Foreign Affairs

“As she wishes.”

“If your curiosity overwhelms you, call me.”

“Goodbye, Lance.”

“Goodbye, Stone.”

18

Hedy took her easel back into the mews and set it up, while Stone returned to his book. He had been reading for no more than ten minutes when a chime chimed. It took Stone a moment to remember what rang the chime, then it came to him: it rang when somebody opened the door in the big gates. By the time he got to his feet, somebody was ringing the doorbell.

He opened the door to find Rick LaRose, as predicted. “Hello, Stone,” Rick said, smiling and offering his hand.

“How did you get in?” Stone asked.

“I have a key,” Rick replied. “Have you forgotten from whom you bought this house?”

He had bought it from the Paris station, which had formerly used it as a safe house. “How are things at the Paris station?” he asked as he offered Rick a chair.

“Fairly calm at the moment. It’s one of those welcome periods where we’re not in the middle of a flap of some sort.”

“It sounds restful.”

“Boring, is more like it.”

“Lance said you are going to ask me to do something I won’t want to do.”

Rick looked a little embarrassed. “Well, yes. What’s more, it’s not something that I want to ask you to do.”

“As bad as that?”

Rick shrugged.

“Are you just trying to make things less boring for yourself?”

“Oh, sure, but there’s a real purpose in it, too. It’s something that could help us make things materially better in Europe.”

“Better for whom?”

“For Europeans.”

“Okay, spit it out.”

Rick was now looking sheepish. “We’d like you to let us leak your location to Leo Casselli.”

Stone winced. “I don’t think I could have heard you correctly, Rick.”

“I’m afraid you did.”

“Look, I’ve just fled Rome in order to get out of Casselli’s reach. How far do I have to go? London? Iceland? Home to New York?”

“It’s like this,” Rick said. “There’s a guy in Rome, Massimo Bertelli, who has just taken over the DIA, the Italian department that is trying to root out the Mafia.”

“I’ve heard the name,” Stone said.

Rick looked surprised. “Where did you hear of him?”

“From Dino Bacchetti.”

“Dino Bacchetti in New York?”

“Right now he’s upstairs taking a nap.”

“I didn’t see him on the arrivals list,” Rick said.

“Arrivals list?”

“Every day the embassy circulates a list of prominent Americans who are visiting France. Dino wasn’t on it.”

“It’s a private visit,” Stone said. “He’s just here for the weekend, with his wife.”

“Nevertheless, we like to know who’s in town.”

“Now you know. Dino has been in touch with Massimo Bertelli about Marcel duBois’s and my problem with Casselli.”

“Oh, good, that will save me the trouble of informing him.”

“I guess so. Are you going to tell me what you—rather, what Lance—wants?”

“It’s partly to do with an expansion of my job. The Agency wants station heads to be more concerned with what happens in Europe as a whole, rather than just in our individual bailiwicks. We’re begi

“Well, that’s very cosmopolitan of the Agency, Rick, but what the hell does that have to do with me?”

“It’s like this: France has some very comprehensive laws dealing with organized crime.”

“Doesn’t Italy?”

“Yes, but it’s more difficult for the Italians to enforce them. The Mafia there has long penetrated government at every level. They’re doing the best they can to root them out, but they have a lot of hurdles to overcome.”

“Go on.”

“Bertelli and his people have assembled intelligence indicating that Casselli wants to spread his influence to other European countries, especially France.”

“Why France?”

“It boils down to the recently discovered fact that Casselli wants a personal base here. He particularly likes Paris, but the attitude of French law enforcement toward him would make it difficult for him to live here, even for short periods of time. He would like, over time, to penetrate French society and, eventually the civil service and the legislature, with an eye to making France more hospitable to him and his friends.”

“That sounds megalomaniacal to me.”

“Of course it does, but Casselli has a lot of confidence in his own ability to manipulate things.”

“Once again, how does this affect me?”

“Casselli wants to co-opt people like Marcel and you, who do business here and who move from country to country easily. Casselli can’t even visit Paris or London for fear that his name would be on some watch list that would get him detained at the airport.”

“Why doesn’t he just drive?”

“Of course that would be easier, if he were just visiting, say, for pleasure, but French hotels collect their guests’ passports and send the names to the police every day, so eventually his name would cross the desk of some civil servant who is on the lookout for people like him, and he’d find himself dealing with the police and the court system.”

“Come on, Rick, get to the point.”

“We know that Casselli has agents in Paris already who are attempting to wi

“And that would be me?”

“Yes.”

“Sort of like the goat that would be staked out to attract the lion?”

“That’s not a comparison we’d like to draw.”

“Nevertheless, the comparison is apt, is it not?”

“Neither Lance nor I would be comfortable with that. We know that Casselli is doing his best to locate you—we just want to make it easier for him.”

“Rick, you realize, do you not, that sometimes, in spite of the hunter’s best efforts, the lion eats the goat?”

“All we want you to do, for the present, is to start using your old phone again.”

“Just long enough for Casselli to deduce my street address in Paris.”

“Well, yes. We’ll take care of the rest, and we will, as we have done in the past, protect you.”

Stone sighed. “I don’t know why I don’t just go back to Rome.”

“Because in Rome, in spite of the Italians’ best efforts, the lion would eventually get the goat.”

19

Stone stared at Rick LaRose. “You want me to risk my life—and, incidentally, the life of my girlfriend, who is also here?”

“Stone, I’ve said we will protect you. There is little risk involved for either of you. Right now there are half a dozen of our people on the street and rooftops whose only purpose is to keep you safe. And right now, all Casselli knows is that you are in Paris, no more. And there’s something else: for all practical purposes, this house doesn’t exist.”

“How is that?”

“When we owned the property we had it erased from all civic records—city directories, maps, even tax rolls. Have you ever received a bill for taxes for the house?”

“Joan normally takes care of those things, I’d have to ask her.”