“Then I’ll look forward to seeing you at the festivities tomorrow night.” They both hung up.

Stone called Marcel duBois’s office and asked for a large Mercedes van to meet them at Ciampino.

Stone hung up the phone and found Dino watching him. “You never cease to amaze me,” he said.

“How’s that?”

“You are probably the only American civilian who would have the balls to make that phone call.”

“You will have noticed that I didn’t ask for anything.”

“No, you waited for him to offer.”

“It seemed the polite way to handle it, and as result, your tender body will be protected from attempts by terroristic opportunists.”

“As will yours and Gala’s.”

“I can find nothing to object to in that.”

Dino laughed. “Come to think of it, neither can I.”

—

They lifted off Stone’s airfield at mid-afternoon and followed their filed flight plan across Europe, thence to Rome, where they were vectored for landing at Ciampino. As promised, a golf cart bearing a large sign, FOLLOW ME, led them to a large hangar, and the door opened to admit them. A lineman waved them to a stop just outside, then a tug attached itself to the airplane’s nosewheel and towed them into the hangar, where a large black Mercedes van awaited.

The driver loaded their luggage into the van, then drove them out of the hangar and off the airport to the autostrada for Rome. They drove into the very heart of the city to the hill overlooking the Spanish Steps, past the Hassler Villa Medici hotel and the Trinità dei Monti church to the new Arrington.

Though the hotel was not yet officially open, they were greeted inside the front door by the general manager, the head bellman, and the director of housekeeping and whisked to the penthouse floor and into one of three presidential suites with a spectacular view of St. Peter’s Basilica in the distance, plus a view of the Medici Gardens from another terrace.

Vivian Bacchetti awaited them in the living room, and Dino’s bags were whisked into their bedroom, while Stone and Gala were ushered into the presidential bedroom. They left the staff to unpack for them and returned to the large living room, where a waiter was uncorking a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Grande Dame champagne.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the general manager said, “welcome to the Arrington. Your garments will be pressed and returned to your rooms shortly by way of the service entrance, so that you will not be disturbed.”

Stone thanked the man, then returned to the champagne, which had been poured into Baccarat flutes. They all drank thirstily.

“A good flight?” Viv asked.

“The best kind—an uneventful one,” Stone replied. “And are your security arrangements for the hotel complete?”

“Didn’t you see all the guards downstairs?”

“Not a one.”