The Conservator nodded, and raised his arms as if apologizing for daring to mention such a slight blemish.
“So what can be done about that?” asked Dexter Hutchins.
Dollar Bill flicked on a switch and the Xenon lamps above his desk shone down on the parchment and filled the room with light, making it appear like a film set.
“By nine o’clock tomorrow morning the parchment will be nearer 1776. Even if, because you have failed to give me enough time, I miss perfection by a few years, I remain confident that there’ll be no one in Iraq who’ll be able to tell the difference, unless they are in possession of a Carbon 14 Dating machine and know how to use it.”
“Then we can only hope that the original hasn’t already been destroyed,” said Dexter Hutchins.
“Not a chance,” said Scott.
“How can you be so confident?” asked Dexter.
“The day Saddam destroys that parchment, he will want the whole world to witness it. Of that I’m sure.”
“Then, I’m thinking a toast might be in order,” said the Irishman. “That is, with my gracious host’s permission.”
“A toast, Bill?” said the Deputy Director, sounding surprised. “Whom do you have in mind?” he asked suspiciously.
“Hannah,” said the little Irishman, “wherever she may be.”
“How did you know?” asked Scott. “I’ve never mentioned her name.”
“No need to, when you write it on everything from the backs of envelopes to steaming windows. She must be a very special lady, Professor.” He raised his glass and repeated the words, “To Hannah.”
The Chief Administrator sat and waited patiently until the maid had removed the Ambassador’s dinner tray. He then closed his door at the other end of the corridor.
He waited for another two hours, until he felt certain all the embassy staff had gone to bed. Confident he would be the only one left awake, he crept back down to his office and looked up a telephone number in Geneva. He dialed the code slowly and deliberately. It rang for a long time before it was eventually answered.
“I need to speak to the Ambassador,” he whispered.
“His Excellency retired to bed some time ago,” said a voice. “You’ll have to call back in the morning.”
“Wake him. Tell him it’s Abdul Kanuk in Paris.”
“If you insist.”
“I do insist.”
The Chief Administrator waited for some time before a sleepy voice eventually came on the line.
“This had better be good, Abdul.”
“Al Obaydi has arrived in Paris unannounced, and two weeks before he was expected.”
“You woke me in the middle of the night to tell me this?”
“But he didn’t come directly from Baghdad, Excellency. He made a slight detour.”
“How can you be so sure?” said the voice, sounding a little more awake.
“Because I am in possession of his passport.”
“But he’s on vacation, you fool.”
“I know. But why spend the day in a city not known for attracting tourists?”
“You’re talking in riddles. If you’ve got something to tell me, tell me.”