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day； five thousand miles of air travel； and a little too much booze； he didn't add。 There were a lot of smart people at CIA； but they thought too much like government workers； and not enough like Americans。 〃Don't we have anybody who thinks outside the box？〃
〃Bob？〃 Moore asked。
Ritter was warming to the young analyst by the minute。 〃Ryan； you ever read Edgar Allan Poe？〃
〃In high school；〃 Ryan replied in some small confusion。
〃How about a story called 'The Masque of the Red Death？〃
〃Something about a plague ing in to ruin the party； wasn't it？〃
〃Get some rest。 Before you fly back to London tomorrow； you're going to get briefed in on something。〃
〃Sleep sounds like a plan； gentlemen。 Where do I crash for the night？〃 he asked； letting them know； if they hadn't already guessed； that he was ready to collapse。
〃We have a place for you at the Marriott up the road。 You're all checked in。 There's a car waiting at the entrance for you。 Go on； now；〃 Moore told him。
〃Maybe he's not so dumb after all；〃 Ritter speculated。
〃Robert； it's nice to see that you're strong enough to change；〃 Greer smilingly observed as he reached for Moore's own office bottle of expensive bourbon whiskey。 It was time to celebrate。
The following day in Il Tempo； a morning newspaper in Rome； was a story about a man found dead in a car of an apparent heart attack。 It would be a little time before the body was identified and it was finally determined that he was a Bulgarian tourist who'd evidently e to the end of his life quite unexpectedly。 How clear his conscience had been was not apparent from physical examination。
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