He knew Zach Berman and Whitney Jones had been woken early, and he called his associate to gather the party in front of the vicarage after a light breakfast.

“Good morning, Whitney, I haven’t seen you in a while,” said Berman when he came out of the house.

“I’ve been busy,” said Whitney Jones, irritably, looking at her boss. “It’s hard to run a business in Colorado from rural England.”

The barb went over Berman’s head. He expected Whitney to do her job whether there was a seven-hour time difference or not.

Jimmy then joined Berman and Whitney. He motioned for them to join him in the second of two cars.

“We are taking the scenic route to Windsor,” said Jimmy. He was in a buoyant mood as usual. He had learned early in life that it was best not to play one’s hand. “Little Chalfont . . . Amersham . . . Beaconsfield.”

Jimmy was an enthusiastic tour guide. As they drove up a steep hill out of the small town of Amersham, Jimmy said this was called Gore Hill, named for an ancient battle with Vikings, after which blood ran down the incline and back into the town.

Berman and Whitney had dutifully looked out and nodded. Neither was all that interested.

“That way is John Milton’s house, in Chalfont St. Giles,” said Jimmy, indicating a road even smaller than the one they were on. “But it is too far out of our way. Perhaps we’ll check it out next time we’re in the countryside.”

Thirty minutes later they were aboard a speedy riverboat, headed east down the Thames. Whitney Jones was enjoying her freedom from the confines of the dingy room she had been working in for days; Berman looked completely distracted. Jimmy checked his smartphone every couple of minutes. A flurry of texts kept him apprised of developments. Everything was running according to plan.

•   •   •

AS PIA LAY IN BED in the still of the morning, she had heard the doors of two or three cars close and the sound of tires on gravel as they had driven away. She had assumed this was Berman and Whitney Jones leaving with the Chinese man she had met last night. Who was that man? Pia wondered. In the last few days she had looked forward to her walks around the garden, and she doubted she was going to be allowed out in Berman’s absence. These recent days had been more bearable, with the food, the bathroom. Even the ridiculous dinner the night before had, in reality, been a welcome diversion from her general boredom.

Just as she had that thought, the door opened and the Chinese doctor entered the room, followed by a guard; a different man, for once. The doctor walked straight over to Pia and grabbed her good arm.

“Hey, what’s this?” she demanded, trying to pull away.

The doctor was avoiding her gaze, and Pia knew that was a bad sign.