“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.”