Honour Among Thieves

West Coast safe house, in what I think you will agree are pleasant surroundings. While you are with us, you will produce a counterfeit of the Declaration that would pass an expert's eye. If you achieve that, you will go free, with no charges preferred against you.' 'And the forfeit?' 'After coffee has been served you will be released and allowed to leave whenever you wish.' 'Released,' repeated Dollar Bill in disbelief, 'and allowed to leave whenever I wish?' 'Yes,' said the Deputy Director. 'Then why shouldn't I just enjoy the rest of this excellent meal, return to my humble establishment in Fairmont, and forget we ever met?' The Deputy Director removed an envelope from an inside pocket. He extracted four photographs and pushed them across the table. Dollar Bill studied them. The first was of a girl aged about seventeen lying on a slab in a morgue. The second was of a middle-aged man huddled foetus-like in the boot of a car. The third was of a heavily-built man dumped by the side of a road. And the fourth was of an older, distinguished-looking man. A broken neck was all the four of them had in common. Dollar Bill pushed the photos back across the table. 'Four corpses. So what?' 'Sally McKenzie, Rex Butterworth, Bruno Morelli, and Dr T. Hamilton McKenzie. And we have every reason to believe someone out there is planning the same happy ending for you.' Dollar Bill speared the last pea left on his plate and downed the final drop of Guinness. He paused for a moment as if searching for inspiration. 'I'll need paper from Bremen, pens from a museum in Richmond, Virginia, and nine shades of black ink that can be made up for me by a firm in Cannon Street, London EC4.' 'Anything else?' asked Dexter Hutchins once he had finished writing down Dollar Bill's shopping list on the back of the envelope. 'I wonder if Charles would be kind enough to bring me another large Guinness. I have a feeling it may be my last for some considerable time.' BERTIL PEDERSSON, the chief engineer of Svenhalte AC, was at the factory gate in Kalmar to greet Mr Riffat and Mr Bernstrom when the two men arrived that morning. He had received a fax from the United Nations the previous day confirming their flight times to Stockholm, and had checked with the arrivals desk at the airport to be informed that their plane had touched down only a few minutes late. As they stepped out of their car, Mr Pedersson came forward, shook hands with both men and introduced himself. 'We are pleased to meet you at last, Mr Pedersson,' said the shorter of the two men, 'and grateful to you for making the time to see us at such short notice.' 'Well, to be frank with you, Mr Riffat, it came as quite a surprise to us when the United Nations lifted the restrictions on Madame Bertha.' ' "Madame Bertha"?' 'Yes, that is how we at the factory refer to the safe. I promise you, gentlemen, that despite your neglect, she has been a good girl. Many people have come to admire her, but nobody touches,' Mr Pedersson laughed. 'But I feel sure that after such a long journey you will want to see her for yourself, Mr Riffat.' The short, dark-haired man nodded, and they both accompanied Pedersson as he led them across the yard. 'You responded most quickly to the UN's sudden change of heart, Mr Riffat.' 'Yes, our leader had given orders that the safe should be delivered to Baghdad the moment the embargo was lifted.' Pedersson laughed again. 'I fear that may not be so easy,' he said once they reached the other side of the yard. 'Madame Bertha was not built for speed, as you are about to discover.' The three men continued to walk towards a large, apparently derelict building, and Pedersson strode through an opening where there must once have been a door. It was so dark inside that the two foreigners were unable to see more than a few feet in front of them. Pedersson switched on a single light, which was followed by what sounded like the sigh of an unrequited lover. 'Mr Riffat, Mr Bernstrom, allow me to introduce you to Madame Bertha.' The two men stared at the massive structure that stood majestically in the middle of the old warehouse floor. 'Before I make a formal introduction,' Pedersson continued, 'first let me tell you Madame Bertha's vital statistics. She is nine feet tall, seven feet wide and eight feet deep. She is also thicker skinned than any politician, about six inches of solid steel to be precise, and she weighs over five tons. She was built by a specialist designer, three craftsmen and