Honor Among Thieves

“No, Captain,” said the Sergeant, trying to think where he had put it.

“Then release them on bail, pending further charges,” instructed the Captain. “I’ll deal with the paperwork.”

The paperwork took the Captain some considerable time, and the four men were not released until a few minutes after six.

When they ran down the precinct steps together, the little one with the pebble-rim glasses was clinging firmly to the unopened bag.

Antonio Cavalli woke with a start. Had he dreamed that he’d been dragged out of bed and onto the street in the middle of the night?

He flicked on the bedside light and picked up his watch. It was 3:57. He began to recall what had taken place a few hours earlier.

Once they were out on the street, Martin had accompanied the four men back into the house. Too many for a simple gas leak, Cavalli had thought. And what gas company employee would smoke cigars and could afford a Saks Fifth Avenue suit? After they had been inside for fifteen minutes, Cavalli had become even more suspicious. He asked the Fire Chief if the men were personally known to him. The Chief admitted that, although they had been able to give him the correct code over the phone, he had never come across them before. He decided Mr. Cavalli was right when he suggested that perhaps the time had come to make some checks with the gas company. Their switchboard informed him that they had no service men out on call that night on 75th Street. The Fire Chief immediately passed this information on to the police. A few minutes later six police officers had entered number 23 and arrested all four men.

After they had been driven away to the station, his father and Martin had helped Tony check every room in the house, but as far as they could see nothing was missing. They had gone back to bed around 1:45.

Cavalli was now fully awake, though he thought he could hear a noise coming from the ground floor. Was it the same noise that had woken him? Tony cheeked his watch again. His father and Martin often rose early, but rarely between the hours of three and four.

Cavalli swung out of bed and placed his feet on the ground. He still felt sure he could hear voices.

He slipped on a bathrobe and walked over to the bedroom door. He opened it slowly, went out on to the landing and peered over the balustrade. He could see a light shining from under the door of his father’s study.

Cavalli moved swiftly down the one flight of stairs and silently across the carpeted hallway until he came to a halt outside the study. He tried to remember where the nearest gun was.

He listened carefully, but could hear no movement coming from inside. Then, suddenly, a gravelly voice began cursing loudly. Tony flung open the door to find his father, also in his bathrobe, standing in front of the Declaration of Independence and holding a magnifying glass in his right hand. He was studying the word “British.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Tony asked his father.

“You should have killed Dollar Bill when I told you to,” was his father’s response.

“But why?” asked Tony.

“Because they’ve stolen the Declaration of Independence.”

“But you’re standing in front of it,” said Tony.

“No I’m not,” said his father. “Don’t you understand what they’ve done?”

“No, I don’t,” admitted Tony.

“They’ve exchanged the original for that worthless copy you put in the National Archives.”

“But the copy on the wall was the other one made by Dollar Bill,” said Tony. “I saw him present it to you.”

“No,” said his father. “Mine was the original, not a copy.”

“I don’t understand,” said Tony, now completely baffled. The old man turned and faced his son for the first time.

“Nick Vicente and I switched them when you brought the Declaration back from Washington.” Tony stared at his father in disbelief. “You didn’t think I’d allow part of our national heritage to fall into the hands of Saddam Hussein?”

“But why didn’t you tell me?” asked Tony.

“And let you go to Geneva knowing you were in possession of a fake, while the deal still hadn’t been closed? No, it was always part of my plan that you would believe the original had been sent to Franchard et cie, because if you believed it, Al Obaydi would believe it.”

Tony said nothing.

“And you certainly wouldn’t have put up such a fight over the loss of fifty million if you’d known all along that the document you had in Geneva was a counterfeit.”

“So where the hell is the original now?” asked Tony.