Honor Among Thieves

“It’s Andy reporting in, boss. I’m still outside the National Archives. Just to let you know it’s no busier than when you checked up an hour ago.”

“At least someone’s awake,” said Cavalli.

“There can’t be more than twenty or thirty people around at the moment.”

“Glad to hear it. But don’t call me again unless something goes wrong.” Cavalli flicked off the phone and tried to remember what it was that had been worrying him before it rang. Eleven vehicles and six outriders were now in place. One vehicle was still missing. But something else was nagging at the back of Cavalli’s mind. He became distracted when an officer standing in the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue began shouting at the top of his voice that he was ready to stop the traffic whenever the director gave the word. Johnny stood up on his chair and pointed frantically to the twelfth car, which remained obstinately stuck in traffic a couple of hundred yards away.

“If you divert the traffic now,” shouted Johnny, “that one’s never going to end up in the motorcade.”

The officer remained in the middle of the road and waved the traffic through as fast as he could in the hope of getting the limousine there quicker, but it didn’t make a lot of difference.

“Extras on the street!” shouted Johnny, and several people whom Cavalli had supposed were members of the public strolled onto the sidewalk and began walking up and down professionally.

Johnny stood up on his chair again and this time turned to face the crowd huddled behind the barriers. An aide handed him a megaphone so that he could address them.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “this is a short cut for a movie about the President going to the Hill to address a joint session of Congress. I’d be grateful if you could wave, clap and cheer as if it were the real President. Thank you.” Spontaneous applause broke out, which made Cavalli laugh for the first time that morning. He hadn’t noticed that the former Deputy Police Chief had crept up behind him during the director’s address. He whispered in his ear, “This is going to cost you a whole lot of money if you don’t pull it off the first time.”

Cavalli turned to face the ex-policeman and tried not to show how anxious he felt.

“The holdup, I mean. If you don’t get the shoot done this morning, the authorities aren’t going to let you go through this charade again for one hell of a time.”

“I don’t need to be reminded of that,” snapped Cavalli. He turned his attention back to Johnny, who had climbed down from his chair and was walking over to take his seat on the tracking dolly, ready to move as soon as the twelfth vehicle was in place. Once again, the aide passed Johnny the megaphone. “This is a final check. Check your positions, please. This is a final check. Everyone ready in car one?” There was a sharp honk in reply. “Car two?” Another honk. “Car three?” Another sharp honk from the driver of Lloyd Adams’s car. Cavalli stared in through the window as the bald actor removed the top of his wig box. “Car four?” Not a sound came from car four.

“Is everyone in car four who should be in car four?” barked the director.

It was then that Cavalli remembered what had been nagging at him; he still hadn’t seen Angelo or Dollar Bill all morning. He should have checked earlier. He hurried towards the director as a naval Lieutenant jumped out of a car which he’d left stranded in the middle of the road. He was six feet tall, with short-cropped hair, wearing a white uniform with a sword swinging by his side and medals for service in Panama and the Gulf on his chest. In his right hand, he carried a black box. A policeman began chasing after him while Dollar Bill, carrying a small leather bag, followed a few yards behind at a slower pace. When Cavalli saw what had happened he changed direction and walked calmly out into the middle of the road, and the naval officer came to a halt by his side.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” barked Cavalli.

“We got held up in the traffic,” said Angelo lamely.

“If this whole operation fails because of you…”

Angelo turned the color of his uniform as he thought about what had happened to Bruno Morelli.

“And the sword?” snapped Cavalli.

“A perfect fit.”

“And our physician. Is he fit?”

“He’ll be able to do his job, I promise you,” Angelo said, looking over his shoulder.

“Which car are you both in?”

“Number four. Directly behind the President.”

“Then get in, and right now.”

“Sor

ry, sorry,” Dollar Bill said as he arrived, panting. “My fault, not Angelo’s. Sorry, sorry,” he repeated as the back door of car four was held open for him by the Lieutenant, who was gripping his sword. Once Dollar Bill was safely in, Angelo joined the would-be physician and slammed the door behind him.

The policeman who’d been chasing Angelo took his notebook out as Cavalli turned around looking for Tom Newbolt. Tom was already running across the road.

“Leave him to me,” was all he said.

The second van with surveillance cameras on board screeched to a halt to complete the line. The front window purred down. “Sorry, boss,” said the driver. “Some jerk just dumped his car right in front of me.”