“Casselli just called. Did you get a trace on him?”

“On which phone?”

“The old one.”

“No. Our system can only do two searches at a time. Capacity is taken up by a watch on your new cell and Hedy’s phone.”

“Shit. Hedy’s phone is dead. Take it down and concentrate on my two phones.”

“All right. What did Casselli have to say?”

“He’s feeling the heat,” Stone said. “He wanted fifty million euros and, get this, the police and the DIA off his back.”

“Jesus, is he serious about the money?”

“Of course not, he’s just trying to show me he has the upper hand. He wouldn’t let me speak to Hedy. That indicates to me that he and she are not in the same place. He threatened to torture her.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I hung up the phone.”

“Well, that was gutsy of you.”

“What else could I do? I’m not going to give him fifty million euros, even if I could raise it.”

“Well then, I suppose the next move is his. Let’s see what he comes up with.”

“Right.” Stone hung up, hoping that Casselli’s next move was not Hedy screaming into the phone.

43

Casselli sat, fuming. The insolence of this Barrington! He was unaccustomed to being spoken to in that manner, and no one, but no one, ever got away with hanging up on him during a telephone conversation. He turned to the two men. “I have a rather distasteful job for you,” he said.

“Anything, Don Leonardo,” they said in unison.

“I need you to go and take the finger of a young woman.” He explained exactly how he wanted it done.

“Which finger, Don Leonardo?” one of them asked.

“Oh, let’s see, how about right index?”

“It shall be done, Don Leonardo.”

—

Stone and Dino were having a drink with Viv and Marcel at the end of the day, when a package was delivered.

“Who is this from?” Stone asked.

“We don’t know, but it’s not explosive. It’s an object about three inches long,” the DIA agent said. “Would you like me to open it?”

“Please,” Stone said.

The young man produced a switchblade, flicked it open, and cut the tape around the box. He removed the lid and handed it to Stone.

Whatever it was was in an envelope of suede leather, like something from a jewelry store. Stone opened it and shook out the contents into the box. He blanched. The object was a human finger, with a brightly painted nail. “Jesus Christ.”

Jim Lugano came into the room. “I heard there was a package delivered,” he said. “Was it checked out?”

Stone handed him the box. “I checked it out, and I’m sorry I did.”

“Well,” Lugano said, looking at the thing, “that’s gory. Do you recognize it as being Hedy’s?”

“I’ve no idea. I never examined her fingers.”