But in private, Bartholomew Van Brakel had led a colourful, highly unorthodox and very busy life. Abbott claimed that the fifteen-year-old Van Brakel had been a personal acquaintance, disciple – and, he hinted, teenage lover – of the Pandemonium Club’s illustrious founder, Aleister Crowley. His mentor had initiated him into the black arts and taught him everything he knew. The boy had proved an able student. Following Crowley’s death in 1947, Van Brakel had risen steadily up in the ranks of the Ancient Order of Thoth. When the order’s then Grand Master, the billionaire industrialist Sir Cecil Randolph Postlethwaite, had died under mysterious circumstances in 1979, Van Brakel had eagerly taken over the role. The following year, in recognition of his unparalleled expertise in occult practices and to honour his direct connection to the revered Crowley, the AOT’s Grand Council had elected him Life President of the Pandemonium Club. A position he had now held for decades. Van Brakel’s status in the cult was godlike, his authority was absolute, and his influence over a number of key figures at the very highest level of the British establishment was considerable. He had top-ranking police commanders, judges, government ministers and senior intelligence directors in his pocket. He was privy to classified information and invited to secret meetings that determined the course of international affairs. According to Abbott Van Brakel had a direct line to Number 10, Downing Street and was a regular guest at the Sandringham Estate and Balmoral Castle. The list of his connections went on and on until Ben had had enough of reading.

Ben shut down his phone, sat for a while with his eyes closed and worked on meditatively relaxing one group of muscles at a time, easing the tension out of his system. He turned to gaze out of the plane window. The fields and villages of north-western England were visible through the grey clouds, twenty thousand feet below.

He looked at Wolf, who had been sitting quietly absorbed in his own thoughts. Asked him, ‘What will you do when this is over?’

‘Head back to my hillside in Albarracín,’ Wolf said with a smile. ‘Get on with my new life. Maybe get myself a little place. Raise some chickens, plant a herb garden. Find a girl, maybe. Who knows? I’m not in a hurry. Like the saying goes, the world is my lobster.’

Ben could only wish that his own life were so uncomplicated.

‘Then again, maybe I won’t,’ Wolf said, letting the smile drop for a moment. ‘Because I’ll be dead. Or worse, sitting in a jail. What we’re about to do isn’t like what I used to do. I was in and out before you knew it, no traces, no witnesses. We’re going to leave a trail a blind man could follow, and we might not get as lucky as we did with Abbott. A lot can go wrong.’