Chapter 11

“American Embassy,” a female voice said.

“Joel Isaacson, please. Marco d’Argenzio calling.”

“One moment, please.”

There was a pause and a click.

“Hello, Marco,” a voice boomed out of the tiny speaker. “How’s my favorite doctor, or should I say, doctors?”

“Hey, Joel,” I said, jumping into the conversation, “we’re both here and we’re on the speaker.”

Marco switched to Italian and said, “Perhaps we should continue this conversation in Italian. How’s my favorite spook?”

“Hush, Marco,” Joel said, “we don’t like to talk about these things.”

“I know, but we’re with some people who might not know that the Cultural Attaché of a major American embassy is also the local Station Chief of the Central Intelligence Agency.”

“So, guys, what’s up?”

“Oh, Dani and I were sitting here at a table in a restaurant in Conti, which as you know is my mother’s hometown. We were waiting for our lunch when our table was suddenly surrounded.”