Honour Among Thieves

needle directly into it, leaving a cannula sticking out to which a saline drip was quickly attached. Another doctor rushed into the theatre and, facing his superior, said, 'The antidote is GTN.' A nurse went straight over to the poisons cabinet and extracted a phial of glyceryl trinitrate, which she passed to the consultant, who had a syringe ready. He extracted the blue liquid from the phial, shot a little into the air to be sure it was flowing freely, then pumped the antidote into a side valve of the intravenous drip. He turned to watch the monitor. The flicker maintained a constant rhythm. The consultant turned to the senior nurse and said, 'Do you believe in miracles?' 'No,' she replied. 'I'm a Jew. Miracles are only for Christians.' Hannah began to form a plan, a plan that would brook no interference from Kratz. She had made the decision to accept the job as senior secretary to the Ambassador, and to accompany him back to Iraq. As the hours passed, her plan began to take shape. She was aware there would be problems. Not from the Iraqi side, but from her own people. Hannah knew that she would have to circumvent Mossad's attempts to take her out, which meant that she could never leave the embassy, even for one moment, until the time came for the Ambassador to return to Iraq. She would use all the techniques they had taught her over the past two years to defeat them. When she was in Iraq, Hannah would make herself indispensable to the Ambassador, bide her time and, once she had achieved her objective, happily die a martyr's death. She had been left with only one purpose in life now that Simon was dead. To assassinate Saddam Hussein. 'Department of Commerce.' 'Alex Wagner, please,' said the Archivist. 'Who?' 'Alex Wagner. Office of Personnel.' 'Just a minute.' Another stretched minute. 'Personnel.' 'This is Calder Marshall, Archivist of the United States. I called yesterday for Ms Wagner and you told me to try again today.' 'I wasn't here yesterday, sir.' 'Well, it must have been one of your colleagues. Is Ms Wagner available?' 'Just a minute.' This time the Archivist waited several minutes. 'Alex Wagner,' said a brisk female voice. 'Ms Wagner, my name is Calder Marshall. I'm the Archivist of the United States, and it's extremely important that I contact Mr Rex Butterworth, who was recently detailed to the White House by the Commerce Department.' 'Are you a former employer of Mr Butterworth's?' asked the brisk voice. 'No, I am not,' replied Marshall. 'Are you a relative?' 'No.' 'Then I'm afraid I cannot help you, Mr Marshall.' 'Why's that?' asked the Archivist. 'Because the Privacy Act prohibits us from giving out any personal information about government employees.' 'Can you tell me the name of the Commerce Director, or is that covered by the Privacy Act too?' the Archivist asked. 'Dick Fielding,' said the voice abruptly. 'Thank you for your assistance,' said the Archivist. The phone went dead. When Scott woke, his first memory was of Hannah. And then he slept. When he woke a second time, all he could make out were blurred figures who appeared to be bending over him. And then he slept. When he woke again, the blurs began to take some shape. Most of them seemed to be dressed in white. And then he slept. When he woke the next time it was dark and he was alone. He felt so weak, so limp, as he tried to remember what had happened. And then he slept. When he woke, for the first time he could hear their voices, soothing, gentle, but he could not make out the words, however hard he tried. And then he slept. When he woke again, they had propped him up in bed. They were trying to feed him a warm, tasteless liquid through a plastic straw. And then he slept. When he woke, a man in a long white coat, with a stethoscope and a warm smile, was asking in a pronounced accent, 'Can you hear me?' He tried to nod, but fell asleep. When he woke, another doctor - this time he could see him clearly - was listening attentively as Scott attempted his first words. 'Hannah. Hannah,' was all he said. And then he slept. He woke again, and an attractive woman with short dark hair and a caring smile was leaning over him. He returned her smile and asked the time. It must have sounded strange to her, but he wanted to know. 'It's a few minutes after three in the morning,' the nurse told him. 'How long have I been here?' he managed. 'Just over a week, but you were so close to death. I think in English you have the expression "touch and go". If your