“No,” Leapman replied. “If you want a straight answer.”

Peroni felt like grabbing the guy by the throat again. He seemed so detached from the problem. He looked as if he were turning down an expense account. “Why not? These things must cost millions of dollars. You’ve got to have accounts, records, something.”

The American actually laughed. Gianni Peroni found he had to make a conscious effort to stay in his seat.

“What planet are you people living on?” Leapman asked. “That’s the last thing any of us would want. These operations are specifically designed so that if they go wrong, the shit stays on the ground and doesn’t seep anywhere near the rest of us. That’s the only way they can succeed. Kaspar knows that as well as anyone. He invented half the rules. Asking for an audit trail now shows how deranged the guy is. He might as well ask us to go public and hang ourselves.”

“You’ve got-” Peroni persisted.

“No!” Leapman snapped. “Listen. These were the rules Kaspar played by. He can’t buck them now. Deniability’s everything. No papers. No bank transactions. Nothing. Just a bunch of money going missing in some accounts in Washington, in ways no one’s ever going to notice.”

Commissario Moretti finally found his voice. “You heard what they said, Viale. I’ll go along with this so far, but I don’t want trouble here on the streets of Rome. That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“It’s a tough world out there,” Viale said softly, staring at the table. “We’ll cope.”

“Dammit!” Moretti screeched. “We do cope. We’re the police. We’re here for a reason.”

“You’re here because you’re convenient,” Viale reminded him nastily. “I’ve never met a cop who rolled over as easily as you did. Jesus. Leo here wouldn’t have fallen for a trick like that. He’d have checked. He did check. You…”

The grey man didn’t even attempt to disguise his contempt for the man in the uniform. “You’re just a stuffed-up buffoon with a pen and a few shiny buttons on your jacket. You’re useful to me, Bruno, but don’t overestimate your value. And don’t get in the habit of talking back.”

The commissario went silent, shaking his head. Shock, Peroni thought. And maybe even a little well-deserved shame.

“He’s going to contact us somehow,” Falcone insisted. “He’s going to want something.”

Viale reached over, took Moretti’s pen and notepad and made a couple of indecipherable scribbles. “Then we’ll give him it. I’m not having another innocent death here. I can put some documents together. Keep him occupied until we find him.”

Peroni wanted to scream. “Don’t you understand? This guy’s no fool. You can’t just slip him some phoney letters and hope he’ll swallow it. He’s wise to tricks like that.”

Leapman nodded. “He’s right. If you give him fake stuff it’ll only make him madder. Then what?”

Viale looked immensely pleased with himself. “Who said it was going to be fake, Joel?”

“What?” the American snarled.

“You heard.”

The SISDE man got up from the desk and walked over to the far side of the office where there was a set of heavy-duty, old-fashioned filing cabinets secured by combination locks. He flicked through some numbers on the nearest, slid open a drawer and retrieved a blue file.

Leapman uttered a low, bitter curse.

“Oh, please!” Viale was loving this. “This was your show. We were just housekeeping. And”-he waved the file at the American-“housekeepers keep records. I was just rereading them last night, Joel. To refresh my memory. We have a habit around here. We note down conversations afterwards. We like to make sure we remember what we can. You may have had lots of reasons to cut off everything at the source. We had just as many to keep a few reminders of what really happened. Just in case someone started pointing fingers in our direction later. We’re your allies. We’re not your lackeys. Or your fall guys. You didn’t really think we’d be willing to go down with the ship, if it came to that, did you?”

“Well, well, well,” Leapman spat back at him. “It’s the people on your own side who fuck you up the most.”

Viale withdrew a photo from the file and threw it on the desk. It was of a group of men and women in casual, semi-military uniform, working on a jeep. The shot looked unposed. None of them knew they were being photographed. The location was wild countryside, maybe Italy, maybe not.

Leapman glowered at the image in front of them. “What the hell were you doing taking that?”

Viale scattered some more photos on the desk, all of the same scene.

“Being prudent,” Viale answered, pointing at one picture. “Look at the date.”

It was printed on the bottom of the photo: 12 October 1990.

“This is before Kaspar even knew about the mission. And there’s Dan Deacon.”

“That just means Deacon was in on the deal,” Peroni objected. “Doesn’t mean he was running it.”

“Details, details.” Viale dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. He patted the file. “Kaspar just needs something new to interest him and here it is. Some documents. Some photos. Something that points the finger straight at Deacon. While Kaspar’s looking at that… Can’t you see what I’m offering you?” Viale opened his arms, a gesture of generosity. “These men you have here? They’re good, aren’t they?”

“They’re good,” Leapman agreed.

“Then what more can you want?”

Peroni shook his head. It wasn’t supposed to work out this way. He looked at Falcone, who was watching Viale, idly stroking his silver goatee, not an iota of expression on his lean face.

“Am I really hearing this?” Peroni demanded. “Do you think we’re just going to stand to one side while you people run up a little assassination squad under our noses?”

Viale pulled a puzzled face. “What’s the alternative? He can’t go into a courtroom in Italy. That would be much too embarrassing all round. And I don’t just mean for present company either. You don’t think we’re our own masters in all this, do you? We’re just following orders too, from people who want results without having to bear the consequences. It’s an invidious position. It always is. The people who were involved in this are still around. You don’t honestly think you’d be allowed to bring down a minister? Or an entire government?”

Falcone looked at Leapman. “You can prosecute him. We could arrange extradition.”

“I wish,” the American replied.

“I thought he was a hero!” Peroni yelled. “He’s in this situation because you people screwed up!”

“True,” Leapman said with the merest expression of regret. “But the operative word there is ”was.“ Before he went really nuts I thought maybe we could just tuck him in a cabin in the woods someplace. Let him spend the day reading his books and taking potshots at the bears. But this latest killing… That woman was nothing to do with him or us. That changes the game for me. He’s an animal. A liability.”

Falcone stood up and said, simply, “No. This has gone far enough.”

“Sit down, Leo,” Viale sighed. “Let’s not be over-hasty.”

“This is not-”

“Sit down and hear me out,” the SISDE man bellowed. “Or I will, I swear, destroy every last vestige of your career this instant. And his too.” He stabbed a finger at the big cop.

Peroni leaned forward and gave him the scowl. “It’s rude to point,” he said.

Viale looked hard at him across the table, then lowered his extended finger. Falcone returned to his seat. The SISDE man nodded.

“You will both do what I say,” he ordered. “This… creature will get in touch with us before long. We will deal with that as we should. Two of Leapman’s men-”

“No, no, no!” Leapman objected. “Not enough. You haven’t been listening to what I said. You can’t deal with Bill Kaspar as if he were some kind of street hood.”

Viale wouldn’t budge. “Two’s all you get. This gets done discreetly or it doesn’t get done at all. I’ve seen the heavy-handed way your people work, Leapman, and I’m not going down because they’re trigger-happy. Take it or leave it. I will deal with the logistics. Falcone will deal with the practical side of things. He can use this goon here. And the other one. Costa. Best keep this between the three of you, Leo. No point in taking chances. Kaspar has to be made to meet someone to take delivery. Once that’s taken care of, then…”