Chapter One
PRESENT DAY
Christmas was American-born Professor Jack Garrison’s least favorite season in London. As the world beyond Great Britain seemed to crumble, the Brits’ cheerful portrayal of the Charles Dickens holiday spirit was an assault on Jack’s senses. Even the late afternoon, working-class Londoners, laden with packages, smiled while crammed into the Bakerloo Line Tube train.
Jack sensed for months he was being followed. He scanned his fellow passengers. Real concern or paranoia? There was no proof; only a vague unease.
At age thirty-two, Jack believed the Underground was a cross-section study of London society: a few elite middle-aged travelers in pinstriped suits readThe Times; middle class faces were concealed behind the latest tabloid headlines;London Sun andDaily Mirror screamed the latest outrages about the American president. Younger eyes of shop clerks and office workers were all fixed on cell phone screens.
Jack’s cell phone, tucked away within the inside pocket of his navy blue, corduroy jacket, was set on airplane mode—location services off. He wondered who, among his fellow passengers, might be snapping photos of him.
The PA announced their arrival at Embankment Tube station. The train slowed and stopped. Doors slid open. Jack held back as a dozen people stepped off, then he followed.
No one exited behind him.
Unreasonable relief.
A trio of brass horn players: trumpet, trombone, and tuba performed at the bottom of the Embankment Tube station escalators. Jack paused and pretended interest as crowds from other trains pushed past.
He tossed a one-pound coin into the musicians’ collection basket and joined the current of strangers pouring out from a warren of Underground tunnels and onto the escalators.
The sounds of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” followed the jostling crowds upward toward the Strand. Jack had not been merry for a very long time and God seemed very distant indeed.
It was only 4:30 p.m., drizzling, and already dark as Jack emerged from the station. A sidewalk peddler scooped warm chestnuts from a grill and poured them into a small, brown-paper bag. Jack purchased a bag, jostling the hot paper from pa
