And that was when his hand brushed hers and minutes later she touched her face to wipe away a lock of hair. Sam Bradley’s fate was sealed.

She was brought into the Royal Free visibly trembling. Using a special entrance, they transferred her straight upstairs to the High Security Infectious Diseases Unit. She had seen the news, she had heard about the Svalbard outbreak, and she knew that someone had come back here, to this very hospital, and died of the virus. When she thought she might have the symptoms, she went straight to A & E at Epsom General, unlike Chris Coppinger. And that was when they started treating her like a dangerous alien species.

In ordinary times it’s quite possible they might have overlooked it, missed it for what it was. But the alert had gone out to every NHS trust in the country: people were on the lookout for the danger signs, and when Sam presented herself the protocols had kicked in immediately. In the ambulance, on the way up to the Royal Free in north London, a woman had asked her questions from behind her Perspex visor and mask, which Sam found almost as unnerving as the thought of what might be taking over her body right at that moment. Where had she been in the last forty-eight hours? Who had she been in contact with? Did anyone she’d encountered look ill?