Honor Among Thieves

“Oh, impatient and unsubtle man.”

“Shaw,” said Scott.

“I grow to like you more by the minute,” said Dollar Bill.

“The names,” repeated Dexter as Charles placed an Irish stew on the table. Dollar Bill immediately helped himself.

“Now I see why you are the Deputy Director,” said Dollar Bill. “Do you not realize, man, that there are fifty-six names on the original document, each one of them a work of art in itself? Let me demonstrate to you, if I may. Paper, please, Charles. I require paper.”

The butler took a pad that lay next to the telephone and placed it by O’Reilly’s side. Dollar Bill removed a pen from his inside pocket and began to scribble.

He showed his two dinner companions what he had written: “Mr. O’Reilly may have the unrestricted use of the company helicopter whenever he wishes.”

“What does that prove?” asked Dexter.

“Patience, Mr. Hutchins, patience,” said Dollar Bill, as he retrieved the piece of paper and signed it first with the signature of Dexter Hutchins, and then, changing his pen, wrote “Scott Bradley.”

Once again he allowed them to study his efforts.

“But how…?” said Scott.

“In your case, Professor, it was easy. All I needed was the visitors’ book.”

“But I didn’t sign the visitors’ book,” said Dexter.

“I confess it would be a strange thing for you to do when you are the Deputy Director,” said Dollar Bill, “but in your case nothing would surprise me. However, Mr. Hutchins, you do have the infuriating habit of signing and dating the inside cover of any book you have purchased recently. I suspect in the case of first editions it will be the nearest you get to posterity.” He paused. “But enough of this idle banter. You can both see for yourselves the task I face.” Without warning, Dollar Bill folded his napkin, rose from the table leaving his half-finished stew and walked out of the room. His companions jumped up and quickly followed him across to the West Wing without another word being spoken. After they had climbed a small flight of stone steps they entered Dollar Bill’s makeshift study.

On an architect’s drafting board below a bright light rested the parchment. Both men walked across the room, stood over the board and studied the completed script. It had been inscribed above a large empty space covered in tiny pencil crosses that awaited the fifty-six signatures.

Scott stared in admiration at the work.

“But why didn’t you…”

“Take up a proper occupation?” asked Dollar Bill, anticipating the question. “And have ended up as a schoolmaster in Wexford, or perhaps have climbed to the dizzy heights of being a councillor in Dublin? No, sir, I would prefer the odd stint in jail rather than be considered by my fellow men as mediocre.”

“How many days before you have to leave us, young man?” Dexter Hutchins asked Scott.

“Kratz phoned this afternoon,” Scott replied, turning to face the Deputy Director. “He says they caught the Trelleborg-Sassnitz ferry last night. They’re now heading south, hoping to cross the Bosphorus by Monday morning.”

“Which means they should be at the border with Iraq by next Wednesday.”

“The perfect time of year to be sailing the Bosphorus,” said Dollar Bill. “Especially if you hope to meet a rather remarkable girl when you reach the other side,” he added, looking up at Scott. “So, I’d better have the Declaration finished by Monday, hadn’t I, Professor?”

“At the latest,” said Hutchins as Scott stared down at the little Irishman.

Chapter Twenty-Five

When Al Obaydi arrived back in Paris he collected his bags from the twenty-four-hour storage depot, before joining the line for a taxi.

He gave the driver an address, without saying it was the Iraqi annex to the Jordanian Embassy—one of the tips in Miss Saib’s “do’s and don’ts” in Paris. He hadn’t warned the staff at the embassy that he would be arriving that day. He wasn’t officially due to take up his appointment for another two weeks, and he would have gone straight on to Jordan that evening if there had been a connecting flight. Once he had realized who Mr. Riffat was, he knew he would have to get back to Baghdad as quickly as possible. By reporting directly to the Foreign Minister, he would have gone through the correct channels. This would protect his position, while at the same time guaranteeing that the President knew exactly who was responsible for alerting him to a possible attempt on his life, and which Ambassador, however closely related, had left several stones unturned.

The taxi dropped Al Obaydi outside the annex to the embassy in Neuilly. He pulled his cases out of the back without any help from the driver, who remained seated obstinately behind the wheel of his car.

The embassy front door opened just an inch, and was then flung wide, and a man of about forty came running down the steps towards him, followed by two girls and a younger man.

“Excellency, Excellency,” the first man exclaimed. “I am sorry, you must forgive me, we had no idea you were coming.” The younger man grabbed the two large cases and the girls took the remaining three between them.