Chapter 2 first quarter

Decker told Italian immigration officials that he was there on business. "What kind of business?" "Corporate real estate." "How long are you going to stay here?" "Two weeks." The officer stamped Decker's passport. "Thank you very much," Decker said in Italian. He walked out of Da Vinci Airport with a suitcase in his hand.While arranging for someone to pick him up at the airport is easy, he would rather travel the 26 kilometers to Rome by coach.When the big bus was unable to move an inch on the crowded roads in the city, he asked the driver to open the door to let him get off, and stood on the side of the road until the big bus drove away.He was satisfied that no one else got out of the car behind him.He turned into a subway station, hopped on a random subway, got off at the next stop, returned to Surface Street, and hailed a cab. After 10 minutes, he got out of a taxi, took the subway to the next stop, and then got into another taxi and told the driver to take him to the Pantheon in Rome.His actual destination was a hotel five blocks away.Precautions may have been redundant, but Decker believed that life could only be saved by taking this detour.

The trouble was, all this back and forth was exhausting him.Saving life, he thought, was not the same thing as living.Tomorrow is Saturday, his 40th birthday.Lately he had been uncomfortably aware that time was flying by.Wife, children, family—he has none of that.He travels around all the year round, but no matter where he goes, he always feels like an outsider.His friends are few, and he rarely sees them.All he had left in his life was work, which was no longer enough for him. Checking into the hotel with its colonnades and plush carpets, he immediately showers and puts on clean clothes to shake off the jet-lag that comes with flying fast across time zones on a jet plane.He puts on sneakers, jeans, a denim shirt, and a blue blazer.The outfit was perfect for the mild June weather in Rome, and many American tourists his age were dressed in this way, so he would never attract anyone's attention.He left the hotel, mingled with the pedestrians, and walked along the bustling street for half an hour, trying to make sure he wasn't being followed.He came to Piazza Venezia, the busiest place in Rome, where all the main roads in the city converge.He found a pay phone, and the noise of the surrounding traffic provided him with cover.

"Hello?" a man's voice answered. "Anatole?" Decker asked in Italian. "Never heard of this man." "But he told me it's this number." Decker called out a different number from the one he had just dialed. "The last two numbers are wrong. Here it is 57." The phone hung up. Decker put the receiver away, looked around, and after making sure no one was watching him, he squeezed into the crowd and left.So far everything works fine.The man mentioned those two special numbers as a call to action.If the voice said to him, "You've got the wrong call," it was telling him to get back, everything was messed up.