“Yes, ConteMarco,” Modesto said. “One of the villains opened fire on the driver and another one tossed a bomb under the van—fortunately a very small bomb. It exploded under and just to the rear of Dr. Rosati’s seat.”
“And the gun battle?” I said.
“Everyone in the lead car and the following car attacked the villains, and I’m sorry to say that two of them got away.”
“Did any of them survive?” I said.
“Sadly, no, except for the ones who fled.”
“Sadly?” Dr. Zaccaro said.
“SignorDoctor,” Modesto said, “dead men cannot be questioned.”
“Ah.”
“Thank you, Dr. Zaccaro,” I said. “Let’s go to that lounge, Modesto. I want to hear everything—in detail.”
Stefano caught up with us in the lounge. He, too, was wearing scrubs, and he was anything but a happy camper. “Are you all right?” he said.
“I’m about as all right as you look,” I said. “Have you seen yourself in a mirror?”
“Not yet,” he said.