The two exits to Kurdistan were blocked with stationary vehicles, while the two entrances had been left clear -although no one at that moment was showing any desire to enter Saddam's Iraq.

Aziz decided that he would have to swing across the road and risk driving the jeep at an acute angle through one of the small entrances, where he might be faced with an oncoming vehicle - in which case they would be trapped. He was still losing speed, and could feel that the rim of the front left-hand wheel was now touching the ground.

Once they were within range, Cohen opened fire on the line of soldiers in front of him. Some fired back, but he managed to hit several before the rest scattered.

With a hundred yards to go and still losing speed, Aziz suddenly swung the jeep across the road and tried to steer it towards the second entrance. The jeep hit the right-hand wall, careered into the short, dark tunnel and bounced onto the left-hand wall before lurching out into no-man's land, between the two customs posts.

Suddenly there were dozens of soldiers pursuing them from the Iraqi side. 'Keep going, keep going!' shouted Scott as they emerged from the little tunnel.

Aziz was still losing speed as he steered the jeep back to the left and pointed it in the direction of the border with Kurdistan, a mere four hundred yards away. He pressed his foot flat down on the accelerator but the speedometer wouldn't rise above two miles per hour.

Another row of soldiers, this time from the Kurdish border,was facing them, their rifles pointing at the jeep. But none of them was firing.

Cohen swung around as a stray bullet hit the back of the jeep and another flew past his shoulder. Once again he fired a volley towards the Iraqi border, and those who could quickly retreated behind their checkpoint. The jeep trundled on for a few more yards before it finally whimpered to a halt halfway between the two unofficial barriers that the UN refused to recognise.

Scott looked towards the Kurdish border. A hundred Peshmergas were lined up, their rifles now firing - but not in the direction of the jeep. Scott turned back to see another line of soldiers tentatively advancing from the Iraqi side. He and Hannah began firing their pistols as Cohen let forth another burst which came to a sudden stop. The Iraqi soldiers had started to retreat again, but sensed immediately that their enemy had finally run out of ammunition.

Cohen leaped down off the jeep and quickly took out his pistol. 'Come on, Aziz!' he shouted as he rushed forward and crouched beside the driver's door. 'We'll have to cover them so the Professor can get his b.l.o.o.d.y Declaration across the border.'

Aziz didn't reply. His body was slumped lifelessly over the wheel, the horn sounding intermittently. The unanswered radio phone was still ringing.

'The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds have killed my Kurd!' shouted Cohen. Hannah grabbed the canvas bag as Scott lifted Aziz out of the front of the jeep. Together, they began to drag him the last few hundred yards towards the border with Kurdistan.

Another line of Iraqi soldiers started to advance towards the jeep as Scott and Hannah carried the dead body of Aziz nearer and nearer to his Kurdish homeland.

They heard more shots whistle past them, and turned to see Cohen running towards the Iraqis screaming, 'You killed my Kurd, you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! You killed my Kurd!' One of the Iraqis fell, another fell, one retreated. Another fell, another retreated, as Cohen went on advancing towards them. Suddenly, he fell to his knees, but somehow he kept crawling forward, until a final volley rang out. The Sergeant collapsed in a pool of blood a few yards from the Iraqi border.

While Scott and Hannah carried the dead Kurd into the land of his people, Saddam's soldiers dragged the body of the Jew back into Iraq.

'Why were my orders disobeyed?' Saddam shouted.For several moments no one around the table spoke. They knew the chances of all of them returning to their beds alive that night had to be marginal.

General Hamil turned the cover of a thick file, and looked down at the handwritten note in front of him.

'Major Saeed was to blame, Mr President,' stated the General. 'It was he who allowed the infidels to escape with the Declaration, and that is why his body is now hanging in Tohrir Square for your people to witness.'

The General listened intently to the President's next question.

'Yes, Sayedi,' he a.s.sured his master. 'Two of the terrorists were killed by guards from my own regiment. They were by far the most important members of the team. They were the two who managed to escape from Major Saeed's custody before I arrived. The other two were an American professor and the girl.'

The President asked another question.

'No, Mr President. Kratz was the commanding officer, and I personally arrested the infamous Zionist leader before questioning him at length. It was during that interrogation that I discovered that the original plan had been to a.s.sa.s.sinate you, Sayedi, and I made certain that he, like those who came before him, failed.'

The General had no well-rehea.r.s.ed answer to the President's next question, and he was relieved when the State Prosecutor intervened.

'Perhaps we can turn this whole episode to our advantage, Sayedi.'

'How can that be possible,' shouted the President, 'when two of them have escaped with the Declaration and left us with a useless copy that anyone who can spell "British" will immediately realise is a fake? No, it is I who will be made the laughing stock of the world, not Clinton.'

Everyone's eyes were now fixed on the Prosecutor.

'That may not necessarily be the case, Mr President. I suspect that when the Americans see the state of their cherished treasure, they will not be in a hurry to put it back on display at the National Archives.'

The President did not interrupt this time, so the Prosecutor continued.

'We also know, Mr President, that because of your genius, the parchment currently on display in Washington to an unsuspecting American public is, to quote you, "a uselesscopy that anyone who can spell 'British' will immediately realise is a fake".'

The President's expression was now one of concentration.

'Perhaps the time has come, Sayedi, to inform the world's press of your triumph.'

'My triumph?' said the President in disbelief.

'Why, yes, Sayedi. Your triumph, not to mention your magnanimity. After all, it was you who gave the order to hand over the battered Declaration to Professor Bradley after the gangster Cavalli had attempted to sell it to you.'

The President's expression turned to one of deep thought.

'They have a saying in the West,' added the Prosecutor, 'about killing two birds with one stone.'

Another long silence followed, during which no one offered an opinion until the President smiled.

THE OFFICIAL STATEMENT issued by the Iraqi government on July 2nd was that there was no truth in the report that there had been a shooting incident on the border posts at Kirkuk in which several Iraqi soldiers had been killed and more wounded.

The Kurdish leaders were unable to offer any opinion on the subject, as the only two satellite phones in Iraqi Kurdistan had been permanently engaged with requests for a.s.sistance from the State Department in Washington.

When Charles Streator, the American Amba.s.sador in Istanbul, was telephoned and asked by the Reuters Bureau Chief in the Middle East why a US Air Force jet had landed at the American base in Silope on the Turkish border, and then returned to Washington with two unknown pa.s.sengers as its cargo, His Excellency told his old friend that he had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. The Bureau Chief considered the Amba.s.sador to be an honest man, although he accepted that it was part of the job to lie for his country.

The Amba.s.sador had in fact been up all night following a call from the Secretary of State requesting that one of their helicopters should be despatched to the outskirts of Kirkuk to pick up five pa.s.sengers, one American, one Arab and three Israelis, who were then to be flown back to the base at Silope.

The Amba.s.sador had called Washington later that morning to inform Warren Christopher that unfortunately only two people had managed to cross the border alive: an American named Scott Bradley and an Israeli woman, Hannah Kopec. He had noinformation on the other three.

The American Amba.s.sador was totally thrown by the Secretary of State's final question. Did Professor Bradley have a cardboard tube in his possession? The Amba.s.sador was only disappointed that the Reuters correspondent hadn't asked him the same thing, because then he would have been telling him the truth when he said, Tve absolutely no idea what you're talking about.'

Scott and Hannah slept for most of the flight back to America. When they stepped off the plane at the military air base they found Dexter Hutchins at the bottom of the steps waiting to greet them. Neither of them was surprised when customs showed little interest in Scott's canvas bag. A CIA car whisked them off in the direction of Washington.

On the journey into the capital, Dexter warned them that they would be going direct to the White House for a top-level meeting, and briefed them on who else would be present.

They were met at the West Wing reception entrance by the President's Chief of Staff, who conducted them to the Oval Office. Scott couldn't help feeling that, as it was his first meeting with the President, he would have preferred to have shaved at some time during the last forty-eight hours, and not to have been dressed in the same clothes that he'd worn for the past three days.

Warren Christopher was there to greet them at the door of the Oval Office, and he introduced Scott to the President as if they were old friends. Bill Clinton welcomed Scott home, and thanked Hannah for the part she had played in securing the safe return of the Declaration.

Scott was delighted to meet Calder Marshall for the first time, Mr Mendelssohn for the second time, and to be reunited with Dollar Bill.

Dollar Bill bowed to Hannah. 'Now I understand why the Professor was willing to cross the earth to bring you back,'

was all the little Irishman had to say.

The moment the handshakes were over, none of them could hide their impatience to see the Declaration. Scott unzipped his bag and carefully took out a bath towel, from which he extracted the doc.u.ment before handing it over to its rightful custodian, the Secretary of State. Christopher slowly unrolled the parchment. No one in the room was able to hide their dismay at the state the Declaration was in.

The Secretary pa.s.sed the doc.u.ment over to the Archivist who, accompanied by the Conservator and Dollar Bill, walkedacross to the large window overlooking the South Lawn. The first word they checked was 'Brittish', and the Archivist smiled.

But it was only a few moments more before Calder Marshall announced their combined judgement. 'It's a fake,' was all he said.

'How can you be so certain?' asked the President.

'Mea culpa,' said Dollar Bill, looking a little sheepish.

'So does that mean that Saddam is still in possession of the original?' asked the Secretary of State in disbelief.

'No, sir, he has the copy Scott took to Baghdad,' said Dollar Bill. 'So clearly he was already in possession of a fake before Scott did the exchange.'

'Then who has the original?' the other four asked in unison.

'Alfonso Mario Cavaili would be my guess,' said Dollar Bill.

'And who's he?' asked the President, no wiser.

'The gentleman who paid me to make the copy that is currently in the National Archives,' said Dollar Bill, 'and to whom I released the only other copy, which I am now holding in my hands.'

'But if the word "Brittish" is spelt with two ts, how can you be so certain it's a fake?' asked Dexter Hutchins.

'Because, of the fifty-six signatures on the original Declaration, six have the Christian name George. Five of them signed Geo, which was the custom of the time. Only George Wythe of Virginia appended his full name. On the copy I presented to Cavalli I made the mistake of also writing Geo for Congressman Wythe, and had to add the letters rge later.

Although the lettering is perfect, I used a slightly lighter shade of ink. A simple mistake, and discernible only to an expert eye.'

'And even then, only if they knew what they were looking for,' added Mendelssohn.

'I never bothered to tell Cavalli,' continued Dollar Bill, 'because once he had checked the word "Brittish" he seemed quite satisfied.'

'So, at some time Cavalli must have switched his copy with the original, and then pa.s.sed it on to Al Obaydi?' said Dexter Hutchins.

'Well done, Deputy Director,' said Dollar Bill.

'And Al Obaydi in turn handed the copy on to the Iraqi Amba.s.sador in Geneva, who had it delivered to Saddam in Iraq.And, as Al Obaydi had seen Dollar Bill's copy on display at the National Archives with "British" spelt correctly, he was convinced he was in possession of the original,' said Dexter Hutchins.

'You've finally caught up with the rest of us,' said Dollar Bill. 'Though to be fair, sir, I should have known what Cavalli was capable of doing when I said to you a month ago: "Is there no longer honour among thieves?"'

'So, where is the original now?' demanded the President.

'I suspect it's hanging on a wall in a brownstone house in Manhattan,' said Dollar Bill, 'where it must have been for the past ten weeks.'

The light on the telephone console to the right of the President began flashing. The President's Chief of Staff picked up an extension and listened. The normally unflappable man turned white. He pushed the hold b.u.t.ton.

'It's Bernie Shaw at CNN for me, Mr President. He says Saddam is claiming that the bombing of Baghdad last weekend was nothing more than a smokescreen set up to give a group of American terrorists the chance to retrieve the Declaration of Independence, which a Mafia gang had tried to sell him and which he personally returned to a man called Bradley.

Saddam's apparently most apologetic about the state the Declaration is in, but he has television pictures of Bradley spitting and stamping on it and nailing it to a wall. If you don't believe him, Saddam says you can check the copy of the Declaration that's on display at the National Archives, because anyone who can spell "British" will realise it's a fake. Shaw's asking if you have any comment to make, as Saddam intends to hold a press conference tomorrow morning to let the whole world know the truth.'

The President pursed his lips.

'My bet is that Saddam has given CNN an exclusive on this story, but probably only until tomorrow,' the Chief of Staff added.

'Whatever you do,' said Hutchins, 'try to keep it off the air for tonight.'

The Chief of Staff hesitated for a moment until he saw the President nodding his agreement. He pressed the b.u.t.ton to re-engage the call. 'If you want to go on the air with a story like that, Bernie, it's your reputation on the line, not mine.'

The Chief of Staff listened carefully to Shaw's reply while everyone else in the room waited in silence.'Be my guest,' were the last words the Chief of Staff offered before putting the phone down.

He turned to the President and told him: 'Shaw says he will have a crew outside the National Archives the moment the doors open at ten tomorrow morning, and, I quote: if the word "British" is spelt correctly, he'll crucify you.'

The President glanced up at the carriage clock that stood on the mantelpiece below the portrait of Abraham Lincoln. It was a few minutes after seven. He swivelled his chair round to face the Deputy Director of the CIA.

'Mr Hutchins,' he said, 'you've got fifteen hours to stop me being crucified. Should you fail, I can a.s.sure you there won't be a second coming for me in three years, let alone three days.'

THE LEAK STARTED in the early morning of Sunday July 4th, in the bas.e.m.e.nt of number 21, the home of the Prestons, who were on vacation in Malibu.

When their Mexican housekeeper answered the door a few minutes after midnight, she a.s.sumed the worst. An illegal immigrant with no Green Card lives in daily fear of a visit from any government official.

The housekeeper was relieved to discover that these particular officials were only from the gas company. Without much prompting, she agreed to accompany them down to the bas.e.m.e.nt of the brownstone and show them where the gas meters were located.

Once they had gained entry it only took a few moments to carry out the job. The loosening of two gas valves ensured a tiny leak which gave off a smell that would have alarmed any layman. The explosives expert a.s.sured his boss that there was no real cause for concern, as long as the New York Fire Department arrived within twenty minutes.

The senior official calmly asked the housekeeper to phone the fire department and warn them they had a gas leak in number 21 which, if not dealt with quickly, could cause an explosion. He told her the correct code to give.

The housekeeper dialled 911, and when she was finally put through to the fire department, stammered out the problem, adding that it was 21 East 75th, between Park and Madison.

'Get everyone out of the building,' instructed the Fire Chief, 'and we'll be right over.'

'Yes, sir,' said the housekeeper, not pausing for a moment before fleeing onto the street. The expert quickly repairedthe damage he had caused, but the smell still lingered.

To their credit, seven minutes later a New York Fire Department hook and ladder, sirens blasting, sped into 75 th Street. Once the Fire Chief had carried out an inspection of the bas.e.m.e.nt of number 21 he agreed with the official - whom he had never met before - that safety checks would also have to be carried out on numbers 17, 19, 23 and 25, especially as the gas pipe ran parallel to the city's sewerage system.

The Deputy Director of the CIA then retired to the far side of the road to watch the Fire Chief go about his work.

As the sirens had woken almost everyone in the neighbourhood, it wasn't proving too hard to coax the residents out onto the street.

Dexter Hutchins lit a cigar and waited. As soon as he had left the White House, he had begun rounding up a select team of agents who rendezvoused in a New York hotel two hours later for a briefing, or, to be more accurate, half a briefing. Because once the Deputy Director had explained to them that this was a Level 7 inquiry, the old-timers realised they would be told only half die story, and not the better half.

It had taken another two hours before they got their first break, when one of the agents discovered that the Prestons in number 21 were on vacation. Dexter Hutchins and his explosives expert had arrived on the doorstep of number 21 just after midnight. The Mexican immigrant without a Green Card turned out to be a bonus.

The Deputy Director relit his cigar, his eyes fixed on one particular doorway. He breathed a sigh of relief when Tony Cavalli and his father emerged in their dressing gowns, accompanied by a butler. He decided it would be sensible to wait for another couple of minutes before he asked the Fire Chief's permission to inspect number 23.

The whole operation could have been underway a lot earlier if only Calder Marshall hadn't balked at the idea of removing the fake Declaration from the vault of the National Archives and placing it at Dexter Hutchins' disposal. The Archivist made two stipulations before he finally agreed to the Deputy Director's request: should the CIA fail to replace the copy with the original before ten o'clock the following morning, Marshall's resignation statement, dated May 25th, would be released an hour before the President or the Secretary of State made any statement of their own.

'And your second condition, Mr Marshall?' the Presidenthad asked.

'That Mr Mendelssohn be allowed to act as custodian of the copy remaining with the Deputy Director at all times, so that he will be present should they locate the original.'

Dexter Hutchins realised he had little choice but to go along with Marshall's conditions. The Deputy Director stared across at the Conservator, who was standing between Scott and the explosives expert, on the pavement opposite number 23.