on who knows every part of the plan, and I’m sure not watching this one from the sidewalk.”
“A question,” said Gino. “If, and I say only if, I am able to supply the twenty or so people you need, tell me this: when we reach the National Archives, are they just going to open the doors, invite us in and then hand over the Declaration of Independence?”
“Something like that,” replied Cavalli. “My father taught me that the successful conclusion of any enterprise is always in the preparation. I still have one more surprise for you.” Once again he had their undivided attention. “We have our own Special Assistant to the President in the White House: his name is Rex Butterworth, and he’s on temporary assignment from the Department of Commerce for six months. He returns to his old job when the Clinton nominee has completed his contract in Little Rock and joins the President’s staff. That’s another reason why we have to go in May.”
“Convenient,” said Frank.
“Not particularly,” said Cavalli. “It turns out that the President has forty-six Special Assistants at any one time, and when Clinton made his interest in commerce clear, Butterworth volunteered for the job. He’s fixed a few overseas contracts for us in the past, but this will be the biggest thing he’s done for us yet. For obvious reasons, it will also have to be his last assignment.”
“Can he be trusted?” asked Frank.
“He’s been on the payroll for the last fifteen years, and his third wife is proving rather expensive.”
“Show me one who isn’t,” said Al.
“Butterworth’s looking for a big payday to get himself out of trouble, and this is it. And that brings me to you, Mr. Vicente, and your skills as one of the biggest tour operators in Manhattan.”
“That’s the legit side of my business,” replied the elderly man who sat on the right of the chairman, as befitted his oldest friend.
“Not for what I have in mind,” promised Tony. “Once we have the Declaration in our possession, we’ll need it kept out of sight for a few days and then smuggled abroad.”
“As long as no one realizes it’s been removed and I’m told well in advance where you want it delivered, that should be simple enough.”
“You’ll get a week,” said Cavalli.
“I’d prefer two,” said Vicente, raising an eyebrow.
“No, Nick, you get a week,” the chief executive repeated.
“Can you give me a clue what distance it will have to travel?” Vicente asked, turning the pages of the file Tony had passed across to him.
“Several thousand miles. And as far as you’re concerned it’s COD, because if you fail to deliver, none of us gets paid.”
“That figures. But I’ll still need to know how it has to be transported. For starters, will I have to keep the Declaration between two sheets of glass the whole time?”
“I don’t know myself yet,” replied Cavalli, “but I’m hoping you’ll be able to roll it up and deposit it in a cylindrical tube of some kind. I’m having one specially made.”
“Does that explain why I’ve got several sheets of blank paper in my file?” asked Nick.
“Yes,” said Tony. “Except those sheets aren’t paper but parchment, each one of them 293/4 inches by 241/4 inches, the exact size of the Declaration of Independence.”
“So now all I’ve got to hope is that every customs agent and coast guard patrol won’t be looking for it.”
“I want you to assume the whole world will be looking for it,” replied Cavalli. “You aren’t being paid this sort of money for doing a job I could handle with one call to Federal Express.”
“I thought you might say something like that,” said Nick. “Still, I had the same problem when you wanted the Vermeer of Russborough stolen, and Irish customs still haven’t worked out how I got the painting out of the country.”
Cavalli smiled. “So now we all know what’s expected of us. And I think in the future we should meet at least twice a week to start with, every Sunday at three o’clock and every Thursday at six, to make sure none of us falls behind schedule. One person out of synch and nobody else will be able to move.” Tony looked up and was greeted by nods of agreement.
It always fascinated Cavalli that organized crime needed to be as efficiently run as any public company if it hoped to show a dividend. “So we’ll meet again next Thursday at six?”
All five men nodded and made notes in their calendars.
“Gentlemen, you may now open the second of your two envelopes.” Once again, the five men ripped open their envelopes, and each pulled out a thick wad of thousand-dollar bills.
The lawyer began to count each note.
“Your down payment,” Tony explained. “Expenses will be met at the end of every week, receipts whenever possible. And, Johnny,” said Tony, turning to the director, “this is not Heaven’s Gate we’re financing.” Scasiatore managed a smile.