Honor Among Thieves

“Thank you, Mr. Leigh. And perhaps you’d be kind enough to pass a message on to him?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Would you let him know that my resignation will be on his desk tomorrow morning by nine A.M. This call is simply to apologize for the harm it will undoubtedly do to the President, particularly given the short period of time he has been in office.”

“You haven’t spoken to anyone from the media about this, have you, sir?” asked the Executive Assistant, sounding anxious for the first time.

“No, I have not, Mr. Leigh, and I shall not do so until noon tomorrow, which should give the Secretary ample time in which to prepare answers to any questions that he and the President will undoubtedly be asked by the press when they learn my reason for resigning.”

“I’ll have the Secretary get back to you as quickly as I can, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Leigh.”

“Glad to have been of assistance, sir.”

She flew into the Cayman Islands that morning and took a taxi to Barclays Bank in Georgetown. She checked her account to find it had been credited with three payments of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. One on March 9th, another on April 27th, and a further one on May 30th.

There was one still to come. But, to be fair, Cavalli might not learn of the death of T. Hamilton McKenzie until he had returned from Geneva.

“And we have another package for you, Miss Webster,” said the smiling West Indian behind the counter.

Far too familiar, she thought. Once again the time had come to move her account to another bank in another country, in another name. She dropped the package into her carrier bag, threw it over her shoulder and left without a word.

She didn’t attempt to open the thick brown envelope until she had called for coffee at the end of an unhurried meal at a hotel she would never book into. She then carefully slit open the top of the bulky package with her bread knife, allowing the contents to spill out onto the table.

The usual photos, from every angle, plus addresses past and present, and the daily habits and haunts of the intended victim. Cavalli never left any room for mistakes.

She studied the photos of a little fat man sitting on a bar stool. He looked harmless enough. The contract was always the same. To be carried out within fourteen days. Payment two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to account specified.

It wasn’t Columbus or Washington this time, but San Francisco. She hadn’t been to the West Coast in years, and she tried to remember if they had a Laura Ashley store.

“National Archives.”

“Mr. Marshall please.”

“Who’s calling?”

“Christopher. Warren Christopher.”

“And you’re with which agency?”

“I have a feeling he’ll know.”

“I’ll put you through, sir.” The Secretary waited patiently.

“Calder Marshall speaking.”

“Calder, it’s Warren Christopher.”

“Good morning, Mr. Secretary.”

“Good morning, Calder. I’ve just received your letter of resignation.”

“Yes, sir. I thought it was the only course of action I could take under the circumstances.”

“Very commendable, I feel sure, but have you let anyone else into your confidence?”

“No, sir. I intended to brief my staff at eleven, and hold a press conference at twelve, as stated in my letter. I hope that doesn’t inconvenience you, sir.”