Honour Among Thieves

tempted to ask, what do you lay on for mass murderers?' 'I must confess, Mr O'Reilly, that it was one of my men who threw the first punch. But before we go any further, what would you like to drink?' 'I don't think Charles will have my favourite brew,' said Dollar Bill, turning to face the butler. 'I fear the Guinness is canned and not on tap, sir. If I had been given a little more notice . ..' Dollar Bill bowed again and the butler disappeared. 'Don't you think I'm entitled to know what this is all about, Mr Hutchins? After all...' 'You are indeed, Mr O'Reilly. The truth is, the government is in need of your services, not to mention your expertise.' 'I didn't realise that Clintonomics had resorted to forgery to help balance the budget deficit,' said Dollar Bill as the butler returned with a large glass of Guinness. 'Not quite as drastic as that, but every bit as demanding,' said Hutchins. 'But perhaps we should have a little dinner before I go into any details. I fear it's been a long day for you.' Dollar Bill nodded and followed the Deputy Director through to a small dining room, where the table had been set for two. The butler held a chair back for Dollar Bill, and when he was comfortably seated asked, 'How do you like your steak done, sir?' 'Is it sirloin or entrecote?' asked Dollar Bill. 'Sirloin.' 'If the meat is good enough, tell the chef to put a candle under it - but only for a few moments.' 'Excellent, sir. Yours, Mr Hutchins, will I presume be well done?' Dexter Hutchins nodded, feeling the first round had definitely gone to Dollar Bill. 'I'm enjoying this charade enormously,' said Dollar Bill, taking a gulp of Guinness. 'But I'd like to know what the prize is, should I be fortunate enough to win.' 'You might equally well be interested to know what the forfeit will be if you are unfortunate enough to lose.' 'I should have realised this had to be too good to last.' 'First, allow me to fill you in with a little background,' said Dexter Hutchins as a lightly grilled steak was placed in front of his guest. 'On May 25th this year, a well-organised group of criminals descended on Washington and carried out one of the most ingenious crimes in the history of this country.' 'Excellent steak,' said Dollar Bill. 'You must give my compliments to the chef.' 'I certainly will, sir,' said Charles, who was hovering behind his chair. 'This crime consisted of stealing from the National Archives, in broad daylight, the Declaration of Independence, and replacing it with a brilliant copy.' Dollar Bill looked suitably impressed, but felt it would be unwise to comment at this stage. 'We have the names of several people involved in that crime, but we cannot make any arrests for fear of making those who are now in possession of the Declaration aware that we might be after them.' 'And what's this got to do with me?' asked Dollar Bill, as he devoured another succulent piece of meat. 'We thought you might be interested to know who had financed the entire operation, and is now in possession of the Declaration of Independence.' Until that moment, Dollar Bill had learned nothing new, but he had long wanted to know where the document had ended up. He had never believed Angelo's tale of 'in private hands, an eccentric collector'. He put his knife and fork down and stared across the table at the Deputy Director of the CIA, who had at last captured his attention. 'We have reason to believe that the Declaration of Independence is currently in Baghdad, in the personal possession of Saddam Hussein.' Dollar Bill's mouth opened wide, although he remained silent for some considerable time. 'Is there no longer honour among thieves?' he finally said. 'There still could be,' said Hutchins, 'because our only hope of returning the parchment to its rightful home rests in the hands of a small group who are willing to risk their lives by switching the document, in much the same way as the criminals did originally.' 'If I had known. . .' Dollar Bill paused. 'How can I help?' he asked quietly. 'At this moment, we are in urgent need of a perfect copy of the original. And we believe you are the only person who is capable of producing one.' Dollar Bill knew exactly where there was a perfect copy, hanging on a wall in New York, but couldn't admit as much without bringing on himself even greater wrath than Mr Hutchins was capable of. 'You made mention of a prize,' said Dollar Bill. 'And a forfeit,' said Dexter Hutchins. 'The prize is that you remain here at our