Honor Among Thieves

How could he possibly be alive? Hannah thought. Hadn’t she killed him? She had seen his dead body carried out of the room. She tried to organize her thoughts, which ranged from absolute joy to utter fear. She recalled her senior instructor telling her, “When you’re in the front line, never be surprised by anything.” She felt she now had the right to contradict him, if she was ever given the chance.

Hannah pushed the door open and crept into the corridor, which was deserted except for a pair of soldiers chatting by the door of the Chamber. She realized she couldn’t hope to get past them and into the Chamber without being questioned.

With a pace to go, she was told to stop, and came to a halt between them. After they had checked the cleaning box thoroughly, the one with two stripes on his arm said, “You know it’s our duty to search you as well?” Hannah made no comment while he bent down, lifted her long black robe and placed his hands on her ankles. The second one let out a raucous laugh as he put his fingers around the front of her neck, and began moving his hands down over her shoulders and across her breasts, while his colleague moved his hands up her legs and onto her thighs. As the first soldier reached the top of her legs, his colleague pinched her nipples. Hannah pushed them both away and stepped into the Chamber. They made no attempt to follow, although their laughter increased in volume.

The table had been returned to the center of the room and the chairs casually rearranged around it. She began by straightening the table before placing the chairs at an equal distance from each other, while still trying to take in the fact that Scott was alive. But why would the CIA send him? Unless…she stared up at the massive portrait of Saddam Hussein as she straightened his chair at the head of the table. Then her eyes came to rest on the document that was nailed next to his picture.

The American Declaration of Independence was fixed to the wall in exactly the place the Deputy Foreign Minister had claimed it was.

Chapter Thirty

Two Cars swept up to the barrier and were ushered quickly through without the suggestion of a check. Scott watched carefully as a large group of soldiers surrounded the vehicles.

When a tall, heavily built man stepped out of the second car, Aziz said under his breath, “General Hamil, the Barber of Baghdad. He carries an unsharpened razor on his keyring.”

Kratz nodded. “I know his complete life history,” he said. “Even the name of the young Lieutenant he’s currently living with.”

Major Saeed was now standing to attention, saluting the General, and Scott didn’t need to be told that this man was of a different rank and caliber than the one he had been dealing with until then. He studied the face of the man dressed in an immaculate tailored uniform with several more rows of battle ribbons than the Major, wearing black leather gloves and carrying a swagger stick. It was a cruel face. The troops who stood around him were unable to disgu

ise their fear.

The Major pointed to Scott and said, “You, come.”

“I’ve got a feeling he means you,” said Kratz.

Scott nodded and strolled across to join them.

“Mr. Bernstrom,” the General said, removing the glove from his right hand, “I am General Hamil.” Scott shook his hand. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting. But don’t let me hold you up any longer. Please show me your safe, which Major Saeed seems so impressed by.”

Without another word the General turned and began walking towards the building, leaving Scott with little choice but to follow. For the first time in his life, Scott was terrified.

Hannah picked up a duster and some polish and began to rub in small circles on the table while taking a more careful look at the Declaration of Independence. The parchment was in such terrible condition that she doubted if it could be repaired even if Scott were able to get it back to Washington.

She peered around the door into the short corridor, and spotted the safe she had seen on the truck earlier that day. It was open, but was guarded by two more thugs, chatting as much as the other two who were stationed at the door of the Council Chamber.

Hannah made her way slowly down the corridor, dusting and polishing the ledge of the wooden skirting until she was opposite the safe and had a clear view inside. She took a pace forward and peered in as if she had never seen anything like it in her life before. One of the soldiers kicked her and she fell into the safe. The inevitable raucous laughter followed. She was about to turn around and retaliate when she saw the long cardboard cylinder in one corner, almost hidden in the shadow. She leaned across and rolled it quickly towards her until it was safely under her long skirt. She wondered if she could use it to get a message to Simon. Hannah left her duster and polish on the floor of the safe, stepped out backwards and bolted down the corridor, as if to escape the guards.

Once she was back in the Chamber she removed another rag from the cleaning box and began polishing the table until she was in a position where no one could see her from either passageway. She then lowered herself slowly onto her knees until she was below the table, and let the cardboard tube fall to the floor in front of her. She quickly flicked off the cap, to find the cylinder wasn’t empty. She pulled out the parchment, unrolled it and studied it in disbelief: a magnificent copy of the Declaration of Independence, obviously made by a craftsman, even if someone had tried to deface it. She realized immediately that Simon must have been hoping to find some way of switching the copy for the original.

Kratz watched Scott follow General Hamil into the building, then walked slowly across to the truck and climbed into the cab. He stared through the front window. No one was taking any particular interest in what they were up to.

“This is too easy,” he said. “Far too easy.” Cohen and Aziz looked straight ahead, but didn’t offer an opinion. “If Hamil is involved, they must suspect something. The time has come for us to find out who knows what.”

“What do you have in mind, sir?” asked Cohen.

“I have a feeling that our switchboard Major isn’t fully aware of what’s going on. Either they haven’t briefed him, or they think he’s not up to the job.”

“Or both,” suggested Aziz.

Kratz nodded. “Or both. So let’s find out. Aziz, I want you and Cohen to take a stroll down to the barrier. Tell the guards that you’re going for something to eat, and that you’ll be back in a few minutes. If they refuse to let you through, we’ve got a real problem, because that will mean they know what we’re up to. In which case, come back to the cab and I’ll start working on what we have to do next.”

“And if they let us through?” asked Cohen.

“Get out of sight,” said Kratz, “but keep in visual contact with the truck. That shouldn’t be too hard, with these gawking crowds. If Professor Bradley comes out with his cardboard tube and I rest my arm on the window ledge as I’m doing now, get back here fast, because we won’t want to be hanging about. And by the way, Cohen: if I’m not around for any reason, and the professor should suggest a detour to the Foreign Ministry, overrule him. Your only job is to get him over the border.” Cohen nodded, without a clue what the Colonel was talking about. “But if you spot that we’re in trouble, keep well out of the way for one hour, and then pray that the whopper works.”

“Understood, sir,” said Cohen.

“Take the keys with you,” said Kratz. “Now get going.”