Honour Among Thieves

had written up a short summary of the conversation he had had with his deputy, he checked a number on his desk computer. He slowly dialled the 212 area code. The Commissioner of the New York City Police Department uttered some choice words when he answered the phone, until he was sufficiently alert to take in who it was sounding so wide awake on the other end of the line. He then switched on the bedside light and began to make some notes on a pad. His wife turned over, but not before she had added a few choice words of her own. The Director of the CIA ended his part of the conversation with the comment, 'I owe you one.' 'Two,' said the Commissioner. 'One for trying to sort out your problem.' 'And the second?' asked the Director. 'For waking up my wife at three o'clock in the morning.' The Commissioner remained seated on the edge of the bed while he looked up the home number of the Captain in charge of that particular precinct. The Captain recognised his chiefs voice immediately he picked up the phone, and simply said, 'Good morning, Commissioner,' as if it were a routine mid-morning call. The chief briefed the Captain without making any mention of a call from the Director of the CIA or giving any clues about who the four men languishing in his night cells were - not that he was absolutely certain himself. The Captain scribbled down the salient facts on the back of his wife's copy of Good Housekeeping. He didn't bother to shower or shave, and dressed quickly in the clothes he had worn the previous day. He left his apartment in Queens at 3.21 and drove himself into Manhattan, leaving his car outside the front of the precinct a few minutes before four. Those officers who were fully awake at that time in the morning were surprised to see their boss running up the steps and into the front hall, especially as he looked dishevelled, unshaven, and was carrying a copy of Good Housekeeping under his arm. He strode into the office of the Duty Lieutenant, who quickly removed his feet from the desk. The Lieutenant looked mystified when asked about the four men who'd been arrested earlier, as he'd only just finished interrogating a drug pusher. The Desk Sergeant was called for and joined the Captain in the Duty Lieutenant's office. The veteran policeman, who thought he had seen most things during a long career in the force, admitted to booking the four men, but remained puzzled by the whole incident, because he couldn't think of anything to charge them with - despite the fact that one of the householders, a Mr Antonio Cavalli, had called within the last few minutes to ask if the four men were still being held in custody, as a complication had arisen. None of the residents had reported anything stolen, so theft did not apply. There could be no charge of breaking and entering, as on each occasion they had been invited into the buildings. There was certainly no assault involved, and trespass couldn't be considered, as they had left the premises the moment they were asked to do so. The only charge the Sergeant could come up with was impersonating gas company officials. The Captain didn't show any interest in whether or not the Desk Sergeant could find something to charge them with. All he wanted to know was: 'Has the bag been opened?' 'No, Captain,' said the Sergeant, trying to think where he had put it. 'Then release them on bail, pending further charges,' instructed the Captain. 'I'll deal with the paperwork.' The paperwork took the Captain some considerable time, and the four men were not released until a few minutes after six. When they ran down the precinct steps together, the little one with the pebble glasses was clinging firmly on to the unopened bag. Antonio Cavalli woke with a start. Had he dreamed that he'd been dragged out of bed and onto the street in the middle of the night? He flicked on the bedside light and picked up his watch. It was 3.47. He began to recall what had taken place a few hours earlier. Once they were out on the street, Martin had accompanied the four men back into the house. Too many for a simple gas leak, Cavalli had thought. And what gas company official would smoke cigars and could afford a Saks Fifth Avenue suit? After they had been inside for fifteen minutes, Cavalli had become even more suspicious. He asked the Fire Chief if the men were personally known to him. The Chief admitted that, although they had been able to give him the correct code over the phone, he had never come across them before.