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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

It was just past 8 a.m. when two of the field team spotted something at the edge of the road: it looked like a pile of old brown clothes at first, the sort of thing a casual fly-tipper couldn’t be bothered to take to the municipal dump. But as they approached they could make out furry limbs, an outstretched hand, almost human, and a small face, constricted into a rictus smile, teeth bared, lips pared back over gums discoloured with dried blood.

‘Found ’im.’ The older of the pair called it in, turning his back to the wind as he spoke into his phone. There was a brief exchange and when it ended he straightened up. He could not believe what he was seeing. ‘Oi!’ he shouted. ‘Get the hell away from it! Don’t be a twat! Put it down!’

The younger man had walked up to the dead monkey, picked up the loose chain around its neck in one hand, a slender, lifeless limb with another, and taken a grinning selfie with his phone.

66

Thames House, London

Tuesday, 15 March, 0845hrs GMT

SHOWERED, SHAVED AND dressed in casual rig, as his mates in the Royal Marines would have called it, Luke parked his Land Rover behind Tate Britain on the north bank of the Thames. He then walked briskly down Millbank for the last few hundred metres to the MI5 headquarters building at Thames House.

When he and Jenny had filed out of the Chief’s office the previous evening nothing had needed to be said. There was no more talk of going for that drink: they both knew the moment had passed. Luke had gone home and done exactly what he’d always planned to: he’d given himself a serious workout down in the gym, pushing himself until his muscles screamed and the wooden floor beneath him was splashed with his sweat. When he came up to the flat, still glowing with exertion, he found Elise was back from her work drinks and, after a brief, strained exchange, they had ended up arguing about Hugo Squires.

‘He’s harmless, you know,’ she’d told him, as she started emptying the dishwasher and putting plates in a cupboard. ‘And he’s a great comfort to me when you’re away.’

‘I’m sure his intentions are entirely honourable,’ Luke said, and immediately regretted it.

Elise sighed in exasperation. ‘I wouldn’t have expected you to understand, Luke. Sometimes I think you have the EQ of a hedgehog.’

‘EQ?’

‘Yes. Your emotional quotient. You’re just simply not tuned into how other people feel, are you?’