This happens. The client tells you money is no object, and suddenly he's going over every bill with an electron microscope. "Mr. Baroom," I explained, "the Knights of Columbus are our foot soldiers in this campaign." It took ten minutes of strenuous client mollification to calm him down. "I thought he was rich," Lorraine said when I hung up. "He wasn't sounding very rich." "He'll feel better when he sees the TV coverage of the Knights pouring into Saint Peter's. Where do we stand with the crucifixes?" "They should get here tomorrow, by FedEx." We'd ordered thousands of crosses made from miniature longboards. They'd be distributed to followers of Cardinal Kanu to wear. If you're going to start a cult, you need gear. These would definitely get all the brahs amped, as they say in surfing circles. Everything was coming together nicely, but I was concerned that the U.S. embassy might expose our operation. I conceived a plan. As the toast goes, "Confusion to the enemy." On the drive out to Fiumicino to greet the Knights, I said to Lorraine, "Listen closely." This is another part of the job I enjoy -- the mentoring process. It's satisfying to help bring young people along. I dialed Angelo. "Angelo," I said in my best conspiratorial voice, "I've just heard from my people. There's a change of plan. They've cut a deal. The operation is off. I repeat, off. Cancelled. We're throwing our support to Verguenza, from Honduras." " Bene ," Angelo said.