Cavalli took a pace forward and slowly pulled out Dollar Bill's counterfeit copy from the specially constructed chamber where the sword's blade would normally have lodged.

Cavalli and Dollar Bill exchanged their prizes and reversed the process. While Cavalli slid the original Declaration inch by inch down the scabbard of the dress sword, Dollar Bill began to unroll his fake carefully onto the backplate of the laminated gla.s.s, the moist chemical mixture helping the doc.u.ment to remain in place. The counterfeiter sniffed loudly. The strong smell suggested thymol to his sensitive nose. Dollar Bill gave his copy one more long look, checked the spelling correction and then took a pace backward, reluctantly leaving his masterpiece to the tender care of the National Archives and its concrete prison.

Once he had completed his task Dollar Bill walked quickly over to the side of Lloyd Adams. Debbie had already undone his collar, loosened his tie and applied a little pale foundation to his face. The forger bent down on one knee, took off the rubber gloves and dropped them into a physician's bag full of make-up as Cavalli dialled a numberon his cellphone.

It was answered even before he heard a ring, but Cavalli could only just make out a faint voice.

'Take two,' said Cavalli firmly, and rang off before pointing at the door. One of the Secret Service agents swung the steel grid wide open and Cavalli watched carefully as Mr Mendelssohn came charging through the gap and headed straight to the bra.s.s encas.e.m.e.nt, while Marshall, who was pale and quivering, went immediately to the side of the President.

Cavalli was relieved to see a smile come across the lips of the Conservator as he leaned over the fake Declaration.

With the help of Angelo, he pulled the bra.s.s casing across and gave the ma.n.u.script a loving stare before fixing the lid back into place, then quickly tightened the twelve locks around the outside of the casing. He pressed one of the b.u.t.tons and the whirling and clanking noise began again as the ma.s.sive bra.s.s frame slowly disappeared back into the ground.

Cavalli turned his attention to the actor and watched as two of the Secret Service agents helped him to his feet, while Dollar Bill fastened his physician's bag.

'What chemical is it that protects the parchment?' asked Dollar Bill.

'Thymol,' replied the Archivist.

'Of course, I should have guessed. With the President's allergy problem, I might have expected this reaction. Don't panic. As long as we get him out in the fresh air as quickly as possible, he'll be back to normal in no time.'

'Thank G.o.d for that,' said Marshall, who hadn't stopped shaking.

'Amen,' said the little Irishman as the actor was helped towards the door.

Marshall quickly rushed to the front and led them back up the stairs, with the Secret Service agents following as close behind as possible.

Cavalli left Lloyd Adams stumbling behind him while he caught up with the Archivist. 'No one, I repeat, no one, must hear about this incident,' he said, running by Marshall's side. 'Nothing could be more damaging to the President when he has only been in office for such a short time, especially remembering what Mr Bush went through after his trip to j.a.pan.'

'After his trip to j.a.pan. Of course, of course.'

'If any of your staff should ask why the President didn'tcomplete his tour of the building, stick to the line that he was called back to the White House on urgent business.'

'Called back on urgent business. Of course,' said Marshall, who was now whiter than the actor.

Cavalli was relieved to find his earlier orders about no staff being allowed in the lower corridor while the President was in the building still remained in force.

Once they had reached the freight elevator, and all the group were inside, they descended to the level of the loading dock. Cavalli sprinted out ahead of them and up the ramp onto 7th Street.

He was annoyed to find that there was still a small crowd on the far pavement, and no sign of the motorcade. He looked anxiously to his right, where Andy was now standing on the bench, pointing towards Pennsylvania Avenue. Cavalli turned to look in the same direction and saw the first motorcycle escort turning right into 7th Street.

He ran back down the ramp to find Lloyd Adams next to a Federal Express pick-up box, being propped up by two Secret Service agents.

'Let's make it snappy,' said Cavalli. 'There's a small crowd out there and they're beginning to wonder what's going on.' He turned to face the Archivist, who was standing next to the Conservator on the loading dock.

'Please remember, the President was called back to the White House on urgent business.' They both nodded vigorously.

Four of the Secret Service agents rushed forward just as the third car, engine running, pulled up to the loading dock at the bottom of the ramp.

Cavalli opened the door of the third limousine and frantically waved the actor in. The lead riders on the motorcycles held up the traffic as the final car came to a halt at the mouth of the delivery entrance. As Lloyd Adams was a.s.sisted into the limousine, the small crowd on the other side of the road began pointing and clapping.

One of the Secret Service agents nodded back in the direction of the building. Angelo jumped into the second car, still clinging onto the sword, while Dollar Bill and the secretary piled into the fourth. By the time Cavalli had joined Angelo in the back of the second car and given the signal to move, the motorcycle escort was already in the middle of 7th Street holding up the traffic to allow the motorcade to proceed towards Const.i.tution Avenue. As the sirens blared and the limousines began their journey down 7thStreet, Cavalli looked back and was relieved to see there was no longer any sign of Marshall or Mendelssohn.

He quickly switched his attention to the east side of 7th Street, where Andy was explaining to the crowd that it had not been the President but simply a rehearsal for a movie, nothing more. Most of the onlookers showed their obvious disappointment and quickly began to disperse.

Then he thought he saw him again. As Cavalli's car sped down Const.i.tution Avenue, the lead police car was already turning right into 14th Street, accompanied by two of the outriders. The sirens had been turned off, and the rest of the motorcade peeled off one by one as they reached their allotted intersections.

The first car swung right on 9th Street and right again back onto Pennsylvania Avenue before heading away in the direction of the Capitol. The third continued on down Const.i.tution Avenue, keeping to the centre lane, while the fourth turned left onto 12th Street and the sixth right at 13 th.

The fifth turned left on 23 rd Street, crossing Memorial Bridge and following the signs to Old Town, while the second car turned left at 14th Street and headed towards the Jefferson Memorial and onto the George Washington Parkway.

Cavalli, who was seated in the back of the second car, dialled the director. When Johnny answered the phone, the only words he heard were, 'It's a wrap.'

SCOTT PRAYED THAT the Amba.s.sador's wife would be unable to get away on Thursday, or might still be in Geneva. He remembered Dexter Hutchins saying, 'Patience is not a virtue when you work for the CIA, it's nine-tenths of the job.'

When he stopped at the end of the pool Hannah told him that the Amba.s.sador's wife hadn't returned from Switzerland.

They didn't bother to swim another length, but agreed to meet later at the amus.e.m.e.nt park in the bois de Vincennes.

The moment he saw her walking across the road he wanted to touch her. There were no instructions in any of the CIA handbooks on how to deal with such a situation, and no agent had ever raised the problem with him during the past nine years.

Hannah briefed him on everything that was happening at the emba.s.sy, including 'something big' taking place in Geneva that she didn't yet know the details of. Scott told her in reply to her question that he had reported back to Kratz, and that it wouldn't be long before she was taken out. She seemedpleased.

Once they began to talk of other things, Scott's training warned him that he ought to insist she return to the emba.s.sy.

But this time he left Hannah to make the decision as to when she should leave. She seemed to relax for the first time, and even laughed at Scott's stories about the macho Parisians he met up with in the gym every evening.

As they strolled around the amus.e.m.e.nt park, Scott discovered it was Hannah who won the teddy bears at the shooting gallery and didn't feel sick on the big dipper.

'Why are you buying cotton candy?' he asked.

'Because then no one will think we're agents,' she replied. 'They'll a.s.sume we're lovers.'

When they parted two hours later he kissed her on the cheek. Two professionals behaving like amateurs. He apologised. She laughed and disappeared.

Shortly after ten o'clock, Hamid Al Obaydi joined a small crowd that had formed on the pavement opposite a side entrance of the National Archives. He had to wait some twenty minutes before the door opened again and Cavalli came running up the ramp just as the motorcade reappeared on the corner of 7th Street. Cavalli gave a signal and they all came rushing out to the waiting cars. Al Obaydi couldn't believe his eyes.

The deception completely fooled the small crowd, who began waving and cheering.

As the first car disappeared around the corner, a man who had been there all the time explained that it was not the President but simply the rehearsal for a film.

Al Obaydi smiled at this double deception while the disappointed crowd drifted away. He crossed 7th Street and joined a long line of tourists, schoolchildren and the simply curious who had formed a queue to see the Declaration of Independence.

The thirty-nine steps of the National Archives took as many minutes to ascend, and by the time the Deputy Amba.s.sador entered the rotunda the river of people had thinned to a tributary which flowed on across the marble hall to a single line up a further nine steps, ending in a trickle under the gaze of Thomas Jefferson and John Hanc.o.c.k.

Before him stood the ma.s.sive bra.s.s frame that housed the Declaration of Independence.

Al Obaydi noted that when a person reached the parchment, they were only able to spend a few moments gazing at the historic doc.u.ment. As his foot touched the first of the stepshis heart started beating faster, but for a different reason from everyone else waiting in the queue. He removed from his inside pocket a pair of spectacles whose gla.s.s could magnify the smallest writing by a degree of four.

The Deputy Amba.s.sador walked across to the centre of the top step and stared at the Declaration of Independence. His immediate reaction was one of horror. The doc.u.ment was so perfect it must surely be the original. Cavalli had fooled him. Worse, he had succeeded in stealing ten million dollars by a clever deception. Al Obaydi checked that the guards on each side of the encas.e.m.e.nt were showing no particular interest in him before putting on the spectacles.

He leaned over so that his nose was only an inch from the gla.s.s as he searched for the one word that had to be spelt correctly if they expected to be paid another cent.

His eyes widened in disbelief when he came to the sentence: 'Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our British brethren.'

The Amba.s.sador's wife returned from Geneva with her husband the following Friday. Hannah and Scott had managed to steal a few hours together that morning.

It had been less than three weeks since he had first seen her in the public baths in the boulevard Lannes.

Little more than a fortnight since that first hastily arranged meeting at the cafe on the avenue Bugeaud. That was when the lies had begun; small ones to start with, that grew larger until they had spun themselves into an intricate web of deceit. Now Scott longed to tell her the truth, but as each day pa.s.sed it became more and more impossible.

Langley had been delighted with the coded messages, and Dexter had congratulated him on doing such a first-cla.s.s job.

'As good a junior field officer as I can remember,' Dexter admitted. But Scott had discovered no code to let the Deputy Director know he was falling in love.

He had read Hannah's file from cover to cover, but it gave no clue as to her real character. The way she laughed - a smile that could make you smile however sad or angry you were. A mind that was always fascinating and fascinated by what was happening around her. But most of all a warmth and gentleness that made their time apart seem like an eternity.

And whenever he was with her, he was suddenly no more mature than his students. Their clandestine meetings had rarely been for more than an hour, perhaps two, but it made each occasion all the more intense.She continued to tell him everything about herself with a frankness and honesty that belied his deceit, while he told her nothing but a string of lies about being a Mossad agent whose front, while he was stationed in Paris, was writing a book, a travel book, which would never be published. That was the trouble with lies - each one created the next in a never-ending spiral. And that was the trouble with trust; she believed his every word.

When he returned home that evening, he made a decision he knew Langley would not approve of.

As the car edged its way into the outside lane of the George Washington Memorial Parkway bound for the airport the driver checked the rear-view mirror and confirmed no one was following them. Cavalli breathed a deep sigh of relief, though he had two alternative plans worked out if they were caught with the Declaration. He'd realised early on that it would be necessary to get as far away from the scene of the crime as quickly as possible. It had always been a crucial part of the plan that he would hand over the doc.u.ment to Nick Vicente within two hours of its leaving the National Archives.

'So let's get on with it,' said Cavalli, turning his attention to Angelo, who was seated opposite him. Angelo unbuckled the sword that hung from the belt around his waist.

The two men then faced each other like j.a.panese sumo wrestlers, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

Angelo placed the sword firmly between his legs, the handle pointing towards his boss. Cavalli leaned over and snapped the top back. Then, with the nail of his right thumb and forefinger, he extracted the thin black plastic cylinder from its casing. Angelo pressed the handle back in place and hitched the sword onto his belt.

Cavalli held the twenty-six-inch-long slim plastic cylinder in his hands.

'It must be tempting to have a look,' said Angelo.

'There are more important things to do at the moment,'

said Cavalli, placing the cylinder on the seat next to him.

He picked up the earphone, pressed a single digit followed by 'Send', and waited for a response.

'Yes?' said a recognisable voice.

'I'm on my way, and I'll have something to export when I arrive.' There was a long silence, and Cavalli wondered if he had lost the connection.

'You've done well,' came back the eventual reply. 'But areyou running to schedule?'

Cavalli looked out of the window. The exit sign for Route 395 South flashed past. 'I'd say we're about a couple of minutes from the airport. As long as we make our allocated time slot, I still hope to be with you around one o'clock.'

'Good, then I'll have Nick join us so that the contract can be picked up and sent on to our client. We'll expect you around one.'

Cavalli replaced the phone and was amused to find Angelo was dressed only in a vest and underpants. He smiled and was about to comment when the phone rang. Cavalli picked it up.

'Yes,' he said.

'It's Andy. I thought you'd like to know it's back on display to the general public and the queues are as long as ever. By the way, an Arab stood around in the crowd the whole time you were in the building, and then joined the line to see the Declaration.'

'Well done, Andy. Get yourself back to New York. You can fill me in on the details tomorrow.'

Cavalli put the phone down and considered Andy's new piece of information as Angelo was completing a Windsor knot on a tie no lieutenant would have been seen dead in. He still didn't have his trousers on.

The smoked gla.s.s between the driver and the pa.s.sengers slid down.

'We're just coming up to the terminal, sir. No one has followed us at any point.'

'Good,' said Cavalli as Angelo hurriedly pulled on his trousers. 'Once you've changed your licence plates, drive back to New York.'

The driver nodded as the limousine came to a halt outside Signature Flight Support.

Cavalli grabbed the plastic tube, jumped out of the car, ran through the terminal and out onto the tarmac. His eyes searched for the white Learjet. When he spotted it, a door opened and the steps were lowered to the ground. Cavalli ran towards them as Angelo followed, trying to pull on his jacket in the high wind.

The Captain was waiting for them on the top step. 'You've just made it in time for us to keep our slot,' he told them.

Cavalli smiled, and once they had both clicked on their seatbelts, the Captain pressed a b.u.t.ton to allow the steps to swing back into place.

The plane lifted off seventeen minutes later, banking overthe Kennedy Center, but not before the steward had served them each a gla.s.s of champagne. Cavalli rejected the offer of a second gla.s.s as he concentrated on what still needed to be done before he could consider his role in the operation was finished. His thoughts turned once again to Al Obaydi, and he began to wonder if he'd underestimated him.

When the Learjet landed at La Guardia fifty-seven minutes later, Cavalli's driver was waiting by his car, ready to whisk them into the city.

As the driver continually switched lanes and changed direction on the highway that would eventually take them west over the Triborough Bridge, Cavalli checked his watch. They were now lost in a sea of traffic heading into Manhattan, only eighty-seven minutes after leaving Calder Marshall outside the delivery entrance of the National Archives.

Roughly the time it would take a Wall Street banker to have lunch, Cavalli thought.

Cavalli was dropped outside his father's 75th Street brownstone just before one, leaving Angelo to go on to the Wall Street office and monitor the checking-in calls as each member of the team filed his report.

The butler held open the front door of No. 23 as Tony stepped out of the car.

'Can I take that for you, sir?' he asked, eyeing the plastic tube.

'No, thank you, Martin,' said Tony. 'I'll hold onto it for the moment. Where's my father?'

'He's in the boardroom with Mr Vicente, who arrived a few minutes ago.'

Tony jogged down the staircase that led to the bas.e.m.e.nt and continued across the corridor. He strode into the boardroom to find his father sitting at the head of the table, deep in conversation with Nick Vicente. The chairman stood up to greet his son, and Tony pa.s.sed him the plastic tube.

'Hail, conquering hero,' were his father's first words.

'If you'd pulled off the same trick for George III, he would have made you a knight. "Arise, Sir Antonio." But as it is, you'll have to be satisfied with a hundred million dollars'

compensation. Is it permissible for an old man to see the original before Nick whisks it away?'