The other man, who Scott noticed was recovering from a black eye and a broken nose, took some time answering his question. And then Scott slept, never wanting to wake again.

'department of commerce.'

'The Director, please.'

'Who's calling?'

'Marshall, Calder Marshall.'

'Is he expecting your call?'

'No, he is not.'

'Mr Fielding only takes calls from people who have previously booked to speak to him.'

'What about his secretary?' asked Marshall.

'She never takes calls.'

'So how do I get a booking with Mr Fielding?'

'You have to speak to Miss Zelumski in reservations.'

'Can I be put through to Miss Zelumski, or do I have to make a reservation to speak to her as well?'

'There is no need to be sarcastic, sir. I'm only doing my job.'

'I'm sorry. Perhaps you'd put me through to Miss Zelumski.'

Marshall waited patiently.

'Miss Zelumski speaking.'

'I'd like to reserve a call to speak to Mr Fielding.'

'Is it domestic, most-favoured status or foreign?' asked a bored-sounding voice.

'It's personal.'

'Does he know you?'

'No, he doesn't.'

'Then I can't help. I only deal with domestic, most-favoured status or foreign.'

The Archivist hung up before Miss Zelumski was given the chance to say 'Glad to have been of a.s.sistance, sir.'

Marshall tapped his fingers on the desk. The time had cometo play by new rules.

Cavalli had checked into the Hotel de la Paix in Geneva the previous evening. He had booked a modest suite overlooking the lake. Neither expensive nor conspicuous.

After he had undressed, he climbed into bed and tuned in to CNN. He watched for a few moments, but found that the news of Bill Clinton having his hair cut on board Air Force One while it was parked on a runway at Los Angeles airport was getting more coverage than the Americans shooting down a plane in the no-fly zone over Iraq. It seemed the new President was determined to prove to Saddam that he was every bit as tough as Bush.

When Cavalli woke in the morning, he jumped out of bed, strolled across to the window, opened the curtains and admired the fountain in the centre of the lake whose water spouted like a gushing well high into the air. He turned to see that an envelope had been pushed under the door. He tore it open to discover a note confirming his appointment to 'take tea' with his banker, Monsieur Franchard, at eleven o'clock that morning. Cavalli was about to drop the card into the waste-paper basket when he noticed some words scribbled on the bottom: After a light breakfast in his room, Cavalli packed his suitcase and hanging bag before going downstairs. The doorman answered his questions in perfect English, and confirmed the directions to Franchard et cie. In Switzerland hall porters know the location of banks, just as their London counterparts can direct you to theatres and football grounds.

As Cavalli left the hotel and started the short walk to the bank, he couldn't help feeling something wasn't quite right. And then he realised that the streets were clean, the people he pa.s.sed were well-dressed, sober and silent. A contrast in every way to New York.

Once he reached the front door of the bank, Cavalli pressed the discreet bell under the equally discreet bra.s.s plate announcing 'Franchard et cie'.

A doorman responded to the call. Cavalli walked into a marble-pillared hall of perfect proportions.

'Perhaps you would like to go straight to the tenth floor, Mr Cavalli? I believe Monsieur Franchard is expecting you.'

Cavalli had only entered the building twice before in his life. How did they manage it? And the porter turned out to be as good as his word, because when Cavalli stepped out of the lift, the chairman of the bank was waiting there to greethim.

'Good morning, Mr Cavalli,' he said. 'Shall we go to my office?'

The chairman's office was a modest, tastefully decorated room, Swiss bankers not wishing to frighten away their customers with a show of conspicuous wealth.

Cavalli was surprised to see a large brown parcel placed in the centre of the boardroom table, giving no clue as to its contents.

'This arrived for you this morning,' the banker explained. 'I thought it might have something to do with our proposed meeting.'

Cavalli smiled, leaned over and pulled the parcel towards him. He quickly ripped off the brown-paper covering to find a packing case with the words 'TEA: boston' stamped across it.

With the help of a heavy silver letter-opener which he picked up from a side table, Cavalli prised the wooden lid slowly open. He didn't notice the slight grimace that came over the chairman's face.

Cavalli stared inside. The top of the box was filled with styrofoam packing material, which he cupped out with his hands and scattered all over the boardroom table.

The chairman quickly placed a waste-paper basket by his side, which Cavalli ignored as he continued to dig into the box until he finally came to some objects wrapped in tissue-paper.

He removed a piece of the tissue-paper to reveal a teacup in the Confederate colours of the First Congress.

It took Cavalli several minutes to unwrap an entire tea set, which he laid out on the table in front of the puzzled banker. Once it was unpacked, Cavalli also appeared a little mystified. He dug into the box again, and retrieved an envelope. He tore it open and began reading the contents out loud.

This is a copy of the famous tea set made in 1777 by Pearson and Son to commemorate the Boston Tea Party. Each set is accompanied by an authentic copy of the Declaration of Independence. Your set is number 20917, and has been recorded in our books under the name of J. Hanc.o.c.k.

The letter had been signed and verified by the present chairman, H. William Pearson VI.

Cavalli burst out laughing as he dug deeper into the wooden box, removing yet more packing material until he came across a thin plastic cylinder. He had to admire the way NickVicente had fooled the US Customs into allowing him to export the original. The banker's expression remained one of bafflement. Cavalli placed the cylinder in the centre of the table, before going over in considerable detail how he wanted the meeting at twelve to be conducted.

The banker nodded from time to time, and made the occasional note on the pad in front of him.

'I would also like the plastic tube placed in a strongbox for the time being. The key to the box should be handed over to Mr Al Obaydi when, and only when, you have received the full payment by wire transfer. The money should then be deposited in my No. 3 account in your Zurich branch.'

'And are you able to tell me the exact sum you antic.i.p.ate receiving from Mr Al Obaydi?' asked the banker.

'Ninety million dollars,' said Cavalli.

The banker didn't raise an eyebrow.

The Archivist looked up the name of the Commerce Secretary in his government directory, then picked up his phone and pressed one b.u.t.ton. 482 2000 was now programmed into his speed dial.

'Department of Commerce.'

'd.i.c.k Fielding, please.'

'Just a moment.'

'Office of the Director.'

'This is Secretary Brown.'

The Archivist had to wait only a few seconds before the call was put through.

'Good morning, Mr Secretary,' said an alert voice.

'Good morning, Mr Fielding. This is Calder Marshall, Archivist of the United States of America.'

'I thought...'

'You thought...?'

'I guess I must have picked up the wrong phone. How may I help you, Mr Marshall?'

'I'm trying to trace a former employee of yours. Rex b.u.t.terworth.'

'I can't help you on that one.'

'Why? Are you bound by the Privacy Act as well?'

Fielding laughed. 'I only wish I was.'

'I don't understand,' said the Archivist.

'Last week we sent b.u.t.terworth a merit bonus, and it was returned, "No forwarding address".'

'But he has a wife.'

'She got the same response to her last letter.''And his mother in South Carolina?'

'She's been dead for years.'

'Thank you,' said Calder Marshall, and put the phone down.

He knew exactly who he had to call next.

Dummond et cie is one of Geneva's more modern banking establishments, having been founded as late as 1781. Since then the bank has spent over two hundred years handling other people's money, without religious or racial prejudice.

Dummond et cie had always been willing to deal with Arab sheik or Jewish businessman, n.a.z.i Gauleiter or British aristocrat, in fact anyone who required their services. It was a policy that had reaped dividends in every trading currency throughout the world.

The bank occupied twelve floors of a building just off the place de la Fusterie. The meeting that had been arranged that Tuesday at noon was scheduled to take place in the boardroom on the eleventh floor, the floor below the chairman's office.

The chairman of the bank, Pierre Dummond, had held his present position for the past nineteen years, but even he had rarely experienced a more unlikely coupling than that between an educated Arab from Iraq and the son of a former Mafia lawyer from New York.

The boardroom table could seat sixteen, but on this occasion it was only occupied by four. Pierre Dummond sat in the centre of one of the long sides under a portrait of his uncle, the former chairman, Francois Dummond. The present chairman wore a dark suit of elegant cut and style that would not have looked out of place had it been worn by any of the chairmen of the forty-eight banks located within a square mile of the building. His shirt was of a shade of blue that was not influenced by Milan fashions, and his tie was so discreet that, moments after leaving the room, only a remarkably observant client would have been able to recall its colour or pattern.

On Monsieur Dummond's right sat his client, Mr Al Obaydi, whose dress, although slightly more fashionable, was nonetheless equally conservative.

Opposite Monsieur Dummond sat the chairman of Franchard et cie, who, any observer would have noticed, must have shared the same tailor as Monsieur Dummond. On Franchard's left sat Antonio Cavalli, wearing a double-breasted Armani suit, who looked as if he had dropped in on the wrong meeting.

The little carriage clock that sat on the Louis-Philippemantelpiece behind Monsieur Dummond completed twelve strokes.

The chairman cleared his throat and began the proceedings.

'Gentlemen, the purpose of this meeting, which was called at our instigation but with your agreement, is to exchange a rare doc.u.ment for an agreed sum of money.'

Monsieur Dummond pushed his half-moon spectacles further up his nose. 'Naturally, I must begin, Mr Cavalli, by asking if you are in possession of that doc.u.ment?'

'No, he is not, sir,' interjected Monsieur Franchard, as prearranged with Cavalli, 'because he has entrusted the doc.u.ment's safekeeping to our bank. But I can confirm that, as soon as the sum has been transferred, I have been given power of attorney to release the doc.u.ment immediately.'

'But that is not what we agreed,' interrupted Dummond, who leaned forward, feigning shock, before adding, 'My client's government has no intention of paying another cent without full scrutiny of the doc.u.ment. You agreed to deliver it here by midday, and in any case we still have to be convinced of its authenticity.'

'That is understood by my client,' said Monsieur Franchard. 'Indeed, you are most welcome to attend my office at any time convenient to you in order to carry out such an inspection. Following that inspection, the moment you have transferred the agreed amount the doc.u.ment will be released.'

'This is all very well,' countered Monsieur Dummond, pushing his half-moon spectacles back up his nose, 'but your client has failed to keep to his original agreement, which in my view allows my client's government' - he emphasised the word 'government' - 'to reconsider its position.'

'My client felt it prudent, in the circ.u.mstances, to protect his interest by depositing the doc.u.ment in his own bank for safekeeping,' came back the immediate reply from Monsieur Franchard.

Anyone watching the two bankers sparring with each other might have been surprised to learn that they played chess together every Sat.u.r.day night, which Monsieur Franchard invariably won, and tennis after lunch on Sunday, which he regularly lost.

'I cannot accept this new arrangement,' said Al Obaydi, speaking for the first time. 'My government has charged me to pay only a further forty million dollars if the original agreement is breached in any way.'

'But this is ridiculous!' said Cavalli, his voice rising with every word. 'We are quibbling over a matter of a fewhours at the most and a building less than half a mile away.

And as you well know, the figure agreed on was ninety million.'

'But you have since broken our agreement,' said Al Obaydi, 'so the original terms can no longer be considered valid by my government.'

'No ninety million, no doc.u.ment!' said Cavalli, banging his fist on the table.

'Let us be realistic, Mr Cavalli,' said Al Obaydi. 'The doc.u.ment is no longer of any use to you, and I have a feeling you would have settled for fifty million in the first place.'

'That is not the -'

Monsieur Franchard touched Cavalli's arm. 'I would like a few minutes alone with my client, and, if I may, the use of a telephone.'

'Of course,' said Monsieur Dummond, rising from his place.