Cavalli looked more carefully at Rex Butterworth now that they were alone. He was sweating as if he had just finished a five-mile jog, not traveled up eleven floors in an elevator.
“Calm down,” said Cavalli. “You’ve played your part well so far. Only one more phone call and you’re through. You’ll be on the flight to Rio before the first outrider even reaches the National Archives. Now, are you clear about what you have to say to Marshall?”
Butterworth took out some handwritten notes, mouthed a few words and said, “Yes, I’m clear and I’m ready.” He was shaking like jelly.
Cavalli dialed the private number of the Archivist’s office half a mile away, and when he heard the first ring, passed the receiver over to Butterworth. They both listened to the continuing ringing. Eventually Cavalli put his hand out to take back the receiver. They would have to try again in a few minutes’ time. Suddenly there was a click and a voice said, “Calder Marshall speaking.”
Cavalli went into the bathroom and picked up the extension. “Good morning, Mr. Marshall. It’s Rex Butterworth at the White House, just checking everything’s all set up and ready at your end.”
“It certainly is, Mr. Butterworth. Every member of my staff has been instructed to be at his desk by nine o’clock sharp. In fact, I’ve seen most of them already, but only my Deputy and the Senior Conservator know the real reason I’ve asked them all not to be late this morning.”
“Well done,” said Butterworth. “The President is running on time and we anticipate he will be with you around ten, but I’m afraid he still has to be back at the White House by eleven.”
“By eleven, of course,” said the Archivist. “I only hope we can get him around the whole building in fifty minutes, because I feel certain there are many of my staff who would like to meet him.”
“We’ll just have to hope that fifty minutes is enough time to fit them all in,” said Butterworth. “Can I assume that there are still no problems with the President’s personal request?”
“None that I’m aware of,” said Marshall. “The Conservator is quite happy to remove the glass so that the President can study the parchment in its original form. We’ll keep the Declaration in the vault until the President has left the building. I hope to have the document back on view to the general public a few minutes after he departs.”
“It sounds to me as if you have everything under control, Mr. Marshall,” said Butterworth, the sweat pouring off his forehead. “I’m just off to see the President, so I’m afraid I’ll be out of contact for the rest of the morning, but let’s talk again this afternoon and you can tell me how it all went.”
Cavalli placed the phone on the side of the bath and bolted back into the bedroom, coming to a halt in front of the President’s Special Assistant. Butterworth looked terrified. Cavalli shook his head frantically from side to side.
“Actually, now that I look at my schedule, Mr. Marshall, I see you won’t be able to reach me again today because I promised my wife I’d leave the office a little earlier than usual to prepare for our annual vacation which begins tomorrow.”
“Oh. Where are you going?” asked Marshall, innocently.
“Off to see my mother in Charleston. But I feel confident that the President’s visit to the Archives will be a great success. Why don’t we get together as soon as I’m back?”
“I would enjoy that,” said Marshall. “And I do hope you have a pleasant break in South Carolina; the azaleas should still be blooming.”
“Yes, I suppose they will,” said Butterworth as he watched Cavalli pulling a finger across his throat. “My other line is ringing,” he added, and without another word put the phone down.
“You said too much, you fool. We don’t ever want him trying to contact you again.”
Butterworth looked apprehensive.
“How long will it be before the White House wonders where you are?” asked Cavalli.
“At least a week,” replied Butterworth. “I really am due for my vacation, and even my boss thinks I’m going to Charleston.”
“Well, that’s something you did right,” said Cavalli, as he handed Butterworth a one-way ticket to Rio de Janeiro and a letter of confirmation that the sum of nine hundred thousand dollars had been deposited in the Banco do Brazil.
“I have to get back to the set,” said Cavalli. “You stay put for ten minutes and then take a taxi to Dulles Airport. And when you get to Brazil, don’t spend all the money on a girl. And Rex, don’t even think about coming back. If you do, it won’t just be the Feds who are waiting for you at the airport.”
Angelo had somehow managed to get Dollar Bill dressed, but he still stank of Guinness, and he certainly didn’t look like the President’s personal physician — or anybody else’s physician for that matter.
“Sorry, lad. Sorry, lad,” Dollar Bill kept repeating. “I hope this won’t get you into any trouble.”
“It will if you don’t sober up in time to play your part and see that the parchment is transferred into the special cylinder. Because if Cavalli ever finds out I wasn’t with you last night, you’re dead, and more important, so am I.”
“Settle down, lad, and just make me a Bloody Mary. Two parts tomato juice and one part vodka. I’ll be as right as rain in no time, you’ll see.” Angelo looked doubtful as the little man’s head fell back on the pillow.
As Cavalli closed the door of room 1137, a woman pushing a large laundry basket passed him in the corridor.
He took the elevator to the ground floor and walked straight out of the hotel. The first thing he saw as he left the Willard and crossed the plaza that divided the hotel from Pennsylvania Avenue was that the morning traffic was backed up for half a mile down 15th Street.
Al and Johnny came running towards him from different directions. “What’s going on?” were Cavalli’s first words.
“Normal morning traffic coming in from Virginia, the police assure us, except we’re blocking a lane and a half with our twelve vehicles and six outriders.”
“Damn, my mistake,” said Cavalli. “I should have anticipated it. So what do you suggest, Al?”
“I send my boys over to Atlantic Garage on 13th and F until the police get the traffic on the move again, and then bring them back nearer the starting time.”
“It’s a hell of a risk,” said Johnny. “That permit only allows me to film for forty-five minutes, and they aren’t going to stretch it by a second.”
“But if my cars stay put you might never get started at all,” said Al.
“OK, Al, you get moving, but make sure you’re back on the grid by nine-fifty.” Cavalli checked his watch. “That’s twenty-seven minutes.” Al began running towards the parked cars.
Cavalli turned his attention to the director. “What time are you bringing the actor out?”
“Nine-fifty-five, or the moment the last car is back in place. He’s being made up in that trailer over there,” said Johnny, pointing.
Cavalli watched as the sixth limousine pulled away, and was relieved to see the traffic start to flow again.
“And Gino’s Secret Service agents, what will happen to them now that the cars have gone?”
“Most of them are hanging around with the extras, but they aren’t looking too convincing.”
Cavalli’s cellular phone began to ring. “I have to get back or you won’t have a film, real or otherwise,” said Johnny. Cavalli nodded and said, “Yes” into the mouthpiece as the director rushed away. Something caught Cavalli’s eye as he tried to concentrate on the voice on the other end of the line.
“The helicopter is all set to take off at ten o’clock sharp, boss; but it loses its slot at seven minutes past. The traffic cops won’t let it go up after that, however much you gave to the Fraternal Order of Police.”