Absolute Zero
CONTENTS
About the Book
About the Author
Also by James Patterson
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Copyright
ABOUT THE BOOK
Fear the man who has nothing left to lose…
Cody Thurston is working his usual shift at the rough East London pub he calls home. When a group of out-of-towners walk in looking for trouble, Thurston sends them on their way using some not-so-gentle persuasion.
As a former special forces operative in the Australian military, Thurston can handle trouble. But these men are more dangerous than he realises, and the actions they take will leave Thurston homeless, alone and seeking revenge.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JAMES PATTERSON is one of the best-known and biggest-selling writers of all time. His books have sold in excess of 325 million copies worldwide. He is the author of some of the most popular series of the past two decades – the Alex Cross, Women’s Murder Club, Detective Michael Bennett and Private novels – and he has written many other number one bestsellers including romance novels and stand-alone thrillers.
James is passionate about encouraging children to read. Inspired by his own son who was a reluctant reader, he also writes a range of books for young readers including the Middle School, I Funny, Treasure Hunters, House of Robots, Confessions and Maximum Ride series. James has donated millions in grants to independent bookshops and he has been the most borrowed author in UK libraries for the past ten years in a row. He lives in Florida with his wife and son.
ALSO BY JAMES PATTERSON
ALEX CROSS NOVELS
Along Came a Spider
Kiss the Girls
Jack and Jill
Cat and Mouse
Pop Goes the Weasel
Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
Four Blind Mice
The Big Bad Wolf
London Bridges
Mary, Mary
Cross
Double Cross
Cross Country
Alex Cross’s Trial (with Richard DiLallo)
I, Alex Cross
Cross Fire
Kill Alex Cross
Merry Christmas, Alex Cross
Alex Cross, Run
Cross My Heart
Hope to Die
Cross Justice
Cross the Line
THE WOMEN’S MURDER CLUB SERIES
1st to Die
2nd Chance (with Andrew Gross)
3rd Degree (with Andrew Gross)
4th of July (with Maxine Paetro)
The 5th Horseman (with Maxine Paetro)
The 6th Target (with Maxine Paetro)
7th Heaven (with Maxine Paetro)
8th Confession (with Maxine Paetro)
9th Judgement (with Maxine Paetro)
10th Anniversary (with Maxine Paetro)
11th Hour (with Maxine Paetro)
12th of Never (with Maxine Paetro)
Unlucky 13 (with Maxine Paetro)
14th Deadly Sin (with Maxine Paetro)
15th Affair (with Maxine Paetro)
16th Seduction (with Maxine Paetro)
DETECTIVE MICHAEL BENNETT SERIES
Step on a Crack (with Michael Ledwidge)
Run for Your Life (with Michael Ledwidge)
Worst Case (with Michael Ledwidge)
Tick Tock (with Michael Ledwidge)
I, Michael Bennett (with Michael Ledwidge)
Gone (with Michael Ledwidge)
Burn (with Michael Ledwidge)
Alert (with Michael Ledwidge)
Bullseye (with Michael Ledwidge)
PRIVATE NOVELS
Private (with Maxine Paetro)
Private London (with Mark Pearson)
Private Games (with Mark Sullivan)
Private: No. 1 Suspect (with Maxine Paetro)
Private Berlin (with Mark Sullivan)
Private Down Under (with Michael White)
Private L.A. (with Mark Sullivan)
Private India (with Ashwin Sanghi)
Private Vegas (with Maxine Paetro)
Private Sydney (with Kathryn Fox)
Private Paris (with Mark Sullivan)
The Games (with Mark Sullivan)
Private Delhi (with Ashwin Sanghi)
NYPD RED SERIES
NYPD Red (with Marshall Karp)
NYPD Red 2 (with Marshall Karp)
NYPD Red 3 (with Marshall Karp)
NYPD Red 4 (with Marshall Karp)
DETECTIVE HARRIET BLUE SERIES
Never Never (with Candice Fox)
Fifty Fifty (with Candice Fox, to be published July 2017)
STAND-ALONE THRILLERS
Sail (with Howard Roughan)
Swimsuit (with Maxine Paetro)
Don’t Blink (with Howard Roughan)
Postcard Killers (with Liza Marklund)
Toys (with Neil McMahon)
Now You See Her (with Michael Ledwidge)
Kill Me If You Can (with Marshall Karp)
Guilty Wives (with David Ellis)
Zoo (with Michael Ledwidge)
Second Honeymoon (with Howard Roughan)
Mistress (with David Ellis)
Invisible (with David Ellis)
The Thomas Berryman Number
Truth or Die (with Howard Roughan)
Murder House (with David Ellis)
Woman of God (with Maxine Paetro)
Hide and Seek
Humans, Bow Down (with Emily Raymond)
The Black Book (with David Ellis)
Murder Games (with Howard Roughan)
Black Market
BOOKSHOTS
Black & Blue (with Candice Fox)
Cross Kill
Private Royal
s (with Rees Jones)
The Trial (with Maxine Paetro)
Chase (with Michael Ledwidge)
113 Minutes (with Max DiLallo)
The Verdict (with Robert Gold)
French Kiss (with Richard DiLallo)
Killer Chef (with Jeffrey J. Keyes)
The Christmas Mystery (with Richard DiLallo)
Kidnapped (with Robert Gold)
Come and Get Us (with Shan Serafin)
Hidden (with James O. Born)
Malicious (with James O. Born)
French Twist (with Richard DiLallo)
The Exile (with Alison Joseph)
The End (with Brendan DuBois)
The Shut-In (with Duane Swierczynski)
Private Gold (with Jassy Mackenzie)
After the End (with Brendan DuBois)
Diary of a Succubus (with Derek Nikitas)
What you are holding in your hands right now is no ordinary book, it’s a BookShot.
BookShots are page-turning stories by James Patterson and other writers that can be read in one sitting.
Each and every one is fast-paced, 100% story-driven; a shot of pure entertainment guaranteed to satisfy.
Available as new, compact paperbacks, ebooks and audio, everywhere books are sold.
BookShots – the ultimate form of storytelling.
From the ultimate storyteller.
CHAPTER 1
THURSTON’S BEEN DOWN too long. Thanks to the hypersensitive security sonar in place, the use of standard-issue dive gear has been ruled out for this mission. Thurston’s operating on lung power alone.
Lieutenant Hardacre, the whites of his eyes flashing against the night camo make-up, glances at Green at the tiller of the RHIB. Green shakes his head and checks his watch.
‘Seven minutes twenty. Not looking good, sir.’
Hardacre glances across the water at the black mass of the target vessel. They’re less than forty metres from the Karachi Naval Yard perimeter. Their target – Thurston’s target – is the Khan, a Pakistan Navy Tariq-class frigate whose captain has distinct ISIS leanings. US Intelligence suggests in no uncertain terms that the rogue officer is contemplating a major attack on US assets in the Gulf. Exactly what those assets might be, nobody is too sure. But with the frigate packing as much firepower as it does, no one back at Command is taking any chances. In normal circumstances, a black ops team might make the captain disappear, or a drone disable his ship from the comfort of a bunker in Washington.
But these are not normal circumstances.
Because the captain of the Khan is the nephew of an extremely high-ranking and well-connected family. For reasons far too complicated for all but the mandarins at Langley to comprehend, this must look like an internal attack: there can be no traceable links back to the US. Hence the use of an Australian team as the pointy end of a dirty spear. None of Hardacre’s team are wearing uniform. This mission is as off the books as it is possible to be. Get caught here and there’ll be no trial, no covert handover at a checkpoint in Sinai. It’ll be a long dusty trip to some Pakistan Intelligence torture camp and the distinct possibility of starting World War Three. All three men wear cyanide capsules on a chain round their necks and none would hesitate to use them. They’ve seen the results of concerted torture before.
‘Jesus Christ, Thurston,’ mutters Hardacre.
Green looks up at his boss. ‘Eight minutes ten.’
‘He’s dead. We’ve got to cut and r—’
‘There!’ Green points at a spot of black water some twenty metres away. Hardacre can’t see a thing but Green is part owl when it comes to night vision.
They paddle the RHIB towards a flurry of rising silver bubbles and arrive as Thurston’s head breaks the surface. He throws open his mouth and sucks down a lungful of air. Hardacre leans over and pulls Thurston aboard.
‘All good?’ says Hardacre.
Thurston, unable to speak, raises a thumb.
‘Go,’ says Hardacre.
Silently, Green paddles the RHIB out of the dock, past the Pakistan Naval Academy and out into the main channel. Only when the boat is out of earshot does Green start the muffled engine and head slowly and quietly down towards the Marho Kotri Wildlife Sanctuary, where they have established a camp. After a switch into civilian clothes they’ll sink the RHIB in the mangroves and slip into Karachi in a day or two to resume their cover work as liaison officers at the Australian embassy.
They’ve just turned the first corner when the initial blast comes.
‘Nice work, Thurston,’ says Lieutenant Hardacre.
Thurston nods. ‘Thanks, sir.’
‘Nine minutes,’ says Green. ‘You were down nine fucking minutes, mate!’
‘Seemed longer,’ says Thurston as the sky erupts behind them.
CHAPTER 2
THEORETICALLY, A TEMPERATURE of absolute zero is a physical impossibility. But rounding the corner of the Hackney Road and copping the whip of the sleet-streaked wind directly into his face, Cody Thurston is pretty sure he’s found it.
Jesus, London in January. It never gets any easier.
Not for a boy brought up in Byron Bay anyway.
Thurston tucks his chin deeper into the cowl of his North Face and conjures up memories of a seemingly endless parade of sun-kissed January days on the Far North Coast of New South Wales.
He checks his watch. Eight o’clock on a dog of a night in Hackney, seven in the morning Down Under. The first surfers will already be in the water at the Pass or down at Tallows. Thurston allows himself a brief moment of wishful thinking before shouldering his gym bag and picking up the pace.
Screw that nostalgia shit. The teenage Cody Thurston who surfed like there was nothing else worth living for is long gone. This Cody Thurston is right here, right now. And all he’s got to look forward to is another shift at the V and the usual sh—
‘Motherfucker!’
Thurston feels a sharp pain in the back of his kidneys and looks down to see a young guy in a wheelchair cocking his fist for another punch. Thurston swivels out of the way and gives the guy a slap across the back of the head. Not too hard, but enough to let him know Thurston’s there.
‘Hittin’ a cripple, hey? Nice fuckin’ work, man! You smack every disabled person you see?’
Thurston shakes his head. ‘Only you, Lenin. Only you.’
Lenin smiles, brushes some sleet off his dreads and swings his chair next to Thurston. ‘You goin’ the V?’
‘Same as every night. How about you?’
‘Same as every night, man.’ Lenin puts on a spurt. ‘Race you!’
Thurston watches him go. ‘Fuck you. You hurt me.’
‘Loser!’ shouts Lenin as he turns into the warm yellow light spilling out of the door to the V. The crumbling Victorian bar halfway down the Hackney Road has been Thurston’s workplace for almost two years. He lives in a cramped two-room attic shoved up under the leaky roof.
It’s home.
CHAPTER 3
‘YOU’RE LATE, DICKHEAD. Think I’m made of fuckin’ money, Buster?’ Barb cackles, making a sound like a parrot gargling nails.
The owner of the V is in her regular spot, perched precariously on a stool in the corner of the bar on the customer side. Barb Connors must be eighty-five if she’s a day but there’s still something of the King’s Cross hooker about her, and it’s not just her filthy mouth. She wears a yellow wig that looks like it would survive a nuclear attack and make-up half an inch thick. Her choice of lipstick, as always, is crimson.
Thurston acknowledges his boss but doesn’t say anything. As long as she keeps calling him ‘Buster’ he’s going to keep right on saying zip. Barb watched a documentary about silent movies last year and has been trying to make the Buster Keaton thing stick with Thurston ever since. He’s having none of it – as much to annoy Barb as for any objection he has to being called Buster. Ignoring the military-grade laser death stare coming at him from Barb’s direction, Thurston flips up the bar lid and hangs his sop
ping jacket behind the door to the cellar.
‘Hey, Janie,’ says Thurston to a thin blonde punkette with tattooed cleavage who is placing fresh bottles in a cooler cabinet. Thurston makes a point of staring directly at Janie’s chest. ‘Evening, girls,’ he says and waggles his fingers.
Janie Jones reaches down and casually grabs Thurston’s nuts. ‘Evening, boys,’ she replies and squeezes. Hard.
‘Jesus!’ gasps Thurston.
Janie releases her grip with a sweet smile, flips Thurston the middle finger and continues her task. On the other side of the bar, Lenin laughs and bumps fists with Janie.
‘Man’s a Neanderthal, Janie.’
Janie doesn’t look up. ‘He’s Australian. What do you expect?’
‘I was being ironic,’ says Thurston.
‘Well, consider that nut squeeze my ironic reply, OK?’ says Janie.
‘Fair enough,’ says Thurston. ‘How’s it been tonight?’
Janie stands and looks at Lenin, not quite ready to restore peace with Thurston. ‘Usual?’
Lenin is staring at Janie’s chest so she snaps her fingers in front of his face twice. ‘Hey. Hey. Up here. There’s nothing ironic about you, Lenin. Usual?’
‘Uh-huh,’ says Lenin, his eyes remaining glued to Janie’s breasts.
While she pours, Janie turns to answer Thurston’s question. ‘It’s been quiet,’ she says, shooting a glance at Barb. ‘Kind of.’ Barb looks at Janie and then back at Thurston. Something’s up.
Thurston slides his plastic cash register ID into place and punches in the code. While Janie pours Lenin’s drink she taps Thurston with an elbow and flicks her eyes towards a knot of men near the pool table.
There are four of them, all in suits, all in their thirties: beered-up, red-faced, peaking early. Thurston’s seen the sort down here plenty of times before: businessmen coming to the V for a bit of authentic old-London-boozer flavour. Slumming it before the inevitable gentrification takes place. They’re loud and look as if they could easily be a bunch of dicks but Thurston can’t see what the problem might be. Two local girls are with the group but they look happy enough to be there, if a little bored.
They also look about fourteen years old, but Barb has a liberal approach to the drinking age laws.