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
‘You’ve tested this in the field?’ Luke asked.
‘We have. Although I must admit, I think this is the first time we’ve used it in Russia. You’ll need to keep it sheathed in one of these.’ He picked up another object, a flat, black pouch with a Velcro fastening.
‘A Faraday glove?’ said Luke.
‘Exactly. I’m sure you’ve used these on assignments. It stops anyone trying to remotely suck the data out of it using a stand-off device. So …’ he rubbed his hands together ‘… let’s run you through the operating manual, shall we?’
Luke glanced at his watch. If he could get through this tutorial inside two hours he reckoned he could just about squeeze in an hour or two with Elise before he left for the airport. He knew the timing was tight, but he was determined to try to set things on an even keel between them before he left. If he was going into Russia, the last thing he needed was to be worrying about whether he’d still have a girlfriend when he got home.
77
Peak District, Derbyshire
Wednesday, 16 March, 1615hrs GMT
UNSEEN BY THE motorists who sped, unknowing, along the nearby A6 between the towns of Stockport, Buxton and Derby, preparations were nearly complete at Abbot’s Farm. Almost a week had passed since Lotti James had carried out her tour of inspection. A week in which much had changed. Thanks to the accidental release up in Svalbard, the world now knew about the hideous symptoms of the virus. The horror effect was just as she had predicted: the newspapers had seen to that. But this was just a little hors d’oeuvre, an amuse bouche, a teasing foretaste of what they had planned. The number of those infected was still minuscule and the health authorities – in Norway and in Britain – had reacted with commendable speed. This limited outbreak was probably something the authorities thought they had under control.
Well, that was about to change.
At Abbot’s Farm, the beds were now made up. Every ‘chosen survivor’ of the biological apocalypse to come had been allocated a bed space and a number. There were rosters for sentry duties, specified times for patrolling the perimeter, individuals tasked with checking on everything from the array of generators in the outhouse to the motion-sensor cameras on the gates.
And today a special package had arrived from Cambridge, driven up in person by a trusted member of WaffenKrieg90; it was far too sensitive to be consigned to the post. It was a last-minute precaution, something only to be handed out to everyone at the Farm if it all went wrong.
The package contained the goodnight pills.