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RUPERT STERLING WALKED through the heavy London snow. His face was set with purpose, and his breath formed billowing clouds that dissipated in the darkness. He glanced up at a street lamp and noticed the flakes swirling around it like white moths.
The Victoria Embankment, which runs along the north side of the Thames, was crowded that night. The snow was the first of the season, and there was excitement in the air. Loud tourists made their way toward Westminster and the historic sites. Locals, usually on their way home after work, swarmed to the local pubs to celebrate winter’s gift. But Rupert’s
Rupert had replied but received no response. Whatever his friend was going to say, it would not be said until Friday. The sidewalk angled uphill and turned to the left, indicating he was almost there. Rupert lowered his head and quickened his pace.
If he had suggested a meeting at their old spot, he would be at their favorite table. Rupert pushed his way through the crowd toward the double archway at the back. He had never seen the pub this full. People were pressed together, and the smell of beer hung in the air. After passing
disappointment—that was, until the man turned toward him and smiled. Rupert walked over to the table. “Ian? Ian Higgs, is that you?” Ian stood. “Let me guess—the beard and the dark hair were a wee bit of a surprise.” “You never seemed like the facial hair type.” Rupert held out
alone, and his demeanor made it all too clear that he wanted to remain that way. Only server Vanessa Wells seemed to notice the man’s dark countenance. In fact, she would later tell police that she was uncomfortable in his presence. He had the
across both cheeks. He had close-cropped blond hair and stood well over six feet tall. Some would later describe him as Scandinavian. In fact, he was German. He scarcely paid attention as Vanessa Wells handed him his
body tensed. The target had a guest. The German watched as the two hugged, exchanged words, then sat down. He smiled. Everything was falling into place. ***
