Warburg in Rome
“Reds, he thought, fucking Reds.He knew a bomb when he heard one, and his first assumption was—headquarters. His cognac-induced bleariness was instantly replaced by a concentration of senses. He threw the satin sheets aside and, stark naked, went to the half-open floor-to-ceiling window, where filigreed curtains wafted in the warm night air. Behind him, his pretend contessa snatched at the sheets as if they offered cover from whatever was about to fall.The sky to the south, above the Quirinal Hill, was red, and Mates thought at once, Not headquarters, but the palace of the king. He threw the window wide and leaned out over the railing without a thought for his nudity. He could make out the dark forms of structures and landscape high above. The Quirinal was the tallest of Rome’s hills, the site of the greatest patrician palazzos, including Victor Emmanuel’s. Before the kings, popes had lived there for three hundred years. Yes, the royal residence, Mates thought, that’s what the Reds wou...ld hit.Then a second, equally violent detonation clapped—a boom to rival the first, followed by a low fading roar.MoreLess
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