And then there was the last, and he looked up at Adrianna. 'It seems as a Jesuit, I've taken a vow of poverty.'

'Probably why he didn't give you a credit card…'

'Probably.'

Harry turned and walked across the room. Eaton had promised and delivered, giving him everything he needed. All Harry had to do was the rest.

'It's kind of like Charades, isn't it?' He turned back. 'You totally become someone else…'

'You don't have much choice.'

Harry studied her. Here was a woman, like many, one he'd slept with but hardly knew. And except for that one moment in the dark when he'd sensed that some part of her feared her own mortality and was genuinely afraid – not so much to die as to no longer live – he realized he almost knew her better from seeing her on television than he did standing in a room with her.

'You're how old, Adrianna? Thirty-four?'

'I'm thirty-seven.'

'All right, thirty-seven. If you could be someone else,' he asked seriously, 'who would you choose?'

'I never thought about it…'

'Take a stab at it, go on. Who?'

Suddenly she crossed her arms in front of her. 'I wouldn't be anyone else. I like who I am and what I do. And I've worked like hell to get there.'

'You sure?'

'Yes.'

'A mother? A wife?'

'Are you kidding?' Her half laugh was both droll and defensive, as if he'd touched some nerve she didn't like touched.

He pushed her. Maybe more than he should have and unfairly, but for some reason he wanted to see more of who she was.

'A lot of women do both, have a career and a home life…'

'Not this woman.' Adrianna held her ground, if anything becoming more serious. 'I told you before, I like to fuck strangers. – You know why? It's not only exciting, it's total independence. And to me that's the most important thing there is because it lets me do my job the best way I can, lets me go as far as I have to to get to the truth of the stories… Do you think as a mother I'm going to stand out in the middle of a fucking field under artillery fire covering somebody's civil war? – Or, bringing it a little closer home, risk spending the rest of my life in an Italian prison because I provided one of the most wanted men in the country false identity papers? – No, Harry Addison, I would not, because I wouldn't do that to children… I'm a loner who likes it… I make good money, I sleep with who I want, I travel to places even you could only dream of and have access to people most of the world's leaders don't… I get a rush from it, and that rush gives me the balls to cover history like they used to but like nobody but me does anymore… Is it selfish? I don't know what the hell that means… But it's no charade, it's who I am… And if something happens and I lose, the only person who gets hurt is me…'

'How does that play when you're seventy?'

'Ask me then.'

Harry watched her a moment longer. It was why he felt as he had, that he knew her better on television than here. Her life and her intimacy were right there on the screen. It was who she was and all she wanted to be. And she was very good at it. A week ago he would have said something of the same about himself. Freedom was everything. It gave you incredible opportunities because you could take chances. You trusted your skills and ability and played everything on the surface as hard and fast as it came. And if you lost, you lost… But now he wasn't sure. Maybe it was because he no longer had freedom at all. Maybe there was a price for it he'd never realized. Maybe it was as simple as that… But maybe it wasn't… And there was something else, something he knew he had yet to learn and understand… And all this was a journey to help him find it…

'Where do I go from here… and when…' Harry suddenly found himself saying, 'who do I communicate with – you or Eaton?'

'Me.' Opening her purse, Adrianna took out a small cellular phone and handed it to him. 'I know what the police are doing, and I make a hundred telephone calls a day. One more won't raise an eyebrow.'

'What about Eaton?'

'When the time is right, I'll let him know…' Adrianna hesitated, then turned her head slightly, the way she did on camera when she was about to explain something.

'You've never heard of James Eaton… and he's never heard of Harry Addison, except for what he's read in the papers or seen on TV, or maybe had passed through the embassy about you… You don't know me either, except for that one time we were seen in the hotel together and I was trying to get a statement from you.'

'What about all this?' Harry leaned forward and spread the Jonathan Arthur Roe passport, the Georgetown ID, the driver's license across the table. 'What happens if I turn left instead of right and walk into the arms of Gruppo Cardinale? What am I supposed to tell Roscani, that I always carry a second set of identification? He's going to want to know how I got it and where.'

'Harry.' Adrianna smiled warmly. 'You are a very big boy. By now you should know your left from your right… If you don't, practice, huh?' Leaning forward she kissed him lightly on the lips. 'Don't turn the wrong way,' she whispered, and then she left. Turning only at the door to tell him to stay where he was, and when she had news she'd call him.

He stood there and watched the door close behind her. Heard the click of the latch as it did. Slowly his eyes went to the table where the IDs were spread out. For the first time in his life he wished he had taken acting lessons.

48

Cortona, Italy. Still Saturday, July 11. 9:30 a.m.

Nursing sister Elena Voso finished her shopping and came out of the small grocery on Piazza Signorelli with a large bag of fresh vegetables. She had picked the vegetables carefully, wanting to make a soup that would be as palatable and nutritious as possible. Not just for the three men who were with her but for Michael Roark. It was time at least to try to feed him solid food. Earlier she had moistened his lips and he had swallowed automatically in reaction. But when she had tried to get him to sip some water he'd only looked at her, as if the effort were too much. Still, if she offered a warm puree of fresh vegetables, perhaps the aroma itself might be enticing enough to make him at least attempt to get it down. Even a spoonful was better than nothing, because it would be a beginning, and the sooner he began taking solid food, the sooner she could get him off the IV and help him start regaining his physical strength.

Marco watched her come out and turn down the narrow cobblestone street toward the far end, where they had parked the car. Ordinarily he would have walked beside her and carried the bag. But not now, not here today in the bright sunshine. And even though they would drive off in the same car, it was not good that they be seen shopping or walking together. It was something someone might later remember. They were Italians, yes, yet strangers to Cortona – a nun and a man, obviously together, gathering supplies, taking them away. Why? What were they doing? It could be enough for someone to say, 'Yes, they were here. I saw them.'

Ahead of him Marco saw Elena stop, glance back, then turn and go into a small shop. Marco stopped, too, wondering what she was doing. To his left, a narrow street dropped steeply downward. Below he could see the distant plain and the roads leading up from it to the ancient walled city of the Umbrians and Etruscans, where he now stood. Cortona had been a fortress then; he hoped he would not have to make it one again.

Looking back toward the shop, he saw Elena come out, turn her head toward him, and then walk away in the direction of the car. Five minutes later, she reached a small, silver Fiat, the car Pietro had driven when he followed them north from Pescara. A moment later Marco came up, waited for several pedestrians to pass, then took the bundle from Elena and unlocked the door.