Date: July 18–20, 2005

  Location: London

  On July 18, 2005, London was cool and dreary at 64°F, a steady drizzle painting the streets in shades of gray. In Bloomsbury, historic libraries stood alongside bustling streets, creating an air of intellectual life. In 2005, the British Library was a global research hub, its vast collection of documents drawing scholars from around the world. But shadows lingered—the Metropolitan Police reported 50 document thefts in the area that year, often tied to underground researchers seeking rare texts.

  James Crowe arrived in London after a flight from Chicago, checking into a modest hotel on Russell Square. The 38-year-old private detective headed straight to the British Library, his notebook filled with findings on the Order of the Star Path. His research in Chicago had confirmed the organization—now called the Family—had operated for centuries, and London was its origin point. In 1753, as his ancestor Elizabeth had witnessed, the Order began its cruel experiments on children, a legacy that stretched to the present.

  Crowe started with legitimate methods, requesting access to 18th-century records. He worked with Edward Thompson, a 60-year-old archivist with a gray beard and a tweed jacket, who had 35 years of experience with rare documents.

  “Mr. Crowe, are you looking for something specific?” Edward asked, his voice calm but tinged with skepticism as he adjusted his glasses.

  “I’m looking for mentions of the Order of the Star Path,” Crowe replied, his tone steady. “They were active here in the 1750s, conducting experiments on children. I think they still exist under a different name.”

  Edward brought several boxes of documents from the 1750s, including letters from London magistrates about a “secret sect” abducting children from orphanages. A 1753 letter detailed the Order’s belief in “journeys beyond Earth,” using children for “experiments of the mind”—a chilling echo of the scene Elizabeth had witnessed in the Ten Bells tavern. But the records ended in the 1760s, with further details locked in restricted archives requiring special clearance.

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  Crowe knew he couldn’t proceed legally. He reached out to David “Shadow” Clarke, a 45-year-old hacker he’d worked with in 2001 on a Chicago fraud case. David, a lanky man with a spider tattoo on his neck and a graphic tee, lived in Shoreditch. Crowe met him at The Old Blue Last, a pub buzzing with hipsters sipping craft beers.

  “Crowe, you’ve gotten yourself into something crazy again, haven’t you?” David asked, grinning as Crowe sat across from him with a pint of ale.

  “Let’s just say I’m digging deeper than usual,” Crowe replied with a faint smile, adding a touch of humor. “I need access to the British Library’s restricted archives. Can you hack their system?”

  David agreed for a fee, and overnight, he breached the library’s database, creating a fake pass with computer software. On July 19, Crowe returned with the pass, slipping into the restricted archives. He uncovered documents tracing the Family’s history from the 18th century to the 20th. In the 1780s, the Order of the Star Path became the “Brotherhood of Starlight,” funding pirate operations in the Caribbean and using children as spies on ships. In the 1820s, they operated in Paris, running “orphan schools” that recruited agents. By the 1860s, the “Starlight Foundation” emerged in the U.S., manipulating finances after the Civil War by buying and reselling land at massive profits.

  Twentieth-century records revealed more: in the 1920s, the “Starlight Society” exploited the Great Depression in New York with financial scams; in the 1950s, the “Starlight Network” funded U.S. gangs for heists like the 2004 Alaskan Way robbery; and in the 1970s, they used “temporary families” for Cold War espionage in Europe. The Family had manipulated history, finance, and politics for centuries, its sci-fi ideology of reaching the stars evolving into a modern ambition Crowe would later confront on Mars.

  “Well, looks like I just unearthed the greatest plot for a historical thriller,” Crowe muttered, a self-deprecating smirk on his lips as he scribbled his findings. “Only I’m not sure I’ll live to see the premiere if they find out I’m on their trail.”

  In 2005, London buzzed with history and culture: the British Museum drew millions, and Coldplay soared with their album X&Y. But for Crowe, those details were background noise—his next step was to understand how the Family had kept its secrets for centuries, a puzzle he’d tackle back in Seattle.