Rather than wondering about luxurious fondue, Vico seemed distracted by the architecture of the convention room - or rather, the climbable pillars, the scalable center statue of some nude Adonis-like figure, the ornate tapestries hanging from the ceiling, secured tightly enough and thickly-woven enough to be swung from. He was looking for exits and passageways, and if there had been someone present who knew the telling signs of an assassin, he'd be making a poor show of disguise and subtlety.

The room, though clearly spacious, with high ceilings that opened into a glass roof to let light in, covered partly in turn by what looked like a retractable screen for when shade was required (such as in the case of a movie showing), was filled with people, all looking as mightily important and well-dressed as Adamo, if not more so. There was a carpet along the nearby wall, lined with photographers and celebrities slowly making their way down to their seats, and the quiet chatter of pleasant idle talking rose above the crowd.

"Where is the executive office we are supposed to be infiltrating?" he muttered impatiently, trying to see past the sea of tall shoulders. Everyone here was so tall, so to be fair, he really didn't have much of a choice other than to look higher than their heads, at the balconies and the railings.