Foreign Affairs

“Not really. We have obtained a permit for clearing the ground and starting over.” Stone didn’t really know about these things, just the broad strokes, but he wanted to needle Casselli.

The food and wine arrived, and the waiter poured generous glasses. Stone raised his and took a sip. Casselli raised his and took a gulp.

“Sometimes,” Casselli continued, “frequently even, accidents occur on a site, and new permits are required.”

“Leonardo,” Stone said, “let me pause you right there. Clearly, you have spent much of your life in New York, and perhaps even on the Lower East Side and Little Italy. What you are trying to explain, decorously, to me is just a new version of an old practice. Someone throws a brick through the window of a small shop, then magically, his colleague appears to offer the owner protection from such outrages. A small weekly fee and no more bricks through the window: no more customers covered in broken glass, no more plateglass windows replaced. It’s a very old racket, and I must say, I’m surprised that you have not found newer, more profitable ways to earn a living.”

Casselli reddened slightly, then smiled. “And I am surprised that you would think that we are not more modern in our approach. Oh, and the food is delicious—good choice.”

“Thank you. If you will forgive me for interrupting, I think I should take a moment to tell you what you are up against.”

“Up against?” Casselli asked, as if he had never heard of such a thing.

“In this instance, you are not dealing with a shopkeeper, but with Mr. duBois, possibly the richest man in Europe, and one with many, many business resources, and in my case with a person of considerable wealth and associations that are wide and deep. Perhaps you have heard of a company called Strategic Services?”

“Vaguely.”

“They are the second largest security company in the world, with offices in fifty cities, employing more than thirty thousand highly trained perso

“Secondly, there is me: perhaps you do not know that I am a former New York City police officer, and that my partner during those years is now the police commissioner of New York City, the most important police officer in the world, who is on close terms with his counterparts in Europe, including a Mr. Massimo Bertelli, who, as I’m sure you know, is head of the Italian DIA, which is responsible for pursuing ‘consultants’ who attempt to extort legitimate businesses. Mr. Bertelli, I should tell you, is taking a keen interest in the operations of Arrington Hotels in Rome, and especially in the building and permitting process, and a keen interest in you, personally, and in your operations and perso

“Finally, if I can say this without bragging, I am an informal adviser to the former president of the United States and his wife, the current president, and their close friend, which helps in all sorts of ways, and I am also a consultant to the Central Intelligence Agency, which helps in all sorts of other ways.

“So, should you continue to press your ‘services’ upon us, you will find yourself swept by a tsunami of government and police attention to your every move. And should you think that you are sufficiently legally detached from your operations, you should know that we are in a position to offer multimillion-dollar rewards and new passports to anyone who might offer evidence of your criminal co

Stone refilled their wineglasses, then locked eyes with Casselli, who was paler, now, and trembling with anger. “Am I making myself perfectly clear?”

“No one has ever spoken to me in that ma

“Leonardo,” Stone said evenly, “perhaps you had better become accustomed to being spoken to in that ma

The waiter appeared and offered them dessert.

“I must go to the men’s room,” Casselli said. “Please order me a double espresso.”

Stone ordered two and watched the man disappear down the stairs toward the toilets. Shortly, he heard a police siren from somewhere outside.

Casselli had been gone ten minutes when Rick LaRose came in, sat down in his place, and began drinking his espresso.

“I didn’t hear from you through my earpiece,” Stone said, fishing the thing out with its hook.

“I thought you were doing very well without my help,” Rick replied.

“Did you take him?”

“He had a car waiting outside the kitchen door—a Paris police car. He’s gone.”

23

Rick walked back to the house with Stone, and once inside he excused himself and went into the library to make phone calls. It was getting chilly, so Stone lit the fire. Finally, Rick returned and sank into an easy chair.

“What did Lance have to say?” Stone asked.

“Lance was not amused.”

“Wasn’t it a police operation?”

“It was ours, with police backup.”

“Ah.”

“Lance was incensed that you invoked not only the Agency, but the president.”

“You told him that?”

“He listened to your recording.”

“Swell.”

“What do you think Casselli will do now?”

“Do?”

“I thought that when you decided to let loose at Casselli you might have given some thought to how he would react. Did you think he would just leave meekly and never darken your life again?”

“Frankly, I thought he would be in the Bastille by now. It’s just around the corner from Lipp.”

“I don’t think the gendarmes relished the thought of chasing one of their own cars through the streets of Paris with lights flashing and sirens sounding. It would have made the evening news.”

“Can’t the Italian police pick him up at the other end?”

“Pick him up for what? He’s not wanted in Italy, and you apparently forgot to get him to incriminate himself.”

“I got mad, I guess.”

“I especially liked the parts about the ‘tsunami’ and ‘flaying of flesh off his bones.’”

“I’m glad you appreciated my performance.”

“I should have given you a script.”

“I probably wouldn’t have followed it.”

“I guess not. What are you going to do now?”

“Spend a few days here, I guess, then go back to Rome.”

“Back to Rome?”

“Well, I can’t abandon Marcel in the middle of all this, and Hedy needs to go back.”

“May I suggest that you persuade Marcel to run his business from Paris, and that you and Hedy get your asses back to New York?”

“And anyway, I promised Casselli a tsunami.”

“You mean that wasn’t an empty threat?”

“Certainly not. We’ve got Bertelli on our side, and he’s the key man in Italy. I’ll talk to Marcel about posting a reward for Casselli’s neck in a noose.”

“You think that will work?”

“Why not? Italians like money as well as everybody else, maybe more. It might shake somebody loose.”

“You might begin by getting Dino to ask Bertelli to do the things you’ve already told Casselli he was doing.”