'Now, gentlemen, we come to the part of the demonstration of which my company is particularly proud. The door, which weighs over a ton, is nevertheless capable of being opened by a small child. Our company has developed a system of phosphor-bronze bearings that are a decade ahead of their time. Please, Mr Riffat, why don't you try for yourself?'

The shorter man stepped forward, gripped the handle of the safe firmly, and pulled. All three lights immediately turned red, and a noisy clamping sound began again.

Pedersson chuckled. 'You see, Mr Riffat, unless Madame Bertha knows you personally, she clams up and sends you back to the red-light district.' He laughed at a joke his guests suspected he had told many times before. 'The hand that opens the safe,' he continued, 'must be the same one that pa.s.sed the palm-print test. A good safety device, I think you'll agree.' Both men nodded in admiration as Pedersson quickly fiddled with the three dials, placed his hand on the square and then spoke to Madame Bertha. One by one the three lights dutifully turned from red to green.

'She is now prepared to let me, and me alone, open her up.

So watch carefully. Although, as I said, the door weighs a ton, it can be opened with the gentlest persuasion, thus.'

Pedersson pulled back the ton of ma.s.sive steel with no more exertion than he would have used to open the front door of his home. He jumped inside the safe and began walkingaround, first with his arms outstretched to show that he could not touch the sides-while standing in the centre, and then with his hands above his head, showing he was unable to reach the roof. 'Do please enter, gentlemen,' he cried from inside.

The two men stepped up gingerly to join him. 'In this case, three is not a crowd,' said Pedersson, laughing again.

'And you will be happy to discover that it is impossible for me to get myself locked in.' He gripped the handle on the inside of the safe and pulled the great door shut.

Two of the occupants did not find this part of the experiment quite so appealing.

'You see, gentlemen,' continued Pedersson, who could not hide the satisfaction in his voice, 'Bertha cannot lock herself again unless it is my hand on the outside handle.'

With one small push, the door swung open and Pedersson stepped out, closely followed by his two customers.

'I once had to spend an evening inside her before the system was perfected - a sort of one-night stand, you might call it,' said Pedersson. He laughed even louder as he pushed the door back in place. The three lights immediately flashed to red and the clamps noisily closed in place.

He turned to face them. 'So, gentlemen, you have been introduced to Madame Bertha. Now, if you would be kind enough to accompany me back to my office, I will present you with a delivery note and, more" important, Bertha's bible.'

As they returned across the yard, Pedersson explained to his two visitors that the book of instructions had been treated by the company as top secret. They had produced one in Swedish, which the company retained in its own safe, and another in Arabic, which Pedersson said he would be happy to hand over to them.

'The bible itself is 108 pages in length, but simple enough to understand if you are an engineer with a first-cla.s.s honours degree.' He laughed again. 'We Swedish are a thorough race.'

Neither of the men felt able to disagree with him.

'Will you require anyone to accompany Madame Bertha on her journey?' Pedersson asked, his eyes expressing hope.

'No, thank you,' came back the immediate reply. 'I think we can handle the problem of transport.'

'Then I have only one more question for you,' Pedersson said, as he entered his office. 'When do you plan to take her away?''We hoped to collect the safe this afternoon. We understood from the fax you sent to the United Nations that your company has a crane that can lift the safe, and a trolley on which it can be moved from place to place.'

'You are right in thinking we have a suitable crane, and a trolley that has been specially designed to carry Madame Bertha on short journeys. I am also confident I can have everything ready for you by this afternoon. But that doesn't cover the problem of transport.'

'We already have our own vehicle standing by in Stockholm.'

'Excellent, then it is settled,' said Mr Pedersson. 'All I need to do in your absence is to programme out my hand and voice so that she can accept whoever you select to take my place.' Pedersson looked forlorn for a second time. 'I look forward to seeing you again this afternoon, gentlemen.'

'I'll be coming back on my own,' said Riffat. 'Mr Bernstrom will be returning to America.'

Pedersson nodded and watched the two men climb into their car before he walked slowly back to his office. The phone on his desk was ringing.

He picked it up, said, 'Bertil Pedersson speaking,' and listened to the caller's request. He placed the receiver on his desk and ran to the window, but the car was already out of sight. He returned to the phone. 'I am so sorry, Mr Al Obaydi,' said Pedersson, 'the two gentlemen who came to see the safe have just this moment left, but Mr Riffat will be returning this afternoon to take her away. Shall I let him know you called?'

Al Obaydi put the phone down in Baghdad, and began to consider the implications of what had started out as a routine call.

As Deputy Amba.s.sador to the UN, it was his responsibility to keep the sanctions list up to date. He had hoped to pa.s.s on the file within a week to his as-yet-unappointed successor.

In the past two days, despite phones that didn't connect and civil servants who were never at their desks -and even when they were, were too terrified to answer the most basic questions - he was almost in a position to complete the first draft of his report.

The problem areas had been: agricultural machinery, half of which the UN Sanctions Committee took for granted was military equipment under another name; hospital supplies,including pharmaceuticals, on which the UN accepted most of their requests; and food, which they were allowed to purchase - although most of the produce that came across the border seemed to disappear on the black market long before it reached the Baghdad housewife.

A fourth list was headed 'miscellaneous items', and included among these was a ma.s.sive safe which, when Al Obaydi checked its measurements, turned out to be almost the size of the room he was presently working in. The safe, an internal report confirmed, had been ordered before the planned liberation of the Nineteenth Province, and was now sitting in a warehouse in Kalmar, waiting to be collected. Al Obaydi's boss at the UN had confessed privately that he was surprised that the Sanctions Committee had lifted the embargo on the safe, but this did not deter him from a.s.suring the Foreign Minister that they had only done so as a result of his linstaking negotiating skills.

Al Obaydi sat at his laden desk for some time, considering what his next move should be. He wrote a short list of headings on the notepad in front of him: 1 M.o.I.

2 State Security 3 Deputy Foreign Minister 4 Kalmar Al Obaydi glanced at the first heading, M.o.I. He had remained in contact with a fellow student from London University days who had risen to Permanent Secretary status at the Ministry of Industry. Al Obaydi felt his old friend would be able to supply the information he required without suspecting his real motive.

He dialled the Permanent Secretary's private number, and was delighted to find that someone was at his desk.

'Nadhim, it's Hamid Al Obaydi.' 'Hamid, I heard you were back from New York. The rumour is that you've got what remains of our emba.s.sy in Paris. But one can never be sure about rumours in this city.'

'For once, they're accurate,' Al Obaydi told his friend.

'Congratulations. So, what can I do for you, Your Excellency?'

Al Obaydi was amused that Nadhim was the first person to address him by his new t.i.tle, even if he was being sarcastic.

'UN sanctions.'

'And you claim you're my friend?' 'No, it's just a routine check. I've got to tie up any loose ends for my successor.Everything's in order as far as I can tell, except I'm unable to find out much about a gigantic safe that was made for us in Sweden. I know we've paid for it, but I can't discover what is happening about its delivery.'

'Not this department, Hamid. The responsibility was taken out of our hands about a year ago after the file was marked "High Command", which usually means for the President's personal use.'

'But someone must be responsible for a movement order from Kalmar to Baghdad,' said Al Obaydi.

'All I know is that I was instructed to pa.s.s the file on to our UN office in Geneva, as we don't have an emba.s.sy in Oslo. I'm surprised you didn't know that, Hamid. More your department than mine, I would have thought.'

'Then I'll have to get in touch with Geneva and find out what they're doing about it,' said Al Obaydi, not adding that New York and Geneva rarely informed each other of anything they were up to. 'Thanks for your help, Nadhim.'

'Any time. Good luck in Paris, Hamid. I'm told the women are fabulous, and despite what you hear, they like Arabs.'

Al Obaydi put the phone down and stared at the list on his pad. He took even longer deciding if he should make the second call.

The correct course of action with the information he now possessed would be to contact Geneva, alert the Amba.s.sador of his suspicions and let Saddam's half-brother once again take the praise for something he himself had done the work on. He checked his watch. It was midday in Switzerland. He asked his secretary to get Barazan Al-Tikriti on the phone, knowing she would log every call. He waited for several minutes before a voice came on the line.

"Can I speak to the Amba.s.sador?' he asked politely.

'He's in a meeting, sir,' came back the inevitable reply, 'Shall I disturb him?'

'No, no, don't bother. But would you let him know that Hamid Al Obaydi called from Baghdad, and ask him if he would be kind enough to return my call.'

'Yes, sir,' said the voice, and Al Obaydi replaced the phone. He had carried out the correct procedure.

He opened the sanctions file on his desk and scribbled on the bottom of his report: 'The Ministry of Industry have sent the file concerning this item direct to Geneva. I phoned our Amba.s.sador there, but was unable to make contact with him.Therefore, I cannot make any progress from this end until he returns my call. Hamid Al Obaydi.'

Al Obaydi considered his next move extremely carefully. If he decided to do anything, his actions must once again appear on the surface to be routine, and well within his accepted brief. Any slight deviation from the norm in a city that fed on rumour and paranoia, and it would be him who would end up dangling from a rope, not Saddam's half-brother.

Al Obaydi looked down at the second heading on his notepad. He buzzed his secretary and asked her to get General Saba'awi Al-Ha.s.san, Head of State Security, on the line. The post was one that had been held by three different people in the last seven months. The General was available immediately, there being more Generals than Amba.s.sadors in the Iraqi regime.

'Amba.s.sador, good morning. I've been meaning to call you.

We ought to have a talk before you take up your new appointment in Paris.'

'My thoughts exactly,' said Al Obaydi. 'I have no idea who we still have representing us in Europe. It's been a long time since I served in that part of the world.'

'We're a bit thin on the ground, to be honest. Most of our best people have been expelled, including the so-called students whom we've always been able to rely on in the past.

Still, not a subject to be discussed over the phone. When would you like me to come and see you?' 'Are vou free between four and five this afternoon?'

There was a pause before the General said, 'I could be with you around four, but would have to be back in my office by five. Do you think that will give us enough time?'

'I feel sure you'll be able to brief me fully in that period, General.' Al Obaydi put the phone down on another routine call.

He stared at the third name on the list, one he feared might prove a little harder to bluff.

He spent the next few minutes rehearsing his questions before dialling an internal number. A Miss Saib answered the phone.

'Is there a particular subject you wish to raise with the Deputy Foreign Minister?' she asked.

'No,' replied Al Obaydi, 'I'm phoning at his specific request. I'm due for a little leave at the end of the week, and the Deputy Foreign Minister made it clear he wished to brief me before I take up my new post in Paris.''I'll come back to you with a time as soon as I've had a chance to discuss your request with the Minister,' Miss Saib promised.

Al Obaydi replaced the phone. Nothing to raise any suspicions there. He looked back at his pad and added a question mark, two arrows and another word to his list.

Kalmar

The first question Kratz put to Scott on the journey from Kalmar to Stockholm was the significance of the numbers 0-4-0-7-9-3. Scott snapped out of a daydream where he was rescuing Hannah on a white charger, and returned to the real world, which looked a lot less promising.

'The fourth of July,' he responded. 'What better day could Saddam select to humiliate the American people, not to mention a new President.'

'So now at least we know when our deadline is,' said Kratz.

'Yes, but we've only been left with eleven days,' replied Scott. 'One way or the other.'

'Still, we've got Madame Bertha,' said Kratz, trying to lighten the mood.

'True,' said Scott. 'And where do you intend to take her on her first date?'

'All the way,' said Kratz. 'That is to say, Jordan, which is where I'm expecting you to join up with us again. In fact, my full team is already in Stockholm waiting to pick her up before they begin the journey to Baghdad. All the paperwork has been sorted out for us by Langley, so there should be no hold-ups on the way. Our first problem will be crossing the Jordanian border, but as we have all the requisite doc.u.ments demanded by the UN, a few extra dollars supplied to the right customs official should ensure that his stamping hand lands firmly on the correct page of all our pa.s.sports.'

'How much time have you allocated for the journey to Jordan?' Scott asked, remembering his own tight schedule.

'Six or seven days, eight at the outside. I've got a six-man team, all with considerable field experience. None of them will have to drive for more than four hours at a time without then getting sixteen hours' rest. That way there will be no need to stop at any point, other than to fill up with petrol.' They pa.s.sed a sign indicating ten kilometres toStockholm.

'So I've got a week,' said Scott.

'Yes, and we must hope that that's enough time for Bill O'Reilly to complete a perfect new copy of the Declaration,'

said Kratz.

'It ought to be a lot easier for him a second time,' said Scott. 'Especially as every one of his requests was dealt with within hours of his asking. They even flew over nine shades of black ink from London on Concorde the next morning.'

'I wish we could put Madame Bertha on Concorde.'

Scott laughed. 'Tell me more about your back-up team.'

'The best I've ever had,' said Kratz. 'All of them have had front-line experience in several official and unofficial wars. Five Israelis and one Kurd.'

Scott raised an eyebrow.

'Few people realise,' continued Kratz, 'that Mossad has an Arab section, not large in numbers, but once we've trained them, only the Gurkhas make better killers. The test will be if you can spot which one he is.'

'How many are coming over the border with us?'

'Only two. We can't afford to make it look like an army.

One engineer and a driver. At least, that's how they'll be described on the manifest, but they only have one job description as far as I'm concerned, and that's to get you into Baghdad and back out with the Declaration in the shortest possible time.'

Scott looked straight ahead of him. 'And Hannah?' he and simply.

"That would be a bonus if we got lucky, but it's not part of my brief. I consider the chances of your even seeing her are remote,' he said as they pa.s.sed a 'Welcome to Stockholm'

sign.

Scott began thumping Bertha's bible up and down on his knees. 'Careful with that,' said Kratz. 'It still needs to be translated, otherwise you won't know how to go about a proper introduction to the lady. After all, it will only be your palm and your voice she'll be opening her heart to.'

Scott glanced down at the 108-page book and wondered how long it would take him to master its secrets, even after it had been translated into English.

Kratz suddenly swung right without warning and drove down a deserted street that ran parallel to a disused railway line. All Scott could see ahead of him was a tunnel thatlooked as if it led nowhere.

When he was a hundred yards from the entrance, Kratz checked in his rear-view mirror to see if anyone was following them. Satisfied they were alone, he flashed his headlights three times. A second later, from what appeared to be the other end of a black hole, he received the same response. He slowed down and drove into the tunnel without his lights on. All Scott could now see was a torch indicating where they should pull up.

Kratz followed the light and came to a halt in front of what appeared to be an old army truck. It was stationed just inside the far end of the tunnel.

He jumped out of the car and Scott quickly followed, trying to accustom himself to the half-light. Then he saw three men standing on each side of the vehicle. The man nearest them came to attention and saluted. 'Good morning, Colonel,' he said.

'Put your men at ease, Feldman, and come and meet Professor Bradley,' said Kratz. Scott almost laughed at the use of his academic t.i.tle among these men, but there were no smiles on the faces of the six soldiers who came forward to meet him.

After Scott had shaken hands with each of them he took a walk round the truck. 'Do you really believe this old heap is capable of carrying Madame Bertha to Baghdad?' he asked Kratz in disbelief. 'Sergeant Cohen.'

'Sir,' said a voice in the dark.

'You're the trained mechanic. Why don't you brief Professor Bradley?'