Honour Among Thieves (53 page)

The
General had no well-rehearsed answer to the President’s next question, and he
was relieved when the State Prosecutor intervened.

‘Perhaps
we can turn this whole episode to our advantage, Sayedi.’

‘How
can that be possible,’ shouted the President, ‘when two of them have escaped
with the Declaration and left us with a useless copy that anyone who can spell
“British” will immediately realise is a fake? No, it is I who will be made the
laughing stock of the world, not Clinton.’

Everyone’s
eyes were now fixed on the Prosecutor.

‘That
may not necessarily be the case, Mr President. I suspect that when the
Americans see the state of their cherished treasure, they will not be in a
hurry to put it back on display at the National Archives.’

The
President did not interrupt this time, so the Prosecutor continued.

‘We
also know, Mr President, that because of your genius, the parchment currently
on display in Washington to an unsuspecting American public is, to quote you,
“a useless copy that anyone who can spell ‘British’ will immediately realise is
a fake”.’

The
President’s expression was now one of concentration.

‘Perhaps
the time has come, Sayedi, to inform the world’s press of your triumph.’

‘My
triumph?’ said the President in disbelief.

‘Why,
yes, Sayedi. Your triumph, not to mention your magnanimity. After all, it was
you who gave the order to hand over the battered Declaration to Professor
Bradley after the gangster Cavalli had attempted to sell it to you.’

The
President’s expression turned to one of deep thought.

‘They
have a saying in the West,’ added the Prosecutor, ‘about killing two birds with
one stone.’

Another
long silence followed, during which no one offered an opinion until the
President smiled.

T
HE OFFICIAL
STATEMENT issued by the Iraqi government on July 2nd was that there was no
truth in the report that there had been a shooting incident on the border posts
at Kirkuk in which several Iraqi soldiers had been killed and more wounded.

The
Kurdish leaders were unable to offer any opinion on the subject, as the only
two satellite phones in Iraqi Kurdistan had been permanently engaged with
requests for assistance from the State Department in Washington.

When
Charles Streator, the American Ambassador in Istanbul, was telephoned and asked
by the Reuters Bureau Chief in the Middle East why a US Air Force jet had
landed at the American base in Silope on the Turkish border, and then returned
to Washington with two unknown passengers as its cargo, His Excellency told his
old friend that he had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. The Bureau
Chief considered the Ambassador to be an honest man, although he accepted that
it was part of the job to lie for his country.

The
Ambassador had in fact been up all night following a call from the Secretary of
State requesting that one of their helicopters should be despatched to the
outskirts of Kirkuk to pick up five passengers, one American, one Arab and
three Israelis, who were then to be flown back to the base at Silope.

The
Ambassador had called Washington later that morning to inform Warren
Christopher that unfortunately only two people had managed to cross the border
alive: an American named Scott Bradley and an Israeli woman, Hannah Kopec. He
had no information on the other three.

The
American Ambassador was totally thrown by the Secretary of State’s final
question. Did Professor Bradley have a cardboard tube in his possession? The
Ambassador was only disappointed that the Reuters correspondent hadn’t asked
him the same thing, because then he would have been telling him the truth when
he said, Tve absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.’

Scott
and Hannah slept for most of the flight back to America. When they stepped off
the plane at the military air base they found Dexter Hutchins at the bottom of
the steps waiting to greet them. Neither of them was surprised when customs
showed little interest in Scott’s canvas bag. A CIA car whisked them off in the
direction of Washington.

On
the journey into the capital, Dexter warned them that they would be going
direct to the White House for a top-level meeting, and briefed them on who else
would be present.

They
were met at the West Wing reception entrance by the President’s Chief of Staff,
who conducted them to the Oval Office. Scott couldn’t help feeling that, as it
was his first meeting with the President, he would have preferred to have
shaved at some time during the last forty-eight hours, and not to have been
dressed in the same clothes that he’d worn for the past three days.

Warren
Christopher was there to greet them at the door of the Oval Office, and he
introduced Scott to the President as if they were old friends. Bill Clinton
welcomed Scott home, and thanked Hannah for the part she had played in securing
the safe return of the Declaration.

Scott
was delighted to meet Calder Marshall for the first time, Mr Mendelssohn for
the second time, and to be reunited with Dollar Bill.

Dollar
Bill bowed to Hannah. ‘Now I understand why the Professor was willing to cross
the earth to bring you back,’ was all the little Irishman had to say.

The
moment the handshakes were over, none of them could hide their impatience to
see the Declaration. Scott unzipped his bag and carefully took out a bath
towel, from which he extracted the document before handing it over to its
rightful custodian, the Secretary of State. Christopher slowly unrolled the
parchment. No one in the room was able to hide their dismay at the state the
Declaration was in.

The
Secretary passed the document over to the Archivist who, accompanied by the
Conservator and Dollar Bill, walked across to the large window overlooking the
South Lawn. The first word they checked was ‘Brittish’, and the Archivist
smiled.

But
it was only a few moments more before Calder Marshall announced their combined
judgement. ‘It’s a fake,’ was all he said.

‘How
can you be so certain?’ asked the President.

‘Mea
culpa,’ said Dollar Bill, looking a little sheepish.

‘So
does that mean that Saddam is still in possession of the original?’ asked the Secretary
of State in disbelief.

‘No,
sir, he has the copy Scott took to Baghdad,’ said Dollar Bill. ‘So clearly he
was already in possession of a fake before Scott did the exchange.’

‘Then
who has the original?’ the other four asked in unison.

‘Alfonso
Mario Cavaili would be my guess,’ said Dollar Bill.

‘And
who’s he?’ asked the President, no wiser.

‘The
gentleman who paid me to make the copy that is currently in the National
Archives,’ said Dollar Bill, ‘and to whom I released the only other copy, which
I am now holding in my hands.’

‘But
if the word “Brittish” is spelt with two ts, how can you be so certain it’s a
fake?’ asked Dexter Hutchins.

‘Because,
of the fifty-six signatures on the original Declaration, six have the Christian
name George. Five of them signed Geo, which was the custom of the time. Only
George Wythe of Virginia appended his full name. On the copy I presented to
Cavalli I made the mistake of also writing Geo for Congressman Wythe, and had
to add the letters rge later. Although the lettering is perfect, I used a
slightly lighter shade of ink. A simple mistake, and discernible only to an
expert eye.’

‘And
even then, only if they knew what they were looking for,’ added Mendelssohn.

‘I
never bothered to tell Cavalli,’ continued Dollar Bill, ‘because once he had
checked the word “Brittish” he seemed quite satisfied.’

‘So,
at some time Cavalli must have switched his copy with the original, and then
passed it on to Al Obaydi?’ said Dexter Hutchins.

‘Well
done, Deputy Director,’ said Dollar Bill.

‘And
Al Obaydi in turn handed the copy on to the Iraqi Ambassador in Geneva, who had
it delivered to Saddam in Iraq. And, as Al Obaydi had seen Dollar Bill’s copy
on display at the National Archives with “British” spelt correctly, he was
convinced he was in possession of the original,’ said Dexter Hutchins.

‘You’ve
finally caught up with the rest of us,’ said Dollar Bill. ‘Though to be fair,
sir, I should have known what Cavalli was capable of doing when I said to you a
month ago: “Is there no longer honour among thieves?”‘

‘So,
where is the original now?’ demanded the President.

‘I
suspect it’s hanging on a wall in a brownstone house in Manhattan,’ said Dollar
Bill, ‘where it must have been for the past ten weeks.’

The
light on the telephone console to the right of the President began flashing.
The President’s Chief of Staff picked up an extension and listened. The
normally unflappable man turned white. He pushed the hold button.

‘It’s
Bernie Shaw at CNN for me, Mr President. He says Saddam is claiming that the
bombing of Baghdad last weekend was nothing more than a smokescreen set up to
give a group of American terrorists the chance to retrieve the Declaration of
Independence, which a Mafia gang had tried to sell him and which he personally
returned to a man called Bradley. Saddam’s apparently most apologetic about the
state the Declaration is in, but he has television pictures of Bradley spitting
and stamping on it and nailing it to a wall. If you don’t believe him, Saddam
says you can check the copy of the Declaration that’s on display at the
National Archives, because anyone who can spell “British” will realise it’s a
fake. Shaw’s asking if you have any comment to make, as Saddam intends to hold
a press conference tomorrow morning to let the whole world know the truth.’

The
President pursed his lips.

‘My
bet is that Saddam has given CNN an exclusive on this story, but probably only
until tomorrow,’ the Chief of Staff added.

‘Whatever
you do,’ said Hutchins, ‘try to keep it off the air for tonight.’

The
Chief of Staff hesitated for a moment until he saw the President nodding his
agreement. He pressed the button to re-engage the call. ‘If you want to go on
the air with a story like that, Bernie, it’s your reputation on the line, not
mine.’

The
Chief of Staff listened carefully to Shaw’s reply while everyone else in the
room waited in silence.

‘Be
my guest,’ were the last words the Chief of Staff offered before putting the
phone down.

He
turned to the President and told him: ‘Shaw says he will have a crew outside
the National Archives the moment the doors open at ten tomorrow morning, and, I
quote: if the word “British” is spelt correctly, he’ll crucify you.’

The
President glanced up at the carriage clock that stood on the mantelpiece below
the portrait of Abraham Lincoln. It was a few minutes after seven. He swivelled
his chair round to face the Deputy Director of the CIA.

‘Mr
Hutchins,’ he said, ‘you’ve got fifteen hours to stop me being crucified.
Should you fail, I can assure you there won’t be a second coming for me in
three years, let alone three days.’

T
HE LEAK
STARTED in the early morning of Sunday July 4th, in the basement of number 21,
the home of the Prestons, who were on vacation in Malibu.

When
their Mexican housekeeper answered the door a few minutes after midnight, she
assumed the worst. An illegal immigrant with no Green Card lives in daily fear
of a visit from any government official.

The
housekeeper was relieved to discover that these particular officials were only
from the gas company. Without much prompting, she agreed to accompany them down
to the basement of the brownstone and show them where the gas meters were
located.

Once
they had gained entry it only took a few moments to carry out the job. The
loosening of two gas valves ensured a tiny leak which gave off a smell that
would have alarmed any layman. The explosives expert assured his boss that
there was no real cause for concern, as long as the New York Fire Department
arrived within twenty minutes.

The
senior official calmly asked the housekeeper to phone the fire department and
warn them they had a gas leak in number 21 which, if not dealt with quickly,
could cause an explosion. He told her the correct code to give.

The
housekeeper dialled 911, and when she was finally put through to the fire
department, stammered out the problem, adding that it was 21 East 75th, between
Park and Madison.

‘Get
everyone out of the building,’ instructed the Fire Chief, ‘and we’ll be right
over.’

‘Yes,
sir,’ said the housekeeper, not pausing for a moment before fleeing onto the
street. The expert quickly repaired the damage he had caused, but the smell
still lingered.

To
their credit, seven minutes later a New York Fire Department hook and ladder,
sirens blasting, sped into 75 th Street. Once the Fire Chief had carried out an
inspection of the basement of number 21 he agreed with the official – whom he
had never met before – that safety checks would also have to be carried out on
numbers 17, 19, 23 and 25, especially as the gas pipe ran parallel to the
city’s sewerage system.