Greg arrived first, moving down the corridor like a silent torpedo, and before he had almost any time to breathe, he saw, right behind him, the head of New Scotland Yard, Morris Standhaw, and the officer responsible for his stay, Junnie Far. The metallic smell of blood and the electric hum of the monitors created the atmosphere of a dark aquarium.
— What the hell happened here? — Standhaw snarled, his deep voice ricocheting off the walls.— We're already reviewing the cameras, sir — an agent replied, pale-faced.— "Reviewing"? — Standhaw bit into the word as though tasting poison. — This should never even have been possible. Not in our house. Not at the headquarters of the best police force in the world.— I know, sir... but right now we need method. — The agent avoided meeting his eyes.
For a moment, Standhaw felt out of place. He was standing before an American who, months earlier, had been the victim of one of their mistakes — and now another glaring failure hung in the air.
— Greg, I... — he began, swallowing his pride.— It's all right, Chief Standhaw — Gregory Evans cut in, neither harsh nor warm. — I'm here to help in any way I can.
Greg crouched down and studied the scene like a man reading an ancient text: the marks, the angle of the body, the cold that had not yet fully claimed the skin. It was murder, yes — unmistakably — but there was one detail out of rhythm. The young man's mouth was bleeding more than it should have. He pulled on his gloves, knelt, and carefully parted the lips. Something was missing.
— Find anything, Greg? — Standhaw leaned in, his brow furrowed.
He nodded, curtly.
— He left a signature.
Far stepped closer, stiffened by a memory that begged to be forgotten.
— Another victim... — she murmured. — The London Ripper has struck again.— London Ripper? — Greg raised his eyes.— Two years ago — Far explained — a series of murders ravaged the city. We thought we had him — and the killings stopped. I was leading the investigation. Now it's all starting again.
Greg nodded and returned to the details of the corpse, passing the flashlight over the face. In the center of the forehead, carved with cruel precision, was a symbol.
— And this sign — he said quietly — do you know what it means?
Far tilted her head, and an involuntary smile lit her lips.
— I bet you'll remember, Mr. "most famous spy in cinema."— James Bond? — Greg arched an eyebrow.— Ian Fleming was an avowed fan of John Dee; it's in the biographies. That's where the famous code came from.— Interesting — Greg said — but the killer wouldn't leave that out of admiration for Bond.— Logically — Far shot back — it's a tribute to John Dee.— Certainly — Greg finished. — And do you know what that implies?
This time it was Standhaw who stepped into the conversation, with the precision of a man who knew his own heritage.
— The two zeros are the Queen's eyes — watching everything, everywhere. The seven is luck in alchemy.
Greg rose to his feet, wiping away an imaginary drop of impatience.
— I want to know more about Dee. Context, motive, symbolic reach.
Standhaw nodded and called for the guide from the adjoining exhibition — that historical display which recounted the glory and the shadows of the Elizabethan age.
— If you would — said the chief — tell us about John Dee, and about the symbol carved into this girl's forehead.
The young man cast a quick glance at the body and turned pale.
— It would be better if we talked in the other room.— Better — Greg agreed, slipping the flashlight back into its holster.
— IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY — the guide began, now standing before maps and glass cases filled with instruments — England was dueling with Spain for control of the seas. Elizabeth I dreamed of an empire, but she needed information — the rarest currency of all.— And a spy to gather it — Greg completed, almost in a whisper.— Exactly. John Dee, Doctor of Philosophy and Mathematics from Cambridge, a polymath of the highest order, was introduced to the Queen and soon became her most brilliant adviser.— No genius was ever so influential in English culture — Standhaw added, as proud as a librarian quoting his favorite book.
The guide nodded, pointing to a polished astrolabe.
— He inspired Shakespeare in shaping Prospero from The Tempest, and, centuries later, Ian Fleming when he created 007, but Dee's context is broader still. Elizabeth wanted England projected outward; Spain already had the Americas and ruled the trade routes.— Whoever controlled the sea — said Standhaw — controlled the world.— For England to prosper — Greg concluded — Elizabeth would have to break Spain's spine.— And she needed to see in the dark — the guide added. — That is how the spy network was born. Informants across Europe, in the New World, and Dee serving as its unofficial mastermind, managing codes, routes, and secrets.
He turned toward a panel: Mortlake, on the banks of the Thames.
— Dee was born on the river's edge, and after Cambridge he applied mathematics to navigation, charting routes to the colonies. His library, in Mortlake, was a treasure: four thousand volumes.— To put that in perspective — Standhaw said — Cambridge had only four hundred and fifty.— Alchemy also occupied him — the guide continued. — At that time, it was a frontier science. Alchemists believed that the study of matter unveiled the spirit. Turning lead into gold was more than metaphor: it was a promise of order and power. Dee's experiments drew noblemen and adventurers alike.— And powerful friendships — Far added. — Sir Francis Drake, the crowned corsair, and Sir Walter Raleigh, who brought tobacco and potatoes to Europe.— Dee shone beyond England as well — said the guide. — In 1580, he impressed Count Adalbert Laski in Poland. From there he went to Prague, then a boiling cauldron of Catholic intrigue against Protestants. It is hardly absurd to suppose that from there he informed Elizabeth about the rumors circulating among the Catholic powers.— Spain was at its height — Greg resumed. — If it destroyed the English navy, the seas would be hers.— In May of 1588 — said the guide, his voice taking on the cadence of a professor — Philip II launched 125 ships against England. Dee advised waiting; he predicted brutal storms in the English Channel, and they came.— Knowledge is power — Greg murmured.— The winds shattered the Armada; what remained was fired upon — the guide continued. — The survivors tried to sail around the British Isles, but new storms crushed them against Scotland and the Irish coast. Some swore Dee had conjured the waves. Perhaps it was only science — meteorology before its time. By skill, luck, or magic, the board turned in Elizabeth's favor.— And Dee became the key to her victory — Standhaw said, patriotic light gleaming in his eyes.— A sort of Gregory Evans of the English — Far joked.
Contained laughter loosened some of the tension.
— In a lesser-known domain — the guide went on — the Queen treated Dee as her "key." Being the monarch's key opened doors and stirred envy. Shakespeare, they say, drew from that in creating Prospero in The Tempest.
He touched the glass where two globes rested.
— In Louvain, in Belgium, Dee smuggled cutting-edge astrological instruments and globes. On royal missions, he signed his reports with an unmistakable code — a message to the sovereign: "For your eyes only."
The guide raised two fingers and then a third.
— 007. The two zeros were Elizabeth's eyes — vigilant. The seven, a talismanic number among alchemists. When Fleming read Dee's biography, he found the perfect emblem for his work.— Bond's license to kill — Greg said — was born from Dee's license to know.— With one difference — Standhaw cut in. — Dee killed no one.— But like Bond — Far laughed — he was popular with women. Dee married twice. His first wife died a year after the wedding, in 1557 — and, strangely, Dee never mentions her in his diaries. On that very same day, he received Elizabeth at Mortlake, as though nothing had happened.— Suspicious, to say the least — Greg said.— Later, he married Jane Frommond, one of the Queen's principal ladies-in-waiting. They had no children. The fact is: Dee helped shape the Empire and modern science; in the end, forgotten and poor, he died in 1608. Under Elizabeth, science and magic walked hand in hand; with James on the throne, the wind shifted. Occultism became a target, his influence evaporated — but the myth remained. And 007 returned in the twentieth century thanks to Fleming.— Fascinating history — Greg said, with the objectivity of a man who could admire without being distracted. — But at this moment, it's creating a serious problem for us.
They went back to the crime scene, and the wall clock seemed to mark the same eternity it had since the beginning.
— Find anything else, Greg? — Far asked.— Technically, I didn't "find" anything. Something was missing. — He fixed his gaze on the victim's face, now covered by a sheet up to the bridge of the nose. — She lost something.
Standhaw and Far exchanged a glance. Greg lifted the sheet only enough to reveal what had to be seen. The silence became heavier than any report.
The tongue had been cut out.
In an instant, Far reached back into the memories of the old case: the pattern, the ritual cruelty, the message.
— He's speaking to us — Greg said, his voice low, firm, almost like a sentence. — And he chose the language of John Dee to say that he watches us through the Queen's eyes. Only the victim herself... can no longer say anything.— Then we'll have to speak for her — Standhaw replied, his fury settling where it belonged: into determination. — And hear what the killer thinks he whispered.
Greg closed his eyes for a second, arranging the invisible board of deadlines, symbols, and ancient storms.
— Let's begin with the obvious and the occult — he said. — The 007 on the forehead is the façade. The real message is in what he takes away: the voice. He wants a stage, he wants Elizabeth, he wants drama. But we are not going to listen to the play he wrote.
Far drew in a deep breath, already in war mode.
— And what's the first act?
Greg looked at the camera in the corner of the room — a black eye, motionless.
— Find out where he learned to write like Dee — he said coldly. — And where he intends to stage the next act. Because anyone who understands storms... knows when the sea is about to turn.