Honour Among Thieves (19 page)

‘And,
if all goes to plan, the Declaration of Independence as well,’ said Cavalli.
‘Then what happens?’ he asked, wanting to be sure that nothing had changed
since their final board meeting in New York.

‘The
limos leave Washington by six separate routes,’ continued Al. ‘Three of them
return to the capital during the afternoon, but not until they’ve changed their
licence plates; two others go on to New York, and one drives to a destination
known only to you; that will be the vehicle carrying the Declaration.’

‘If
it all runs as smoothly as that, Al, you’ll have earned your money. But it
won’t, and that’s when we’ll really find out how good you are.’ He nodded as Al
left to grab a mug of coffee and rejoin his men.

Cavalli
checked his watch: 7.22. When he looked up he saw Johnny heading towards him,
red in the face. Thank God I don’t have to work in Hollywood, thought Cavalli.

‘I’m
having trouble with a cop who says I can’t put my lighting equipment on the
sidewalk until 9.30 a.m. That means I won’t be able to begin filming until
after ten, and if I’ve only got forty-five minutes to start with...’

‘Calm
down, Johnny,’ said Cavalli, and checked his list of personnel. He looked up
and began to search the crowd of workers that was flowing off Freedom Plaza
onto the pavement. He spotted the man he needed. ‘You see the tall guy with
grey hair practising his charm on Debbie?’ he said, pointing.

‘Yeah,’
said Johnny.

‘That’s
Tom Newbolt, ex-Deputy Chief of the DCPD, now a security consultant. We’ve
hired him for the day. So go and tell him what your problem is, and then we’ll
find out if he’s worth the five thousand dollars his company is charging me.’

Cavalli
smiled as Johnny stormed off in Newbolt’s direction.

Angelo
stood over the slumbering body. He leaned across, grabbed Dollar Bill’s
shoulders, and began to shake him furiously.

The
little Irishman was belching out a snore that sounded more like an old tractor
than a human being. Angelo leaned closer, only to find Dollar Bill smelt as if
he had spent a night in the local brewery.

Angelo
realised that he should never have left Bill the previous evening, even for a
moment. If he didn’t get the bastard to the Archives on time, Cavalli would
kill them both. He even knew who’d carry out the job, and the method she would
use. He went on shaking, but Dollar Bill’s eyes remained determinedly closed.

At
eight o’clock a klaxon sounded and the film crew took a break for breakfast.

‘Thirty
minutes. Union regulations,’ explained Johnny when Cavalli looked exasperated.
The crew surrounded a parked trailer – another expensive import -on the
pavement, where they were served eggs, ham and hash browns. Cavalli had to
admit that the crowds gathered behind the police barriers and the passers-by
lingering on the pavement never seemed to doubt for a moment that this was a
film crew getting ready for a shoot.

Cavalli
decided to use the thirty-minute break to check for himself that, once the cars
had turned right on 7th Street, they could not be seen by anyone involved in
the filming back on Pennsylvania Avenue.

He
strode briskly away from the commotion, and when he reached the corner of 7th
Street he turned right. It was as if he’d entered a different world. He joined
a group of people who were quite unaware of what was taking place less than
half a mile away. It was just like Washington on a normal Tuesday morning. He
was pleased to spot Andy Borzello sitting on the bench in the bus shelter near
the loading dock entrance to the National Archives, reading the Washington
Post.

By
the time Cavalli had returned, the film crew were beginning to move back and
start their final checks; no one wanted to be the person responsible for a
retake.

The
crowds at the barriers were growing thicker by the minute, and the police spent
a considerable amount of their time explaining that a film was going to be
shot, but not for at least another couple of hours. Several people looked
disappointed at this information and moved on, only to allow others to take up
the places they had vacated.

Cavalli’s
cellular phone began ringing. He pressed the talk button and was greeted by the
sound of his father’s Brooklyn vowels. The chairman was cautious over the
phone, and simply asked if there were any problems.

‘Several,’
admitted Tony. ‘But none so far that we hadn’t anticipated or can’t overcome.’

‘Don’t
forget, cancel the entire operation if you’re not satisfied with the response
to your nine o’clock phone call. Either way, he mustn’t be allowed to return to
the White House.’ The line went dead. Cavalli knew that his father was right on
both counts.

Cavalli
checked his watch again: 8.43. He strolled over to Johnny.

‘I’m
going across to the Willard. I don’t expect to be too long, so just keep things
rolling. By the way, I see you got all your equipment on the sidewalk.’

‘Sure
thing,’ said Johnny. ‘Once Newbolt talked to that cop, he even helped us carry
the damn stuff.’

Cavalli
smiled and began walking towards the National Theater on the way to the Willard
Hotel. Gino Sartori was coming in the opposite direction.

‘Gino,’
Cavalli said, stopping to face the ex-Marine. ‘Are all your men ready?’

‘Every
one of the bastards.’

‘And
can you guarantee their silence?’

‘Like
the grave. That is, if they don’t want to end up digging their own.’

‘So
where are they now?’

‘Coming
from eight different directions. All of them are due to report to me by
nine-thirty. Smart dark suits, sober ties, and holsters that aren’t too
obvious.’

‘Let
me know the moment they’re all signed in.’

‘Will
do,’ said Gino.

Cavalli
continued his journey to the Willard Hotel, and after checking his watch again
began to lengthen his stride.

He
strolled into the lobby, and found Rex Butterworth marching nervously up and
down the centre of the hall as if his sole aim in life was to wear out the
blue-and-gold carpet. He looked relieved when he saw Cavalli, and joined him as
he strode towards the elevator.

‘I
told you to sit in the corner and wait, not parade up and down in front of
every freelance journalist looking for a story.’

Butterworth
mumbled an apology as they stepped into the elevator and Cavalli pressed button
eleven. Neither of them spoke again until they were safely inside 1137, the
room in which Cavalli had spent the previous night.

Cavalli
looked more carefully at Rex Butterworth now they were alone. He was sweating
as if he had just finished a five-mile jog, not travelled up eleven floors in
an elevator.

‘Calm
down,’ said Cavalli. ‘You’ve played your part well so far. Only one more phone
call and you’re through. You’ll be on your flight to Rio before the first
outrider even reaches the National Archives. Now, are you clear about what you
have to say to Marshall?’

Butterworth
took out some handwritten notes, mouthed a few words and said, ‘Yes, I’m clear
and I’m ready.’ He was shaking like a jelly.

Cavalli
dialled the private number of the Archivist’s office half a mile away, and when
he heard the first ring, passed the receiver over to Butterworth. They both
listened to the continuing ringing. Eventually Cavalli put his hand out to take
back the receiver. They would have to try again in a few minutes’ time.
Suddenly there was a click and a voice said, ‘Calder Marshall speaking.’

Cavalli
went into the bathroom and picked up the extension. ‘Good morning, Mr Marshall.
It’s Rex Butterworth at the White House, just checking everything’s all set up
and ready your end.’

‘It
certainly is, Mr Butterworth. Every member of my staff has been instructed to
be at their desks by nine o’clock sharp. In fact, I’ve seen most of them
already, but only my deputy and the Senior Conservator know the real reason
I’ve asked them all not to be late this morning.’

‘Well
done,’ said Butterworth. ‘The President is running on time and we anticipate he
will be with you around ten, but I’m afraid he still has to be back at the
White House by eleven.’

‘By
eleven, of course,’ said the Archivist. ‘I only hope we can get him round the
whole building in fifty minutes, because I expect there are many of my staff
who would like to meet him.’

‘We’ll
just have to hope that fifty minutes is enough time to fit them all in,’ said
Butterworth. ‘Can I assume that there are still no problems with the
President’s personal request?’

‘None
that I’m aware of,’ said Marshall. ‘The Conservator is quite happy to remove
the glass so that the President can study the parchment in its original form.
We’ll keep the Declaration in the vault until the President has left the
building. I hope to have the document back on view to the general public a few
minutes after he departs.’

‘It
sounds to me as if you have everything under control, Mr Marshall,’ said Butterworth,
the sweat pouring off his forehead. ‘I’m just off to see the President, so I’m
afraid I’ll be out of contact for the rest of the morning, but let’s talk again
this afternoon and you can tell me how it all went.’

Cavalli
placed the phone on the side of the bath and bolted back into the bedroom,
coming to a halt in front of the President’s Special Assistant. Butterworth
looked terrified. Cavalli shook his head frantically from side to side.

‘Actually,
now that I look at my schedule, Mr Marshall, I see you won’t be able to reach
me again today because I promised my wife I’d leave the office a little earlier
than usual to prepare for our annual vacation which begins tomorrow.’

‘Oh.
Where are you going?’ asked Marshall, innocently.

‘Off
to see my mother in Charleston. But I feel confident that the President’s visit
to the Archives will be a great success. Why don’t we get together as soon as
I’m back?’

‘I
would enjoy that,’ said Marshall. ‘And I do hope you have a pleasant break in
South Carolina; the azaleas should still be blooming.’

‘Yes,
I suppose they will,’ said Butterworth as he watched Cavalli pulling a finger
across his throat. ‘My other line is ringing,’ he added, and without another
word put the phone down.

‘You
said too much, you fool. We don’t ever want him trying to contact you again.’

Butterworth
looked apprehensive.

‘How
long will it be before the White House wonders where you are?’ asked Cavalli.

‘At
least a week,’ replied Butterworth. ‘I really am due for my annual leave, and
even my boss thinks I’m going to Charleston.’

‘Well,
that’s something you did right,’ said Cavalli, as he handed Butterworth a
one-way ticket to Rio de Janeiro and a letter of confirmation that the sum of
nine hundred thousand dollars had been deposited in the Banco do Brazil.

‘I
have to get back to the set,’ said Cavalli. ‘You stay put for ten minutes and
then take a taxi to Dulles airport. And when you get to Brazil, don’t spend all
the money on a girl. And Rex, don’t even think about coming back. If you do, it
won’t just be the Feds who are waiting for you at the airport.’

Angelo
had somehow managed to get Dollar Bill dressed, but he still stank of Guinness,
and he certainly didn’t look like the President’s personal physician – or
anybody else’s physician for that matter.

‘Sorry,
lad. Sorry, lad,’ Dollar Bill kept repeating. ‘I hope this won’t get you into
any trouble.’

‘It
will if you don’t sober up in time to play your part and see that the parchment
is transferred into the special cylinder. Because if Cavalli ever finds out I
wasn’t with you last night, you’re dead, and more important, so am I.’

‘Settle
down, lad, and just make me a Bloody Mary. Two parts tomato juice and one part
vodka. I’ll be as right as rain in no time, you’ll see.’ Angelo looked doubtful
as the little man’s head fell back on the pillow.

As
Cavalli closed the door of room 1137, a woman pushing a large laundry basket
passed him in the corridor. He took the lift to the ground floor and walked
straight out of the hotel. The first thing he saw as he left the Willard and
crossed the plaza that divided the hotel from Pennsylvania Avenue was that the
morning traffic was backed up for half a mile down 15th Street.

Al
and Johnny came running towards him from different directions. ‘What’s going
on?’ were Cavalli’s first words.

‘Normal
morning traffic coming in from Virginia, the police assure us, except we’re
blocking a lane and a half with our twelve vehicles and six outriders.’

‘Damn,
my mistake,’ said Cavalli. ‘I should have anticipated it. So what do you
suggest, Al?’

‘I
send my boys over to Atlantic Garage on 13 th and F until the police get the
traffic on the move again, and then bring them back nearer the starting time.’

‘It’s
a hell of a risk,’ said Johnny. ‘That permit only allows me to film for forty-five
minutes, and they aren’t going to stretch it by a second.’