“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 on 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 center 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 that they were alone. He was sweating as if he had just finished a five-mile jog, not traveled 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 the 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 jelly.
Cavalli dialed 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 at your end.”
“It certainly is, Mr. Butterworth. Every member of my staff has been instructed to be at his desk 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 around the whole building in fifty minutes, because I feel certain 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.”