‘Dottor Brugnoli,’ Zen replied with the air of a chess master declaring checkmate.

‘Ah, you’re one of Brugnoli’s babies, are you? Well, I’m sorry to have to inform you that life around here has become rather more spartan during your prolonged absence. As in stake them out on the mountain and see who survives.’

‘I don’t follow you.’

‘Call me back on your encrypted mobile. This line is not secure.’

When Zen did so, Foschi informed him that Brugnoli, Zen’s patron at the Ministry had taken up the offer of a consultancy position with a leading bank following a governmental ‘crisis’ and cabinet reshuffle of which Zen had heard nothing.

‘I didn’t know,’ he explained feebly. ‘I had to have an operation and I’ve been on indefinite sick leave ever since.’

‘Very indefinite,’ Foschi retorted. ‘So much so that there’s absolutely no record of the fact in the personnel database.’

‘Dottor Brugnoli told me that he would arrange everything.’

Foschi laughed shortly.

‘I’m sure he did, but that was before he arranged his own departure to greener pastures in the private sector. Since then we’ve gone back to playing strictly by the book of rules, according to which you are available for immediate active duty. Are you saying that such is not the case?’

Zen thought for a moment. He could probably get a letter from the consultant excusing him from service for another month or so, and explaining and documenting the record of his case. On the other hand…

‘What did you have in mind?’ he asked.

‘It’s this Curti business.’

Zen had no idea what he was talking about, but he had already created a bad enough impression for one morning. He decided to bluff.

‘What exactly do you want me to do?’

Foschi sighed deeply.

‘It’s a damn shame you don’t live here in Rome like everyone else, Zen. That’s something we may have to review in the light of the changed situation. It would make things so much easier if we could discuss this face to face.’