Honor Among Thieves

“Then they’d better keep well out of sight,” said Scott, “because after the bombing last Sunday, I suspect death might prove the least of their problems.”

Kratz offered no opinion as Sergeant Cohen eased the massive vehicle slowly out of the yard and onto the street; this time the roads became wider with each turn he took.

“Are we keeping to the plan that was agreed in Stockholm?” asked Scott.

“With two refinements,” said Kratz. “I spent yesterday morning phoning Baghdad. After seven attempts, I got through to someone at the Ministry of Industry who knew about the safe, but it’s the age-old problem with the Arabs: if they don’t see the damn thing in front of

their eyes, they don’t believe it exists.”

“So our first stop will have to be the Ministry?” said Scott.

“Looks like it,” replied Kratz. “But at least we know we’ve got something they want. Which reminds me, have you brought the one thing they don’t want?”

Scott unzipped his bag and pulled out the cardboard tube.

“Doesn’t look a lot to be risking your life for,” said Kratz as Scott slipped it back into his bag.

“And the second refinement?” asked Scott.

Kratz removed a postcard from his inside pocket and passed it over to Scott. A picture of Saddam Hussein addressing the Revolutionary Command Council stared back at him. A little Biro’d square full of stars had been drawn in by the side of his head. Scott turned the card over and studied her unmistakable handwriting: “Wish you were here.”

Scott didn’t speak for several moments.

“Notice the date, did you?”

Scott looked at the top right-hand corner: 7/4/93.

“So, now we know where it is, and she’s also confirmed exactly when Saddam intends to let the rest of the world in on his secret.”

“Who’s Ethel Rubin?” asked Scott, “and how did you get your hands on the card?”

“The lady Hannah stayed with in London. Her husband is Mossad’s legal representative in England. He took the card straight to the embassy the moment it arrived and they sent it overnight in the diplomatic pouch. It reached our embassy in Amman this morning.”

Once they had reached the outskirts of the town, Scott began to study the barren terrain as the truck continued its progress along the oil-covered, potholed roads.

“Sorry to be going so slowly, Professor,” said Cohen, “but if I throw my brakes on with the road in this condition, Madame Bertha might travel another hundred yards before the wheels even have a chance to lock.”

Kratz went over every contingency he could think of as Cohen drove silently towards the border. The Mossad leader ended up by describing the layout of the Ba’ath headquarters once again.

“And the alarm system?” asked Scott when he had come to an end.

“All you have to remember is that the red buttons by the light switches activate the alarm, but at the same time close all the exits.”

Scott nodded, but it was some time before he asked his next question. “And Hannah?”

“Nothing’s changed. My first task is to get you in and then back out with the original document. She still remains an unlikely bonus, although she obviously knows what’s going on.”

Neither of them spoke again until Sergeant Cohen pulled off the highway into a large gravel rest area packed with trucks. He parked the vehicle at an angle so that only the most inquisitive could observe what they were up to, then jumped out of the cab, pulled himself over the tailgate and grinned at the Kurd who was lounging against the safe. Between them they removed the tarpaulin that covered the massive structure as Scott and Kratz climbed up to join them in the back of the truck.

“What do you think, Professor?” asked Aziz.

“She hasn’t lost any weight, that’s for sure,” said Scott, as he tried to remember the nightly homework he had done in preparation for this single exam.

He stretched his fingers and smiled. All three bulbs above the white square were red. He first turned all three dials to a code that only he and a man in Sweden were aware of. He then placed his right hand on the white square, and left it there for several seconds. He leaned forward, put his lips up against the square and spoke softly. “My name is Andreas Bernstrom. When you hear this voice, and only this voice, you will unlock the door.” Scott waited as the other three looked on in bemused silence. He then swiveled the dials. All three bulbs remained red.

“Now we discover if I understood the instructions,” said Scott. He bit his lip and advanced again. Once more he twiddled the dials, but this time to the numbers selected by Saddam, ending with zero-seven-zero-four-nine-three. The first light went from red to green. Aziz smiled. Scott placed the palm of his hand in the white square and left it there for several seconds. The second light switched to green.

Scott heard Kratz sigh audibly as he stepped forward again. He put his lips to the white square so they just touched the thin wire mesh. “My name is Andreas Bernstrom. It’s now time for the safe to—” The third light turned green even before he had completed the sentence. Cohen offered up a suppressed cheer.