They call it the Cold War. Meaning substantially bloodless, right? Wrong. No war is ever bloodless, and certainly no war is ever cold. The hottest front? Clearly, it’s Italy: the Belpaese, an eternal crossroads of intrigues and deceptions, conspiracies and plots. That pleasant place where one of the most illustrious and esteemed fathers of the Republic is a “deep undercover” agent of the STASI, the famous and notorious secret service of East Germany. Where the chief of the General Staff prepares a brutal contra-coup in the name, and there’s no doubt about this, of peace/liberty/democracy etc. Where an eclectic colonel of the bloodthirsty Argentine dictatorship acts as a field consultant for the forces meant to safeguard «Western civilization» (or any imitation of it). Where a patriotic high officer of the SISMI makes moves from the shadows like a deus ex machina from Hell. At the nucleus of this vortex, is the mysterious and lethal Dossier Ksenofont that can unleash an unimaginable earthshaking power and which must not fall into the wrong hands. At the heart of the labyrinth, absolute power, a dark object of desire that fatally «undermines those who don’t have it». But when one passes from the Chinese boxes to the theatre of shadows, when the dark enemies of the past become the ambiguous allies of the present, when yesterday’s convenient assassins rise to become the imperishable dominators of tomorrow, the stuff of reality is twisted, altered, destroyed. The final result? A cynical Moloch of mystified reality. And a demolished society. Written by an author destined to become a cult, a thriller that is a corrosive and iconoclastic voyage through secret services deviated with premeditation and cynically artificial politics, through set-pieces of armchair terrorism and metaphysical lies set up at the photocopier. A political thriller that will mark an epoch. Ours, and not only ours.