"St Ambrose."
"Who is St Ambrose?"
"The Bishop of Milan."
Angela studied his face. "Is this for real?"
"You want to hear it?" He paused. "St Augustine went to Milan and learned that the Church didn't fast on Saturday as they did in Rome."
"When was this?" Angela lit a cigarette and blew smoke toward the mountains.
"AD 387." McCabe sipped his wine. "So St Ambrose said, 'When I am at Rome, I fast on Saturday. When I am at Milan, I do not. Follow the custom of the Church where you are.' And over time it became 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do.'"
"So you are going to do it their way, uh?" She flicked her cigarette ash on the patio stones. "What does that mean?"
"I'm going to meet Joey in front of Palazzo dei Priori," McCabe said, "if you know where that is." "In the square," Angela said, "Plebiscito. There are usually a lot of people there. "
"That's why I chose it," McCabe said.
"Okay, you meet him in the middle of town," Angela said. "Then what happens?"
"I invite him in the Palazzo, the council chamber, show him the ceiling. It's covered in frescos painted by Baldassare Croce in 1592, depicting the mythological origins of Viterbo and other historical events."
She smiled, not expecting that. "What are you really going to do?"
McCabe said, "Ask him for the money. He isn't carrying a white Adidas soccer bag, it's over. We try again another time."
"If he has the money," Angela said, "and I believe he will, he is going to want to see me. You must know that, right?"
He looked at her but didn't say anything.
"How many people have you kidnapped?" She could see him start to smile. "It doesn't seem like you know what you are doing." Angela paused. 'You have to make them think you have a partner — you are not alone."
"I've got another idea," McCabe said.
"I hope so."
"You'll be in a hotel room in Piazza San Pellegrino. I tell Joey to meet me in the square, he looks up, sees you in the window."
"You know what happens then? He sends Mazara in the hotel and up to the room to get me."
"He's supposed to come alone," McCabe said.
Angela said, "You think he's going to play by the rules?"
Her expression serious now. "If you really want this money I suggest you think about it a little more."
McCabe said, "You kidnap someone, you don't expect them to give you advice on how to collect the ransom."
Angela said, "You sound like you need some help."
"Whose idea was it to take me?" McCabe sipped his wine, eyes on her.
"Mazara was telling me about this rich American he met in Rebibbia and read about in the newspaper. He was thinking of kidnapping him, making some easy money. He told me what he was going to do. I listened, and said, 'That is never going to work.' He said, 'You have a better idea?'"
"Sounds familiar," McCabe said.
"I planned everything. I arranged to rent the farmhouse and volunteered to try to meet you, hoping you would notice me and you would be interested."
"How'd I do?" McCabe said.
"I also chose the transportation and the route the senator would take, sending him to three churches. The last one was Santi Giovanni e Paolo because it was built over a house of worship, and there are tunnels and underground passageways that would give us a perfect way to escape with the money.
"I knew the carabinieri would be involved, brought in for counsel, and they would use a tracking device or a transponder to follow the money and they did. We agreed to split the ransom five ways. Mazara told his crew I deserved a full share. 'For what?' Sisto said. 'Shaking her ass. That's what she does, what she is good at.'"
"Sounds right to me," McCabe said.
"Be careful, you want my help or not?" The wind blew her hair and she straightened it and tucked it behind her ears. "Mazara didn't tell his crew that I was the one who had planned and organized everything, so, of course, they thought he did it. I was thinking, based on all I had done, I deserved at least half of the money, let them divide the rest."
McCabe said, "Why'd you do it?"
"I have bills to pay like everyone." She could see he didn't believe her.
"Your father is head of the Roman Mafia and you need money?"
"He found out I was seeing Mazara and cut me off."
"They give you your share? You can hand it over, save a step," McCabe said.
"I told you. I have received nothing," Angela said. "Not a single euro." She picked up her glass and drank some wine. "Did you talk to Joey, tell him the details? What you want him to do?"
"Not yet," McCabe said.
Angela said, "When do you think the exchange is going to take place?"
"Tomorrow," McCabe said.
"And you have not talked to him?"
"No."
"How do you know he will be ready?"
"He better be."
"McCabe, do you think this is just going to happen? They are just going to arrive in Viterbo and hand you the money? Say, here you are. Good luck."
McCabe grinned now and said, "What're you getting so excited about? It's all going to work out."
"You know your first idea might be okay," Angela said.
"You mean taking Joey into the council chamber?"
Angela said, "Palazzo dei Priori."
"It's a municipal building," McCabe said.
"Exactly."
"How're you going to get in?"
"I know a way," Angela said. "You want me to tell you?"
Chapter Twenty-six
Ray trained the binoculars on a girl in a peasant dress, getting out of a VW microbus in a 7-Eleven parking lot. Her brown hair parted down the middle and held in place by a headband, barefoot, the tops of her milky white breasts visible as she leaned forward, stepping out of the front passenger seat, closing the door and going in the store. It was like being in a time warp. Seeing her reminded him of the time he was on a detail to protect Tipper Gore at a Grateful Dead concert. A1 was a US senator at the time, Bill Clinton's vice-presidential candidate on the Democratic ticket. The girl looked like the Deadheads he'd seen that afternoon and night in their pastel tie-dyes, braids, beads and flowers, hippies throwing Frisbees and playing hacky-sack in the RFK Stadium parking lot.
Ray had just completed his first year as an agent. He was on temporary assignment in the Washington office. Protective Services was short-handed, so that's how he happened to be sitting on a riser, stage left next to Tipper Gore on June 14th' 1991.
He remembered the caravan of spotless black Chevy Suburbans following two Virginia State Troopers, driving into the parking lot past the VW bugs and microbuses, Deadheads looking like some bizarre tribe, staring at Ray and his fellow agents like they were aliens.
He'd called Sharon after the concert and told her about it.
"There were guys wearing these weird headdresses just standing in front of the stage, smiling, and guys dressed as skeletons and some as Uncle Sam."
"They were high," Sharon said.
Ray said, "They were more than that. I saw a guy drink water out of a bong."
"God's herb," Sharon said.
"God's herb, huh?"
Sharon said, "You and Tipper expand your consciousness? Drop any blue Osley?"
Ray said, "What's that?"
"Acid."
"Sure," Ray said, "we do it all the time in the Service."
"Did you feel a connection with the band?"
Ray said, "I wouldn't go that far."
"Did you feel like part of the family?" Sharon said.
"No, I felt like I was protecting the wife of a vice-presidential candidate."
"Why'd Tipper want to see the Dead?"
"She said she likes their music."
Sharon said, "How'd she like it after a twenty-minute Jerry solo?"
"Not too much I guess," Ray said. "We didn't stay very long."
"They do 'Big River'?"
"I don't know," Ray said.