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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 steel box on the PA’s desk buzzed into life and she spoke briskly into a microphone, in Russian, Luke guessed, then gestured for them to go in. ‘Gentlemen,’ said the sales director in a thick accent, ignoring the fact that Jenny was, very obviously, not one. ‘This is quite unorthodox, but we are happy to help. What can we do for you?’ No tea or coffee was offered, they noted, as they took their seats. In fact, the burly Mr Kadunov did not even rise from his chair behind his metal frame desk. He looked as if he had once been a wrestler, Luke reckoned, or a bodybuilder, or both. Can’t say I blame him for being grumpy, he thought. A snap visit at almost zero notice from two OPCW inspectors to this chemical factory would not be the best news he’d had all week. Behind him, and slightly to one side, stood another man, younger, in his late thirties, Luke guessed, but prematurely balding.

Kadunov waved him forward. ‘Let me introduce my assistant here,’ he said. ‘This is Darius Janulis. He is – how you say? – our legals officer.’

Interesting, Luke thought, as the younger man gave an exaggerated bow. With a name like Kadunov, the boss of this sales division must be an ethnic Russian. But his assistant, Janulis, must be an ethnic Lithuanian. One of the few statistics Luke had had time to learn about this country on the way over was that just under five per cent of the population was ethnic Russian and they were viewed with suspicion by some ethnic Lithuanians. He wondered how Janulis felt, reporting to a Russian in a position of seniority. Was there something he could exploit here?

‘We’ll keep this as brief as possible,’ Jenny was saying, ‘and then we’ll be out of your hair. We’d like to take a look at your sales records of all exports to Scandinavian countries, starting with Norway, going back for the past three months. And we’ll need the names of everyone who signed off on each shipment and—’

She was cut short by a burst of throaty laughter. It came from the sales director and it was a mirthless, cynical sound. ‘Lady, please …’ He raised his hand. ‘You cannot just come marching in here and expect us to open our books like this!’ He thrust out his jaw aggressively, then turned towards Luke with a patronizing smile. ‘Please, mister. You can explain this to your Chinese friend?’