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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

‘Please!’ he begged, through the window. ‘It’s an emergency. I need your help.’ She stopped the car just before it reversed into a large plastic dustbin. ‘Here, look,’ he said, hurriedly taking off his watch and handing it to her. ‘Have this if you think I’m trying to rob you. I’m not. I just need to use your phone.’ She ignored the offered watch and he saw her press the central-locking button beside her. Can’t blame her for that. There were specks of glitter in her hair and she looked like she might have had a drink or two. The girl took out her phone, still eyeing him suspiciously, and lowered the window a fraction.

‘You’re injured,’ she said, stating the obvious. ‘So what’s the number, then?’ She shook her head at him to pre-empt his next question. ‘No, I’m not going to give you my phone,’ she added, the fear clearly audible in her voice, ‘I wasn’t born yesterday. Now what’s the number you want me to call?’

Luke gave her Angela’s mobile number, committed to memory long ago and now tripping off his tongue for just such a moment as this.

‘Tell the person who answers that you’ve got Luke Carlton with you.’ There. He’d probably broken the Official Secrets Act right there by giving her his full name, but he didn’t care. Pick up the phone, Angela. You have to take this call. For several seconds he stood beside the car window, starting to shiver again now as the girl watched him with narrowed eyes and a concentrated frown, her phone ringing unanswered in her ear. She started to put it down when a woman’s voice answered. The girl spoke briefly then listened, her eyes widening.

Moments later she handed her phone through the window to Luke.

108

Near Braintree, Essex

Monday, 21 March, 0114hrs GMT

FIVE MINUTES AND forty-nine seconds precisely. Luke timed it. That was all it took between his phone call to Angela in the Intel Ops Centre and the armed police team arriving to scoop him up on Panfield Lane. He stood there alone on the kerb, wrapping his arms around himself, shivering with cold, as the two CTSFO vehicles came screeching to a halt beside him. He recognized them both for what they were: a dark blue Land Rover in front – the command vehicle – then a black Jankel Tactical Intervention Vehicle behind.