Honour Among Thieves

marble-pillared hall of perfect proportions. 'Perhaps you would like to go straight to the tenth floor, Mr Cavalli? I believe Monsieur Franchard is expecting you.' Cavalli had only entered the building twice before in his life. How did they manage it? And the porter turned out to be as good as his word, because when Cavalli stepped out of the lift, the chairman of the bank was waiting there to greet him. 'Good morning, Mr Cavalli,' he said. 'Shall we go to my office?' The chairman's office was a modest, tastefully decorated room, Swiss bankers not wishing to frighten away their customers with a show of conspicuous wealth. Cavalli was surprised to see a large brown parcel placed in the centre of the boardroom table, giving no clue as to its contents. 'This arrived for you this morning,' the banker explained. 'I thought it might have something to do with our proposed meeting.' Cavalli smiled, leaned over and pulled the parcel towards him. He quickly ripped off the brown-paper covering to find a packing case with the words 'TEA: boston' stamped across it. With the help of a heavy silver letter-opener which he picked up from a side table, Cavalli prised the wooden lid slowly open. He didn't notice the slight grimace that came over the chairman's face. Cavalli stared inside. The top of the box was filled with styrofoam packing material, which he cupped out with his hands and scattered all over the boardroom table. The chairman quickly placed a waste-paper basket by his side, which Cavalli ignored as he continued to dig into the box until he finally came to some objects wrapped in tissue-paper. He removed a piece of the tissue-paper to reveal a teacup in the Confederate colours of the First Congress. It took Cavalli several minutes to unwrap an entire tea set, which he laid out on the table in front of the puzzled banker. Once it was unpacked, Cavalli also appeared a little mystified. He dug into the box again, and retrieved an envelope. He tore it open and began reading the contents out loud. This is a copy of the famous tea set made in 1777 by Pearson and Son to commemorate the Boston Tea Party. Each set is accompanied by an authentic copy of the Declaration of Independence. Your set is number 20917, and has been recorded in our books under the name of J. Hancock. The letter had been signed and verified by the present chairman, H. William Pearson VI. Cavalli burst out laughing as he dug deeper into the wooden box, removing yet more packing material until he came across a thin plastic cylinder. He had to admire the way Nick Vicente had fooled the US Customs into allowing him to export the original. The banker's expression remained one of bafflement. Cavalli placed the cylinder in the centre of the table, before going over in considerable detail how he wanted the meeting at twelve to be conducted. The banker nodded from time to time, and made the occasional note on the pad in front of him. 'I would also like the plastic tube placed in a strongbox for the time being. The key to the box should be handed over to Mr Al Obaydi when, and only when, you have received the full payment by wire transfer. The money should then be deposited in my No. 3 account in your Zurich branch.' 'And are you able to tell me the exact sum you anticipate receiving from Mr Al Obaydi?' asked the banker. 'Ninety million dollars,' said Cavalli. The banker didn't raise an eyebrow. The Archivist looked up the name of the Commerce Secretary in his government directory, then picked up his phone and pressed one button. 482 2000 was now programmed into his speed dial. 'Department of Commerce.' 'Dick Fielding, please.' 'Just a moment.' 'Office of the Director.' 'This is Secretary Brown.' The Archivist had to wait only a few seconds before the call was put through. 'Good morning, Mr Secretary,' said an alert voice. 'Good morning, Mr Fielding. This is Calder Marshall, Archivist of the United States of America.' 'I thought. . .' 'You thought. . .?' 'I guess I must have picked up the wrong phone. How may I help you, Mr Marshall?' 'I'm trying to trace a former employee of yours. Rex Butterworth.' 'I can't help you on that one.' 'Why? Are you bound by the Privacy Act as well?' Fielding laughed. 'I only wish I was.' 'I don't understand,' said the Archivist. 'Last week we sent Butterworth a merit bonus, and it was returned, "No forwarding address".' 'But he has a wife.' 'She got the same response to her last letter.' 'And his mother in South Carolina?' 'She's been