“If you’re right, Al Calabrese may turn out to be the problem. He’s got the most to lose.”
“As our trade union leader, he’ll certainly have to be out there on center stage most of the day, but I suspect he won’t be able to resist the challenge.”
“And what about Bruno? If—” began the chief executive, but he was cut short as the doors swung open and Al Calabrese walked into the room. “We were just talking about you, Al.”
“Not too politely, I hope.”
“Well, that depends on—” said Tony.
“On whether I’m in?”
“Or out,” said the chairman.
“I’m in up to my neck is the answer,” said Al, smiling. “So you’d better have a foolproof plan to present to us.” He turned to face Tony. “Because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life as the man on top of America’s most wanted list.”
“And the others?” asked the chairman, as Bruno Morelli brushed past them without even saying goodnight.
Chapter Ten
Hannah nervously grabbed the ringing phone. “This is reception, madam. We were just wondering if you’ll be checking out before midday, or do you require the room for an extra night?”
“No, thank you,” said Hannah. “I’ll have left by twelve, one way or the other.”
Two minutes later, the phone rang again. It was Colonel Kratz. “Who were you speaking to a moment ago?”
“Reception was asking me when I would be checking out.”
“I see,” said Kratz. “Your baggage has been retrieved,” was all he added.
Hannah replaced the phone and stood up. She felt a shot of adrenaline go through her body as she prepared for her first real test. She picked up her overnight bag and left the room, switching the sign on the door to “Clean Me Please.”
Once she had reached the foyer, she had to wait only a few minutes before the hotel minibus returned from the airport on its circular journey. She sat alone in the back for the short trip to the departure area, then headed straight for the bookshop as instructed. She began to browse among the hardbacks, struck by how many American and British authors were obviously read by the Lebanese.
“Do you know where I can get some money changed, miss?” Hannah turned to find a priest smiling at her, who had spoken in Arabic with a slight mid-Atlantic accent. Hannah apologized and replied in Arabic that she didn’t know where the currency exchange was, but perhaps the girl at the counter could help him.
As she turned back, Hannah became aware of someone else standing by her side. He removed a copy of A Suitable Boy from the shelf and replaced it with a bulky package. “Good luck,” he whispered, and was gone even before she had seen his face. Hannah removed the package from the shelf and strolled slowly out of the bookshop. She began to search for the check-in counter for Paris. It turned out to be the one with the longest line.
When she reached the front, Hannah requested a nonsmoking seat. The girl behind the counter checked her ticket and then began tapping away on her computer terminal. She looked puzzled. “Were you unhappy with the seat previously allocated to you, Miss Saib?”
“No, it’s just fine.” said Hannah, cursing herself for having made such a simple mistake. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
“The flight will be boarding at Gate 17 in about fifteen minutes,” the girl added with a smile.
A man pretending to read the Vikram Seth novel he had just purchased watched as the plane took off. Satisfied he had carried out his instructions, he went to the nearest phone booth and rang first Paris and then Colonel Kratz to confirm that “The bird has flown.”
The man in the priest’s surplice also watched Miss Saib board her plane, and he too made a phone call. Not to Paris or London, but to Dexter Hutchins in Langley, Virginia.
Cavalli and his father walked back into the room and once again resumed their places at each end of the table. One seat was empty.
“Too bad about Bruno,” said the chairman, licking his lips. “We’ll just have to find someone else to make the sword.”
Cavalli opened one of the six files in front of him. It was marked “Transport.” He passed a copy to Al Calabrese.
“Let’s start with the presidential motorcade, Al. I’m going to need at least four limos, six motorcycle cops, two or three staff cars, two vans with surveillance cameras and a counter-assault team in a black Chevy Suburban — all of them able to pass the most eagle eye. I’ll also want an additional van that would normally carry the White House media pool — the deathwatch. Don’t forget the motorcade will be under far more scrutiny than last week, when we only had to turn on the sirens at the last moment, and then for just a few seconds. There’s bound to be someone in the crowd who either works in government or is a White House junkie. It’s often children who spot the most elementary mistakes and then tell their parents.”
Al Calabrese opened his file to find dozens of photographs of the President’s motorcade leaving the White House on his way to the Hill. The photographs were accompanied by as many pages of notes.
“How long will it take you to have everything in place?” asked Cavalli.
“Three weeks, maybe four. I’ve got a couple of big ones in stock that would pass muster, and a bulletproof limo that the government often hires when minor heads of state are visiting the capital. I think the last crest we had to paint on the door was Uruguay, and the poor guy never even got to see the President — he ended up just getting twenty-five minutes with Warren Christopher.”
“But now for the hard part, Al. I need six outriders, riding police motorcycles, and all wearing the correct uniform.”
Al paused. “That could take longer.”
“We haven’t got any longer. A month’s going to be the outside for all of us.”
“It’s not that easy, Tony. I can’t exactly put an ad in the Washington Post asking for police—”
“Yes, you can. In a moment you’ll all see why. Most of you around this table must be wondering why we’ve been honored by the presence of Johnny Scasiatore, a man nominated for an Oscar for his direction of The Honest Lawyer.” What Cavalli didn’t add was that since the police had found Johnny in bed with a twelve-year-old girl, the studios hadn’t been in touch quite as frequently as in the past.
“I was beginning to wonder myself,” admitted Johnny.
The chief executive smiled. “The truth is, you’re the reason we’ll be able to pull this whole plan off. Because you’re going to direct the entire operation.”
“You’re going to steal the Declaration of Independence and make a movie of it at the same time?” asked Johnny in disbelief. Cavalli waited for the laughter that broke out around the table to die down.
“Not exactly. But everyone in Washington on that day is going to believe that you are making a movie, not of us stealing the Declaration of Independence, but of the President visiting Congress. The fact that he drops into the National Archives on the way to the Capitol is something they won’t ever need to know.”
“I’m lost already,” said Frank Piemonte, the team’s lawyer. “Can you take it a little slower?”
“Sure, Frank, because this is where you come in. I need a city permit to close down the route between the White House and Congress for one hour on any day I choose in the last week in May. Deal direct with the city’s motion picture and television office.”
“What reason do I give?” asked Piemonte.