Foreign Affairs

“Hamburg. Lives in the suburbs, has offices in the city.”

“And he wants to meet me.”

“He does. He doesn’t know your name, but he’s seen the flyer we distributed. Had a copy of it in his pocket, actually.”

“This sounds preposterous.”

“Maybe it is, who knows? You’re the one offering the reward. That would sound preposterous to a lot of people.”

“I suppose it would.”

“I think the distribution of the leaflet has also told Casselli how much you want Hedy back. I think he looks at five million euros as your opening bid.”

“My opening bid?”

“Yes.”

“He thinks I’m negotiating?”

“Probably. To tell you the truth, I drew the same conclusion.”

“Well, you’re wrong,” Stone said, rising. “Let’s go meet with Herr Frederic Klaucke.”

35

Herr Frederic Klaucke was pacing the courtyard impatiently. His bearing was Prussian, his tan tweed suit so wrinkle-free that it might have been made of cast iron. He was carrying a briefcase that must have belonged to his grandfather.

“Herr Klaucke?” Stone asked, u

Klaucke stopped marching. “Ja. Yes.”

“I am the person you wish to speak to.”

“May I know your name?”

“I’m sorry, you may not.”

“My name is Frederic Freiherr von Klaucke,” he said. He did not click his heels. “I would like you to know that.” His English was perfectly grammatical, his accent distinct. And he had just a

“Thank you.” Stone indicated the open door of the Mercedes van. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Yes, please.” He climbed into the van and took a seat; Stone followed him, and Jim Lugano was right behind.

“What have you to tell us?” Stone asked.

“I wish to tell you of Leonardo Casselli.”

“Please do.”

“I have just spent three days in his company. Involuntarily.”

“Are you saying that Mr. Casselli kidnapped you?”

“In the ma

“For what purpose?”

“He wished to sell me a great deal of chocolate.”

“Are you not a chocolate merchant?”

“No, I am an importer of chocolate, I am not a retailer. I import chocolate, refine it, add other ingredients, like fruit or nusse—nuts, that is—and wholesale it to merchants.” He opened the briefcase, which Stone assumed had been searched, and extracted a very large chocolate bar containing hazelnuts and handed it to Stone. “Is complementary, please.”

Stone accepted the chocolate bar, which was labeled 500 kg, or half a kilo, or 1.1 pounds. “Thank you.”

“Mr. Casselli called me in Hamburg, where I have my offices, and invited me to come to Rome at his expense to discuss what he described as a very large business deal.”

“I am not aware that Mr. Casselli is in the chocolate business.”

“Nor am I, especially after our meeting.”

“Where did you meet?”

“At a hotel conference room.”

“Which hotel?”

“I am not aware of that, either. I was met by a van with painted windows. We drove to the hotel. I was escorted in through a kitchen.” Klaucke made that sound like a personal affront.

“I see.”

“We sat at a conference table, and Mr. Casselli stated his business.”

“Which was?”

“Chocolate. He wished to sell me a very large amount of chocolate—perhaps more than three thousand kilos—at an extremely low price, about half what I am accustomed to paying for the finest chocolate.”

“And how did you react to his offer?”

“I was immediately suspicious.”

“Suspicious of what?”

“Sir,” Klaucke said with a note of reproval in his voice, “this is not, as my Jewish competitors would say, kosher.”

“You believed the chocolate to be, ah, illegally obtained?”

“I believed so.”

“Why?”

“Because it corresponded to a shipment of chocolate that was stolen from one of my competitors in Rome perhaps a week or ten days ago. I believe the American term is ‘hijacked.’”

“I see. And how did you respond to Mr. Casselli’s offer?”

“I told him I was not in the market for such an amount.”

“And how did he respond?”

“He would not believe me, that I would respond so. He seemed to think I was negotiating.”

“He was offended?”

“No, just surprised, I think.”

“What happened then?”

“I was escorted back outside, put in a van, and driven to a hotel somewhere outside Rome, where I was imprisoned for three days.”

“What sort of hotel?”

“A quite comfortable one, with room service and TV.”

“What was its name and location?”

“I was not given that information.”

“So you don’t know where you were?”

“I do not. It was within an hour’s drive of Rome.”

“Did you see Mr. Casselli again?”

“Yes. Every day, I was put into the van and driven somewhere, where Mr. Casselli repeated the offer, each time at a lower price.”

“And you continued to decline?”

“I did, and Mr. Casselli became very angry on the third day. Finally, I was driven to the airport, where I saw your advertisement. That was early this morning. I phoned and I was told to come here.”

“Baron Klaucke, do you understand that the reward is for information leading to the arrest and conviction of Mr. Casselli?”

“Yes.”

“And you understand that he must first be apprehended?”

“Of course.”

“You have not told me anything that could be used to find Mr. Casselli or to bring him to a court of law.”

“How about kidnapping?”

“You have a point,” Stone admitted. “But first we must find Mr. Casselli and arrest him, then convict him of kidnapping on your testimony. Then, and only then, would you receive the reward.”

“I assure you of my intention to testify against him.” Klaucke handed him a business card. “You may reach me here when the time arises. My bank account number is on the reverse of the card. It is where you may wire the funds.”

“Thank you. Baron Klaucke, please search your memory: Is there anything else you can tell me that would help us find and arrest Mr. Casselli?”

Klaucke appeared to search his memory. “I don’t think so. May I have a lift to the airport?”

“I’ll see to that,” Lugano said.

They piled out of the van, shook hands, and Klaucke was driven away.

“Chocolate,” Stone said.

“Chocolate, indeed,” Lugano echoed. “I’ll let the police know about the theft. Who knows, it might be helpful.”

“I liked Baron Klaucke,” Stone said.

“He was all right.”

“He’s not afraid of Casselli. That’s good.”

“He probably has no idea who he is.”

36

Stone went back upstairs and poured himself some coffee from the buffet.

“What was that all about?” Dino asked.

“Chocolate.” Stone placed the huge chocolate bar on the table and told him the story.

“Bizarre,” Dino said.

“The story?”

“The chocolate. Why would Casselli want three tons of chocolate?”

“Maybe his minions thought the truck was carrying something more readily marketable.”

“No doubt.”

“Perhaps it would have been more marketable if he had not chosen an honest man to try and sell it to.”

“There’s a thought,” Dino said.

“What thought?”

“Having failed to sell it to the honest baron, maybe he’s looking for a less honest customer.”