"Slivovitz. Really potent. At least a hundred proof--fifty percent alcohol."
"You don't say?" Rhyme was intrigued.
They pulled up to the aircraft and Thom began the complicated procedure of lowering the ramp. Sachs climbed out, slung her computer bag over her shoulder. "Spies, Rhyme? Seriously?"
"Stranger things have happened."
His eyes strayed to the copilot, who was completing the preflight walk-around.
Everything on the aircraft seemed properly attached and functioning.
The strapping young man--in a suit, white shirt and tie--approached his passengers now. "We're all set, sir. Flight time should be about an hour and a half."
Sachs was frowning. "To New York?"
The copilot's brows furrowed. He glanced toward Rhyme, who said, "We're not going back to the U.S. just yet. We're meeting some friends in Milan."
"Friends?" She glanced at Thom, who was looking over the airplane as if he himself were about to conduct a second preflight check. And avoiding eye contact. He was, however, smiling.
"Lon Sellitto. Oh, and Ron Pulaski." The young NYPD officer they worked with regularly.
"Rhyme?" Sachs asked slowly. "What's in Milan?"
He frowned and looked at Thom. "What is it again?"
"A Dichiarazione Giurata."
"A particularly delicious dinner entree?"
"Ha. No, it's an affidavit we need to swear to before the consulate general there."
"And why?"
"Obviously. Because we can't get married without
it. Ercole and Thom arranged the whole thing. Then we drive to Lake Como. The mayor there'll perform the ceremony. We need to rent the marriage hall--part of the arrangement. It's bigger than we need, I imagine, but that's the way it works. Lon and Ron'll be the witnesses."
"A honeymoon on Lake Como, Rhyme," Sachs said, smiling.
Rhyme tossed a look Thom's way. "He was pretty insistent."
She asked, "And what about Greenland?"
"Maybe our first anniversary," Rhyme said and drove his chair toward the ramp that would take him up to the cabin of the sleek, idling jet.