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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

She was vaguely aware of several figures standing on the other side of the isolation tent, watching her with worried expressions, one holding a clipboard and pen. And they smelt terrible. Yes, there was a really disgusting smell in here. It took Sheila Mackenzie a few moments to realize that the smell wasn’t coming from them, not from the people at her bedside, it was coming from her. She had lost control of her bowels. Seventeen minutes later she was gripped by uncontrollable convulsions and then, finally, a catastrophic seizure.

At 7.12 p.m. on the evening of Thursday, 10 March, three days after entering an Arctic hut on the archipelago of Svalbard as a fit and healthy researcher, Dr Sheila Mackenzie died.

33

Ten Commandments Bar, Vilnius, Lithuania

Thursday, 10 March, 1915hrs GMT, 2215hrs local

OLD, OVERDRESSED AND out of place. That was pretty much how Luke felt as, shortly after 10 p.m., he and Jenny walked down the rain-splashed cobbles of Vilnius Street in the Old Town and approached the bar calling itself Ten Commandments. It was a young crowd out in the party district of the Lithuanian capital tonight, students mainly, oblivious to the falling temperatures and the spasmodic drizzle. They were standing around in noisy groups on the pavement, making little attempt at social distancing.

Luke was surprised to find himself feeling self-conscious. He was still in his thirties, just, but he felt almost old enough to be these students’ father. He was wearing a dark blazer, black polo neck and dark skinny jeans. Jenny had procured herself a stylish black cocktail dress, the result of a last-minute dash to a department store just before it closed for the day. In the event, they had had some heated words.

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Luke had protested, as she tried to steer him towards a green suit and shiny black shirt ensemble. ‘I’m not dressing up like Borat!’

Jenny had fixed him with a steely gaze. ‘Listen, Luke,’ she had reminded him, and not for the first time, ‘someone in Europe’s got their hands on a deadly new pathogen and we still don’t know who. I’ve got Thames House calling me for answers practically every hour and you’re quibbling about what to wear tonight? Get some perspective, Luke. Just wear whatever it takes to get this done. We go in, we find Janulis, we hand over the money and we leave with the flash drive. End of.’