'Namely?' asked Scott.

'A tiny nuclear device was to be planted inside the safe.'

'And the safe would be in the pa.s.sage next to where the Revolutionary Command Council meet. Not bad,' said Dexter.

'And the device was to be set off by a five-foot-ten, Arabic-speaking Jewish girl?' asked Scott.

Kratz nodded.

Thirty days? What did I do to deserve thirty days, that's what I want to know.' But no one was listening as Dollar Bill was hustled out of the courtroom, along the corridor and then out through a door at the rear of the building, before beingpushed into the back seat of an unmarked car. Three men with military-style haircuts, Ray-Bans, and small earplugs connected to wires running down the backs of their collars, accompanied him. 'Why wasn't I given bail? And what about my appeal? I have the right to a lawyer, d.a.m.n it. And by the way, where are you taking me?'

However many questions he asked, Dollar Bill received no answers.

Although he was unable to see anything out of the smoked-gla.s.s side windows, Dollar Bill could tell by looking over the driver's shoulder when they reached the Golden Gate Bridge. As they proceeded along Route 101, the speedometer touched fifty-five for the first time, but the driver never once exceeded the speed limit.

When twenty minutes later the car swung off the highway at the Belvedere exit, Dollar Bill had no idea where he was. The driver continued up a small, winding road, until the car slowed down as a ma.s.sive set of wrought-iron gates loomed up in front of them.

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 ma.s.sive 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 p.r.o.nounced 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 as 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 fitting sir' said Charles, 'and that everything else is tc your liking. Dinner will be served in half an hour.'

Dollar Bill bowed and spent the next few minutes lookinground the suite. He checked the bathroom. French soap, safety razors and fluffy white towels; even a toothbrush and his favourite 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 pants 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 fitting.

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 pa.s.s the unre-lenting hour.'

'I do apologise. 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 bar-room brawl, I'm tempted to ask, what do you lay on for ma.s.s 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 favourite 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 ent.i.tled to know what this is allabout, 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 realise that Clintonomics had resorted to forgery to help balance the budget deficit,' said Dollar Bill as the butler returned with a large gla.s.s 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 through 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 entrecote?' 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.'

'I should have realised this had to be too good to last.'

'First, allow me to fill you in with a little background,'

said Dexter Hutchins as a lightly grilled steak was placed in front of his guest. 'On May 25th this year, a well-organised group of criminals descended on Washington and carried out one of the most ingenious crimes in the history of this country.'

'Excellent steak,' said Dollar Bill. 'You must give my compliments to the chef.'

'I certainly will, sir,' said Charles, who was hovering behind his chair.

'This crime consisted of stealing from the National Archives, in broad daylight, the Declaration of Independence, and replacing it with a brilliant copy.'

Dollar Bill looked suitably impressed, but felt it would be unwise to comment at this stage.

'We have the names of several people involved in thatcrime, but we cannot make any arrests for fear of making those who are now in possession of the Declaration aware that we might be after them.'

'And what's this got to do with me?' asked Dollar Bill, as he devoured another succulent piece of meat.

'We thought you might be interested to know who had financed the entire operation, and is now in possession of the Declaration of Independence.'

Until that moment, Dollar Bill had learned nothing new, but he had long wanted to know where the doc.u.ment had ended up. He had never believed Angelo's tale of 'in private hands, an eccentric collector'. He put his knife and fork down and stared across the table at the Deputy Director of the CIA, who had at last captured his attention.

'We have reason to believe that the Declaration of Independence is currently in Baghdad, in the personal possession of Saddam Hussein.'

Dollar Bill's mouth opened wide, although he remained silent for some considerable time. 'Is there no longer honour among thieves?' he finally said.

'There still could be,' said Hutchins, 'because our only hope of returning the parchment to its rightful home rests in the hands of a small group who are willing to risk their lives by switching the doc.u.ment, in much the same way as the criminals did originally.'

'If I had known...' Dollar Bill paused. 'How can I help?' he asked quietly.

'At this moment, we are in urgent need of a perfect copy of the original. And we believe you are the only person who is capable of producing one.'

Dollar Bill knew exactly where there was a perfect copy, hanging on a wall in New York, but couldn't admit as much without bringing on himself even greater wrath than Mr Hutchins was capable of.

'You made mention of a prize,' said Dollar Bill. 'And a forfeit,' said Dexter Hutchins. 'The prize is that you remain here at our West Coast safe house, in what I think you will agree are pleasant surroundings. While you are with us, you will produce a counterfeit of the Declaration that would pa.s.s an expert's eye. If you achieve that, you will go free, with no charges preferred against you.'

'And the forfeit?'

'After coffee has been served you will be released andallowed to leave whenever you wish.'

'Released,' repeated Dollar Bill in disbelief, 'and allowed to leave whenever I wish?'

'Yes,' said the Deputy Director.

'Then why shouldn't I just enjoy the rest of this excellent meal, return to my humble establishment in Fairmont, and forget we ever met?'

The Deputy Director removed an envelope from an inside pocket. He extracted four photographs and pushed them across the table. Dollar Bill studied them. The first was of a girl aged about seventeen lying on a slab in a morgue. The second was of a middle-aged man huddled foetus-like in the boot of a car. The third was of a heavily-built man dumped by the side of a road. And the fourth was of an older, distinguished-looking man. A broken neck was all the four of them had in common. Dollar Bill pushed the photos back across the table.

'Four corpses. So what?'

'Sally McKenzie, Rex b.u.t.terworth, Bruno Morelli, and Dr T.

Hamilton McKenzie. And we have every reason to believe someone out there is planning the same happy ending for you.'

Dollar Bill speared the last pea left on his plate and downed the final drop of Guinness. He paused for a moment as if searching for inspiration.

'I'll need paper from Bremen, pens from a museum in Richmond, Virginia, and nine shades of black ink that can be made up for me by a firm in Cannon Street, London EC4.'

'Anything else?' asked Dexter Hutchins once he had finished writing down Dollar Bill's shopping list on the back of the envelope.

'I wonder if Charles would be kind enough to bring me another large Guinness. I have a feeling it may be my last for some considerable time.'

BERTIL PEDERSSON, the chief engineer of Svenhalte AC, was at the factory gate in Kalmar to greet Mr Riffat and Mr Bernstrom when the two men arrived that morning. He had received a fax from the United Nations the previous day confirming their flight times to Stockholm, and had checked with the arrivals desk at the airport to be informed that their plane had touched down only a few minutes late.

As they stepped out of their car, Mr Pedersson came forward, shook hands with both men and introduced himself.

'We are pleased to meet you at last, Mr Pedersson,' saidthe shorter of the two men, 'and grateful to you for making the time to see us at such short notice.'

'Well, to be frank with you, Mr Riffat, it came as quite a surprise to us when the United Nations lifted the restrictions on Madame Bertha.'

' "Madame Bertha"?'

'Yes, that is how we at the factory refer to the safe. I promise you, gentlemen, that despite your neglect, she has been a good girl. Many people have come to admire her, but n.o.body touches,' Mr Pedersson laughed. 'But I feel sure that after such a long journey you will want to see her for yourself, Mr Riffat.'

The short, dark-haired man nodded, and they both accompanied Pedersson as he led them across the yard.

'You responded most quickly to the UN's sudden change of heart, Mr Riffat.'

'Yes, our leader had given orders that the safe should be delivered to Baghdad the moment the embargo was lifted.'

Pedersson laughed again. 'I fear that may not be so easy,'

he said once they reached the other side of the yard. 'Madame Bertha was not built for speed, as you are about to discover.'

The three men continued to walk towards a large, apparently derelict building, and Pedersson strode through an opening where there must once have been a door. It was so dark inside that the two foreigners were unable to see more than a few feet in front of them. Pedersson switched on a single light, which was followed by what sounded like the sigh of an unrequited lover.

'Mr Riffat, Mr Bernstrom, allow me to introduce you to Madame Bertha.' The two men stared at the ma.s.sive structure that stood majestically in the middle of the old warehouse floor.

'Before I make a formal introduction,' Pedersson continued, 'first let me tell you Madame Bertha's vital statistics. She is nine feet tall, seven feet wide and eight feet deep. She is also thicker skinned than any politician, about six inches of solid steel to be precise, and she weighs over five tons. She was built by a specialist designer, three craftsmen and eight engineers. Her gestation from conception to delivery was eighteen months. But then,' he whispered, 'to be fair, she is almost the size of an elephant. I lower my voice only because she can hear every word I say, and I have no wish to offendher.'

Mr Pedersson did not see the puzzled looks that came over the faces of his two visitors. 'But, gentlemen, you have only seen her exterior, and I can promise you that what she has to offer is more than skin deep.

'First, I must tell you that Madame Bertha will not allow anyone to enter her without a personal introduction. She is, gentlemen, not a promiscuous lady, despite what you may have been told about the Swedes. She requires to know three things about you before she will consider revealing her innermost parts.'

Although the two guests remained puzzled as to what he meant, they did not interrupt Mr Pedersson's steady flow.

'And so, gentlemen, to begin with you must study Bertha's chest. You will observe three red lights above three small dials. By knowing the six-number code on all three dials, you will be able to turn one of the lights from red to green.

Allow me to demonstrate. First number to the right, second to the left, third to the right, fourth to the left, fifth to the right, sixth to the left. The first number for the first dial is 2, the second is 8, the third zero, the fourth 4, the fifth 3 and the sixth 7. 2-8-0-4-3-7.'

'The date of Sayedi's birthday,' said the tall, fair-haired visitor.

'Yes, I worked that one out, Mr Bernstrom,' said Pedersson. 'The second,' he said, turning his attention to the middle dial, 'is 1-6-0-7-7-9.' He turned the final number to the left.

'The day Sayedi became President.'

'We also managed that one, Mr Riffat. But I confess the third sequence fooled me completely. No doubt you will know what our client has planned for that particular day.' Mr Pedersson began twirling the third dial: 0-4-0- 7-9-3.

Pedersson looked hopefully towards Mr Bernstrom, who shrugged his shoulders. 'I've no idea,' he lied.

'You will now note, gentlemen, that after entering the correct figures on all three dials, only one of Madame Bertha's lights has turned green, while two still remain obstinately red. But now that you have discovered her three codes, she will consider a more personal relationship. You will observe that below the three dials there is painted a small white square about the size of your hand. Watchcarefully.' Pedersson took a pace forward and placed his right hand firmly on the white square. He left it there for several seconds, until the second light turned green.

'Even when she knows your palm print, she still won't open her heart. Not until I have spoken to her. If you look even more closely, gentlemen, you will see that the white square conceals a thin wire mesh, which houses a voice activator.'

Both men stepped forward to look.

'At the present time, Bertha is programmed to react only to my vocal cords. It doesn't matter what I say, because as soon as she recognises the voice, the third light will turn green. But she will not even consider listening to me unless the first two lights are already green.'

Pedersson stepped forward and placed his lips opposite the wire mesh. 'Two gentlemen have come from America to see you, and desire to know what you look like inside.'

Even before he had finished the sentence, the third red light had flicked to green, and a noisy unclamping sound could be heard.