“I also hear that Charles has designed a special pair of trousers for you,” Dexter said.
“And they’re a perfect fit,” replied Scott with a smile.
As they reached the top of the steps, Dexter was about to barge in when Scott put an arm on his shoulder.
“Perhaps we should knock? He might be—”
“Next you’ll be wanting me to call him ‘sir.’”
Scott grinned as Dexter knocked quietly, and when there was no reply, eased the door open. He crept in to see Mendelssohn stooping over the parchment, magnifying glass in hand.
“Benjamin Franklin, John Morton and George Clymer,” muttered the Conservator.
“I had a lot of trouble with Clymer,” said Dollar Bill, who was looking out of the window over the bay. “It was the damn man’s squiggles, which I had to complete in one flow. You’ll find a couple of hundred of them in the wastepaper basket.”
“May we approach the bench?” asked Dexter. Dollar Bill turned and waved them in.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Mendelssohn. I’m Dexter Hutchins, Deputy Director of the CIA.”
“Could you possibly be anything else?” asked Dollar Bill.
Dexter ignored the comment and asked Mendelssohn, “What’s your judgment, sir?”
Dollar Bill continued to stare out of the window.
“It’s every bit as good as the copy we currently have on display at the National Archives.”
“You are most generous, sir,” said Dollar Bill, who turne
d around to face them.
“But I don’t understand why you have spelled the word ‘British’ correctly, and not with two t’s as it was on the original,” said Mendelssohn, returning his attention to the document.
“There are two reasons for that,” said Dollar Bill as six suspicious eyes stared back at him. “First, if the exchange is carried out successfully, Saddam will not be able to claim he still has his hands on the original.”
“Clever,” said Scott.
“And second?” asked Dexter, who remained suspicious of the little Irishman’s motives.
“It will stop the professor from bringing back this copy and trying to pass it off as the original.”
Scott laughed. “You always think like a criminal,” he said.
“And you’d better be thinking like one yourself over the next few days, if you’re going to get the better of Saddam Hussein,” said Dollar Bill as Charles entered the room, carrying a pint of Guinness on a silver tray.
Dollar Bill thanked Charles, removed his reward from the tray and walked to the far side of the room before taking the first sip.
“May I ask…?” began Scott.
“I once spilled the blessed nectar all over a hundred-dollar etching that I had spent some three months preparing.”
“So what did you do then?” asked Scott.
“I fear that I settled for second best, which caused me to end up in the slammer for another five years.” Even Dexter joined in the laughter. “However, on this occasion I raise my glass to Matthew Thornton, the final signatory on the document. I wish him good health wherever he is, despite the damn man’s t’s.”
“So, am I able to take the masterpiece away now?” asked Scott.
“Not yet, young man,” said Dollar Bill. “I fear you must suffer another evening of my company,” he added before placing his drink on the window ledge and returning to the document. “You see, the one problem I have been fighting is time. In Mr. Mendelssohn’s judgment, the parchment has an 1830s feel about it. Am I right, sir?”