Honor Among Thieves

She glanced at the clock on her dashboard. It was 10:07.

Chapter Fourteen

As the lead police car moved slowly away from the curb, the director’s tracking dolly began running backwards at the same pace along its track. The crowds behind the barriers started to cheer and wave. If they had been making a real film the director would have called, “Cut” after twenty seconds because that fool of a coordinating officer was still standing in the middle of the road, hands on hips, oblivious to the fact that he wasn’t the star of the film.

Cavalli didn’t notice the officer as he concentrated on the road ahead of him. He phoned through to Andy, who he knew would still be seated on the bench on 7th Street reading the Washington Post.

“Not much action this end, boss. A little activity at the bottom of the ramp but no one on the street is showing any real interest. Is everything all right your end? You’re running late.”

“Yes, I know, but we should be with you in about sixty seconds,” said Cavalli, as the director reached the end of his private railroad track and put one thumb in the air to indicate that the cars could now accelerate to twenty-five miles per hour. Johnny Scasiatore jumped off the dolly and walked slowly back down Pennsylvania Avenue so he could prepare himself for the second take.

Cavalli flicked the phone off and took a deep intake of breath as the motorcade passed 9th Street; he stared at the FDR Monument that was set back on a grass plot in front of the main entrance of the Archives. The first car turned right on 7th Street; a mere half block remained before they would reach the driveway into the loading dock. The lead motorcycles sped up and when they were opposite Andy standing on the sidewalk, they swung right and drove down the ramp.

The rest of the motorcade formed a line directly opposite the delivery entrance, while the third limousine drove down the ramp, coming to a halt exactly opposite the loading dock.

The counter-assault team were the first onto the street, and eight of them quickly formed a circle facing out

ward around the third car.

After the eight men had stared in every direction for a few seconds, Cavalli jumped out of the second car, ran across to join them and opened the back door of the third car so that Lloyd Adams could get out.

Calder Marshall was waiting on the loading dock, and walked forward to greet the President.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Marshall,” said the actor, thrusting out his hand. “I’ve been looking forward to this occasion for some time.”

“As, indeed, have we, Mr. President. May I on behalf of my staff welcome you to the National Archives of the United States. Will you please follow me.”

Lloyd Adams and his entourage dutifully followed Mr. Marshall straight into the spartan freight elevator. As one of the Secret Service agents kept his finger on the “open” button, Cavalli gave the order for the motorcade to return to its starting point. Six motorcycles and the twelve vehicles moved off and began the journey back to rejoin the director and prepare for the second shoot.

The whole exercise of getting the actor into the building and the motorcade started on its return journey had taken less than two minutes, but Cavalli was dismayed to see that a small crowd had already gathered on the far side of the road by the Federal Trade Commission, obviously sensing something important was taking place. He only hoped Andy could deal with the problem.

Cavalli quickly slipped into the elevator, wedging himself behind Adams. Marshall had already begun a short history of how the Declaration of Independence had ended up in the National Archives. “Most people know that John Adams and Thomas Jefferson drafted the Declaration that was approved by Congress on July 4th, 1776. Few, however, know that the second and third Presidents died on the same day, July 4th, 1826—fifty years to the day after the official signing.” The elevator doors opened on the ground floor and Marshall stepped out into a marble corridor and led them in the direction of his office.

“The Declaration had a long and turbulent journey, Mr. President, before it ended up safely in this building.”

When they reached the fifth door on the left, Marshall guided the President and his staff into his office, where coffee awaited them. Two of the Secret Service agents stepped inside while the other six remained in the corridor.

Lloyd Adams sipped his coffee as Marshall ignored his in favor of continuing the history lesson. “After the signing ceremony, on August 2nd, 1776, the Declaration was filed in Philadelphia, but because of the danger of the document being captured by the British, the engrossed parchment was taken to Baltimore in a covered wagon.”

“Fascinating,” said Adams in a soft drawl. “But had it been captured by the British infantry, copies would still have been in existence, no doubt?”

“Oh certainly, Mr. President. Indeed, we have a good example of one in this building executed by William J. Stone. However, the original remained in Baltimore until 1777, when it was returned to the relative safety of Philadelphia.”

“In another wagon?” asked the President.

“Indeed,” said Marshall, not realizing his guest was joking. “We even know the name of the man who drove it, a Mr. Samuel Smith. Then, in 1800, by direction of President Adams, the Declaration was moved to Washington, where it first found a home in the Treasury Department, but between 1800 and 1814 it was moved all over the city, eventually ending up in the old War Office Building on 17th Street.”

“And, of course, we were still at war with Britain at that time,” said the actor.

Cavalli admired the way Adams had not only learned his lines, but done his research so thoroughly.

“That is correct, Mr. President,” said the Archivist. “And when the British fleet appeared in Chesapeake Bay, the Secretary of State, James Monroe, ordered that the document be moved once again. Because, as I am sure you know, Mr. President, it is the Secretary of State who is responsible for the safety of the parchment, not the President.”

Lloyd Adams did know, but wasn’t sure if the President would have, so he decided to play safe. “Is that right, Mr. Marshall? Then perhaps it should be Warren Christopher who is here today to view the Declaration, and not me.”

“The Secretary of State was kind enough to visit us soon after he took office,” Marshall replied.

“But he didn’t want the document moved again,” said the actor. Marshall, Cavalli, the Lieutenant and the physician dutifully laughed before the Archivist continued.