It was through those shadowy connections that their paths had first crossed. In the same way that the Grand Master had once become the student and protégé of the much older Aleister Crowley, Fitz had been introduced to a whole new way of life and become first Van Brakel’s disciple, and later his chief of staff and enforcer. His close association with the most powerful member of the Pandemonium Club endowed him with a great deal of power of his own. While the old man was immensely venerated, Fitz was profoundly feared. And for good reason.

Standing by the Grand Master’s throne, Fitz scanned the room. He was personally involved in the vetting of new members, and so was intimately familiar with the personal and professional backgrounds of every single man present. He’d always prided himself on knowing them better than they knew themselves – that was, until the Abbott affair had come along. It had been inside this very room that he’d first noticed the odd change that seemed to have come over their longstanding member over the last few months. The excess drinking; the furtive behaviour and occasional flashes of anger towards his fellow initiates. Something had seemed to be gnawing at the man. Something had not been right. Was Abbott harbouring some resentment against his Brothers, Fitz had wondered at the time. Did he blame them for the many self-inflicted disappointments and letdowns of his political career and personal life? Or had he suddenly developed a conscience, thereby breaking his pledge of loyalty with the Brotherhood? Had he not been warned that failure to abide by their strict code was an offence for which the only penalty was death?

Alarm bells ringing in his mind, Fitz had used his considerable power and resources to investigate. It hadn’t taken long to find out what was going on. Abbott might have thought he was being clever by steering clear of his home landline and email and purchasing a burner phone on which to carry on his secret business. But he hadn’t reckoned on Fitz’s ability to place bugs inside his house and car – thanks to which they’d soon discovered that he was planning on writing an exposé and in discussions with a London literary agency. Fitz had considered sending an assassination team to deal with them, too, before deciding to keep it clean and simple. Abbott’s murder could easily be attributed to a burglary. And he knew just the man to carry out the job.

What a dog’s breakfast that had turned out to be.