“No, Mr. Cavalli, it is not.”
“How can you be so sure?” asked his client.
“Monsieur Dummond and I are currently involved in several transactions, and he would never allow our relationship to suffer for the sake of one deal. And in any case, he sits on the opposite side of the table from you today but, like every Swiss banker, that won’t stop him from thinking of you as a potential customer.”
Cavalli checked his watch. It was 6:20 A.M. in New York. His father would have been up for at least an hour. He jabbed out the fourteen numbers and waited.
His father answered the phone, sounding wide awake, and after preliminary exchanges listened carefully to his son’s account of what had taken place in the bank’s boardroom. Cavalli also repeated Monsieur Franchard’s view of the situation. The chairman of Skills didn’t take long considering what advice he should give his son, advice which took Cavalli by surprise.
He replaced the phone and informed Monsieur Franchard of his father’s opinion.
Monsieur Franchard nodded as if to show he agreed with the older man’s judgment.
“Then let’s get on with it,” said Cavalli reluctantly. Monsieur Franchard pressed the button under the boardroom table.
Monsieur Dummond and his client entered the room a few moments later and returned to the seats they had previously occupied. The old banker pushed his half-moon spectacles up his nose once again and stared over the top of them as he waited for Monsieur Franchard to speak.
“If the transaction is completed within one hour, we will settle for forty million dollars. If not, the deal is off and the document will be returned to the United States.”
Dummond removed his spectacles and turned to glance at his client. He was pleased that Franchard had picked up the significance of “my government,” a phrase he had recommended Mr. Al Obaydi should repeat as often as possible.
“White House?”
“Yes, sir.”
“May I speak to the President’s scheduler, please?”
“Can I ask who’s calling?”
“Marshall, Calder Marshall, Archivist of the United States. And before you ask, yes, I do know her, and yes, she is expecting my call.”
The line went dead. Marshall wondered if he had been cut off.
“Patty Watson speaking.”
“Patty, this is Calder Marshall. I’m the—”
“Archivist of the United States.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Oh, yes, I’m a great fan of yours, Mr. Marshall. I’ve even read your book on the history of the Constitution, the Bill of Rights and the Declaration. How can I help you? Are you still there, Mr. Marshall?”
“Yes, Patty, I am. I only wanted to check on the President’s schedule on the morning of May 25th this year.”
“Certainly, sir. I’ll just be a moment.”
The Archivist did not have long to wait.
“Ah yes, May 25th. The President spent the morning in the Oval Office with his speech writers, David Kusnet and Carolyn Curiel. He was preparing the text for his address on the GATT at the Chicago Council on Foreign Relations. He took a break to have lunch with Senator Mitchell, the Majority Leader. At three, the President—”
“Did President Clinton remain in the White House the whole morning?”
“Yes, sir. He didn’t leave the White House all day. He spent the afternoon with Mrs. Clinton in discussions with her health-policy task unit.”
“Could he have slipped out of the building without even you knowing, Patty?”
The scheduling secretary laughed. “That’s not possible, sir. If he had done that, the Secret Service would have informed me immediately.”