Honour Among Thieves

slept soundly, unaware of Peter Rubin explaining to his wife in the kitchen that in future their guest must be left in peace. THE DEPUTY AMBASSADOR'S chauffeur slipped out of the UN's private garage and headed west through the Lincoln Tunnel under the Hudson in the direction of New Jersey. Neither Al Obaydi nor he spoke for several minutes while the driver continually checked his rear-view mirror. Once they were on the New Jersey Turnpike he confirmed that no one was following them. 'Good,' was all Al Obaydi offered. He began to relax for the first time that day, and started to fantasise about what he might do if the ten million dollars were suddenly his. When they had passed a branch of the Midlantic National Bank earlier, he had asked himself for the thousandth time why he didn't just stop the car and deposit the money in a false name. He could be halfway across the globe by the following morning. That would certainly make his Ambassador sweat. And, with an ounce of luck, Saddam would be dead long before they caught up with him. And then who would care? After all, Al Obaydi didn't believe, not even for one moment, that the great leader's outrageous plan was feasible. He had been hoping to report back to Baghdad after a reasonable period of time that no one reliable or efficient enough could be found to carry out such a bold coup. And then the Lebanese gentleman had flown into New York. There were two reasons why Al Obaydi knew he could not touch one dollar of the money stuffed into the golf bag that rested on the seat beside him. First, there were his mother and younger sister, who resided in Baghdad in relative comfort and who, if the money suddenly disappeared, would be arrested, raped, tortured and hanged -the only explanation being that they had collaborated with a traitor. Not that Saddam ever needed an excuse to kill anyone, especially someone he suspected might have betrayed him. Secondly, Al Obaydi - who fell on his knees five times daily, faced east and prayed that Saddam would eventually die a traitor's death - could not help observing that Gorbachev, Thatcher and Bush had found it considerably more difficult than the great Sayedi to cling on to power. Al Obaydi had accepted from the moment he had been handed this assignment by the Ambassador "that Saddam would undoubtedly die peacefully in his bed while his own chances of survival - the Ambassador's favourite word -were slim. And once the money had been paid over, if Antonio Cavalli failed to carry out his side of the bargain, it would be AI Obaydi who was called back to Baghdad on some diplomatic pretext, arrested, summarily tried and found guilty. Then all those fine words his law professor at London University had uttered would turn out to be so much sand in the desert. The driver swung off the turnpike and headed for the centre of Newark as Al Obaydi's thoughts returned to what the money was being used for. The idea had all the hallmarks of his President. It was original, required daring, raw courage, nerve and a fair degree of luck. Al Obaydi still gave the plan no more than a one per cent chance of even reaching the starting blocks, let alone the finishing tape. But then, some people in the State Department had only given Saddam a one per cent chance of surviving Operation Desert Storm. And if the great Sayedi could pull this off, the United States would become a laughing stock and Saddam would have guaranteed himself a place in Arab history alongside Saladin. Although Al Obaydi had already checked the exact location of the building, he instructed the driver to stop two blocks west of his final destination. An Iraqi getting out of a large black limousine right in front of the bank would be enough of an excuse for Cavalli to pocket the money and cancel the deal. Once the car had stopped, Al Obaydi climbed over the golf bag and out onto the pavement on the kerb side. Although he only had to cover a couple of hundred yards to the bank, this was the one part of the journey that he considered was a calculated risk. He checked up and down the street. Satisfied, he dragged the golf bag out onto the pavement and humped it up onto his shoulder. The Deputy Ambassador felt he must have looked an incongruous sight as he marched down Martin Luther King Drive in a Saks Fifth Avenue suit with a golf bag slung over his shoulder. Although it took less than two minutes to cover the short distance to the bank, Al Obaydi was sweating profusely by the time he reached