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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

He winced, not from what she was saying – he was only too aware of the gravity of the situation – but because the Land Rover was taking a corner at speed and his left shoulder was suddenly thrown against the side of the vehicle. Christ, that hurt. He pressed the towel to his wounds. It was starting to become saturated with his blood.

‘Why are you telling me what I already know, Jenny?’ he asked, through gritted teeth, as the Land Rover lurched round another bend.

‘Because I know you, Luke. You’re going to want to go in there at the front, firing from the hip, and be the first through that door. Well, not this time, okay? Leave the rough stuff to the CT team. It’s what they’ve trained for. We need your eyes and ears on this one and we need you feeding everything back to the Intel Ops Centre in real time. Can you do that?’

‘Sure.’

Too much, way too much, had happened for Luke to hang back on this one. He was going in with the teams and taking those bastards down. He was going to do whatever it took to finish this. He ended the call and handed the phone back to Inspector Newbold. The driver was hitting the brakes.

‘Listen up!’ she called to her team. ‘We’re here.’

They had reached the outer gate to the warehouse, the same place Luke had hard-targeted away from just ninety minutes earlier. But from his vantage point, sitting up front next to the commander, he could immediately see something was wrong. There should have been police marksmen taking up positions, officers using the available cover to move forward, helicopters hovering overhead, all the tense activity of a developing siege situation. There was none of that.

Inspector Newbold was listening on her headset beside him. Without warning she ripped it off her head and flung it at her feet. ‘Fuck it!’ she shouted. ‘We’re too late. We’ve missed them.’

109

Thames House, London

Monday, 21 March, 0139hrs GMT

RED RIMS HAD formed around Angela Scott’s eyes. Like most of those around her in the Intel Ops Centre, she was running on empty. She was on her third or fourth cup of coffee since they had moved across the river, her nerves on edge, her concentration in overdrive.

‘Noo!’ she exclaimed. ‘How is this possible?’ She threw her hands into the air and clamped them on her head, squeezing her eyes shut. The news had just come in from the warehouse at Braintree and it was a blow to everyone on the team.

‘I mean, we had Luke inside that place, what, less than two hours ago? How could they have cleaned up and shipped out in under that time?’ she said.