Across London people are dying in apparently unconnected freak accidents. Further investigation reveals that secreted on some of the bodies are strips of paper carrying angular, indecipherable hieroglyphics: their meaning unknown.
To his horror, advertising executive Harry Buckingham is linked with several of the victims. He is soon avoiding the police and following his own investigation. He discovers a multinational company combining sophisticated technology with ancient mythology. They call it confrontational marketing. Harry calls it pure evil.
It seems that the Devil may be at large in the nation's capital . . . and only a handful of people can stop the most hostile takeover bid of all time.
A ripping read.
A first-class thriller, but don't expect any sleep.
Strong stomachs and nerves of steel are required for Christopher Fowler's brand of fiction.