Part 22 (1/2)

'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 Was.h.i.+ngton. How did they know?

He looked in the drawers: six s.h.i.+rts, 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 Was.h.i.+ngton 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.'