Barentsburg. That was it; it was the confirmation they needed. Skeet was hiding in Barentsburg. His footprints from the day before might have vanished in the snowstorm but his digital footprint was still a dead giveaway. Pinpointing his GPS location from the phone in his pocket had led them to where they were now. Luke took in the scene from his vantage point, squatting at a half-crouch next to a drainpipe that ran down the corner of a building. In front of him: an empty, snowbound street where the Arctic wind came scything down from the mountains. Half a dozen cars of dubious vintage, all parked up and idle, their windscreens half obliterated with snow and ice, a wooden shop sign that swung back and forth in the wind. It was unspeakably bleak.

And there, emerging from the hotel that matched the coordinates he had been given, was Victor Skeet. Luke watched him through a pair of Steiner rubber-coated tactical binoculars after first checking he fitted the photo he’d been sent on his phone. To his right, one of the Norwegian trackers lay flat on his front, squinting down the telescopic sight mounted on a Barrett MRAD sniping rifle, his finger resting lightly on the trigger guard, the barrel supported by a folding bipod. It was a precaution, nothing more. Everyone wanted Skeet alive, in quarantine, and talking. But his behaviour had been nothing short of erratic and there was a serious risk he could be contagious. No one was taking any chances here: all three men were wearing their surgical masks.

And Skeet’s behaviour right now was troubling. Watching him through the 10x42mm viewfinder, Luke saw him stumbling around the empty street, missing his footing and clutching his head. It was time to act. Luke signalled to Stian, waited for him to acknowledge, then stood up and walked quickly towards Skeet. He heard a shout from behind him, a warning from Stian that this man was probably infected, but Luke was still several metres off when he called: ‘Victor Skeet! I’m unarmed. We’re here to help you.’

Skeet stopped abruptly in his tracks. Luke could see that his face was bare, unmasked.

‘Who the hell are you?’ Skeet yelled hoarsely.

Luke didn’t reply. He was now less than twenty metres from his target.

‘You need medical help!’ Luke called out again. ‘You need to stay exactly where you are and we’ll bring it to you.’