Honour Among Thieves

sound casual. 'Yes, that is correct.' "How long do you imagine it will take them to reach Baghdad?' 'At least a week, perhaps ten days in that old truck, if they make it at all.' Al Obaydi looked puzzled. 'An old truck?' 'Yes, they came to pick up Madame Bertha in an old army truck. Though, I must confess, the engine had a good sound to it. I took some pictures for my album. Would you like to see them?' 'Pictures of the truck?' said Al Obaydi. 'Yes, from my window, with Mr Riffat standing by the safe. They didn't notice.' Pedersson opened the drawer of his desk and took out several pictures. He pushed them across his desk with the same pride that another man might have displayed when showing a stranger snapshots of his family. Al Obaydi studied the photographs carefully. Several of them showed Madame Bertha being lowered onto the truck. 'There is a problem?' asked Pedersson. 'No, no,' said Al Obaydi, and added, 'Would it be possible to have copies of these photographs?' 'Oh yes, please keep them, I have many,' said the chief engineer, pointing to the open drawer. Al Obaydi picked up his briefcase, opened it and placed the pictures in a flap at the front before removing some photographs of his own. 'While I'm here, perhaps you could help me with one more small matter.' 'Anything,' said Pedersson. 'I have some photographs of former employees of the state, and it would be helpful if you were able to remember if any of them were among those who came to collect Madame Bertha.' Once again, Pedersson looked unsure, but he took the photographs and studied each one at length. He repeated, 'No, no, no,' several times, until he came to one which he took longer over. Al Obaydi leaned forward. 'Yes,' said Pedersson eventually. 'Although it must have been taken some years ago. This is Mr Riffat. He has not put on any weight, but he has aged and his hair has turned grey. A very thorough man,' Pedersson added. 'Yes,' said Al Obaydi, 'Mr Riffat is a very thorough man,' he repeated as he glanced at the details in Arabic printed on the back of the photograph. 'It will be a great relief for my government to know that Mr Riffat is in charge of this particular operation.' Pedersson smiled for the first time as Al Obaydi downed the last drop of his coffee. 'You have been most helpful,' the Ambassador said. He rose before adding, 'I feel sure my government will be in need of your services again in the future, but I would be obliged if you made no mention of this meeting to anyone.' 'Just as you wish,' said Pedersson as they walked back down to the yard. The smile remained on his face as he watched the taxi drive out of the factory gate, carrying off his distinguished customer. But Pedersson's thoughts did not match his expression. 'All is not well,' he muttered to himself. 'I do not believe that gentleman feels Madame Bertha is in safe hands, and I am certain he is no friend of Mr Riffat.' It surprised Scott to find that he liked Dollar Bill the moment he met him. It didn't surprise him that once he had seen an example of his work, he also respected him. Scott landed in San Francisco seventeen hours after he had taken off from Stockholm. The CIA had a car waiting for him at the airport. He was driven quickly up into Marin County and deposited outside the safe house within the hour. After snatching some sleep, Scott rose for lunch, hoping to meet Dollar Bill straight away, but to his disappointment the forger was nowhere to be seen. 'Mr O'Reilly takes breakfast at seven and doesn't appear again before dinner, sir,' explained the butler. 'And what does he do for sustenance in between?' asked Scott. 'At twelve, I take him a bar of chocolate and half a pint of water, and at six, half a pint of Guinness.' After lunch, Scott read an update on what had been going on at the State Department during his absence, and then spent the rest of the afternoon in the basement gym. He staggered out of the session around five, nursing several aches and pains from excessive exercise and one or two bruises administered by the judo instructor. 'Not bad for thirty-six,' he was told condescendingly by the instructor, who looked as if he might have been only a shade younger himself. Scott sat in a warm bath trying to ease the pain as he turned the pages of Madame Bertha's bible. The document had already been translated by six Arabic scholars from six universities within fifty miles of where he was soaking. They had been given two non-consecutive chapters each.