“Did President Clinton remain in the White House the whole morning?”
“Yes, sir. He didn’t leave the White House all day. He spent the afternoon with Mrs. Clinton in discussions with her health-policy task unit.”
“Could he have slipped out of the building without even you knowing, Patty?”
The scheduling secretary laughed. “That’s not possible, sir. If he had done that, the Secret Service would have informed me immediately.”
“Thank you, Patty.”
“Glad to have been of assistance, sir.”
Once the meeting at Dummond et cie had broken up, Cavalli returned to his hotel room to wait for Franchard to call and confirm that the sum of forty million dollars had been deposited in his No. 3 account in Zurich.
As long as the transaction was closed within the hour, he would still have easily enough time to catch the 4:45 out of Geneva for Heathrow and make the early-evening connection to New York.
Cavalli began to get a little anxious after thirty minutes passed and there had been no call, and even more so after forty. After fifty, he found himself pacing around the room, staring out at the fountain and checking his watch every few moments.
When the phone eventually rang, he grabbed it.
“Mr. Cavalli?” inquired a voice.
“Speaking.”
“Franchard here. The document has been verified and taken away. It might interest you to know that Mr. Al Obaydi studied one word on the parchment for some time before he agreed to transfer the money. The agreed sum has been credited to your No. 3 account in Zurich as you specified.”
“Thank you, Monsieur Franchard,” said Cavalli without further comment.
“My pleasure, as always, Mr. Cavalli. And is there anything else we can do for you while you’re here?”
“Yes,” replied Cavalli. “I need to transfer a quarter of a million dollars to a bank in the Cayman Islands.”
“The same name and account as the last three transactions?” asked the banker.
“Yes,” replied Cavalli. “And the Zurich account, presently registered in the name of Mr. Al Obaydi: I want to withdraw one hundred thousand dollars from it and...”
Monsieur Franchard listened carefully to his client’s further instructions.
“State Department.”
“Can I speak to the Secretary of State?”
“Just a moment.”
“Office of the Secretary.”
“This is Calder Marshall. I’m the Archivist of the United States. It’s vitally important that I speak with Secretary Christopher.”
“I’ll put you through to his Executive Assistant, sir.”
“Thank you,” said Marshall, and waited for a short time.
“This is Jack Leigh. I’m Executive Assistant to the Secretary. How may I help you, sir?”
“To start with, Mr. Leigh, how many Executive Assistants does the Secretary of State have?”
“Five, sir, but there is only one senior to me.”
“Then I need to speak to the Secretary of State urgently.”
“Right now he’s out of the office. Perhaps the Deputy Secretary can help?”
“No, Mr. Leigh, he cannot help.”
“Well, I’ll certainly let Secretary Christopher know you called, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Leigh. And perhaps you’d be kind enough to pass a message on to him?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Would you let him know that my resignation will be on his desk tomorrow morning by nine A.M. This call is simply to apologize for the harm it will undoubtedly do to the President, particularly given the short period of time he has been in office.”
“You haven’t spoken to anyone from the media about this, have you, sir?” asked the Executive Assistant, sounding anxious for the first time.
“No, I have not, Mr. Leigh, and I shall not do so until noon tomorrow, which should give the Secretary ample time in which to prepare answers to any questions that he and the President will undoubtedly be asked by the press when they learn my reason for resigning.”
“I’ll have the Secretary get back to you as quickly as I can, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Leigh.”
“Glad to have been of assistance, sir.”
She flew into the Cayman Islands that morning and took a taxi to Barclays Bank in Georgetown. She checked her account to find it had been credited with three payments of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. One on March 9th, another on April 27th, and a further one on May 30th.
There was one still to come. But, to be fair, Cavalli might not learn of the death of T. Hamilton McKenzie until he had returned from Geneva.
“And we have another package for you, Miss Webster,” said the smiling West Indian behind the counter.
Far too familiar, she thought. Once again the time had come to move her account to another bank in another country, in another name. She dropped the package into her carrier bag, threw it over her shoulder and left without a word.
She didn’t attempt to open the thick brown envelope until she had called for coffee at the end of an unhurried meal at a hotel she would never book into. She then carefully slit open the top of the bulky package with her bread knife, allowing the contents to spill out onto the table.
The usual photos, from every angle, plus addresses past and present, and the daily habits and haunts of the intended victim. Cavalli never left any room for mistakes.
She studied the photos of a little fat man sitting on a bar stool. He looked harmless enough. The contract was always the same. To be carried out within fourteen days. Payment two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to account specified.
It wasn’t Columbus or Washington this time, but San Francisco. She hadn’t been to the West Coast in years, and she tried to remember if they had a Laura Ashley store.
“National Archives.”
“Mr. Marshall please.”
“Who’s calling?”
“Christopher. Warren Christopher.”
“And you’re with which agency?”
“I have a feeling he’ll know.”
“I’ll put you through, sir.” The Secretary waited patiently.
“Calder Marshall speaking.”
“Calder, it’s Warren Christopher.”
“Good morning, Mr. Secretary.”
“Good morning, Calder. I’ve just received your letter of resignation.”
“Yes, sir. I thought it was the only course of action I could take under the circumstances.”
“Very commendable, I feel sure, but have you let anyone else into your confidence?”
“No, sir. I intended to brief my staff at eleven, and hold a press conference at twelve, as stated in my letter. I hope that doesn’t inconvenience you, sir.”
“Well, I wondered if before you did that, you might find the time to have a meeting with the President and myself?”
Marshall hesitated only because the request had taken him by surprise.
“Of course. What time would suit you?”
“Shall we say ten o’clock?”
“Yes, sir. Where would you like me to come?”
“The North Entrance of the White House.”
“The North Entrance, of course.”
“Jack Leigh, my Executive Assistant, will meet you in the West Wing reception area and accompany you to the Oval Office.”
“The Oval Office.”
“And Calder...”
“Yes, Mr. Secretary?”
“Please do not mention your resignation to anyone until you’ve seen the President.”
“Until I’ve seen the President. Of course.”
“Thank you, Calder.”
“Glad to have been of assistance, sir.”