It was close to midnight, and the Society for Natural Philosophy had closed its doors to its members.
However, the Security & Special Operations team members weren't just regular members.
Abel, Henry, the Commander of the Team, Hugh Preston, the tall and lanky gentleman, George Chapman, and finally the burly gentleman, Francis Digby, sat at the bar.
Every one of them had a glass of bourbon and a cigar served to them by the Chief Steward of the Club, Billy. Everyone except Abel, that is.
"What sort of Albion man abstains from drinking or smoking?" George Chapman joked. "You're an odd fellow, Abel."
"Yeah, it's not my thing, really," said Abel, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He had a glass of lemon cordial made by Billy. That was all.
"You really ought to try this cigar, Abel," Henry, who was sitting right next to him, tried to persuade. "It is imported from one of our southern colonies. Top quality, I assure you."
