Casselli was going crazy. Every few minutes he got a report from his people who were out searching for Hedy, and every one was the same: no sight of her. He grew hoarse, screaming down the phone, and then the dreaded call came.

“All right, Casselli, where is the girl?” the cardinal demanded.

“I beg you to believe me, Your Eminence, we have not been able to locate her. Has no one heard from her?”

“No one, and you are going to hell.”

“I have doubled the number of men searching for her,” Casselli said, weeping. “I pray God will protect her.”

“He will not protect you from me,” the cardinal said, and hung up.

Casselli’s secretary rushed into the room, frightened by the wailing noises coming from her boss. She had never seen him like this; no one had.

—

Hedy slept soundly until midday, and awoke with a hangover. She drank some of the fizzy water, then had a good lunch. First chance, she would steal another bottle of wine. Hair of the dog.

The trail still brought a steady stream of men and donkeys. There must be a party tonight, she thought. And she had nothing to wear!

—

At mid-morning, a makeup artist from the Rome station came and surveyed Stone’s face. She clipped a sample of his hair. “You could use a haircut,” she said to him. “Want me to do it?”

“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?”