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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

A quick glance at his watch told him it was already well past midnight. Less than eight hours to go before WaffenKrieg90 were due to execute their plan. And he expected them to bring it forward now. He had to find a phone. Soaked through, teeth chattering and with a searing pain in his shoulder from the shotgun pellets, Luke stumbled towards the distant lights of the nearest village. His head still throbbed from being knocked unconscious, but he was spurred on by the crushing responsibility of what he knew, and what he had to tell, before it was too late.

The outline of roofs and telegraph wires started to appear, dimly visible in the weak sodium light of the streetlamps. ‘Panfield Lane’, a sign read, as Luke emerged on to an empty road. Two cars, parked in a driveway, and a welcome mat on the doorstep. He walked quickly up to the first house he came to and rang the doorbell. A motion-sensitive light blinked on above his head in the doorway, and as he stood there, waiting for someone to answer, he realized he must make a hell of a sight. Dripping wet, covered with mud, blood oozing from his shoulder, his face swollen and bruised. He could hear footsteps approaching on the other side of the frosted-glass door, then a pause as the person peered at him through the peephole.

‘Go away!’ a man’s voice called out.

‘I need to use your phone,’ Luke replied. ‘It’s urgent. I’m with the government.’

‘Yeah, and I’m Brad Pitt. Now fuck off, before I call the police!’

For a moment Luke considered whether that might not be such a bad idea, but, no, there would be hours of explaining to do and by then it would all be too late. His precious window of opportunity was already closing by the minute.

‘Okay, never mind,’ Luke said, and moved off. Damn. Now what? If I keep trying houses in this street, he thought, someone will call the cops on me.

Car lights, approaching from the east. What if this was Niamh’s people? But he had to chance it. He stepped out into the middle of the road and stood there, frantically waving his arms. The car swerved, braked, and came to a stop yards in front of him, then started to reverse.

‘No, wait!’ he shouted, sprinting forward until he caught up with the driver’s side window. It was a girl, twenty-something, and she looked terrified.