Chasing The Dawn (Luke Temple - Book 2) (Luke Temple Series) Read online

  CHASING THE DAWN

  JAMES FLYNN

  About the Author

  James Flynn is the writer and author of the popular Luke Temple book series. The series follows our antihero across the globe under the employment of a covert government agency known only as Group 9.

  Flynn currently splits his time between London and his home in Essex, where he is creating the next action packed Luke Temple thriller…

  Follow James Flynn

  Twitter: @JamesTFlynn

  Blog: http://jamesflynnauthor.com/

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/James-Flynn/262318733804261

  Contact: [email protected]

  Copyright

  The sole distribution and reproduction rights for this eBook reside with © James Flynn 2014 and © MP 2014, all rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this eBook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, decompiled or reverse engineered in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All references to scientific principles are based on actual practical research or research theories.

  Cover design by Obviously Creative – www.obviouslycreative.co.uk

  eBook formatting by EBooks by Design

  www.ebooksbydesign.com

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to my Grandad, whose passion for life, and love for reading sparked in me an appreciation for the beauty of words. You gave me many wonderful books, and now it is my turn to give one to you…

  PROLOGUE

  Professor Ernesto Vittorio found himself breaking into a run as he rushed down the stone corridor. He often forgot that this place lay 1,400 metres below the earth’s surface; the array of cooling systems did nothing to stop beads of sweat running down his dark skin. As Vittorio’s steps echoed, his heart raced, his head spinning.

  If he had not seen the readout with his own eyes he would never have believed it. It was the single most fascinating, not to mention baffling, discovery of his life. He needed to check for sure there had been no interference with the projection from CERN, 730 kilometres away.

  He reached the entrance of Hall C and stopped a moment, catching his breath and gathering his thoughts. Then he stepped inside. The room was cavernous, and as predicted there were a swarm of scientists running around, their attention focused on what Vittorio still thought was one of the most beautiful man-made sights he had ever seen, the detector. It was actually a series of bricks consisting of nuclear emulsion photographic films interleaved with lead sheets, a refined masterpiece. Vittorio always took a smug joy in revealing the staggering statistics to visitors. The detector was split into two supermodules, which together weighed a staggering 1,300 tonnes and contained roughly 200,000 bricks arranged into parallel walls.

  As Vittorio strode purposefully across the floor, Professor Roland Brun, his head technician and old friend, ran up to him. “Professor, professor, the bricks are all correct, there is nothing wrong.”

  “Slow down, Roland, let’s not be hasty.” Vittorio rubbed his brow, his thick eyebrows creasing with his frown. “What about interference?”

  “None, we have never had any, not down here.”

  This far underground it was certainly unlikely. “And cali …”

  “Calibration is all set and stable,” Professor Brun interrupted. “Ernesto, the result is accurate.”

  A moment of silence passed between them.

  Brun spoke first. “Do you know what this means?”

  Vittorio could only stare blankly at the giant apparatus in front of him; slowly he turned to his colleague and looked him dead in the eye. “It means we just changed the universe”.

  1.

  Six years later

  Friday 9th November

  The grey-haired man thanked the waitress a second time as he threw down a few Danish Kroner as a tip. His wife stood up and fixed her fox fur coat around her shoulders, checking that her perfectly coiffed hair was still safely secured in place. It was Friday night and every table within the restaurant was full with people chatting, laughing and eating. The smartly dressed pair threaded their way between the white and purple cloth-covered tables, nodding at waiters and waitresses as they passed. Upon reaching the entrance they stopped and readjusted their coats, preparing themselves for the rush of cold.

  Luke Temple had placed himself at a short distance from the Ristorante La Perle, hailed as one of the finest dining establishments in the northern Danish city of Hillerod. He had kept eyes on the target for the entire meal. It had taken its usual couple of hours and he was fighting off the cold which was now eating away at his extremities. He pulled down his woollen hat and adjusted his gloves as his target emerged from the orange glow of the restaurant entrance with his wife.

  It was the third Friday Luke had waited in position and he was more than happy to get moving as he checked 360 degrees, making sure no one was lurking in the shadows. His target walked briskly past the garden on Luke’s right, heading up the short lane toward the Ostergade main road. Luke let him walk several paces past the garden before shuffling quietly through the bushes. He could see the target and his wife striding out ahead; their breath was forming clouds as they spoke. He tucked in on the left side of the lane about thirty paces behind.

  The couple drew level with the side entrance of an old red brick building situated on the right-hand side of the lane and suddenly they stopped. Casually, Luke pretended to check his watch, slowing his pace slightly. He glanced subtly at the couple, they were stood looking back at the restaurant, seemingly debating whether to walk back, Luke was creeping closer to their position, knowing that he was now committed and would have to walk past them if they didn’t move. As Luke drew level with a gated car park he was no more than six metres from the target, close enough to make out the man’s bulbous red nose and thinning grey hair. Finally the couple made up their minds and turned back toward Ostergade road and Luke slowed his pace, dropping further back to a safe observation position.

  As the target reached Ostergade opposite the Svendson & Son furniture store he turned the usual left turn and walked the twenty metres to his Mercedes. Luke remained static at the mouth of the lane, watching the target finish his usual Friday night routine. The orange sidelights flashed twice as the infra-red key fob unlocked the car. The target opened the door for his wife first, as always, then moved round in front of the car and placed himself into the driver’s seat. The engine rumbled to life and the Mercedes pulled slowly across the left lane and joined the right, heading north for the five-mile drive home.

  Luke was not going to follow them; he knew exactly where they were headed. The target lived in a large three-floor house, a typical Danish Gothic structure. He was a man of habit and routine, he would be getting up the next morning at 7.30 a.m. to head to the local gym for an hour’s swim. Luke could sit in the gym car park and wait for him to appear from the early morning dip but he was too well trained for that. The objective had been made clear: observe and document. He would drive back to his rented accommodation, get as much sleep as possible and then return to the target’s house around 5.30 a.m. He hunched up his shoulders as a cold breeze blew a chill through his bones and turned south towards his car.

  ***

  Luke killed his lights for the last twenty yards of the drive. There wa
s no traffic on the road, but then Hillerod only had a population of just over 30,000. Just after the shops he pulled the Honda over against the curb and killed the engine. With the heating off the cold soon began to seep into the car. After several minutes Luke opened the door and got out, locking the door and scanning left to right along the road. Once satisfied, he pulled his hat and gloves on and began the well-worn routine.

  He had changed accommodation every five days since arriving in Hillerod and was now on his fourth location. Each time he used a different name and paid cash. The current location was two days old; it was an apartment in a shabby block. The building was only small, two floors high, with tenants split between ground-floor and top-floor apartments. The ground at the front of the flats was a grubby square of wasteland with a wire mesh fence blocking it from the road. The only entrance from the road was a rough-laid path running alongside the wire fence. Luke never walked directly up to the flats when returning, he made sure he did a full walk around the perimeter and surrounding roads. Complacency only ever equals death, his Group 9 instructor’s words played in his ears.

  Walking past the waste ground, he took the first left, making sure to dip his head. There was nothing unusual on the road, no car out of place or lingering person. At the end of the road he took another left. The curb line was jammed with cars, but as Luke walked his eyes were drawn to a black BMW 3 Series parked at the end of the road on the opposite side of the street. To anyone else, it would have just looked like another resident car, but to Luke something about it didn’t seem to fit. All the other cars were a few years old, but the BMW was spotless; considering the area, a new BMW 3 Series didn’t seem right. As Luke drew closer he made sure he didn’t move his head to look but shifted his eyes right. He could make out a figure crouched low in the driver’s seat, only a faint outline in the darkness. The driver’s window had been cracked ever so slightly. Turning left at the end of the road, Luke quickened his pace. Whoever the man in the car was, he was clearly trying to keep a low profile. Most people wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving a window open in these temperatures, but anyone trying to avoid detection would know that a steamed-up window would draw unwanted attention.

  Luke’s mind clicked into gear as he headed down a dark alleyway. At the end was a corrugated metal hording blocking the alley from the apartments. With two swift moves Luke had scaled the metal and dropped silently onto the other side. He stayed crouched in the shadows for a few moments; there were no sounds. He half-jogged across to the concrete steps that led to his first-floor apartment; removing the glove from his right hand he pulled the Sig Sauer compact pistol from his waistband. He checked the load action and clicked a bullet into the chamber. He needed to feel the weapon and the pressure on the trigger. He walked out onto the exterior walkway, and moved along to his flimsy wooden door. The door seemed fine, nothing was smashed or tampered with. He thrust his gloved hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the single front door key. The room was in darkness; the street light cast orange glows. Luke clicked the door shut, but didn’t turn any lights on, he kept the pistol raised in the dark and let his eyes adjust. After a moment Luke let out his breath and dropped the pistol to his side.

  “Do you want a coffee?” Luke asked.

  A lamp flicked on. In a corner armchair was Davison, dressed in his standard grey suit and silver tie. “How did you know it was me?” His cockney accent was as strong as ever.Luke clicked the safety back on and pushed the Sig Sauer back into his waistband. “You always wear enough cologne to kill a small animal.”

  “Where the hell have you been, Temple?” Davison asked firmly.

  “Carrying out the mission as stated.”

  “Temple, the idea of a training exercise is so that we can observe and assess you. How the hell can we do that if we can’t find you?”

  “The objectives were to covertly observe Mr Skaarsgard, and document his movements. That’s what I did.”

  Luke opened a ragged cupboard and retrieved two coffee-stained mugs. “I have full reports and photos at a safe store location.” Never keep sensitive information about your person in case of being caught or captured.

  Davison jumped up, “Never mind that, we’ve been looking for you because we have a job, legitimate and hot. Grab your equipment.” He stepped towards the door. “Meet me around the rear of this block in ten minutes, I’ll be waiting in a …”

  Luke cut him off, “... a black BMW 3 Series, registration DD 12 453.”

  Davison stopped and grinned at him. “Thank God you work for us.”

  2.

  Saturday 10th November

  The Laboratori Nazionali del Gran Sasso was located between the Italian towns of L’Aquila and Teramo, in the shadow of the Gran Sasso Massif Mountains. It was a beautiful region of the country, and now the sun was hanging low in the winter sky the whole area looked like a postcard.

  Carabinieri Beltrano eased his black 4x4 Mazda CX-7 into the grey concrete car park, switched off the engine and stepped out. The air was cold and crisp; he took in a deep lungful and sighed out a warm cloud. The fan on the Mazda engine was still whirring after the fast drive from Rome some 120 kilometres south west from where he now stood. The landscape was breathtaking, the mountains’ white peaks brushed the clouds, it was peaceful all around. Beltrano turned 180 degrees on the spot, and noticed a set of light blue Alfa Romeos with white stripes parked fifty metres across the car park, next to them was one white Fiat 500 with a horizontal green stripe running along its side. The white stripes belonged to Polizia di Stato, state police, and the green stripe belonged to Polizia Provinciale, provincial police units. Beltrano could really do without their questions but it was part of the job. He sighed at the thought. Once being a Carabinieri meant answering only to the military and government, but modern bureaucracy had changed all that.

  The interior of the office was basic, computers, printers and whiteboards strewn with numbers and squiggles were the main furnishings. A single provincial officer stood guard. At the far side of the room two state police officers remonstrated with a smartly dressed elderly man. He was raising his voice and Beltrano could hear him clearly;

  “But that is unacceptable, two days? Two whole days and you still have nothing. We must continue with our work, things do not wait for your investigation,” the man spoke in English but with a slight Germanic accent.

  The provincial officer turned as he heard Beltrano approach.

  “Halt! You are not allowed in here, it is a restricted area.”

  Beltrano had expected the reaction; he was dressed in cream chinos, a white shirt and a smoky grey jacket. It was all smothered in a knee-length black duffel coat. He operated in the Special Task Department of the Carabinieri, which meant not being weighed down by formalities such as uniform. He flipped open his ID card. The provincial officer took a moment to process the information, and then hesitantly straightened up.

  “Sorry Signor, I didn’t realise you had been notified.”

  Beltrano didn’t speak, one of the state officers had also spotted him. Beltrano watched him straighten his shirt and stroll regally over; it was clear this officer felt he was in charge.

  Upon reaching Beltrano he tipped his head slightly back. “Signor, no unauthorised personnel are allowed in here, this is a crime scene, you will have to be escorted outside.”

  Beltrano still didn’t speak; the provincial officer sheepishly leant in to the state officer and spoke quietly into his ear. The state officer’s face showed shock, he shot a glance at Beltrano, and then scrambled to regain an air of authority;

  “Sorry Carabinieri, I thought … well, my apologies. As you can see everything is under control, I’m sure this is nothing but a local issue.”

  Beltrano was looking over at the elderly gentleman. “Officer …?”

  “Nestor.”

  “Well Officer Nestor, there are certain government officials that disagree. Is that gentleman an officer?” Beltrano nodded towards the elderly man.

 
“No, that is Professor Brun, a head technician here at the institute.”

  “It’s just that you said no unauthorised personnel. It is a crime scene yet you have a civilian running around?”

  The state officer looked slightly embarrassed.

  Beltrano continued, “So fill me in, Officer Nestor.”

  Nestor straightened, “Two days ago the laboratory reported a break-in, and then yesterday morning they also stated that one of their employees had not reported for work; this was out of the ordinary.”

  “And where are we up to now?”

  “Well …” Nestor paused, “we have found nothing missing from here, and still no sign of the employee.”

  “His name?”

  “Professor Ernesto Vittorio.”

  Beltrano rubbed his dark grey-flecked stubble. “So in two days you have found nothing missing, or a motivation for the break-in, and no leads on the missing person?”

  “I have my theories. I feel it is quite clear that Professor Vittorio has stolen something from the lab, either something for personal use or to sell, God knows what contraptions they have here.”

  “And is this office the only area that was broken into?”

  “We think so.”

  “Officer Nestor, I believe you have done enough thinking.” Beltrano pulled out a neatly folded piece of A4 paper. “I am now heading up this investigation, all the details are on there. My colleague and I will need an office in Teramo station, I’m sure you will be accommodating.”

  Officer Nestor fought to repress his obvious discomfort, but there was nothing he could do, the piece of paper was a government decree stating that Carabinieri Beltrano was now leading the investigation. He couldn’t possibly fathom what interest the government or military had with it all, but he knew better than to question it.

  Beltrano watched Professor Brun, who was now busying himself at a computer screen. He strolled over.