21 ... 

"Your other friends are in danger as well, if my assumption is correct," said Marchese. 

Suddenly agitated, his eyes full of fear, Newkirk blurted "Of course. It's so obvious. Someone has caught wind of the presence of these artists in Rome, or perhaps in other cities, or in the countryside. My god, can we ever figure out how to contact them? You're right. They are all in real danger. Whoever snatched Monet is planning more of the same, I'm sure. Just imagine ... you assemble history's greatest artists together in some remote location, and then ... oh god."

"You've got the idea," said Bandone, animated at last, and now completely engaged in the conversation. "This person, or organization plans to force these artists to make new work. These would not be fakes, you understand; they'd be genuine, as yet undiscovered Monets, Da Vincis, Van Goghs, Frankenthalers ... whoever can be coerced." He thought aloud, as he assessed the possibilities. "Out of the blue, unknown paintings by these masters would appear on the market. What if their captors were also able to 'persuade' the artists publicly to authenticate only certain of the works that already exist? Who would doubt Monet if he were to claim that, as a ridiculous example, his water lilies were all painted by a studio assistant, or a distant cousin? First we have kidnapping, perhaps on a grand scale. Then torture, or bribery, or perhaps a simple appeal to an artist's ego or a combination of all of these. A slave labour camp producing original works by artists long thought to be dead? Or – and personally I find this even more disturbing to contemplate – a country spa where everyone is getting rich by mutual consent. We've got to find them."

"And then what?" Marchese removed his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, and ran a hand through his hair. "What do we do with them? What do we do with the new paintings?" His chair squealed in protest as he leaned back. He was silent for a moment. "I think we may be getting ahead of ourselves. Let's dissect this thing and see if we really have a problem. Sit down, Paolo. We'll go through this together, and calmly, OK?

"Here's a thought that worries me. What will happen if it becomes widely known that 'dead' people somehow have returned and are enjoying the sights of Roma, and perhaps Paris and London and New York? Cazzo! Are we really in some ridiculous Hollywood zombie time warp?"

Newkirk's sharp intake of breath spoke volumes. "Oh, man! How could I not have thought of that?" His eyes widen. "My god, they're going to want to talk to me! Everybody will want to know how to do this. They'll think it's some kind of key to immortality."  He exhaled in a low moan, and dropped his head into his hands.

Marchese put a friendly hand on Newkirk's shoulder. "For now, I think it would be wise to have someone from our office accompany you, David. Paolo here is the logical candidate. OK with you, Paolo?" 

Bandone nods. "Certamente, Tenente. No problem."

"But let's not panic yet," continued Marchese. Very few people have resources like ours, and even fewer would imagine that Michelangelo, for example, walks among us. People will, at most, think that a few eccentrics are impersonating the artists. So far, only a very few intelligence officers are puzzling over this. And only we three know the whole story. By the way, David, can you confirm for us now that it was indeed Michelangelo we saw you with this morning?"

"Yes. And Raphael, and Bernini. Raphael was dressed formally and for some reason was carrying a sword. That's what I used to poke the camera and dislodge it." He reached into a pocket. "Here it is. I'd forgotten I had it." Newkirk seemed desolate. He passed the tiny camera to Marchese, who was clearly relieved; he pocketed the camera.

Marchese shot a knowing glance at Bandone. "We were right, Paolo. It was a sword. Dio mio!" He wrestled with his sense of reality for a moment, and then, as if to himself, "No. I simply will not think about what is real. We must stick with our agreed procedure. We'll deal with the situation as it presents itself. Do you think, David, that you can contact these artists as you did before your event in Venice?"

Newkirk looked up, and brightened visibly. "Yes! At least I think so. I hope I can ... I don't know."