Chavasse finished his whisky. He said calmly, “What you appear to be saying is that you’ve been checking up on my past record quite illegally.”

“Yes, but we’ve got to be careful with the London operation.”

“Does the Don know about this?”

“Of course.”

Chavasse nodded. “So – where are we at?”

“One case of yours really got to me.” Volpe went to a side table and returned with a file. “This was so amazing I had it copied. Read it. It’s good stuff. I suppose you wrote it originally. I’ve got phone calls to make to all four quarters of the globe. I’ll be about an hour then I’ll take you to Don Tino at the Saddle Room. Anything you want, Aldo will get for you.”

He went out and Vinelli stood there, face impassive. “Another whisky, Sir Paul?”

“I think champagne might be more appropriate,” Chavasse said in excellent Italian.

“Of course.”

“Is he for real, the boy?”

“He is young.”

ALDO PRODUCED A BOTTLE OF BOLLINGER from the bar and Chavasse lit another cigarette, picked up the file and opened it. It was a fifty-page résumé of certain events in Albania in 1965. It was headed “Bureau Case Study 203, Field Agent Doctor Paul Chavasse.”

Aldo stood at the door, still impassive.

It was very quiet, only rain drumming against the window.

A long time ago, Chavasse told himself, a hell of a long time ago.

He started to read.

ROME AND MATANO, 1965

TWO

WHEN CHAVASSE ENTERED THE GRAND Ballroom of the British Embassy, he was surprised to find the Chinese delegation clustered around the fireplace, looking completely out of place in their blue uniforms, and surrounded by the cream of Roman society.

Chou En-lai surveyed the scene from a large gilt chair, the ambassador and his wife beside him, and his smooth impassive face gave nothing away. Occasionally, guests of sufficient eminence were brought forward by the First Secretary to be introduced.