The gold foil lettering on the dark red spine bore my father’s name and the original land registration numbers from 1998.

“The long-range camera covers four hundred meters down the access drive,” Marcus said.

“We’ll spot their convoy the second they turn off the public road.”

I touched the thin gold band on my right index finger as I looked over the visitor list pasted inside the cover.

“When the lead SUV stops in front of the iron arch,” I said, “you’ll step out alone.”

“Understood, Mrs.