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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

‘It’s completely out of the question,’ Pedersen told the voice at the other end. ‘Nobody can fly in this. Not without permission from the Sysselmann – the governor – and I can tell you, he is not going to give it. Besides, there is the obvious risk of infection. Surely you can see that. No, I have to follow protocol here.’

Pedersen frowned as he listened to the response. Then his face softened slightly.

‘Yes, yes, I realize she could die if it turns out to be what you say it is. But moving her here? To my hospital in Longyearbyen? Don’t you see? That could start an epidemic! … Tromsø? On the mainland? … The University Hospital? That’s nearly a thousand kilometres away! … Yes, yes, I hear you, but it carries the same risk – the risk of an outbreak. And I will not be responsible for that!’

He paused as a particularly strong gust of wind shook the windowpane, then resumed the conversation. ‘Listen, my friend. I will tell you exactly what is going to happen now. I am going to alert the Norwegian Department of Health in Oslo immediately and I will ask them to activate an infectious disease protocol …

‘What does that mean?’ Pedersen sighed, repeating the other man’s question back to him. ‘It means help is coming, my friend. They have an EMT – an emergency medical team – on permanent standby for just such an eventuality. But I must insist that until then the patients – yes, because that is what they are now – I must insist that nobody goes near them, do you hear me? No one is to be moved or, God help us, this thing will spread out of control.’

5

Covent Garden, London

Monday, 7 March, 2010hrs GMT

LUKE CARLTON WAS bored to tears. He had nothing against opera per se, but this? No, this Wagner stuff was definitely not for him. He shifted restlessly in his seat and rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers. Twelve years in the Royal Marines, the last four spent with Special Forces in the SBS, and now a fully fledged case officer in the Secret Intelligence Service, running covert MI6 agents into dark and dangerous places. And what was he doing this evening? Watching some bearded bloke in a frilly shirt belt out a load of incomprehensible German onstage while the orchestra crashed and thumped in his ears. Just kill me now, he thought.

He sneaked a glance at his watch and slumped inwardly. Christ, they were barely forty minutes into Act One and there were another two to come, plus intervals. What had possessed him to say yes to this evening? He looked over at the girl next to him and there, sitting poised and elegant, was his answer. Elise Mayhew, twenty-nine years old, art dealer in Mayfair and his girlfriend of more than three years.