“We still have time to head to London, sir,” the assistant suggested to the old man nestled comfortably in the seat of his private plane. “Consider it a minor detour.”

“Don’t even think about it!” he adamantly refused. “We’ll stick with the plan to the end.”

“Aren’t we running the risk that they’ll make an irreparable change in the plan?”

“Have faith, my dear friend. It will all work out in the end.”

“We usually leave faith to the believers,” the assistant argued, convinced that this change of destination could make the difference between success and failure. “It’s important to recover the documents.”

“The documents are the reason for all this. We’re making this trip for them. It isn’t necessary to remind me. Besides, our presence in London won’t be of any use. Things are going well.”

“What? They are still free and we are wasting time.”

“But they are within our grasp.”

The assistant hadn’t realized that the Master had a new, still-undisclosed plan.

“Would you like to share your plans?” he asked.

“You’ll soon see. You’ve got access to more information than most men. And you can connect the dots quickly.”

“As you wish,” the assistant answered, somewhat irritated. The old man loved having secrets, controlling information until it had redeemed its value. When its uselessness became apparent, that meant he had already accomplished his objective. Privileged information was useful, but he hated the old man’s keeping it from him. If he didn’t know him well, he would think this was from lack of trust. Instead, it had a very simple explanation. The Master wanted to send a message to his own demons: “I’m still here, I’m still in command, deciding everybody’s fate.”

The old man picked up the satellite handset on the left arm of his seat, and pressed a few numbers. Moments later someone answered.

“Ciao, Francesco,” he said, smiling coldly. “A short while ago I found out that you lost one of your associates.” He allowed time for the message to sink in. “Consider this firsthand news. The body will appear in due time.” Again he gave Francesco time to absorb his meaning. “But that isn’t why I called. I might be in need of your services. . . . When? Yesterday . . . I want you to get on the next plane. They’ll give you all the necessary information at the airport, and then you’ll wait for my call.” He cut off without another word. “Soon they will both be in front of me,” he muttered aloud to himself, his eyes fixed on the small plane window. “And we’ll see who’s the smartest.”

At this moment while he was thinking out loud, he was again approached by the assistant. At least it seemed that his irritation was gone.

“They’ve called from London,” the assistant said in a low voice. “The worst has happened.”