Honor Among Thieves

“Thank you,” he said as Susan reappeared by his side.

She linked her arm in his as they walked towards the taxis parked in the cobblestone driveway. The doorman opened the back door of the first taxi as Scott once again kissed Susan on the cheek.

“See you soon, I hope.”

“That will depend on the Secretary of State,” said Susan with a grin as she stepped into the back of the taxi. The doorman closed the door behind her and Scott waved as the car disappeared down Massachusetts Avenue.

Scott took a deep breath of Washington air and felt that after two meals a walk around the block wouldn’t do him any harm. His mind switched constantly between Saddam and Susan, neither of whom he felt he had the full measure of.

He strolled back into the Ritz Carlton about twenty minutes later, but before going up to his room he returned to the restaurant and handed the maître d’ a twenty-dollar bill.

“Thank you, sir,” she said. “I hope you enjoyed both meals.”

“If you ever need a day job,” Scott said, “I know an outfit in Virginia that could make good use of your particular talents.” The maître d’ bowed. Scott left the restaurant, took the elevator to the fifth floor and strolled down the corridor to room 505.

When he removed his key from the lock and pushed the door open he was surprised to find he’d left a light on. He took his jacket off and walked down the short passageway into the bedroom. He stopped and stared at the sight that met him. Susan was sitting up in bed in a rather sheer negligee, reading his notes on the afternoon’s meeting, her glasses propped on the end of her nose. She looked up and gave Scott a disarming smile.

“The Secretary of State told me that I was to find out as much as I possibly could about you before our next meeting.”

“When’s your next meeting?”

“Tomorrow morning, nine sharp.”

Chapter Eight

Button Gwinnett was proving to be a problem. The writing was spidery and small, and the “G” sloped forward. It was several hours before Dollar Bill was willing to transfer the signature onto the two remaining parchments. In the days that followed, he used fifty-six different shades of ink and subtle changes of pressure on the dozen nibs he tried out before he felt happy with Lewis Morris, Abraham Clark, Richard Stockton and Caesar Rodney. But he felt his masterpiece was undoubtedly John Hancock, in size, accuracy, shade and pressure.

The Irishman completed two copies of the Declaration of Independence forty-eight days after he had accepted a drink from Angelo Santini at a downtown bar in San Francisco.

“One is a perfect copy,” he told Angelo, “while the other has a tiny flaw.”

Angelo stood looking at the two documents in amazement, unable to think of the words that would adequately express his admiration.

“When William J. Stone was asked to make a copy back in 1820, it took him nearly three years,” said Dollar Bill. “And, more important, he had the blessing of Congress.”

“Are you going to tell me the one difference between the final copy you’ve chosen and the original?”

“No, but I will tell you it was William J. Stone who pointed me in the right direction.”

“So what’s next?” asked Angelo.

“Patience,” said the craftsman, “because our little soufflé needs time to rise.”

Angelo watched as Dollar Bill transferred the two parchments carefully onto a table in the center of the room where he had rigged up a water-cooled Xenon lamp. “This gives out a light similar to daylight, but of much greater intensity,” he explained. He flicked the switch on and the room lit up like a television studio. “If I’ve got my calculations right,” said Bill, “that should achieve in thirty hours what nature took over two hundred years to do for the original.” He smiled. “Certainly enough time to get drunk.”

“Not yet,” said Angelo, hesitating. “Mr. Cavalli has one more request.”

“And what might that be?” asked Dollar Bill in his warm Irish brogue.

He listened to Mr. Cavalli’s latest whim with interest. “I feel I ought to be paid double under the circumstances,” was the forger’s only respo

nse.

“Mr. Cavalli has agreed to pay you another ten thousand,” said Angelo.

Dollar Bill looked down at the two copies, shrugged his shoulders and nodded.

Thirty-six hours later, the chairman and the chief executive of Skills boarded a shuttle for Washington.