[Brag]

Chapter 29

Seeing Claudia was adamant, Val let the subject lie. "I need to check my Emails, can I use your computer?"
She led the way to the second floor into a corner of the house he'd never been to before, and now had to wait while she inserted keys into three different locks.
"Do you keep your gold in there?"
"In the fashion business we have many secrets. I do all my designing here and no one sees my collection until we go into the manufacturing stage."
Claudia's corner studio had an outside view and large windows had been knocked out of the stone walls. Several rough sketches were pined to a drafting table. Unlike the work areas of most creative people, this room was clinically orderly. Only an old fashioned rotary phone and an appointments book sat on top of a large mahogany desk.
Val approached a window and looked outside. The rain had stopped. Half a mile away, large waves churned up into a line of white breakers on the beach. A clump of Mediterranean pines barely hid the dock where Claudia kept her sailboat.
"Your friends tried to come inside here last night and set off the silent alarm. Rosalia is very persuasive when she aims her submachine gun."
"Rosalia?" Val turned to face Claudia. He had trouble visualizing the old chunky housekeeper with a gun.
Claudia laughed. "You look incredulous. Rosalia is an old fashioned Communist, still waiting for the uprising of the working classes. She marched your friends into the cellar and locked them up up."
"You mean she took on Boikin?"
Claudia nodded, then switched on a computer on a small desk. "I told her to release them when we arrived."
"She had me fooled."
"Never underestimate old people."
"She was living dangerously. I'm sure Boikin is armed."
"He was." Claudia opened a desk drawer and took out a pistol. "He was carrying this."
"She must have been a convincing sight for Boikin . . ."
"When she parades her gun at the party meetings, she calls everyone tovarish and speaks a smattering of Russian."
Val shook his head and sat in front of the large, flat computer screen. He had about ten Emails. He started by deleting Spam. He was about to press the key on Subj: Penis enlargements by Bogo. His finger froze in mid air and he opened the Email.
The message read:
For penis enlargement come alone to my Riviera & Split Uvala Baluni 24 1105 1700.
Val stared at the message. It didn't make any sense except the text would probably evade interest by security services Email interception programs. 24 could be a telephone country code. "What country is 24?"
Val smelled Claudia's peach scent as she looked over his shoulder.
"I see, very important for you to have penis enlarged now."
"Well, you see ah . . . " Val stopped clucking his tongue.
"That's not a telephone number. Uvala Baluni is in Split."
"Split?"
"The Dalmatian Riviera. Uvala Baluni is a picturesque harbor."
"Ah," Val said as the message became clear. Split was an ancient town in Croatia, founded by Roman Emperor Diocletian in the 4th. Century. Now the numbers made sense. 241105 was 24 November 2005 and 1700 meant five PM. The day after tomorrow.
"Why are you getting your penis enlarged in Split?"
"I have to meet someone's father."
"Mama mia, you need to take your medicine."
"I won't be able to attend the funeral," Val was pretty sure he would have to go to Rome in order catch a plane for Split.
"To get penis enlarged to meet someone's father is more important than a funeral? Caro Valentino, you need some rest. Then, with a clear mind get your priorities straight."
"My penis has nothing to do with this!" Val swiveled the chair, his nose ending up inches away from Claudia's belly.
She placed her hands on his shoulders. His nose sank into her jeans. Drunk with the smell of woman, Val wrapped his arms around her.
After a few moments, Claudia pushed his head away. "Caro Valentino. First I must bury Franco--Now let go of my posterior!"
Reluctantly, Val released the embrace.
Claudia squatted to bring her face to his level. "Tomorrow, like a civilized friend, you come to the funeral. The airplane will be fixed and Vito will have it here tomorrow night. After we finish the customary formalities required by society, I will fly you to your bizarre meeting in Split."
Val took her hands, stood, and pulled Claudia up. "Thanks, but I have to go alone."
She shook her hands free of his and placed a finger on his nose. "Of course, you will hike over the mountains then swim the Adriatic. You need a pilot to get you there in time. Capice?"
"You're impossible."
"Tonight, Don Marco, the village priest will come for dinner. Don't you dare tell him Franco was Muslim. And tomorrow as a world-famous historian you will deliver the eulogy glorifying Franco as a great hero of World War Two, a great human being and much beloved leading citizen of the Maremma and Tuscany."
"Ok," Val said, thinking of the implications, "But at a funeral I can only tell the truth. Let me see Franco's real diary."
"The real diary is in a safe place. You can't see it today, you can't see it tomorrow. Because you are going to Split, you can't see it until you come back. But I will tell you the real story."

#

21 January 1941
Kassala, Sudan.
It was still dark when Captain Franco D'Albano crept to the edge of the ridge where he was greeted by the smell of cooking fires. Everything was working in his favor, even the light movement of air. Some Englishman in the encampment outside the town, also helped when he started the engine of a tank. The noise would cover the approach of D'Albano's 1500 mounted Spahis. For a moment Franco hesitated. The last time cavalry attacked tanks was two years ago in Poland. Was he also going to sacrifice his men for nothing?
So far, the British Army had nothing but contempt for the Italians who had surrendered in droves in the Libyan Desert. Now. Gazelle Force, with its trucks and tanks, had taken the frontier stronghold of Kassala without firing a shot.
Franco quickly identified the British positions reported by his scouts and spies as he scanned the enemy through binoculars. In the faint light the British lined up by field kitchens to get their morning tea.
"Allah akhbar." Franco muttered and crept back to where Saidi, his orderly, held their horses by the rains.
Franco mounted and rode back into the wadi where his troops stood waiting. The silence of the morning was only broken by the soft snort of a horse. Franco drew his saber.
Following his example, Saidi drew a carbine from its scabbard.
Franco listened to the swish sounds as his squadron commanders pulled their swords in signal to begin the charge. He wheeled his horse around and broke into a trot.
His force climbed out of the dry riverbed. Only the sound of dislodged pebbles gave away movement but the Brits had failed to cover this crucial geographical feature that had allowed the stealthy approach of cavalry.
Out in the open, Franco glanced back. In parade precision, the Spahis deployed in rows of 200 horsemen advanced brandishing carbines and scimitars.
Ahead, the Brits were deployed into two main groups, the elite 25th. Indian Field Regiment with artillery, and the other composed of Sussex and Surrey Yeomanry equipped with tanks.
More engines were starting as the muezzin called for prayers from the mosque in town.
Like a warrior of a millenium ago, Franco waved his saber and broke into a moderate canter. Behind him, the thunder of hooves grew.
Three hundred meters ahead, soldiers ran in every direction. A few muzzle flashes blinked.
"Allah akhbar!" Franco yelled at the top of his voice.
The yell was answered by a thousand voices as the Spahis broke into a full gallop and the cornet blew the signal to charge.
Franco knew this was the last order he would give in this world.
His horse jumped over a concertina wire entanglement and entered a truck park. Franco's saber descended and sliced into a running soldier's shoulder. He twirled the saber free and stabbed into a rifleman's chest.
Grenades exploded. The early dawn light took a rosy hue as fires erupted.
Franco led his horse toward a street packed with soldiers. Next to him, Zaidy had dropped the reins and kept firing his carbine. Terrified Indian soldiers ducked into doorways.
He couldn't see them, but behind the crumping of grenades told him his riders were tossing them as they passed the enemy trying to take shelter.
Franco turned a corner and jumped over a field kitchen. On reaching the mosque and again turning right, he heard the dreaded sound of artillery and the screeching of a shell. The artillery was responding faster than he had anticipated.
He rode out of town where the British combat troops were deployed and reined his horse.
The scene was a chaotic melee of riders slashing soldiers on foot. Another shell screamed across the field. It hit a British tank. The Indian gunners unable to see across the tumult were not aware the shells were passing almost harmlessly amid the cavalry and slamming into their own equipment.
The crack of British Enfield rifles was rising in volume. It sounded like the enemy was organizing and beginning a counter attack. Three tanks exploded one after another. Smoke added to the confusion. It was time to get out.

#

Val interrupted Claudia. "Nothing new in this story and I have verified the facts."
"There, you see, you know the truth. What is not true, is he did not dismiss his troops after the capitulation signed in Asmara."
"Oh?"
"Yes, he stayed fighting in Abbisinia until the end of the war. But you don't need to say that in the eulogy."
"You mean he did not even accept Badoglio's armistice in 1943?"
"His Amhara warriors were totally loyal to him, they accepted him as one of their own. He couldn't leave them as they fought the new colonialists."
Val sighed. "You have used me to perpetuate a fraud. And you're still using me to confirm it."
"Franco was a man of honor. That's all you have to say." Claudia crossed her arms. "And you, Mister Honesty and academic integrity, have no right to say I am using you."

Chapter 30

Confused, was the best way Val could describe his state of mind. Claudia and her husband had razzmatazzed him, yet he felt guilty about the count's murder. When it came to his feelings toward Claudia, he dismissed them as lust. Nevertheless, her Get your hands off my posterior words, rankled or hurt.
As Val headed downstairs for dinner, he wondered how the tense situation in the house would play out. He entered the sitting room and surveyed what looked like a frozen tableau. Enveloped in an electric silence, Boikin, Stuart and Shapquine sat together on a sofa.
Claudia sat on an armchair, leafing through a magazine. A martini glass next to her. Except for Rosalia who served him a scotch and soda, no one seemed to pay him any attention. The old lady wore a formal maid's uniform with white, starched collar. Bordering the absurd, over her apron, she had strapped a leather belt and a holstered Mauser pistol.
Val took a chair and fought the urge to say something.
Rosalia returned to her place at the far end of the room, where she stood looking more like a prison matron than a housekeeper.
The gathering had the charm of a dentist's waiting room. Val sipped his drink, the atmosphere made the scotch taste like disinfectant.
After ten minutes, Val was ready to scream.
Don Marco, the village priest, arrived armed with a double barreled shotgun. After a perfunctory, "Bona sera." He carefully placed the gun in a corner of the sitting room and accepted a Cinzano with a slice of lemon from Rosalia.
The priest made himself comfortable in an armchair and said, "May God protect those who wish harm on the Contessa. The whole village, including atheists, is ready to defend her." He raised his glass. "To the memory of the highly esteemed Count."
"Thank you, Father," Claudia said.
Don Marco said to Val. "What a pity you never came to church during your last visit."
"I'm of a slightly different religion, Father."
"Ah, yes the ancient Byzantine branch. A rite somewhat more elaborate than ours, I hear." Don Marco chuckled. "Don't tell the Pope, but tomorrow we will be honored to have you as a member of a religion older than ours speak and eulogize the Count. He was a great Monarchist leader in our region and many people will come to pay their respects."
He gestured toward the couch where Boikin, Shapquine, and Stuart sat like a chastised trio of juvenile malefactors. "Dona Rosalia says if you promise me that you will not abuse the Contessa's hospitality, she will return your weapons." Don Marco's lips parted in a horsy grin showing huge teeth. "Then we can call our defense force an international coalition."
Stuart pointed at Boikin, "As the rightful heiress to the Throne of Scotland, I can guarantee the word of my colleague." She then gestured at Shapquine. "He hasn't done anything dishonorable yet, so he deserves our trust."
Val had a hard time keeping a straight face.
Don Marco nodded at Rosalia, who took a silver tray loaded with pistols and solemnly passed it in front of the trio.
Boikin's gloomy look vanished as he stuck a pistol under his jacket. Stuart took a nickel-plated small number and stuck it in the waistband of a long black skirt.
Val wondered if Claudia was armed.
"Very well," Claudia said, "now that we have things straightened, I can say benvenuti. Welcome to San Luca."
"As to the evildoers, who tried to kill the contessa," Don Marco said," the Carabinieri have set up ro*******s on all roads leading to the area. So we no longer need to worry about her security."
Val wondered how long it would take the likes of Bond to figure out that coming from the sea was the easiest way to get inside the estate.
He was glad Claudia had suggested coming with him to Split. When one was hunted, one had to keep moving.
Apparently satisfied the guests no longer required armed supervision Rosalia left the room.

#

The following morning, Val found an appropriate black suit and black tie. With the help of pins, he managed to shorten D'Albano's trousers to fit him. Outside the yellow winter sunlight gave the country the aspect of a Renaissance painting. Wearing a black hat, veil and a black outfit resembling a riding habit, Claudia looked the archetypal Italian grieving widow.
The square in front of the church no longer appeared forlorn. A line of Butteri mounted on tall chestnut Maremmani horses solemnly lined one side of the church's main entrance. To the other side stood a platoon of Carabiniery shouldering carbines. A large crowd in their Sunday best watched from the square.
Claudia's driver stooped by a bullock cart parked in front of the church entrance. She stepped out of the Range Rover.
With a drill similar to a sword salute, The Butteri paid their respects with l'unsino, their traditional long, thin wooden cattle prod. In their gleaming riding boots, gray breeches and charcoal vests, they looked like as sharp as any military ceremonial mounted guard.
They made Val think how deeply the equestrian tradition was ingrained in the Italian psyche.
Don Marco greeted them at the church door and led inside.

#

Church bells pealed slowly as eight Butteri and carabinieri pallbearers took the flag draped coffin outside and placed it on the bullock cart. Following the honor guards, the townspeople lined into a long procession to the cemetery.
The sight of television crews bothered Val.
Ignoring the cameras in the cemetery, Val had no problem reading the eulogy, he had written and Claudia had translated into Italian.
After the coffin was lowered into the grave there was a disturbance as reporters tried to break through the security cordon demanding interviews.
Deftly using l'unsinos, the Butteri prodded the journalists back and herded them like cattle to their vehicles.

#

"Even your Italian accent was perfect," Claudia said as the Range Rover left the cemetery. "You have improved our self-image we have since the Second World War. Now your book will become a best seller in Italy. Can you say again I have been using you?"
Still bothered by the TV cameras, Val said, "We need to get out of here as soon as possible."
"The airplane will not arrive until evening. You must have patience. And I have to host the pranzo. Widows are put under many obligations to keep them busy during their time of grief."
After a few minutes of silence, Claudia said, "Once we get to Split, you can take me to one of those smoky cafes and minister me a good, large brandy. By God I need one now."
"We have to sneak out without my baby sitters noticing."
"That will be no problem. The crowd will stay, eat and drink 'til after dark. I will have Rosalia park the Fiat car behind the granary, we leave at sunset and will not be noticeable in the traffic of departing guests. You like my plan?"
"Excellent, you would make a perfect spy."
"We will leave behind three perfect spies who have been driving me crazy."

#

Truckloads of people arrived at the estate and feasted off trestle tables loaded with food and wine. Everyone wanted to say something to Val and shake his hand. The wave of Italian effervescent goodwill almost made him forget his problems.
Like good house dicks, Boikin and Shapquine patrolled the edges of the crowd. God only knew what they carried under their raincoats.
The chatter of the crowd died as four Butteris rode into the middle of the throng and stopped in front of Claudia. After saying a few words, by some unobserved signal they made their horses kneel. They got off the saddles as the horses rolled onto their sides. Impressed by the equestrian skill of the Butteri, Val applauded enthusiastically with the rest of the crowd.
Maybe the honest country wine had an effect. At the moment it was difficult to imagine wanting to live anywhere else. He glanced at Claudia. With sadness, he realized this was an impossible dream. Once this mess was over, he was doomed to living in a two bedroom apartment and briefing elected hayseeds from Ohio and Oklahoma about an outside world they had no knowledge of and worse yet, no interest in learning about it. The only net results of his efforts were free lunches.
Val looked around. Another free lunch. Like a shipwrecked sailor he had been swept here by a wave of violence. But this was only an illusion of a safe harbor. The Tsunami was yet to come. Slowly, he worked his way to the edge of the thinning crowd, in the direction of the granary. If he ran into Boikin or Shapquine he would tell them he had to piss.
He searched for Claudia, couldn't see her anywhere. It was almost sunset. He picked up a chicken leg from a table and ambled away from the crowd. Someone munching a piece of chicken wouldn't look like sneaking out.
The red Fiat was parked behind the granary. Val froze at the sight of a man inside. It took him a few seconds to realize Claudia had exchanged her widow head dress for a wide brimmed gray Buttero felt hat.
Val quickened his pace and got into the car.
"I thought you forgot our rendezvous." Claudia put the car in gear and drove behind the improvised parking lot and joined the trickle of cars leaving the property.
By wearing Franco's clothing, Boikin couldn't track Val's movements via the microchips he had sneaked into his clothing.
"What's the matter, you're not talking to me?" Claudia said.
"Sorry. Was relaxing."
"Vito called. He landed half an hour ago and I told him to file a flight plan to Sarajevo. We will change enroute after leaving Ancona. Is that sneaky enough for you?"
"Quite crafty."
"Rosalia will tell your friends I had to go to my office in Milano and we went by train. It will take them some time to discover my airplane is fixed."
"You're good at misleading people."
"Women must use their brains to survive in a world of predatory men."
"Not all men are predatory."
"A few men are saintly. You for example. You missed your calling, you should have been a priest."
Val turned sharply to look at Claudia. "How do you figure that?"
"With all the time we have spent together, except for yesterday, you have never made a pass."
"And that bothers you."
The car bumped across cattle guards, and they entered the paved road. Claudia turned on the headlights and accelerated. "Men always make passes at me, it gets boring. They say I'm exotic."
Val shifted in his seat.
"You don't think I'm exotic?"
"Most men would find you attractive."
"Bene, next month I have a show in Dubai. Is not as crazy as the Paris Fashion Week but the sheiks and princes will shower me with invitations to spend time on their yachts and villas in the Antilles."
If we're still alive in a month. "I suppose the fashion business has its glamorous social whirl."
Claudia laughed. "Social whirl? It has the glamour of an elegant whorehouse."
"A colorful description."
"It's full of women who know they depreciate with each year and men so insecure of their manhood they must proposition every skirt they meet.
"Not like you, who appears to be a worm book but that is a wrong impression. Now is time to be honest. What is the connection of your penis enlargement meeting and David's and Franco's murders?"
"I think David Hermann wanted to protect Franco from the repercussions of something that happened during World War Two. That's why he convinced me to write the book about Franco. Hermann wanted to create the illusion that Franco was somewhere else and not involved in this event."
Val paused, he was still trying to put the puzzle together. The pieces that didn't fit in the puzzle were the Russian and French involvement.
It had grown dark and they were now on the main road to Grosseto.
"I still don't know, but I hope to find another piece to the puzzle. Once I have most of the pieces, I will know who ordered the murders."

#

A bowser truck was still pumping fuel into Claudia's Piaggio when they arrived.
"Fueling will be done in five minutes, Contessa" Vito said holding Claudia's door open.
"Grazie, you may go home now."
Claudia opened the trunk and took a small suitcase out. She said to Val. "Rosalia packed the few things you have."
Val looked into the trunk and closed his eyes. Bloody microchips would be telling Boikin they were at the airport.
"Valentino, what's the matter. You look like you have seen a ghost."
"We'll leave my jacket and trousers here. And let's get out in a hurry."

Chapter 31

The one hour and thirty minutes flight across Italy, then over the Adriatic had been uneventful. Val enjoyed sitting in the darkened cockpit from where, even at night, the view was spectacular.
He was also glad not have to talk with Claudia who had enough to do as she handled the airplane and communications by herself.
The lights on the Croatian coast were in sight briefly before vanishing under a veil of silver cloud lit by a new moon. The airplane shook a little as it settled inside puffy cloud tops. After ten minutes of flying blind, they broke out of the clouds. In front, the runway was lit up like a welcome marquee. Once again, Val was impressed by the technology of blind flight, how a pilot could find a precise spot hundreds if not thousands of miles away without seeing a thing. And he marveled at the woman who could do all these things.
It wouldn't take Boikin long to discover they had flown to Split. Val decided to use his real passport to enter Croatia.
Claudia parked to the side of the passenger terminal. Reluctantly, Val stuck the pistol into a small locker on the side of the copilot's seat. "Thanks for the ride, have a nice flight back."
Claudia looked up from the logbook she was filling out. "What is the matter with you? I'm coming, too."
"No, you're safe with Boikin, Shapquine and the Butteri."
"You need a complete examination of your head. I flew you in and will fly you back."
"But--"
"Basta! Claudia slapped the logbook shut.
Seeing that arguing was hopeless, Val shrugged and wiggled out of his seat.

#

Done with customs and emigration, they stepped out of the passenger terminal where the overhang was held up by illuminated futuristic columns that looked like giant martini glasses. Claudia said, "I know a little hotel which is quite charming."
"We won't go there." Val took Claudia firmly by the arm and made her stop as she extended her other arm to flag a taxi.
"Why not?" She looked at him, a puzzled frown on her face.
"First things first. We'll wait a few minutes and choose a taxi instead of the taxi choosing us. Then we go to the hotel Split to make the driver think we are staying there. After that we'll walk and find a place to stay."
But I like the Adriatica."
"They know you there. You are now Mrs. Diaz from Argentina. That way if the other team will look for us, we simply vanish in this charming town."
A chilling gust of wind made Val shiver, he shook his head at a taxi driver who yelled, "Taxi?"
Other people were coming out of the terminal and taking taxis. Except for his black suit, Val thought, they weren't too conspicuous.
"And by chance, are you Mr. Diaz?"
"Yes, ma-am."
"And you plan for us to stay in one room?"
"Yes, ma-am."
"You are taking too many indecent liberties."
"Okay, you wanted to come with me. Now you can go to your charming hotel but I will try to hide. So when the bad guys come they'll only have you to amuse themselves with."
"I will amuse myself when I watch how they enlarge your penis."
"Come." Val marched to the second cab waiting in line.
"Valentino, we don't go to the Split Hotel but to the bus station."
"What for?"
When taxi driver is questioned, he will tell people we left town by bus, capice?"
"That makes sense." Val hated to admit Claudia was better at this business than he was.
Thirty minutes later, he watched the taxi drive off and the driver thinking they were taking a bus to Zadar.
"Now, Señor Diaz, we go up the street into the old city where I pretend to be Señora Diaz and we look for an adequately seedy hotel suitable for immoral purposes. This is the first time in my life I go into a hotel and use a false name."
"You have to start sometime."
The streets were empty. Not auguring well, like a rattlesnake, cold wind rustled in the palm trees lining the waterfront promenade. Val was eager to get off the streets, out of sight and out of the cold. The more he thought about it, the surer he became this was a trap. A soldier survives by having good instincts, his grandfather had said many times.
Two blocks from the seafront, they found a small hotel. A desk clerk well past retirement age hardly looked at the blue passport Val presented, accepted euros as payment in advance, gave Val a key and mumbled something in Croatian.
Room 12 was a corner room on the second floor. The furniture was modest but it was clean.
Claudia stood in the middle of the room and looked around. "This room doesn't even have a decent chair for you to sleep on."
"Like a good war-horse I'll sleep standing up."
"In this wintertime it looks like everything is already closed." Claudia sighed loudly. "So there goes my dream of a cozy quiet cognac in pleasant surroundings." She took her large shoulder bag and placed it on a chest of drawers.
Val spotted an electric space heater and turned it on.
"Even though I'm not an experienced Argentinean bride, I am an experienced traveler." She produced a pint bottle of cognac out of her bag.
To his surprise, Val found a couple of glasses in the bathroom. Returning to the bedroom, he said, "We have the basics, and you have me as your brilliant and entertaining drinking companion."
Claudia sat on the bed, opened the bottle and patted the space next to her. Val sat down and held the glasses while she poured healthy dollops.
"Well, Señor Diaz," Claudia took one of the glasses and raised it, "You do bring quick changes into my life. From grieving widow to blushing Argentinean bride." She clinked glasses. "Here's to us."
Val's gut tightened. He nodded wondering what she meant and drank a large sip.
She put her glass down on a nightstand and placed her hand on Val's knee. "You may think I'm a harlot. I'm glad we left San Luca where I had to play a role. Not that I didn't love Franco. I did, I still do. He was a wonderful man. But he was not my lover." Claudia paused and her lower lip trembled. "Val, I only tell you so that you understand."
Val nodded cautiously.
Her fingers dug into his leg.
"You won't tell anyone?"
Val hated making promises over something he was about to learn.
"Promise you won't tell."
Reluctantly, Val said, "Yes."
Claudia nodded and bit her lip. "Val, Franco . . . he couldn't do it."
His astonishment must have shown, for Claudia said, "You don't believe me?"
"I should have guessed, I imagine at his age--"
"Nothing to do with age."
Even when he could understand the frustration and the lowering of self esteem of a woman who could not arouse her husband, the sharpness of her retort surprised Val. "I see," he said softly.
She shook her head. "No, you don't see." Her mouth curved into a bitter smile. "You only see me and only part of my suffering."
Though she sat next to him, Claudia seemed to float some distance away, her voice an echo off the walls. "You can't understand the intense loyalty I had for that man."
"It must have been frustrating."
"You don't know the pain he suffered. A mental agony. A lifetime of agony. Once he said I should go out and get pregnant. Of course, I didn't do it." She gulped a good portion of cognac.
"Do you understand now what I want, what I need?"
"I think so."