“Well, you’re wrong,” Stone said, rising. “Let’s go meet with Herr Frederic Klaucke.”

35

Herr Frederic Klaucke was pacing the courtyard impatiently. His bearing was Prussian, his tan tweed suit so wrinkle-free that it might have been made of cast iron. He was carrying a briefcase that must have belonged to his grandfather.

“Herr Klaucke?” Stone asked, unnecessarily.

Klaucke stopped marching. “Ja. Yes.”

“I am the person you wish to speak to.”

“May I know your name?”

“I’m sorry, you may not.”

“My name is Frederic Freiherr von Klaucke,” he said. He did not click his heels. “I would like you to know that.” His English was perfectly grammatical, his accent distinct. And he had just announced that he was a member of the German nobility.

“Thank you.” Stone indicated the open door of the Mercedes van. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Yes, please.” He climbed into the van and took a seat; Stone followed him, and Jim Lugano was right behind.

“What have you to tell us?” Stone asked.

“I wish to tell you of Leonardo Casselli.”

“Please do.”

“I have just spent three days in his company. Involuntarily.”

“Are you saying that Mr. Casselli kidnapped you?”

“In the manner of speaking.”

“For what purpose?”

“He wished to sell me a great deal of chocolate.”

“Are you not a chocolate merchant?”

“No, I am an importer of chocolate, I am not a retailer. I import chocolate, refine it, add other ingredients, like fruit or nusse—nuts, that is—and wholesale it to merchants.” He opened the briefcase, which Stone assumed had been searched, and extracted a very large chocolate bar containing hazelnuts and handed it to Stone. “Is complementary, please.”

Stone accepted the chocolate bar, which was labeled 500 kg, or half a kilo, or 1.1 pounds. “Thank you.”

“Mr. Casselli called me in Hamburg, where I have my offices, and invited me to come to Rome at his expense to discuss what he described as a very large business deal.”

“I am not aware that Mr. Casselli is in the chocolate business.”

“Nor am I, especially after our meeting.”

“Where did you meet?”

“At a hotel conference room.”

“Which hotel?”

“I am not aware of that, either. I was met by a van with painted windows. We drove to the hotel. I was escorted in through a kitchen.” Klaucke made that sound like a personal affront.

“I see.”

“We sat at a conference table, and Mr. Casselli stated his business.”

“Which was?”

“Chocolate. He wished to sell me a very large amount of chocolate—perhaps more than three thousand kilos—at an extremely low price, about half what I am accustomed to paying for the finest chocolate.”

“And how did you react to his offer?”

“I was immediately suspicious.”

“Suspicious of what?”

“Sir,” Klaucke said with a note of reproval in his voice, “this is not, as my Jewish competitors would say, kosher.”

“You believed the chocolate to be, ah, illegally obtained?”

“I believed so.”

“Why?”