Meanwhile, back at the house the arriving delegates filtered through from the lobby to the familiar and comfortable environment of the members’ lounge. Champagne, fine wines, gin and tonics and vintage whiskies were served from the complimentary bar as the members greeted one another as old friends. Hands were shaken, conversation was lively and affable. Top lawmakers, High Court Judges, corporate bosses and industry tycoons, senior civil servants and political leaders, media pundits, movers and shakers; in whatever walk of life they had achieved success, in whatever corridors of power they held influence and helped to shape national and global events, everyone was considered equal. Here, the bitterest of rivals who might otherwise be seen tearing each other’s guts out in the public arenas of the company boardroom or the Houses of Parliament lounged amicably on plush leather sofas, enjoyed their drinks and laughed together as Brothers. It was a place they felt utterly safe and protected, united in their purpose and beliefs, happily sheltered from the outside world. As the crowd gathered inside the handsome room and the hour of the ceremony approached, the anticipation of tonight’s events grew into a buzz of excited chatter.

The highlight of the preliminary proceedings at Karswell Hall was the arrival of their beloved Grand Master. The great man’s black Rolls was waved through the checkpoint at eleven-thirty sharp, and minutes later he entered the members’ lounge like a king or an emperor, to the sound of reverent applause. As he’d done for forty years, Bartholomew Van Brakel received their adulation with regal grace, leaning on his ibis-headed cane while he shook a hand here and there, before taking his place in the gilt throne chair reserved for his supreme rank and accepting his customary flute of Armand de Brignac Methuselah champagne. At nearly £7,000 a bottle it was said to be the only form of beverage that ever passed the old man’s lips. Like most of his fellow members, he could well afford such indulgences and he drank it in moderation only because of his slowly failing liver. The decades of burning the black candle at both ends had taken their toll on his health.

As usual, Van Brakel was accompanied to Karswell Hall by his close lieutenant, a man who went by various different identities – ‘Saunders’ and ‘Curnow’ amongst others – but whose real name was Herbert Tiberius Fitzroy. Known to his very few friends and trusted associates as Fitz, he had served as the Grand Master’s personal assistant for many years. Long ago, he’d spent the earlier part of his career mired deep in the murky world of British Intelligence before becoming involved in covert government activities that were even darker and more secretive.