Prolouge

The book was old but unassuming. Brown and used but that was it; no gold emboss, no fancy writing just a brown leather cover tied shut with two pieces of dull ribbon. It fitted neatly onto any shelf and didn’t look any different to any other book. Whether that ended up being a good idea or not the man in black didn’t know but that was how it had been for years and it hadn’t been found yet. Now in 1946, just a few years after this whole block had been destroyed that single book was to be placed in a new second hand bookshop, hidden deep in the recesses of London.  

                The man turned to see if the owner of the shop was looking at him; the wizened old man hadn’t glanced up from his account book since the bell had rang when the door opened so the man in black had found a quiet corner and had spent the last half an hour trying to figure out the best place to keep the book hidden. Making one last sweep of the shop floor her gently placed the book under a pile of 1920’s business volumes and slipped out of the shop, only attracting the attention of the shop owner for the brief second that the bell rang as he left.