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Slowly； the group turned away from the basilica and headed in the direction of the Doge's Palace。 In less than a minute it was abreast the outer row of tables and chairs of the Florian Café。 A few tourists broke away from the group； heading for the small snack bar next to the café next door。 Smith did not stir as they passed his table； chattering to one another。 Only when Danko was passing by did he look up。
〃No one's using this chair。〃
Smith watched as Danko turned； clearly recognizing Smith's voice。
〃Jon？〃
〃It's me； Yuri。 Go on； sit down。〃
The Russian slipped into the chair； bewilderment etched across his face。
〃But Mr。 Klein。。。 He sent you？ Do you work…？〃
〃Not here； Yuri。 And yes； I came to bring you over。〃
Shaking his head； Danko flagged a passing waiter and ordered coffee。 He tapped out a cigarette and lit it。 Smith noticed that not even the beard could hide how gaunt Danko's face had bee。 His fingers trembled as he worked to light the cigarette。
〃I still can't believe it's you。。。。〃
〃Yuri…〃
〃It's all right； Jon。 I wasn't followed。 I'm clean。〃 Danko leaned back in his chair and stared at the pianist。 〃Wonderful； isn't it？ The music； I mean。〃
Smith leaned forward。 〃Are you all right？〃
Danko nodded。 〃I am now。 Getting here wasn't easy； but…〃
Danko broke off as the waiter brought his coffee。 〃It was very difficult in Yugoslavia。 The Serbs are a paranoid bunch。 I was carrying a Ukrainian passport but even that was closely checked。〃
Smith was straining to still the hundreds of questions swirling in his mind； trying to focus on what had to be done next。
〃Is there anything you want to tell me； or give me… right now？〃
Danko appeared not to have heard him。 His attention was on a pair of carabinieri… Italian militiamen… who were walking slowly among the tourists； their submachine guns slung across their chests。
〃Lots of police；〃 he murmured。
〃It's the holidays；〃 Smith replied。 〃They always add extra patrols。 Yuri。。。〃
〃I have something to tell Mr。 Klein； Jon；〃 Danko leaned across the table。 〃What they're going to do… I never would have believed it。 It's insanity！〃
〃What are they going to do？〃 Smith demanded； trying to control his tone。 〃Who's they？〃
Danko looked around nervously。 〃Have you made the arrangements？ Can you get me away from here？〃
〃We can leave right now。〃
As Smith dipped into his pocket for his billfold； he noticed the two carabinieri moving between the café tables。 One laughed as though the other had made a joke； then motioned in the direction of the sandwich bar。
Smith counted out some lire； placed the bills under a plate； and was about to push back his chair when the universe exploded。
〃Jon！〃
Danko's scream was cut short by the brutal sound of automatic weapons fired at point…blank range。 After passing the table； the two carabinieri had whirled around； guns blazing。 Death spat from the two barrels； riddling Danko's body； the force of the bullets slamming him into the back of his chair； then flinging it over。
Smith had barely enough time to register the carnage before he threw himself in the direction of the small grandstand。 Bullets stitched the stone and wood around him。 The pianist made the fatal mistake of trying to stand up； a fusillade cut him in half。 Seconds seemed to move as though trapped in honey。 Smith could not believe that the killers were taking so much time； working with deadly impunity。 What he did know was that the grand piano； its glossy black frame and white keys horribly splintered； was saving his life； absorbing burst after burst of military…grade bullets。
The killers were professionals； they knew when they had run out of time。 Dropping their weapons； they crouched behind an overturned table and ripped off their military jackets。 Underneath； they wore gray and tan windbreakers。 From the pockets； they pulled out fishermen's caps。 Using the bystanders' panic as cover； they broke and raced toward the Florian Café。 As they burst through the front doors； one of them yelled： 〃Assassini！ They are killing everyone！ For the love of God； call the polizia！〃
Smith raised his head just in time to see the killers plunge into the screaming crowd of café patrons。 He looked back at Danko； lying on his back； his chest shredded。 A low animal growl rose in Smith's throat as he leaped off the grandstand and elbowed his way into the café。 The herd swept him away to the service doors and into the alley at the back。 Gasping； Smith looked frantically in both directions。 On the left； he caught a glimpse of gray jackets disappearing around a corner。
The killers knew the area very well。 They cut down two twisting alleys； then reached a narrow canal where a gondola was tied to a pier post。 One jumped in and grabbed the oar； the other slipped the rope。 In seconds they were moving down the canal。
The killer who was oaring paused to light a cigarette。
〃A simple enough day's work；〃 he said to his partner。
〃For twenty thousand American dollars； it was almost too simple；〃 the second replied。 〃But we should have killed the other one too。 The Swiss gnome was very specific： the target and any contact with him。〃
〃Basta！ We fulfilled the contract。 If the Swiss gnome wants…〃
His words were cut off by the oarsman's exclamation。 〃The devil's own！〃
The second gunman twisted around in the direction his friend was pointing。 His mouth fell open at the sight of the victim's partner pounding down the walkway alongside the canal。
〃Shoot the figlio di putana！〃 he screamed。
The oarsman brought out a large…caliber handgun。 〃With pleasure。〃
Smith saw the oarsman's arm e up； saw the pistol waver as the gondola rocked。 He realized the insanity of what he was doing； chasing armed killers without so much as knife to protect himself。 But the image of Danko kept his legs churning。 Less than thirty feet and closing； because the oarsman could not steady himself to take the shot。
Twenty feet。
〃Tommaso…〃
The oarsman； Tommaso； wished that his partner would shut up。 He could see the demented one closing in； but what did it matter？ Obviously he had no weapon； otherwise he would have used it by now。
Then he saw something else； partially exposed beneath the floor planks of the gondola： a hint of a battery and multicolored wires。。。 the kind he himself had used often enough。
Tommaso's scream was cut off by the explosion and the fireball that consumed the gondola； heaving it thirty feet into the air。 For an instant； there was nothing but black； acrid smoke。 Hurled against the brick wall of a glass factory； Smith saw nothing after the flash； but he smelled the burning wood and blackened flesh as they began to rain down from the sky。
Amid the terror and fearful uncertainty that gripped the square； one man； hidden behind the pillar supporting one of the granite lions of St。 Mark's； remained calm。 At first glance； he appeared to be in his early fifties。 But possibly it was the mustache and goatee that made him look older。 He wore a French…cut sport coat in window…pane check with a yellow rosette in the lapel。 A paisley cravat was nestled against his throat。 To the casual observer； he appeared a dandy； perhaps a tenured academic