When disaster strikes, you can usually look back and pinpoint exactly where it starts to unravel, where one unlucky event sets off the sequence leading inevitably to disaster. As the saying goes, For want of a nail, the shoe was lost, and it’s true; the smallest detail, overlooked, can doom a horse, a soldier, a battle. But on that June evening in Rome, with our target in sight, the battle seemed ours to win. Inside La Nonna, Icarus and his party were finishing up their desserts. We were all in position when they finally emerged, the bodyguards first, followed by Icarus with his wife and sons. A heavy meal, washed down with glasses of excellent wine, had rendered Icarus mellow that evening, and he did not stop to scan his surroundings, but headed directly to his car. He helped his wife, Lucia, and their two sons into the Volvo, then slid behind the steering wheel. Right behind him, the bodyguards climbed into their BMW. Icarus was the first to pull away, into the road. At that instant the produce truck veered into position, lurching to an angled stop that blocked the BMW.
