'Yes,' she replied.

'Good. See you at the Bar de la Porte Dauphine in fifteen minutes.'

He pulled himself out of the pool in one movement and disappeared in the direction of the men's changing room before she had a chance to reply.

A little over fifteen minutes later Hannah walked into the Bar de la Porte Dauphine. She searched around the room and almost missed him perched behind one of the high-backed wooden chairs directly below a large, colourful mural.

He rose to greet her and then ordered another coffee.

He warned her that they must spend only a few minutes together, because she ought to return to the emba.s.sy without delay. As she sipped the first real coffee she had tasted in weeks, Hannah took a closer look at him, and began to recall what it was like just to enjoy a drink with someone interesting. His next sentence snapped her back into the real world.

'Kratz plans to pull you out of Paris in the near future.'

'Any particular reason?' she asked. 'The date of the Baghdad operation has been settled.' 'Thank G.o.d,' said Hannah.

'Why do you say that?' asked Scott, risking his first question.

'The Amba.s.sador expects to be called back to Baghdad to take up a new post. He intends to ask me to go with him,'

replied Hannah. 'Or that's what the Chief Administrator is telling everyone, except Muna.' 'I'll warn Kratz.'

'By the way, Simon, I've picked up two or three sc.r.a.ps of information that Kratz might find useful.'

He nodded and listened as Hannah began to give him details of the internal organisation of the emba.s.sy, and of the comings and goings of diplomats and businessmen who publicly spoke out against Saddam while at the same time trying to close deals with him. After a few minutes he stopped her and said, 'You'd better leave now. They might begin to miss you.

I'll try and arrange another meeting whenever it's possible,'

he found himself adding. She smiled, rose from the table and left, without looking back.

Later that evening, Scott sent a coded message to DexterHutchins in Virginia to let him know that he had made contact with Hannah Kopec.

A fax came back an hour later with only one instruction.

ON MAY 2STH 1993, the sun rose over the Capitol a few minutes after five. Its rays crept along the White House lawn and minutes later seeped unnoticed into the Oval Office. A few hundred yards away, Cavalli was slapping his hands behind his back.

Cavalli had spent the previous day in Washington, checking the finer details for what felt like the hundredth time. He had to a.s.sume that something must go wrong and, whatever it turned out to be, it would automatically become his responsibility.

Johnny Scasiatore walked over and handed Cavalli a steaming mug of coffee.

'I had no idea it could be this cold in Washington,'

Cavalli said to Johnny, who was wearing a sheepskin jacket.

'It's cold at this time of the morning almost everywhere in the world,' replied Johnny. 'Ask any film director.'

'And do you really need six hours to get ready for three minutes of filming?' Cavalli asked incredulously.

'Two hours' preparation for a minute's work is the standard rule. And don't forget, we'll have to run through this particular scene twice, in somewhat unusual circ.u.mstances.'

Cavalli stood on the corner of 13th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue and eyed the fifty or so people who came under Johnny's direction. Some were preparing a track along the pavement that would allow a camera to follow the six cars as they travelled slowly down Pennsylvania Avenue.

Others were fixing up ma.s.sive IK arc lights along the seven hundred yards that would eventually be powered by a 200kw generator which had been transported into the heart of the capital at four o'clock that morning. Sound equipment was being tested to make sure that it would pick up every kind of noise -feet walking on a pavement, car doors slamming, the rumble of the subway, even the chimes of the clock on the Old Post Office Tower.

'Is all this expense really necessary?' asked Cavalli.

'If you want everyone except us to believe they're taking part in a motion picture, you can't afford to risk any short-cuts. I'm going to shoot a film that anybody watching us, professional or amateur, could expect to see one day in a movie theatre. I'm even paying full equity rates for all ofthe extras.'

'Thank G.o.d none of my people have a union,' commented Cavalli. The sun was now full on his face, twenty-one minutes after the President would have enjoyed its warmth over breakfast in the White House.

Cavalli looked down at the checklist on his clipboard. Al Calabrese already had all his twelve vehicles in place on the kerbside, and the drivers were standing around in a huddle drinking coffee, sheltered from the wind by one of the walls of Freedom Plaza. The six limousines glistened in the morning sun as pa.s.sers-by, cleaners and janitors leaving offices and early-morning commuters coming up from the Federal Triangle Metro slowed to admire the spectacle. A painter was just touching up the Presidential Seal on the third car while a girl was unfurling a flag on the right-hand fender.

Cavalli turned to see a police truck, tailboard down, parked in front of the District Building, Barriers were being lifted off and carried onto the pavement to make sure innocent pa.s.sers-by did not stray onto the set during those crucial three minutes when the filming would be taking place.

Lloyd Adams had spent the previous day going over his lines one last time and dipping into yet another book on the history of the Declaration of Independence. That night he had sat in bed replaying again and again a video of Bill Clinton on his Georgia Avenue walk, noting the tilt of the head, the Razorback accent, the way he subconsciously bit his lower lip. The Monday before, Adams had purchased a suit that was identical to the one the President had worn to welcome the British Prime Minister in February - straight off the rack from Dillard's Department Store. He chose a red, white and blue tie, a rip-off of the one Clinton wore on the cover of the March issue of Vanity Fair. A Timex Ironman had been the final addition to his wardrobe. During the past week a second wig had been made, this time a little greyer, which Adams felt more comfortable with. The director and Cavalli had taken him through a dress rehearsal the previous evening: word perfect - though Johnny had commented that his collapse at the end of the scene was a bad case of overacting. Cavalli felt the Archivist would be far too overwhelmed to notice.

Cavalli asked Al Calabrese to go over the breakdown of his staff yet again. Al tried not to sound exasperated, as he had gone over it in great detail during their last three board meetings: 'Twelve drivers, six outriders,' he rattled off.

'Four of them are ex-cops or military police and all ofthem have worked with me before. But as none of them are going into the National Archives, they've simply been told they're involved in a movie. Only those working directly under Gino Sartori know what we're really up to.'

'But are they fully briefed on what's expected of them once they reach the Archives?'

'You'd better believe it,' replied Al. 'We went over it at least half a dozen times yesterday, first on a map in my office, and then we came down here in the afternoon and walked the route. They drive down Pennsylvania Avenue at ten miles an hour while they're being filmed and continue east until they reach 7th Street. Then they take a sharp right, when they'll be out of sight of everyone involved in the filming, not to mention the police. Then they turn right again at the delivery entrance of the National Archives, where they'll come to a halt in front of the loading dock.

Angelo, Dollar Bill, Debbie, you and the counter-a.s.sault team leave their vehicles and accompany the actor into the building, where they'll be met by Calder Marshall.

'Once your party has entered the building the cars will go back up the ramp and take a right on 7th Street, another right on Const.i.tution Avenue and then right on 14th Street before returning to the location where the filming began. By then, Johnny will be ready for a second take. On the signal from you that the Declaration of Independence has been exchanged for a fake, the second take will begin immediately, except this time we'll be picking up the thirteen operatives we dropped outside the National Archives.'

'And, if all goes to plan, the Declaration of Independence as well,' said Cavalli. 'Then what happens?' he asked, wanting to be sure that nothing had changed since their final board meeting in New York.

'The limos leave Washington by six separate routes,'

continued Al. 'Three of them return to the capital during the afternoon, but not until they've changed their licence plates; two others go on to New York, and one drives to a destination known only to you; that will be the vehicle carrying the Declaration.'

'If it all runs as smoothly as that, Al, you'll have earned your money. But it won't, and that's when we'll really find out how good you are.' He nodded as Al left to grab a mug of coffee and rejoin his men.

Cavalli checked his watch: 7.22. When he looked up he sawJohnny heading towards him, red in the face. Thank G.o.d I don't have to work in Hollywood, thought Cavalli.

'I'm having trouble with a cop who says I can't put my lighting equipment on the sidewalk until 9.30 a.m. That means I won't be able to begin filming until after ten, and if I've only got forty-five minutes to start with -'

'Calm down, Johnny,' said Cavalli, and checked his list of personnel. He looked up and began to search the crowd of workers that was flowing off Freedom Plaza onto the pavement.

He spotted the man he needed. 'You see the tall guy with grey hair practising his charm on Debbie?' he said, pointing.

'Yeah,' said Johnny.

'That's Tom Newbolt, ex-Deputy Chief of the DCPD, now a security consultant. We've hired him for the day. So go and tell him what your problem is, and then we'll find out if he's worth the five thousand dollars his company is charging me.'

Cavalli smiled as Johnny stormed off in Newbolt's direction.

Angelo stood over the slumbering body. He leaned across, grabbed Dollar Bill's shoulders, and began to shake him furiously.

The little Irishman was belching out a snore that sounded more like an old tractor than a human being.

Angelo leaned closer, only to find Dollar Bill smelt as if he had spent a night in the local brewery.

Angelo realised that he should never have left Bill the previous evening, even for a moment. If he didn't get the b.a.s.t.a.r.d to the Archives on time, Cavalli would kill them both. He even knew who'd carry out the job, and the method she would use. He went on shaking, but Dollar Bill's eyes remained determinedly closed.

At eight o'clock a klaxon sounded and the film crew took a break for breakfast.

'Thirty minutes. Union regulations,' explained Johnny when Cavalli looked exasperated. The crew surrounded a parked trailer - another expensive import -on the pavement, where they were served eggs, ham and hash browns. Cavalli had to admit that the crowds gathered behind the police barriers and the pa.s.sers-by lingering on the pavement never seemed to doubt for a moment that this was a film crew getting ready for a shoot.

Cavalli decided to use the thirty-minute break to check for himself that, once the cars had turned right on 7thStreet, they could not be seen by anyone involved in the filming back on Pennsylvania Avenue.

He strode briskly away from the commotion, and when he reached the corner of 7th Street he turned right. It was as if he'd entered a different world. He joined a group of people who were quite unaware of what was taking place less than half a mile away. It was just like Washington on a normal Tuesday morning. He was pleased to spot Andy Borzello sitting on the bench in the bus shelter near the loading dock entrance to the National Archives, reading the Washington Post.

By the time Cavalli had returned, the film crew were beginning to move back and start their final checks; no one wanted to be the person responsible for a retake.

The crowds at the barriers were growing thicker by the minute, and the police spent a considerable amount of their time explaining that a film was going to be shot, but not for at least another couple of hours. Several people looked disappointed at this information and moved on, only to allow others to take up the places they had vacated.

Cavalli's cellular phone began ringing. He pressed the talk b.u.t.ton and was greeted by the sound of his father's Brooklyn vowels. The chairman was cautious over the phone, and simply asked if there were any problems.

'Several,' admitted Tony. 'But none so far that we hadn't antic.i.p.ated or can't overcome.'

'Don't forget, cancel the entire operation if you're not satisfied with the response to your nine o'clock phone call.

Either way, he mustn't be allowed to return to the White House.' The line went dead. Cavalli knew that his father was right on both counts.

Cavalli checked his watch again: 8.43. He strolled over to Johnny.

'I'm going across to the Willard. I don't expect to be too long, so just keep things rolling. By the way, I see you got all your equipment on the sidewalk.'

'Sure thing,' said Johnny. 'Once Newbolt talked to that cop, he even helped us carry the d.a.m.n stuff.'

Cavalli smiled and began walking towards the National Theater on the way to the Willard Hotel. Gino Sartori was coming in the opposite direction.

'Gino,' Cavalli said, stopping to face the ex-Marine. 'Are all your men ready?'

'Every one of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.''And can you guarantee their silence?'

'Like the grave. That is, if they don't want to end up digging their own.'

'So where are they now?'

'Coming from eight different directions. All of them are due to report to me by nine-thirty. Smart dark suits, sober ties, and holsters that aren't too obvious.'

'Let me know the moment they're all signed in.'

'Will do,' said Gino.

Cavalli continued his journey to the Willard Hotel, and after checking his watch again began to lengthen his stride.

He strolled into the lobby, and found Rex b.u.t.terworth marching nervously up and down the centre of the hall as if his sole aim in life was to wear out the blue-and-gold carpet. He looked relieved when he saw Cavalli, and joined him as he strode towards the elevator.

'I told you to sit in the corner and wait, not parade up and down in front of every freelance journalist looking for a story.'

b.u.t.terworth mumbled an apology as they stepped into the elevator and Cavalli pressed b.u.t.ton eleven. Neither of them spoke again until they were safely inside 1137, the room in which Cavalli had spent the previous night.

Cavalli looked more carefully at Rex b.u.t.terworth now they were alone. He was sweating as if he had just finished a five-mile jog, not travelled up eleven floors in an elevator.

'Calm down,' said Cavalli. 'You've played your part well so far. Only one more phone call and you're through. You'll be on your flight to Rio before the first outrider even reaches the National Archives. Now, are you clear about what you have to say to Marshall?'

b.u.t.terworth took out some handwritten notes, mouthed a few words and said, 'Yes, I'm clear and I'm ready.' He was shaking like a jelly.

Cavalli dialled the private number of the Archivist's office half a mile away, and when he heard the first ring, pa.s.sed the receiver over to b.u.t.terworth. They both listened to the continuing ringing. Eventually Cavalli put his hand out to take back the receiver. They would have to try again in a few minutes' time. Suddenly there was a click and a voice said, 'Calder Marshall speaking.'

Cavalli went into the bathroom and picked up the extension. 'Good morning, Mr Marshall. It's Rex b.u.t.terworth at the White House, just checking everything's all set up andready your end.'

'It certainly is, Mr b.u.t.terworth. Every member of my staff has been instructed to be at their desks by nine o'clock sharp. In fact, I've seen most of them already, but only my deputy and the Senior Conservator know the real reason I've asked them all not to be late this morning.'

'Well done,' said b.u.t.terworth. 'The President is running on time and we antic.i.p.ate he will be with you around ten, but I'm afraid he still has to be back at the White House by eleven.'

'By eleven, of course,' said the Archivist. 'I only hope we can get him round the whole building in fifty minutes, because I expect there are many of my staff who would like to meet him.'

'We'll just have to hope that fifty minutes is enough time to fit them all in,' said b.u.t.terworth. 'Can I a.s.sume that there are still no problems with the President's personal request?'

'None that I'm aware of,' said Marshall. 'The Conservator is quite happy to remove the gla.s.s so that the President can study the parchment in its original form. We'll keep the Declaration in the vault until the President has left the building. I hope to have the doc.u.ment back on view to the general public a few minutes after he departs.'

'It sounds to me as if you have everything under control, Mr Marshall,' said b.u.t.terworth, the sweat pouring off his forehead. 'I'm just off to see the President, so I'm afraid I'll be out of contact for the rest of the morning, but let's talk again this afternoon and you can tell me how it all went.'

Cavalli placed the phone on the side of the bath and bolted back into the bedroom, coming to a halt in front of the President's Special a.s.sistant. b.u.t.terworth looked terrified. Cavalli shook his head frantically from side to side.

'Actually, now that I look at my schedule, Mr Marshall, I see you won't be able to reach me again today because I promised my wife I'd leave the office a little earlier than usual to prepare for our annual vacation which begins tomorrow.'

'Oh. Where are you going?' asked Marshall, innocently.

'Off to see my mother in Charleston. But I feel confident that the President's visit to the Archives will be a greatsuccess. Why don't we get together as soon as I'm back?'

'I would enjoy that,' said Marshall. 'And I do hope you have a pleasant break in South Carolina; the azaleas should still be blooming.'

'Yes, I suppose they will,' said b.u.t.terworth as he watched Cavalli pulling a finger across his throat. 'My other line is ringing,' he added, and without another word put the phone down.

'You said too much, you fool. We don't ever want him trying to contact you again.'

b.u.t.terworth looked apprehensive.

'How long will it be before the White House wonders where you are?' asked Cavalli.

'At least a week,' replied b.u.t.terworth. 'I really am due for my annual leave, and even my boss thinks I'm going to Charleston.'