A storm was brewing and Charles Martin Thompson the Third knew it. It was not one that would sweep across the frozen lake he was looking at outside his living room window. No, this storm would be inside the massive house along Lake Minnetonka his family had called home for three generations. Taking a sip from the glass of Scotch in his hand he tried to prepare himself for the night that was approaching. A night where two distinct fronts would move in and change the course of this family for a long time to come.

CHAPTER 58
Harwich was visible from a long way off, or at least the big white reactor dome at Sizewell. There was nothing really visible of England apart from the dome for what seemed like hours, but eventually we were passing the moles or piers or whatever they are called and nosing up to the dock. There was the usual hanging about while sailors did sailor things, and then we were called down to our vehicles. Pete drove, silent that morning, and in a very short while we picked up the first motorway up past Cambridge, leading on to the A1 after a frighteningly busy dual carriageway to Huntingdon.