Honour Among Thieves

as the copy we currently have on display at the National Archives.' 'You are most generous, sir,' said Dollar Bill, who turned round to face them. 'But I don't understand why you have spelt the word 'British" correctly^ and not with two ts as it was on the original,' said Mendelssohn, returning his attention to the document. 'There are two reasons for that,' said Dollar Bill as six suspicious eyes stared back at him. 'First, if the exchange is carried out successfully, Saddam will not be able to claim he still has his hands on the original.' 'Clever,' said Scott. 'And second?' asked Dexter, who remained suspicious of the little Irishman's motives. 'It will stop the Professor from bringing back this copy and trying to pass it off as the original.' Scott laughed. 'You always think like a criminal,' he said. 'And you'd better be thinking like one yourself over the next few days, if you're going to get the better of Saddam Hussein,' said Dollar Bill as Charles entered the room, carrying a pint of Guinness on a silver tray. Dollar Bill thanked Charles, removed his reward from the tray and walked to the far side of the room before taking the first sip. 'May I ask. . .?' began Scott. 'I once spilt the blessed nectar all over a hundred-dollar etching that I had spent some three months preparing.' 'So what did you do then?' asked Scott. 'I fear that I settled for second best, which caused me to end up in the slammer for another five years.' Even Dexter joined in the laughter. 'However, on this occasion I raise my glass to Matthew Thornton, the final signatory on the document. I wish him good health wherever he is, despite the damn man's ts.' 'So, am I able to take the masterpiece away now?' asked Scott. 'Not yet, young man,' said Dollar Bill. 'I fear you must suffer another evening of my company,' he added before placing his drink on the window ledge and returning to the document. 'You see, the one problem I have been fighting is time. In Mr Mendelssohn's judgement, the parchment has an 1830s feel about it. Am I right, sir?' The Conservator nodded, and raised his arms as if apologising for daring to mention such a slight blemish. 'So what can be done about that?' asked Dexter Hutchins. Dollar Bill flicked on a switch and the Xenon lamps above his desk shone down on the parchment and filled the room with light, making it appear like a film set. 'By nine o'clock tomorrow morning the parchment will be nearer 1776. Even if, because you have failed to give me enough time, I miss perfection by a few years, I remain confident that there'll be no one in Iraq who'll be able to tell the difference, unless they are in possession of a Carbon 14 dating machine, and know how to use it.' 'Then we can only hope that the original hasn't already been destroyed,' said Dexter Hutchins. 'Not a chance,' said Scott. 'How can you be so confident?' asked Dexter. 'The day Saddam destroys that parchment, he will want the whole world to witness it. Of that I'm sure.' 'Then, I'm thinking a toast might be in order,' said the Irishman. 'That is, with my gracious host's permission.' 'A toast, Bill?' said the Deputy Director, sounding surprised. 'Who do you have in mind?' he asked suspiciously. 'To Hannah,' said the little Irishman, 'wherever she may be.' 'How did you know?' asked Scott. 'I've never mentioned her name.' 'No need to, when you write it on everything from the backs of envelopes to steaming windows. She must be a rery special lady, Professor.' He raised his glass and repeated the words, 'To Hannah.' The Chief Administrator sat and waited patiently until the maid had removed the Ambassador's dinner tray. He then closed his door at the other end of the corridor. He waited for another two hours, until he felt certain all the embassy staff had gone to bed. Confident he would be the only one left awake, he crept back down to his office and looked up a telephone number in Geneva. He dialled the code slowly and deliberately. It rang for a long time before it was eventually answered. 'I need to speak to the Ambassador,' he whispered. 'His Excellency retired to bed some time ago,' said a voice. 'You'll have to call back in the morning.' 'Wake him. Tell him it's Abdul Kanuk in Paris.' 'If you insist.' 'I do insist.' The Chief Administrator waited for some time before a sleepy voice eventually came on the line. 'This had better be good, Abdul.' 'Al Obaydi has arrived in Paris unannounced, and two weeks before he was expected.' 'You woke me in the middle of