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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

The SIO glanced up at the digital clock on the wall. ‘Right. Movements. Met Police Counter-Terrorism have set up their own ops room at Cobalt Square and we’re feeding whatever intel we have into them. The CT commander in the hot seat there is …’ he stopped to check his notes ‘… Simon Bradshaw. Meanwhile, CTSFO are on their way over to Braintree—’ He stopped as a hand went up.

‘CTSFO?’ someone questioned.

‘Counter-terrorism specialist firearms officers. The operators in the grey ninja suits with all the Gucci kit. This is exactly what they train for. We’ve also got Cheltenham setting up a SIGINT listening envelope around the area as we speak. They’re looking at sending up a drone, but apparently the weather state might be a problem.’

The SIO pressed the palms of his hands together, frowning. ‘But that’s all going to take time and they’re not in place yet. So what does that mean?’ He spread his hands and paused for a second. ‘It means that for now we’re effectively both deaf and blind. Luke Carlton remains our best hope – our only hope – of cracking this thing before it’s too late.’

97

Near Braintree, Essex

Sunday, 20 March, 2138hrs GMT

‘PINCH POINTS. THAT’S what we call them.’ Luke leaned forward across the workbench where the floor plan lay spread out in the little office inside the warehouse with the four of them hunched over it. ‘Bottom of the escalator here, bottom of the stairs,’ he jabbed a finger at the plan, ‘and over here, where everyone comes out past the shops and on to the concourse. That’s where most of the CCTV coverage will be focused. And it’s where the British Transport Police spend most of their time watching. These are the spots where you’re at maximum risk of detection.’

Luke’s voice filled the small room. He was speaking in a calm, authoritative tone. He was Steve Keane, with years of experience in specialized reconnaissance and a man totally dedicated to their cause. And yet inside, his heart – and his mind – had gone into overdrive. They had just revealed the target: a mainline station, somewhere in Britain, he didn’t know where yet – the floor plan had its title covered with masking tape. Jesus Christ. That meant these people were planning to release Agent X in a mainline railway station.

This was barbaric, sick, depraved. Yet he couldn’t betray the slightest emotion. He had to remain in character, couldn’t drop his guard for one second.

‘Weapons?’ Niamh asked him. So far, she seemed to be the only one doing the talking. She certainly seemed to be the brains of the operation. ‘Are they armed, the BTP?’

‘They can be,’ Luke replied. ‘But not always.’