“No, thank you, I am an artiste tonight, and I think the hair suits me.”

“Quite right. I’m going to take a bit more, though, for your mustache,” and she went about his head, taking a clump here and there. “It will look better if it’s made from your own hair,” she explained.

Finally, she mixed some plaster, smeared some Vaseline on his nose, and took a cast of the proboscis. “I’ll be back later with your new nose,” she said.

Stone, Dino, Jim, and Dante’s assistant, Guido, spent some time rehearsing that morning, and Stone thought they sounded not half bad.

“Okay,” Jim said, “we depart this location at four PM, and remember, it’s black-tie.”

“Nobody told me,” Dino said.

“Told you about what?”

“I didn’t bring a tuxedo to Rome.”

Dante ordered Guido, their guitarist, to take Dino out and find him a rental.

52

Stone got a call late that morning from a number he didn’t recognize, but the country code was 44, Britain. “Hello?”

“I have Director Devonshire for you,” a man said. “Can you take the call?” Felicity Devonshire was an old friend and sometime lover of Stone’s, who was also head of Britain’s foreign intelligence service, MI6.

“Of course,” Stone said. Then he heard a click and some beeps.

“Stone?”

“Yes, Felicity, how are you?”

“My question is, how are you? In one piece?”

“Why, yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’ve been hearing rumblings about you.”

“From where?”

“The Italian DIA, the Agency, and the Vatican Bank, for God’s sake.”

“You have very sharp ears.”

“I have many sharp ears all over Europe,” she said.

He didn’t doubt that for a moment. “Of course you do. What have you heard?”

“That you’re in some sort of rumble with a mobster named Leo Casselli.”

“That would be accurate, as far as it goes.”

“Why haven’t you called me for help?”

“It didn’t occur to me to call British intelligence about something happening in Italy.”

“And Paris, from what I hear. Do you need anything? Can I help?”

Stone thought about that for a moment. “I think I have all the help I need for the moment. That could change rapidly, though, and if it does, I’ll call you, perhaps as soon as tomorrow.”

“You have my cell number, do you not?”

“I do.”

“I’m going down to the country this afternoon and take a couple of days.”

“To Kent?”

“No, to Hampshire. My father had what he called his ‘sailing cottage’ on the Beaulieu River.” She pronounced it “Bewley.” “And that reminds me of something: When are you going back to New York?”

“In a few days, I hope. My airplane is here, and I’m flying it home.”

“Could you stop off in England for a few days?” she asked. “There’s something I want to show you that I think you’ll find very interesting.”

“And what is that?”

“I’m not going to tell you—it will have to be a surprise.”

“Things, as you might imagine, are up in the air here. May I call you when they settle down?”

“You may, but hurry.”

“I’ll hurry,” he said.

“And be careful tonight. I don’t like the thought of you with bullet holes in your carcass.”

“Neither do I.” They said goodbye and hung up.

The others came and sat down around Stone. “We have a problem,” Jim said.

“Not another one.”

“Yes, and a big one: How are we going to get guns into the house?”

Stone blinked. “You’ve just thought of that now?”

“This is serious,” Dante said. “Casselli is a cautious man. He’s going to have people searching everyone who enters the house. We’ve got five men and one woman who are going to be dressed as waiters: they’re smuggling their weapons in wine crates with false bottoms.”

“I don’t suppose there’s room for ours in there?”

“No, and even if there was, they’ll be operating out of the kitchen, at the rear of the house, while you’ll be playing at the front of the house. They might have trouble getting them to you.”

“Why don’t we put them in your bass fiddle, Jim?” Stone asked.

“Because they’ll rattle around.”

Dino spoke up. “You can put them in my snare drum. The head comes off with a key.”

“They’ll rattle around in there, too,” Jim said.

“So wrap them in pieces of soft cloth, like velvet.”

“When would you have an opportunity to get them out of the snare?”

“At our first break. Union rules: ten minutes every hour.”

Jim shook his head. “We may need them before that.”

“All right, I’ll get them out of the drum while we’re setting up to play. Nobody’s going to be paying attention to the band, especially since they will already have searched us on the way in.”

“How long will that take?” Jim asked

Dino held up a key. “Let’s find out.” He went to where the drums were set up, sat on the stool, and picked up the snare. It took him two minutes to loosen the clamps that held the drumhead on. “There you go. Come and get your guns.”

“Okay,” Jim said. “We’ve got a meeting at two-thirty for everybody who’s going to be inside the house, so we can coordinate.”

Stone began to feel a little nervous. He consoled himself by thinking of Felicity Devonshire and her secret, waiting for him in England.

53

Stone went two floors up, to Marcel’s roof garden, for some air. The sun was shining, and the view was spectacular. His cell rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Joan,” his secretary said. “Arthur Steele tried to call you but couldn’t get through.”

“I don’t know why not—everybody else is getting through.”

“You don’t have to call him back, he just wanted to leave a message.”

“Okay.”

“He says that your insurance policy with him includes, under liability, up to ten million dollars for ransom money. He stressed that it was a liability clause—the person for whom you’re paying the ransom doesn’t have to be a spouse or a relative. This is just to cover any liability exposure you might have.”

“Trust Arthur to think of that.”

“Well, he does run a very large insurance company. I went back and read your policy—he’s right.”

“I never got that far into the fine print,” Stone said. “Who reads his entire insurance policy?”

“Stone, are you in some kind of trouble? Why would you need ransom money?”

“I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.”

“And when will that be? The mail is piling up here.”

“Answer as much of it as you can, then save the rest. If it’s a legal matter, send it to Herb Fisher at Woodman & Weld.”

“And you’re coming home when?”

“Maybe another week. I’ve got things to clear up here with Marcel, then I may have to stop in England on the way home.”

“Do you want me to get Pat Frank to come and fly back with you?”

“Joan, I’m rated as a single pilot, I can handle it.”

“If you say so.”

“Don’t sound so doubtful when you say that.”

“I just don’t want to have to start looking for a new boss at my age.”

“Stop it. Goodbye.” He hung up. Immediately, the phone rang again. “Hello?”

“It’s Dino. Your makeup person is here. Where the hell are you?”

“Up on the roof.”

“Well, get down here.”

Stone walked back downstairs and saw Jim and Dino wrapping pistols in cloths and packing them into the snare drum.