You didn’t have much in the way of options, Peroni thought. “You look for proof.”

“Exactly.”

Leapman nodded at Viale. “SISDE already had someone secreted inside Iraq. Dan Deacon came back to Rome for a couple of months and worked alongside Viale here to send in a new team, see if anyone was saying anything about an American on their side. Four officers went in. One came back. The others…”

Leapman shook his head. “I don’t even want to think what happened there. One report we got said Uday disposed of the poor bastards personally. You heard the stories about how he used to feed the lions?”

He let them digest that in silence.

“They weren’t fairy tales,” Leapman continued. “But they weren’t the full story either. Anyway, it was Deacon’s man who came back and he had some news. There was an American there. He was talking. And he was some big tough guy who seemed to know everything. Fitted Kaspar in every respect. Some hero, huh? And you know something? We couldn’t touch him. He was just going to sit there gossiping day and night until we came back another time. We were working with kid gloves then. It took all the persuasion we had to get that covert team in just to look for intelligence. We couldn’t be seen to be running heavier missions, maybe to capture him or take him out, because that would screw up any chance we had of rebuilding a coalition to finish the job. Not that that worked either. We were in a deep pile of shit and there was nothing we could do about it.”

“Still,” Peroni said, “you got there in the end.”

“Yes, we did!” Leapman barked back at him. “And one day you people might realize what a damn big favour we did you.”

Falcone shook his head. “You’re getting away from the subject, Leapman.”

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “None of you ever like that conversation. OK. So, come last spring, we get back to Iraq. And we say to some of our intelligence people, look out for this guy called Bill Kaspar. And when you find him, throw him in a cell somewhere, call home and leave him alone with us for a little while.”

Peroni had to ask. “Us being?”

“What’s it matter? What’s in a name?”

“It matters because you’re supposed to be FBI,” Falcone pointed out.

“Sue me,” Leapman grunted. “The point is this. Ten days into the war we find Bill Kaspar running like hell in some little town outside Baghdad. Our guys do just as they’re told. Lock him up and wait for a special team to come and take out the trash. And you know what he does?”

What men like that always did, Peroni thought.

“I can imagine,” he said.

“No.” Leapman shook his head vigorously. “You can’t. The men who picked him up were low-level grunts. They understood he was supposed to be a bad guy. They told him so. I know Bill Kaspar. He could’ve taken them out one by one if he’d wanted. What he did instead was go crazy. I mean angry crazy. Outraged. Some stupid sergeant knocked him around a little and told him he was a traitor. Kaspar went ballistic. He demanded to see the platoon commander, the guy above him, the regional commander, Dubya himself. Why? Because we’d got it all wrong. He hadn’t been sitting there in some Iraqi palace trading secrets for dough. The poor bastard had been in jail all along, probably getting tortured daily after a breakfast of dust and shit, not saying a word because that’s what Bill Kaspar is like.”

Leapman took a big deep breath before going on. “We got fooled and Kaspar knew it long before we did. He listens to this dumb sergeant for a couple of minutes, thinks it through, and then he’s out of there. Doesn’t even kill one of the grunts on the way, either, though a couple of them won’t walk too well for a while. And all we know is some lowly soldiers got a report from an American prisoner that doesn’t add up to much, then let the guy we wanted so badly escape out into the mess that was going on all over the place. We didn’t stand a chance of catching up with Kaspar after that. And for one good reason. He didn’t want to be caught.”

“He had no money,” Peroni objected. “No one to help him.”

“He’s Bill Kaspar!” Leapman yelled. “I keep telling you. Kaspar wrote the book on every last trick and scam you can pull in circumstances like that. You could parachute him onto Mars, come back six months later and he wouldn’t just be alive, he’d be sitting in a nice house with lobster on the table, fresh champagne on ice in a bucket and some goddamn hippie CD from the seventies on the stereo. Kaspar survives. He’s the best there is at it.”

“When did you know?” Falcone asked.

Leapman grimaced. “It took a while. We didn’t even realize Kaspar had made it to the US. We thought he’d hide out in Syria or somewhere. These people in Deacon’s team… most of them were civilians by this time. We didn’t put two and two together until those deaths in Virginia. By then there were just too many coincidences. All the same we still couldn’t work out what he was up to. As far as we were concerned, Bill Kaspar was a renegade, a wanted criminal. We couldn’t figure out what possible reason he’d have for risking his neck by coming home and killing these people. Then…”

He mulled over how far to go. “Then we realized that the only evidence we had against Kaspar came from Deacon’s man who’d gone on that covert mission a few years earlier. Nothing else corroborated the story. Certainly not the other three guys who never made it out of there. So we started taking a few peeks at the bank accounts of some of the others, the ones who did get out. They’d done their best to keep it hidden at first. I guess after time you get lazy. There’s a whole lot we don’t know. Was this arranged before Deacon and Kaspar went into Iraq? Did one or two of the team plan it and just face the rest with the choice when they all got there? Live and be a rich traitor or die and be an unsung hero? It’s all guesswork now. Operations like these don’t keep records for good reasons and everyone involved except Bill Kaspar is dead. But we were starting to firm up our suspicions by the time he made it to Dan Deacon in Beijing. After that, we were certain. Deacon had half a million dollars stashed away in a bank account in the Philippines. The moron never even spent a penny of it. Can you believe it?”

“The woman who died in the Pantheon?” Falcone asked.

“What about her?” Leapman asked.

“She knew. She must have known. You brought her here.”

“Yeah,” he snarled. “So we screwed up. I had five men watching her. How Kaspar got past them sure beats me.”

Falcone wasn’t letting go. “And she came here because…?”

“Because, Inspector, I didn’t give her any choice. She was a criminal. I could have snapped my fingers and she’d be gone for good anyway. She knew nothing. She got shot by accident after Deacon and Kaspar went in and scarcely knew what happened. So I gave her a chance to make up. Had it worked, she could have walked free.”

“Generous,” Peroni observed. “Why didn’t you just try talking to him direct?”

Leapman reached over the table and scattered Costa’s papers.

“We’ve been trying! What do you think all these messages are about? If I could just get him on the phone… I’d apologize. Then I’d tell him it’s time to end this crap and throw himself on our mercy. Except now…”

They waited. It had to come from him.

“Now he’s killed again,” Leapman muttered. “Which shouldn’t have happened. He’d killed everyone who’d gone into Iraq with him and betrayed him. The only one still standing is him. There’s no reason he should take out someone who had nothing to do with this. But Bill Kaspar always had a pretty old-fashioned view about patriotism. He came out of some Iraqi prison thinking he’d be home and free with everyone telling him he was a hero. Instead, he walked into all this crap. Us treating him as if he was a turncoat. If he feels his country’s abandoned him-written him off as a traitor-I suppose he thinks anything goes these days.”