Honour Among Thieves (22 page)

At
the bottom of the steps, they came to a halt outside a vast steel door at which
an elderly man in a long white coat stood waiting. His eyes lit up when he saw
the actor.

‘This
is Mr Mendelssohn,’ said Marshall. ‘Mr Mendelssohn is the Senior Conservator
and, I confess, the real expert on anything to do with the parchment. He will
be your guide for the next few minutes before we visit the rest of the
building.’

The
actor stepped forward, and once again thrust out his hand. ‘Good to meet you,
Mr Mendelssohn.’

The
elderly man bowed, shook the actor’s hand, and pushed the steel door open.

‘Please
follow me, Mr President,’ he said in a mid-European accent. Once inside the
tiny vault, Cavalli watched his men spread out in a small circle, their eyes
checking everything except the President. Bill O’Reilly, Angelo and Debbie also
took their places as they had rehearsed the previous evening.

Cavalli
quickly glanced at Dollar Bill, who looked as if it was he who might be in need
of a physician.

Mendelssohn
guided the actor towards a massive block of concrete that took up a large area
of the far wall.

He
patted the slab of concrete and explained that the protective shell had been
built at a time when the nation’s greatest fear had been a nuclear attack.

‘The
Declaration is covered in five tons of interlocking leaves of metal, embedded
in the fifty-five-ton concrete and steel vault you see before you. I can assure
you, Mr President,’ Mendelssohn added, ‘if Washington was razed to the ground,
the Declaration of Independence would still be in one piece.’

‘Impressive,’
said Adams, ‘most impressive.’ Cavalli checked his watch; it was 10.24, and
they’d already been inside the building for seventeen minutes. Although the
limousines were waiting, he had no choice but to allow the Conservator to carry
on at his own pace. After all, their hosts were aware of the limitations on the
President’s time if they were still hoping to show him round the rest of the
building.

‘The
entire system, Mr President,’ continued the Conservator enthusiastically, ‘is
worked electronically. At the press of a button, the Declaration, which is
always exhibited and stored in an upright position, travels up from this level
through interlocking doors which open before the document finally comes to rest
in a case of solid bronze, protected by ballistically tested glass and plastic
laminate. Ultra-violet filters in the laminate give the inner layer a slightly
greenish hue.’ The actor looked lost, but Mr Mendelssohn continued, quite
unconcerned. ‘We are presently standing some twenty-two feet below the exhibit
hall, and as the mechanics can be worked manually, I am able to stop the
machinery at any time. With your permission, Mr Marshall.’

The
Archivist nodded, and the Conservator touched a button that neither the actor
nor Cavalli had spotted until that moment. The five-ton leaves began to slide
apart above their heads, and a sudden whirling and clanking sounded as the
massive brass frame that housed the parchment began its daily journey towards
the ceiling. When the frame had reached desk height, Mr Mendelssohn pressed a
second button, and the whirling sound instantly ceased. He then raised an open
palm in the direction of the casing.

Lloyd
Adams took a pace forward and stared across at the nation’s most important
historic document.

‘Now,
remembering your personal wish, Mr President, we in turn have a small request
of you.’

The
actor seemed uncertain what his lines were meant to be, and glanced towards
Cavalli in the wings.

‘And
what might that request be?’ prompted Cavalli, apprehensive of any change of
plan at this late stage.

‘Simply,’
said Mr Mendelssohn, ‘that while the Archivist and I are removing the outer
casing of the Declaration, your men will be kind enough to turn and face the
wall.’

Cavalli
hesitated, aware that the Secret Service would never allow a situation to arise
where they could not see the President at all times.

‘Let
me make it easier for you, Mr Mendelssohn,’ said Adams. ‘I’ll be the first to
comply with your request.’ The actor turned away from the document, and the
rest of the team followed suit.

In
the brief space of time that the team were unable to see what was going on
behind them, Cavalli heard twelve distinct clicks and the exaggerated sighs of
two men not used to moving heavy weights.

‘Thank
you, Mr President,’ said Calder Marshall. ‘I hope that didn’t put you to too
much inconvenience.’

The
thirteen intruders turned round to face the massive frame. The bronze casing
had been lifted over to leave the impression of an open book.

Lloyd
Adams, with Cavalli and Dollar Bill a pace behind, stepped forward to admire
the original while Marshall and the Conservator continued to stare at the old
parchment. Suddenly, without warning, the actor reeled back, clutching his
throat, and collapsed to the ground. Four of the Secret Service agents
immediately surrounded Adams while the other four bundled the Archivist and the
Conservator out of the vault and into the corridor before they could utter a
word. Tony had to admit Johnny was right – it had been a bad case of
overacting.

Once
the door was closed, Cavalli turned to see Dollar Bill already staring at the
parchment, his eyes alight with excitement, the Lieutenant by his side.

‘Time
for us to get to work, Angelo,’ said the Irishman. He stretched his fingers out
straight. The Lieutenant removed a pair of thin rubber gloves from the doctor’s
bag and pulled them over his hands. Dollar Bill wiggled his fingers like a
concert pianist about to begin a recital. Once the gloves were in place, Angelo
bent down again and lifted a long, thin knife out of the bag, placing the
handle firmly in Dollar Bill’s right hand.

While
these preparations were being carried out, Dollar Bill’s eyes had never once
left the document. Those who remained in the room were so silent that it felt
like a tomb as the forger leaned over towards the parchment and placed the
blade of the knife gently under the top right-hand corner. It peeled slowly
back, and he transferred the knife to the left-hand corner, and that too came
cleanly away. Dollar Bill passed the knife back to Angelo before he began
rolling the parchment up slowly and as tightly as he could without harming it.

At
the same time, Angelo flicked back the handle of his dress sword and held the
long shaft out in front of him. Cavalli took a pace forward and slowly pulled
out Dollar Bill’s counterfeit copy from the specially constructed chamber where
the sword’s blade would normally have lodged.

Cavalli
and Dollar Bill exchanged their prizes and reversed the process. While Cavalli
slid the original Declaration inch by inch down the scabbard of the dress
sword, Dollar Bill began to unroll his fake carefully onto the backplate of the
laminated glass, the moist chemical mixture helping the document to remain in
place. The counterfeiter sniffed loudly. The strong smell suggested thymol to
his sensitive nose. Dollar Bill gave his copy one more long look, checked the
spelling correction and then took a pace backward, reluctantly leaving his
masterpiece to the tender care of the National Archives and its concrete
prison.

Once
he had completed his task Dollar Bill walked quickly over to the side of Lloyd
Adams. Debbie had already undone his collar, loosened his tie and applied a
little pale foundation to his face. The forger bent down on one knee, took off
the rubber gloves and dropped them into a physician’s bag full of make-up as
Cavalli dialled a number on his cellphone.

It
was answered even before he heard a ring, but Cavalli could only just make out
a faint voice.

‘Take
two,’ said Cavalli firmly, and rang off before pointing at the door. One of the
Secret Service agents swung the steel grid wide open and Cavalli watched
carefully as Mr Mendelssohn came charging through the gap and headed straight
to the brass encasement, while Marshall, who was pale and quivering, went
immediately to the side of the President.

Cavalli
was relieved to see a smile come across the lips of the Conservator as he
leaned over the fake Declaration. With the help of Angelo, he pulled the brass
casing across and gave the manuscript a loving stare before fixing the lid back
into place, then quickly tightened the twelve locks around the outside of the
casing. He pressed one of the buttons and the whirling and clanking noise began
again as the massive brass frame slowly disappeared back into the ground.

Cavalli
turned his attention to the actor and watched as two of the Secret Service
agents helped him to his feet, while Dollar Bill fastened his physician’s bag.

‘What
chemical is it that protects the parchment?’ asked Dollar Bill.

‘Thymol,’
replied the Archivist.

‘Of
course, I should have guessed. With the President’s allergy problem, I might
have expected this reaction. Don’t panic. As long as we get him out in the
fresh air as quickly as possible, he’ll be back to normal in no time.’

‘Thank
God for that,’ said Marshall, who hadn’t stopped shaking.

‘Amen,’
said the little Irishman as the actor was helped towards the door.

Marshall
quickly rushed to the front and led them back up the stairs, with the Secret
Service agents following as close behind as possible.

Cavalli
left Lloyd Adams stumbling behind him while he caught up with the Archivist. ‘No
one, I repeat, no one, must hear about this incident,’ he said, running by
Marshall’s side. ‘Nothing could be more damaging to the President when he has
only been in office for such a short time, especially remembering what Mr Bush
went through after his trip to Japan.’

‘After
his trip to Japan. Of course, of course.’

‘If
any of your staff should ask why the President didn’t complete his tour of the
building, stick to the line that he was called back to the White House on
urgent business.’

‘Called
back on urgent business. Of course,’ said Marshall, who was now whiter than the
actor.

Cavalli
was relieved to find his earlier orders about no staff being allowed in the
lower corridor while the President was in the building still remained in force.

Once
they had reached the freight elevator, and all the group were inside, they
descended to the level of the loading dock. Cavalli sprinted out ahead of them
and up the ramp onto 7th Street.

He
was annoyed to find that there was still a small crowd on the far pavement, and
no sign of the motorcade. He looked anxiously to his right, where Andy was now
standing on the bench, pointing towards Pennsylvania Avenue. Cavalli turned to
look in the same direction and saw the first motorcycle escort turning right
into 7th Street.

He
ran back down the ramp to find Lloyd Adams next to a Federal Express pick-up
box, being propped up by two Secret Service agents.

‘Let’s
make it snappy,’ said Cavalli. ‘There’s a small crowd out there and they’re
beginning to wonder what’s going on.’ He turned to face the Archivist, who was
standing next to the Conservator on the loading dock.

‘Please
remember, the President was called back to the White House on urgent business.’
They both nodded vigorously. Four of the Secret Service agents rushed forward
just as the third car, engine running, pulled up to the loading dock at the
bottom of the ramp.

Cavalli
opened the door of the third limousine and frantically waved the actor in. The
lead riders on the motorcycles held up the traffic as the final car came to a
halt at the mouth of the delivery entrance. As Lloyd Adams was assisted into
the limousine, the small crowd on the other side of the road began pointing and
clapping.

One
of the Secret Service agents nodded back in the direction of the building.
Angelo jumped into the second car, still clinging onto the sword, while Dollar
Bill and the secretary piled into the fourth. By the time Cavalli had joined
Angelo in the back of the second car and given the signal to move, the
motorcycle escort was already in the middle of 7th Street holding up the
traffic to allow the motorcade to proceed towards Constitution Avenue. As the
sirens blared and the limousines began their journey down 7th Street, Cavalli
looked back and was relieved to see there was no longer any sign of Marshall or
Mendelssohn.

He
quickly switched his attention to the east side of 7th Street, where Andy was
explaining to the crowd that it had not been the President but simply a
rehearsal for a movie, nothing more. Most of the onlookers showed their obvious
disappointment and quickly began to disperse.

Then
he thought he saw him again. As Cavalli’s car sped down Constitution Avenue,
the lead police car was already turning right into 14th Street, accompanied by
two of the outriders. The sirens had been turned off, and the rest of the
motorcade peeled off one by one as they reached their allotted intersections.

The
first car swung right on 9th Street and right again back onto Pennsylvania
Avenue before heading away in the direction of the Capitol. The third continued
on down Constitution Avenue, keeping to the centre lane, while the fourth
turned left onto 12th Street and the sixth right at 13 th.