Chapter OneCrash Landing
"Richard, something bad has happened to one of your Led Zeppelin boys."
Julio Gradaloni had a grim expression on his face as he nervously shuffled through his briefcase, finally pulling out a newspaper and placing it on the table in front of us.
"What do you mean?" I asked him, feeling some anxiety starting to chill my body. "What's happened?"
Julio was my attorney, a stocky, no nonsense lawyer in his middle fifties. He was sitting across from me in the visiting room at Rebibia Prison near Rome. I had been imprisoned there for nearly two months on suspicion of terrorism, of all things. During those weeks behind bars, I was bewildered and frustrated, desperately and futilely trying to convince the police and prosecutors that my a ...
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