'We will leave you. Please press the b.u.t.ton under the table the moment you wish us to return.'

Monsieur Dummond and his client left the room without another word.

'He's bluffing,' said Cavalli. 'He'll pay. I know it.'

'I don't think so,' said Franchard.

'What makes you say that?'

'The use of the words "my government".'

'What does that tell us that we didn't already know?'

'The expression was repeated four times,' said Franchard, 'which suggests to me that the financial decision has been taken out of the hands of Mr Al Obaydi, and only forty million has been deposited by his government with Dummond et cie.'

Cavalli began pacing round the room, but stopped by the phone which rested on a small side table.

'I presume that's bugged,' said Cavalli, pointing at the phone.

'No, Mr Cavalli, it is not.'

'How can you be so sure?' asked his client.

'Monsieur Dummond and I are currently involved in several transactions, and he would never allow our relationship to suffer for the sake of one deal. And in any case, he sits on the opposite side of the table from you today but, like every Swiss banker, that won't stop him from thinking of you as a potential customer.'

Cavalli checked his watch. It was 6.20 a.m. in New York.

His father would have been up for at least an hour. He jabbedout the fourteen numbers and waited.

His father answered the phone, sounding wide awake, and after preliminary exchanges listened carefully to his son's account of what had taken place in the bank's boardroom.

Cavalli also repeated Monsieur Franchard's view of the situation. The chairman of Skills didn't take long considering what advice he should give his son, advice which took Cavalli by surprise.

He replaced the phone and informed Monsieur Franchard of his father's opinion.

Monsieur Franchard nodded as if to show he agreed with the older man's judgement.

'Then let's get on with it,' said Cavalli reluctantly.

Monsieur Franchard pressed the b.u.t.ton under the boardroom table.

Monsieur Dummond and his client entered the room a few moments later and returned to the seats they had previously occupied. The old banker pushed his half-moon spectacles up his nose once again and stared over the top of them as he waited for Monsieur Franchard to speak.

'If the transaction is completed within one hour, we will settle for forty million dollars. If not, the deal is off and the doc.u.ment will be returned to the United States.'

Dummond removed his spectacles and turned to glance at his client. He was pleased that Franchard had picked up the significance of 'my government', a phrase he had recommended Mr Al Obaydi should use as often as possible.

'White House?'

'Yes, sir.'

'May I speak to the President's scheduler, please?'

'Can I ask who's calling?'

'Marshall, Calder Marshall, Archivist of the United States. And before you ask, yes, I do know her, and yes, she is expecting my call.'

The line went dead. Marshall wondered if he had been cut off.

'Patty Watson speaking.'

'Patty, this is Calder Marshall. I'm the -'

'Archivist of the United States.'

'I don't believe it.'

'Oh, yes, I'm a great fan of yours, Mr Marshall. I've even read your book on the history of the Const.i.tution, the Bill of Rights and the Declaration. How can I help you? - Are you still there, Mr Marshall?''Yes, Patty, I am. I only wanted to check on the President's schedule on the morning of May 25th this year.'

'Certainly, sir. I'll just be a moment.'

The Archivist did not have long to wait.

'Ah yes, May 25 th. The President spent the morning in the Oval Office with his speech writers, David Kusnet and Carolyn Curiel. He was preparing the text for his address on the GATT at the Chicago Council on Foreign Relations. He took a break to have lunch with Senator Mitch.e.l.l, the Majority Leader. At three, the President -'

'Did President Clinton remain in the White House the whole morning?'

'Yes, sir. He didn't leave the White House all day. He spent the afternoon with Mrs Clinton in discussions with her health-policy task unit.'

'Could he have slipped out of the building without even you knowing, Patty?'

The scheduling secretary laughed. 'That's not possible, sir. If he had done that, the Secret Service would have informed me immediately.'

'Thank you, Patty.'

'Glad to have been of a.s.sistance, sir.'

Once the meeting at Dummond et cie had broken up, Cavalli returned to his hotel room to wait for Franchard to call and confirm that the sum of forty million dollars had been deposited in his No. 3 account in Zurich.

As long as the transaction was closed within the hour, he would still have easily enough time to catch the 4.45 out of Geneva for Heathrow and make the early-evening connection to New York.

Cavalli began to get a little anxious after thirty minutes pa.s.sed and there had been no call, and even more so after forty. After fifty, he found himself pacing around the room, staring out at the fountain, and checking his watch every few moments.

When the phone eventually rang, he grabbed it.

'Mr Cavalli?' enquired a voice.

'Speaking.'

'Franchard here. The doc.u.ment has been verified and taken away. It might interest you to know that Mr Al Obaydi studied one word on the parchment for some time before he agreed to transfer the money. The agreed sum has been credited to your No. 3 account in Zurich as you specified.'

'Thank you, Monsieur Franchard,' said Cavalli withoutfurther comment.

'My pleasure, as always, Mr Cavalli. And is there anything else we can do for you while you're here?'

'Yes,' replied Cavalli. 'I need to transfer a quarter of a million dollars to a bank in the Cayman Islands.'

'The same name and account as the last three transactions?' asked the banker.

'Yes,' replied Cavalli. 'And the Zurich account, presently registered in the name of Mr Al Obaydi: I want to withdraw one hundred thousand dollars from it and...'

Monsieur Franchard listened carefully to his client's further instructions.

'State Department.'

'Can I speak to the Secretary of State?'

'Just a moment.'

'Office of the Secretary.'

'This is Calder Marshall. I'm the Archivist of the United States. It's vitally important that I speak with Secretary Christopher.'

'I'll put you through to his executive a.s.sistant, sir.'

'Thank you,' said Marshall, and waited for a very short time.

'This is Jack Leigh. I'm executive a.s.sistant to the Secretary. How may I help you, sir?'

'To start with, Mr Leigh, how many executive a.s.sistants does the Secretary of State have?'

'Five, sir, but there is only one senior to me.'

'Then I need to speak to the Secretary of State urgently.'

'Right now he's out of the office. Perhaps the Deputy Secretary can help?'

'No, Mr Leigh, he cannot help.'

'Well, I'll certainly let Secretary Christopher know you called, sir.'

'Thank you, Mr Leigh. And perhaps you'd be kind enough to pa.s.s a message on to him?'

'Of course, sir.'

'Would you let him know that my resignation will be on his desk tomorrow morning by nine a.m. This call is simply to apologise for the harm it will undoubtedly do to the President, particularly given the short period of time he has been in office.'

'You haven't spoken to anyone from the media about this, have you, sir?' asked the executive a.s.sistant, sounding anxious for the first time.'No, I have not, Mr Leigh, and I shall not do so until noon tomorrow, which should give the Secretary ample time in which to prepare answers to any questions that he and the President will undoubtedly be asked by the press when they learn my reason for resigning.'

'I'll have the Secretary get back to you as quickly as I can, sir.'

'Thank you, Mr Leigh.'

'Glad to have been of a.s.sistance, sir.'

She flew into the Cayman Islands that morning and took a taxi to Barclays Bank in Georgetown. She checked her account to find it had been credited with three payments of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. One on March 9th, another on April 27th, and a further one on May 30th.

There was one still to come. But, to be fair, Cavalli might not learn of the death of T. Hamilton McKenzie until he had returned from Geneva.

'And we have another package for you, Miss Webster,' said the smiling West Indian behind the counter.

Far too familiar, she thought. Once again the time had come for her to move her account to another bank in another country, in another name. She dropped the package into her carrier bag, threw it over her shoulder and left without a word.

She didn't attempt to open the thick brown envelope until she had called for coffee at the end of an unhurried meal at a hotel she would never book into. She then carefully slit open the top of the bulky package with her bread knife, allowing the contents to spill out onto the table.

The usual photos, from every angle, plus addresses past and present, and the daily habits and haunts of the intended victim. Cavalli never left any room for mistakes.

She studied the photos of a little fat man sitting on a bar stool. He looked harmless enough. The contract was always the same. To be carried out within fourteen days. Payment two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to account specified.

It wasn't Columbus or Washington this time, but San Francisco. She hadn't been to the West Coast in years, and she tried to remember if they had a Laura Ashley store.

'National Archives.'

'Mr Marshall, please.'

'Who's calling?'

'Christopher. Warren Christopher.'

'And you're with which agency?''I have a feeling he'll know.'

'I'll put you through, sir.' The Secretary waited patiently.

'Calder Marshall speaking.'

'Calder, it's Warren Christopher.'

'Good morning, Mr Secretary.'

'Good morning, Calder. I've just received your letter of resignation.'

'Yes, sir. I thought it was the only course of action I could take in the circ.u.mstances.'

'Very commendable, I feel sure, but have you let anyone else into your confidence?'

'No, sir. I intended to brief my staff at eleven and hold a press conference at twelve, as stated in my letter. I hope that doesn't inconvenience you, sir.'

'Well, I wondered if before you did that, you might find the time to have a meeting with the President and myself?'