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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

‘They’d better prepare them for the worst.’

88

Gatwick Airport, England

Friday, 18 March, 0840hrs GMT

SVALBARD … VILNIUS … MOSCOW … Vauxhall Cross. For Luke, the last few days had passed in a blizzard of flights, briefings and missions. So much so that now, groggy with sleep, as the overnight Air Baltic flight 651 from Moscow via Riga touched down at Gatwick Airport, he briefly struggled to remember where he was. But the moment he opened his eyes, blinking at the rain-spattered plane window beside him, the awful truth returned: he had left behind a virus-stricken Jenny Li in Moscow. God knew he hadn’t wanted to. Right up to the last minute, almost missing his flight, he had argued with Vauxhall Cross that he should stay and see her safely home. But the order had come direct from Sid Khan, the director of International Counter-Terrorism, and it had left no room for manoeuvre. Return home ASAP, it read. Embassy will look after JL.

Now the Airbus A220-300 had taxied to a halt next to an air bridge at North Terminal, but the captain was asking everyone to remain in their seats. A tall blonde Latvian flight attendant in a dark blue tunic and yellow scarf approached Luke’s seat and bent over him to whisper, ‘The captain asks if you could come up to the flight deck, please.’

Luke was expecting this. As he got up from his seat, feeling the other passengers all watching him, he discreetly reached his hand inside his jacket pocket to check that the package was still there, feeling with his fingertips for the familiar outline of Petrov’s USB stick. The engines were still running as they unlocked the door to reveal the Service courier sent from Vauxhall, standing alone on the air-bridge ramp, helmet under his arm. He removed his gloves, produced his ID for Luke to check, then took the package and was gone.

Seventeen minutes later Luke was through Immigration and waiting on the platform for the Gatwick Express to Victoria. Glancing at the other passengers, he almost envied them. None of them know, he thought, of the horror that could be unleashed on the population if we don’t succeed in stopping this in time. Then, as the train pulled up and the doors hissed open, another thought struck him. He was going home as a father-to-be. So much had happened in the short time since he had left for Moscow and he had been so focused on the mission that he had pushed this to the back of his mind. But now he was back and it was real and he was going to have to sit down with Elise and discuss their future. The prospect left him feeling both excited and exhausted.