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 what we know is this,’ continued Stian, in his stilted but near-perfect English. ‘At some time close to sixteen forty-five hours local yesterday afternoon, the target departed the hut where the initial infection took place.’ Interesting turn of phrase, Luke thought, calling Victor Skeet ‘the target’. ‘Suspect’, ‘patient’ or even ‘victim’ might have been more politically correct, but, hey, if that was the direction they were heading, he was fine with it.
‘We know he has not returned to the hut. So only two things can have happened. Either our Mr Skeet has tried to survive out in the open or he has found the nearest shelter.’ He grimaced. ‘Last night I am told the temperature here on Svalbard fell to minus thirty-four.’ Now he was looking at Luke. ‘Let me ask you, Mr Carlton, does this countryman of yours have the skills to survive in those conditions?’ Minus 34°C. Luke knew from bitter personal experience that even if you dug yourself a snow hole and stayed out of the wind you still needed the right kit, the right skills and the right frame of mind to stay alive in those temperatures. He had asked Vauxhall for everything they had on Skeet before he took off from Northolt, so now his answer was unequivocal.
‘Can Skeet survive in the open? No. Not a chance. He has no military training, no combat survival skills. He’s an ice-core engineer so, yes, he’ll be used to low temperatures, but not without back-up and a team behind him. So if he’s on his own I’d say he has only one option: to head for the nearest shelter.’
‘Exactly.’ Stian spoke as if he had already reached that conclusion some time ago. ‘And that would be Barentsburg, right here.’ He tapped the map again. ‘The distance from here to that settlement is just thirty-six kilometres. We have a helo at our disposal. A Super Puma is fuelled up outside and we can be there inside twenty minutes.’
Luke was shaking his head. ‘Sorry, Stian, I just don’t think that’s wise,’ he said, putting his coffee down. ‘We’ve got to keep this low-key, remember? Find Skeet, isolate him, get him quarantined and off the island. Those were my orders – unless you guys were told something different?’ He looked from one to the other, but nobody said anything. ‘So, landing a bloody great chopper on the edge of town is only going to spook him, right?’
There followed a brief exchange in Norwegian before Stian turned back to Luke. ‘It’s agreed. You are correct. We go by snowmobile. This will take us longer, of course. I estimate one hour. We leave in twenty minutes.’