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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

When the man eventually hung up, he leaned back in his swivel chair, which creaked each time he moved. He regarded Luke for a long moment without saying anything, just occasionally tapping the end of a biro on the desk, never taking his eyes off Luke’s. Mind games, he reminded himself. The guy’s playing mind games. And for a moment Luke’s mind dredged up an uncomfortable memory: tactical questioning – TQ – the part of UK Special Forces Selection he would much prefer to forget. The long hours of being made to stand in stress positions, hands behind his head, eyes blindfolded, white noise blaring constantly in his ears, no sleep for three days, then the abuse screamed at him from so close his cheeks were wet with spittle. And then the questions, on and on and on they went, as his mind and body cried out for rest. Luke hadn’t cracked on that course, but he’d seen men a lot bigger than him come out whimpering like babies and getting RTUd – Returned to Unit. After all that, Luke reckoned, he could probably handle what this overweight Lithuanian police chief had to throw at him.

‘Strip.’ It was a single-word command, spoken in English by the man behind the desk, and it caught Luke off-guard.

‘Excuse me?’ he replied. Perhaps he’d misheard him.

‘Strip,’ repeated the officer, louder and more menacing this time. ‘Take off your clothes. Everything. Or you want us to do it for you?’

35

Near Braintree, Essex

Thursday, 10 March, 2022hrs GMT

THURSDAY NIGHTS WERE always busy at the Rose and Crown pub in the north Essex village of Collier’s Green and tonight was no exception. The car park was full, the regulars were at the bar and a good-natured argument was just kicking off over the comparative merits of East Anglia’s real-ale industry. Like countless other venues across the country, the Rose and Crown had taken a hit during the months of Covid, struggling to stay afloat as it poured away unsold beer by the gallon when the restrictions kicked in. But it was back in business, and to the regulars all that seemed like a bad dream now.

Upstairs, behind the white mock-Tudor walls and in a room whose door had an old-fashioned sliding lock, bolted firmly shut, sat four men and one woman around a table. Spread on its surface were maps, colour-coded, schematic diagrams and timetables. The planning committee was in session.