He eyed Zen keenly.

‘I refer to your next professional posting.’

‘That is a matter of departmental policy,’ Zen replied, drawing on his cigarette.

Another smile, a shade more meaningful.

‘Exactly. And in that regard I wish to draw your attention to various facts of which you are aware, and to another which is as yet privileged information. I shall be brief. Firstly, the current Minister is a man of the Left. Many of his friends and associates in the former Communist Party dedicated their lives to the struggle against organized crime. Some of them were killed as a result.’

His eyes met Zen’s, and slid away.

‘In addition, you have recently been reassigned to work for Criminalpol after your brilliant exploits in Naples where, as the whole country knows, you were instrumental in smashing the terrorist organization known as Strade Pulite.’

‘But that was…’

‘A major coup! Indeed. All this you know, dottore. What you do not know — what no one outside the Minister’s immediate circle knows — is that he is in the process of forming an elite pool of senior officers who are to be drafted to Sicily to spearhead the coming campaign against the organization which took the lives of his comrades.’

Giulio waved his hand negligently.

‘We’ve all heard this before, of course, every time some judge or police officer was gunned down or blown up. But that was in the days when the Mafia had its men here in Rome, in the highest circles of power. Everyone understood how the game worked. Any over-zealous official who looked like doing some worthwhile work was transferred or killed, the government put up a token show of force, the Mafia made a token show of backing off, and in a few months it was back to business as usual.’

He glanced at Zen, who stifled a cough.