Honor Among Thieves

The driver flashed his lights twice and the gates swung open to allow the car to continue its journey down a long, straight gravel drive. It was another three or four minutes before they came to a halt in front of a large country house which reminded Dollar Bill of his youth in County Kerry, when his mother had been a scullery maid up at the manor house.

One of Dollar Bill’s escorts leaped out of the car and opened the door for him. Another ran ahead of them up the steps and pressed a bell, as the car sped away across the gravel.

The massive oak door opened to reveal a butler in a long black coat and a white bow tie.

“Good evening, Mr. O’Reilly,” he declared in a pronounced English accent even before Dollar Bill had reached the top step. “My name is Charles. Your room is already prepared. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to accompany me, sir.” Dollar Bill followed him into the house and up the wide staircase without uttering a word. He would have tried some of his questions on Charles, but since he was English, Dollar Bill knew he couldn’t expect an honest reply. The butler guided him into a small, well-furnished bedroom on the first floor.

“I do hope you will find that the clothes are the correct size, sir,” said Charles, “and that everything else is to your liking. Dinner will be served in half an hour.”

Dollar Bill bowed and spent the next few minutes looking around the suite. He checked the bathroom. French soap, safety razors and fluffy white towels; even a toothbrush and his favorite toothpaste. He returned to the bedroom and tested the double bed. He couldn’t remember when he had last slept on anything so comfortable. He then checked the wardrobe and found three pairs of trousers and three jackets, not unlike the ones he had purchased a few days after returning from Washington. How did they know?

He looked in the drawers: six shirts, six pairs of underpants and six pairs of socks. They had thought of everything, even if he didn’t care that much for their choice of ties.

Dollar Bill decided to join in the game. He took a bath, shaved and changed into the clothes provided. They were, as Charles had promised, the correct size.

He heard a gong sound downstairs, which he took as a clear signal that he had been summoned. He opened the door, stepped into the corridor and proceeded down the wide staircase to find the butler standing in the hall.

“Mr. Hutchins is expecting you. You’ll find him in the drawing room, sir.”

“Yes, of course I will,” said Dollar Bill, and followed Charles into a large room where a tall, burly man was standing by the fireplace, the stub of a cigar in the corner of his mouth.

“Good evening, Mr. O’Reilly,” he said. “My name is Dexter Hutchins. We’ve never

met before, but I’ve long been an admirer of your work.”

“That’s kind of you, Mr. Hutchins, but I don’t have the same advantage of knowing what you do to pass the unrelenting hour.”

“I do apologize. I am the Deputy Director of the CIA.”

“After all these years, I get to have dinner in a large country house with the Deputy Director of the CIA simply because I was involved in a barroom brawl. I’m tempted to ask, what do you lay on for mass murderers?”

“I must confess, Mr. O’Reilly, that it was one of my men who threw the first punch. But before we go any further, what would you like to drink?”

“I don’t think Charles will have my favorite brew,” said Dollar Bill, turning to face the butler.

“I fear the Guinness is canned and not on tap, sir. If I had been given a little more notice…” Dollar Bill bowed again and the butler disappeared.

“Don’t you think I’m entitled to know what this is all about, Mr. Hutchins? After all…”

“You are indeed, Mr. O’Reilly. The truth is, the government is in need of your services, not to mention your expertise.”

“I didn’t realize that Clintonomics had resorted to forgery to help balance the budget deficit,” said Dollar Bill as the butler returned with a large glass of Guinness.

“Not quite as drastic as that, but every bit as demanding,” said Hutchins. “But perhaps we should have a little dinner before I go into any details. I fear it’s been a long day for you.” Dollar Bill nodded and followed the Deputy Director to a small dining room, where the table had been set for two. The butler held a chair back for Dollar Bill, and when he was comfortably seated asked, “How do you like your steak done, sir?”

“Is it sirloin or entrecôte?” asked Dollar Bill.

“Sirloin.”

“If the meat is good enough, tell the chef to put a candle under it—but only for a few moments.”

“Excellent, sir. Yours, Mr. Hutchins, will I presume be well done?”

Dexter Hutchins nodded, feeling the first round had definitely gone to Dollar Bill.

“I’m enjoying this charade enormously,” said Dollar Bill, taking a gulp of Guinness. “But I’d like to know what the prize is, should I be fortunate enough to win.”

“You might equally well be interested to know what the forfeit will be if you are unfortunate enough to lose.”