Honor Among Thieves Page 10

  “Write in and tell them that you won it on a game show.”

  Tony was content to wait for his colleagues to run out of wisecracks before he spoke again.

  “Exactly my reaction when we were first approached,” he admitted. “But after several weeks of research and preparation, I hope you will at least grant me an opportunity to present my case.”

  They quickly came to order and began concentrating on Tony’s every word, though “skepticism” would have best described the expression on their faces.

  “During the past weeks, my father and I have been working on a draft plan to steal the Declaration of Independence. We are now ready to share that knowledge with you, because I must admit that we have reached a point where we cannot advance further on this project without the professional abilities of everyone seated around this table. Let me assure you, gentlemen, that your selection has not been a random exercise.

  “But first I would like you all to see the Declaration of Independence for yourself.” Tony pressed a button underneath the table and the doors behind him swung open. The butler entered the room carrying two thin sheets of glass, a parchment held between them. He placed the glass frame on the center of the table. The six skeptics leaned forward to study the masterpiece. It was several moments before anyone offered an opinion.

  “Bill O’Reilly’s work, would be my guess,” said Frank Piemonte, the lawyer, as he leaned over to admire the fine detail of the signatures below the text. “He once offered to pay me in forged bills, and I would have accepted if I’d got him off.”

  Tony nodded, and after they had all spent a little more time studying the parchment, he said, “So, allow me to reword my earlier statement. We are not so much planning to steal the Declaration of Independence as to replace the original with this copy.” A smile settled on the lips of two of the previously skeptical guests.

  “You will now be aware,” said Tony, “of the amount of preparation that has gone into this exercise so far, and, indeed, the expense my father and I have been put to. But the reason we have continued is because we feel the rewards if we are successful far outweigh the risk of being caught. If you will open the thin envelopes in front of you, I believe the contents will make my point more clearly. Inside each envelope you will find a piece of paper on which is written the sum of money you will receive if you decide to become a member of the executive team.”

  While the six men tore open the thinner of their two envelopes, Tony continued, “If you feel, on discovering the amount involved, that the reward does not warrant the risk, now is the time to leave. I trust that those of us who remain may have confidence in your discretion because, as you will be only too aware, our lives will be in your hands.”

  “And theirs in ours,” said the chairman, speaking for the first time.

  A ripple of nervous laughter broke out around the table as each of the six men eyed the unsigned check in front of him.

  “That figure,” said Tony, “is the payment you will receive should we fail. If we succeed, the amount will be tripled.”

  “So will the jail sentence if we get caught,” said Bruno Morelli, speaking for the first time.

  “Summing up, gentlemen,” said Cavalli, ignoring the comment, “if you decide to join the executive team, you will receive ten percent of that payment in advance when you leave tonight, and the remaining sum within seven days of the contract being completed. This would be paid into any bank of your choice in any country of your choosing.

  “Before you make your decision, there’s one further thing I’d like you all to see.” Once again Tony pressed a button under the table, and this time the doors opened at the far end of the room. The sight that greeted them caused two of the guests to immediately stand, one to gasp and the remaining three to simply stare in disbelief.

  “Gentlemen, I am happy that you were able to join me today. I wanted to assure you all of my commitment to this project, and I hope you’ll feel able to be part of the executive team. I’ll have to leave you now, gentlemen,” said the man standing next to the chairman in the Ozark accent that had become so familiar to the American people during the past few months, “so that you can study Mr. Cavalli’s proposition in greater detail. You can be assured that I’ll do everything I can to help make the change this country needs. But for now, I have one or two pressing engagements. I feel sure you’ll understand.” The actor smiled and shook hands warmly with everyone around the table before strolling out of the boardroom.

  Spontaneous applause broke out after the doors had closed behind him. Tony allowed himself a smile of satisfaction.

  “Gentlemen, my father and I will now leave you for a few minutes to consider your decision.”

  The chairman and chief executive rose without another word and left the room.

  “What do you think?” asked Tony as he poured his father a whisky and water from the cabinet in his study.

  “A lot of water,” he replied. “I have a feeling we may be in for a long night.”

  “But did they buy it?”

  “Can’t be certain,” replied the old man. “I was watching their faces while you were giving the presentation, and sure as hell, they didn’t doubt the work you’ve put in. They were all impressed by the parchment and Lloyd Adams’s performance, but other than Bruno and Frank they didn’t give much away.”

  “Let’s start with Frank,” said Tony.

  “First in then out, as Frank always is, but he likes money far too much to walk away from an offer as good as this.”

  “You’re that confident?” said Tony.

  “It’s not just the money,” replied his father. “Frank’s not going to have to be there on the day, is he? So he’ll get his share whatever happens. I’ve never yet met a lawyer who would make a good field commander. They’re too used to being paid whether they win or lose.”

  “If you’re right, Al Calabrese may turn out to be the problem. He’s got the most to lose.”

  “As our trade union leader, he’ll certainly have to be out there on center stage most of the day, but I suspect he won’t be able to resist the challenge.”

  “And what about Bruno? If—” began the chief executive, but he was cut short as the doors swung open and Al Calabrese walked into the room. “We were just talking about you, Al.”

  “Not too politely, I hope.”

  “Well, that depends on—” said Tony.

  “On whether I’m in?”

  “Or out,” said the chairman.

  “I’m in up to my neck is the answer,” said Al, smiling. “So you’d better have a foolproof plan to present to us.” He turned to face Tony. “Because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life as the man on top of America’s most wanted list.”

  “And the others?” asked the chairman, as Bruno Morelli brushed past them without even saying goodnight.

  Chapter Ten

  Hannah nervously grabbed the ringing phone. “This is reception, madam. We were just wondering if you’ll be checking out before midday, or do you require the room for an extra night?”

  “No, thank you,” said Hannah. “I’ll have left by twelve, one way or the other.”

  Two minutes later, the phone rang again. It was Colonel Kratz. “Who were you speaking to a moment ago?”

  “Reception was asking me when I would be checking out.”

  “I see,” said Kratz. “Your baggage has been retrieved,” was all he added.

  Hannah replaced the phone and stood up. She felt a shot of adrenaline go through her body as she prepared for her first real test. She picked up her overnight bag and left the room, switching the sign on the door to “Clean Me Please.”

  Once she had reached the foyer, she had to wait only a few minutes before the hotel minibus returned from the airport on its circular journey. She sat alone in the back for the short trip to the departure area, then headed straight for the bookshop as instructed. She began to browse among the hardbacks, struck by how many American and British authors were obviously
read by the Lebanese.

  “Do you know where I can get some money changed, miss?” Hannah turned to find a priest smiling at her, who had spoken in Arabic with a slight mid-Atlantic accent. Hannah apologized and replied in Arabic that she didn’t know where the currency exchange was, but perhaps the girl at the counter could help him.

  As she turned back, Hannah became aware of someone else standing by her side. He removed a copy of A Suitable Boy from the shelf and replaced it with a bulky package. “Good luck,” he whispered, and was gone even before she had seen his face. Hannah removed the package from the shelf and strolled slowly out of the bookshop. She began to search for the check-in counter for Paris. It turned out to be the one with the longest line.

  When she reached the front, Hannah requested a nonsmoking seat. The girl behind the counter checked her ticket and then began tapping away on her computer terminal. She looked puzzled. “Were you unhappy with the seat previously allocated to you, Miss Saib?”

  “No, it’s just fine.” said Hannah, cursing herself for having made such a simple mistake. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

  “The flight will be boarding at Gate 17 in about fifteen minutes,” the girl added with a smile.

  A man pretending to read the Vikram Seth novel he had just purchased watched as the plane took off. Satisfied he had carried out his instructions, he went to the nearest phone booth and rang first Paris and then Colonel Kratz to confirm that “The bird has flown.”

  The man in the priest’s surplice also watched Miss Saib board her plane, and he too made a phone call. Not to Paris or London, but to Dexter Hutchins in Langley, Virginia.

  Cavalli and his father walked back into the room and once again resumed their places at each end of the table. One seat was empty.

  “Too bad about Bruno,” said the chairman, licking his lips. “We’ll just have to find someone else to make the sword.”

  Cavalli opened one of the six files in front of him. It was marked “Transport.” He passed a copy to Al Calabrese.

  “Let’s start with the presidential motorcade, Al. I’m going to need at least four limos, six motorcycle cops, two or three staff cars, two vans with surveillance cameras and a counter-assault team in a black Chevy Suburban—all of them able to pass the most eagle eye. I’ll also want an additional van that would normally carry the White House media pool—the deathwatch. Don’t forget the motorcade will be under far more scrutiny than last week, when we only had to turn on the sirens at the last moment, and then for just a few seconds. There’s bound to be someone in the crowd who either works in government or is a White House junkie. It’s often children who spot the most elementary mistakes and then tell their parents.”

  Al Calabrese opened his file to find dozens of photographs of the President’s motorcade leaving the White House on his way to the Hill. The photographs were accompanied by as many pages of notes.

  “How long will it take you to have everything in place?” asked Cavalli.

  “Three weeks, maybe four. I’ve got a couple of big ones in stock that would pass muster, and a bulletproof limo that the government often hires when minor heads of state are visiting the capital. I think the last crest we had to paint on the door was Uruguay, and the poor guy never even got to see the President—he ended up just getting twenty-five minutes with Warren Christopher.”

  “But now for the hard part, Al. I need six outriders, riding police motorcycles, and all wearing the correct uniform.”

  Al paused. “That could take longer.”

  “We haven’t got any longer. A month’s going to be the outside for all of us.”

  “It’s not that easy, Tony. I can’t exactly put an ad in the Washington Post asking for police—”

  “Yes, you can. In a moment you’ll all see why. Most of you around this table must be wondering why we’ve been honored by the presence of Johnny Scasiatore, a man nominated for an Oscar for his direction of The Honest Lawyer.” What Cavalli didn’t add was that since the police had found Johnny in bed with a twelve-year-old girl, the studios hadn’t been in touch quite as frequently as in the past.

  “I was beginning to wonder myself,” admitted Johnny.

  The chief executive smiled. “The truth is, you’re the reason we’ll be able to pull this whole plan off. Because you’re going to direct the entire operation.”

  “You’re going to steal the Declaration of Independence and make a movie of it at the same time?” asked Johnny in disbelief. Cavalli waited for the laughter that broke out around the table to die down.

  “Not exactly. But everyone in Washington on that day is going to believe that you are making a movie, not of us stealing the Declaration of Independence, but of the President visiting Congress. The fact that he drops into the National Archives on the way to the Capitol is something they won’t ever need to know.”

  “I’m lost already,” said Frank Piemonte, the team’s lawyer. “Can you take it a little slower?”

  “Sure, Frank, because this is where you come in. I need a city permit to close down the route between the White House and Congress for one hour on any day I choose in the last week in May. Deal direct with the city’s motion picture and television office.”

  “What reason do I give?” asked Piemonte.

  “That Johnny Scasiatore, the distinguished director, wants to film the President of the United States on his way to the House of Representatives to address a joint session of Congress.” Piemonte looked doubtful. “Clint Eastwood managed it last year, so there’s no reason why you shouldn’t.”

  “Then you’d better put $250,000 into the Fraternal Order of Police, Lodge Number 1,” suggested Piemonte. “And the Mayor will probably expect the same amount for her reelection fund.”

  “You can bribe any city official you know,” continued Tony, “and I also want every member of the City Police Force on our books squared for the day—all they have to believe is we’re making a movie about the President.”

  “Do you have any idea what mounting an operation like this is likely to cost?” asked Johnny Scasiatore.

  “Looking at the budget of your last film, and the return we made on our investment, I’d say yes,” replied Tony. “And by the way, Al,” he added, turning his attention back to the old Teamsters Union boss, “sixty cops are due for retirement from the DCPD in April. You can employ as many of them as you need. Tell them it’s a crowd scene and pay them double.” Al Calabrese added a note to his file.

  “Now, the key to the operation’s success,” continued Tony, “is the half-block from the intersection of 7th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue to the delivery entrance of the National Archives.” He unfolded a large map of Washington and placed it in the center of the table, then ran his finger along Constitution Avenue. “Once they leave you, Johnny, it’s for real.”

  “But how do we get in and out of the Archives?”

  “That’s not your problem, Johnny. Your contribution ends when the six motorcycles and the presidential motorcade turn right onto 7th Street. From then on, it’s up to Gino.”

  Until that moment Gino Sartori, an ex-Marine who ran the best protection racket on the West Side, had not spoken. His lawyer had told him many times: “Don’t speak unless I tell you to.” His lawyer wasn’t present, so he hadn’t opened his mouth.

  “Gino, you’re going to supply me with the heavy brigade. I need eight Secret Service agents to act as the counter-assault team, preferably government-trained and well-educated. I only plan to be in the building for about twenty minutes, but we’re going to have to be thinking on our feet for every second of that time. Debbie will continue to act as a secretary and Angelo will be dressed in naval uniform and carrying a small black case. I’ll be there as the President’s assistant, along with Dollar Bill as the President’s physician.”

  His father looked up, frowning. “You’re going to be inside the National Archives building when the document is switched?”

  “Yes,” replied Tony firmly. “I’ll be the only pers
on who knows every part of the plan, and I’m sure not watching this one from the sidewalk.”

  “A question,” said Gino. “If, and I say only if, I am able to supply the twenty or so people you need, tell me this: when we reach the National Archives, are they just going to open the doors, invite us in and then hand over the Declaration of Independence?”

  “Something like that,” replied Cavalli. “My father taught me that the successful conclusion of any enterprise is always in the preparation. I still have one more surprise for you.” Once again he had their undivided attention. “We have our own Special Assistant to the President in the White House: his name is Rex Butterworth, and he’s on temporary assignment from the Department of Commerce for six months. He returns to his old job when the Clinton nominee has completed his contract in Little Rock and joins the President’s staff. That’s another reason why we have to go in May.”

  “Convenient,” said Frank.

  “Not particularly,” said Cavalli. “It turns out that the President has forty-six Special Assistants at any one time, and when Clinton made his interest in commerce clear, Butterworth volunteered for the job. He’s fixed a few overseas contracts for us in the past, but this will be the biggest thing he’s done for us yet. For obvious reasons, it will also have to be his last assignment.”

  “Can he be trusted?” asked Frank.

  “He’s been on the payroll for the last fifteen years, and his third wife is proving rather expensive.”

  “Show me one who isn’t,” said Al.

  “Butterworth’s looking for a big payday to get himself out of trouble, and this is it. And that brings me to you, Mr. Vicente, and your skills as one of the biggest tour operators in Manhattan.”

  “That’s the legit side of my business,” replied the elderly man who sat on the right of the chairman, as befitted his oldest friend.

  “Not for what I have in mind,” promised Tony. “Once we have the Declaration in our possession, we’ll need it kept out of sight for a few days and then smuggled abroad.”