Honour Among Thieves (18 page)

He
developed a routine. Every morning before breakfast he would run for five miles
in the Pare Monceau, before he began the morning shift. Every evening he would
spend two hours in a gym on rue de Berne before cooking supper, which he ate
alone in his flat.

Scott
began to despair of the Mossad agent ever leaving the embassy compound, and to
wonder if Miss Kopec was even in there. The Ambassador’s wife seemed to be the
only woman to come and go as she pleased.

And
then without warning, on the Tuesday of his second week, someone else left the
building accompanying the Ambassador’s wife. Was it Hannah Kopec? He only
caught a fleeting glimpse as the car sped away.

He
followed the chauffeur-driven Mercedes, always remaining at an angle that would
make it difficult for the Ambassador’s driver to spot him in his rear-view
mirror. The two women were dropped outside the swimming pool on the boulevard
Lannes. He watched them get out of the car. In the photographs he had been
shown at Langley, Hannah Kopec had had long black hair. The hair was now
cropped, but it was unquestionably her.

Scott
drove a hundred yards further down the road, turned right and parked the car.
He walked back, entered the building and purchased a spectator’s ticket at a
cost of two francs. He strolled up to the balcony which overlooked the pool. By
the time he had selected an obscure seat in the gallery the Mossad agent was
already swimming up and down. It only took moments for Scott to realise how fit
she was, even if the Iraqi version of a swimsuit wasn’t all that alluring. Her
pace slowed when the Ambassador’s wife appeared at the edge of the pool, after
which she ventured only an occasional dog-paddle from one side to the other.

Some
forty minutes later, when the Ambassador’s wife left the pool, Kopec
immediately quickened her pace, covering each length in under a minute. When
she had swum ten lengths she pulled herself out of the water and disappeared
towards the changing room.

Scott
returned to his car, and when the two women reappeared he allowed the Mercedes
to overtake him before following them back to the embassy.

Later
that night he faxed Dexter Hutchins at Langley to let him know he had seen her,
and would now try to make contact.

The
following morning, he bought a pair of swimming trunks.

It
was on the Thursday that Hannah first noticed him. He was doing the crawl at a
steady rate, completing each length in about forty seconds, and looked as if he
might once have been a useful athlete. She tried to keep up with his pace but
could only manage five lengths before he stretched away. She watched him pull
himself out of the water after another dozen lengths and head off in the
direction of the men’s changing room.

On
Monday morning the following week, the Ambassador’s wife informed Hannah that
she wouldn’t be able to go for their usual swim the next day as she would be
accompanying the Ambassador on his visit to Saddam Hussein’s half-brother in
Geneva. Hannah had already been told about the trip by the Chief Administrator,
who seemed to know even the finest details.

‘I
can’t think why you haven’t been invited to join the Ambassador as well,’ said
the cook that evening. The Chief Administrator was silenced for about two
minutes until Muna left the kitchen to go to her room. Then he revealed a piece
of information that disturbed Hannah.

The
following day Hannah was given permission to go swimming by herself. She was
glad to have an excuse to get out of the building, especially as Kanuk was in
charge of the delegation in the Ambassador’s absence. He had taken the Mercedes
for himself, so she made her own way to the boulevard Lannes by Metro. She was
disappointed to find that the man who swam so well was nowhere to be seen when
she started off on her thirty lengths. Once she had completed her exercise she
clung onto the side, tired and slightly out of breath. Suddenly, she was aware
that he was swimming towards her in the outside lane. When he touched the end
he turned smoothly and said distinctly, ‘Don’t move, Hannah, I’ll be back.’

Hannah
assumed he must be someone who remembered her from her days as a model, and her
immediate reaction was to make a run for it. But she continued to tread water
as she waited for him to return, thinking he might perhaps be the Mossad agent
Kratz had referred to.

She
watched him swimming towards her, and became more apprehensive with each stroke.
When he touched the edge he came to a sudden halt and asked, ‘Are you alone?’

‘Yes,’
she replied.

‘I
thought I couldn’t see the Ambassador’s wife. She usually displaces a great
deal of water without much forward motion. By the way, I’m Simon Rosenthal.
Colonel Kratz instructed me to make contact. I have a message for you.’

Hannah
felt stupid shaking hands with the man while they were both clinging onto the
edge of the pool.

‘Do
you know the avenue Bugeaud?’

‘Yes,’
she replied.

‘Good.
See you at the Bar de la Porte Dauphine in fifteen minutes.’

He
pulled himself out of the pool in one movement and disappeared in the direction
of the men’s changing room before she had a chance to reply.

A
little over fifteen minutes later Hannah walked into the Bar de la Porte
Dauphine. She searched around the room and almost missed him perched behind one
of the high-backed wooden chairs directly below a large, colourful mural.

He
rose to greet her and then ordered another coffee.

He
warned her that they must spend only a few minutes together, because she ought
to return to the embassy without delay. As she sipped the first real coffee she
had tasted in weeks, Hannah took a closer look at him, and began to recall what
it was like just to enjoy a drink with someone interesting. His next sentence
snapped her back into the real world.

‘Kratz
plans to pull you out of Paris in the near future.’ ‘Any particular reason?’
she asked. ‘The date of the Baghdad operation has been settled.’ ‘Thank God,’
said Hannah.

‘Why
do you say that?’ asked Scott, risking his first question.

‘The
Ambassador expects to be called back to Baghdad to take up a new post. He
intends to ask me to go with him,’ replied Hannah. ‘Or that’s what the Chief
Administrator is telling everyone, except Muna.’ ‘I’ll warn Kratz.’

‘By
the way, Simon, I’ve picked up two or three scraps of information that Kratz
might find useful.’

He
nodded and listened as Hannah began to give him details of the internal
organisation of the embassy, and of the comings and goings of diplomats and
businessmen who publicly spoke out against Saddam while at the same time trying
to close deals with him. After a few minutes he stopped her and said, ‘You’d
better leave now. They might begin to miss you. I’ll try and arrange another
meeting whenever it’s possible,’ he found himself adding. She smiled, rose from
the table and left, without looking back.

Later
that evening, Scott sent a coded message to Dexter Hutchins in Virginia to let
him know that he had made contact with Hannah Kopec.

A
fax came back an hour later with only one instruction.

O
N MAY 2STH
1993, the sun rose over the Capitol a few minutes after five. Its rays crept
along the White House lawn and minutes later seeped unnoticed into the Oval
Office. A few hundred yards away, Cavalli was slapping his hands behind his
back.

Cavalli
had spent the previous day in Washington, checking the finer details for what
felt like the hundredth time. He had to assume that something must go wrong
and, whatever it turned out to be, it would automatically become his
responsibility.

Johnny
Scasiatore walked over and handed Cavalli a steaming mug of coffee.

‘I
had no idea it could be this cold in Washington,’ Cavalli said to Johnny, who
was wearing a sheepskin jacket.

‘It’s
cold at this time of the morning almost everywhere in the world,’ replied
Johnny. ‘Ask any film director.’

‘And
do you really need six hours to get ready for three minutes of filming?’
Cavalli asked incredulously.

‘Two
hours’ preparation for a minute’s work is the standard rule. And don’t forget,
we’ll have to run through this particular scene twice, in somewhat unusual
circumstances.’

Cavalli
stood on the corner of 13th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue and eyed the fifty
or so people who came under Johnny’s direction. Some were preparing a track
along the pavement that would allow a camera to follow the six cars as they
travelled slowly down Pennsylvania Avenue. Others were fixing up massive IK arc
lights along the seven hundred yards that would eventually be powered by a 200kw
generator which had been transported into the heart of the capital at four
o’clock that morning. Sound equipment was being tested to make sure that it
would pick up every kind of noise -feet walking on a pavement, car doors
slamming, the rumble of the subway, even the chimes of the clock on the Old
Post Office Tower.

‘Is
all this expense really necessary?’ asked Cavalli.

‘If
you want everyone except us to believe they’re taking part in a motion picture,
you can’t afford to risk any short-cuts. I’m going to shoot a film that anybody
watching us, professional or amateur, could expect to see one day in a movie
theatre. I’m even paying full equity rates for all of the extras.’

‘Thank
God none of my people have a union,’ commented Cavalli. The sun was now full on
his face, twenty-one minutes after the President would have enjoyed its warmth
over breakfast in the White House.

Cavalli
looked down at the checklist on his clipboard. Al Calabrese already had all his
twelve vehicles in place on the kerbside, and the drivers were standing around
in a huddle drinking coffee, sheltered from the wind by one of the walls of
Freedom Plaza. The six limousines glistened in the morning sun as passers-by,
cleaners and janitors leaving offices and early-morning commuters coming up
from the Federal Triangle Metro slowed to admire the spectacle. A painter was
just touching up the Presidential Seal on the third car while a girl was
unfurling a flag on the right-hand fender.

Cavalli
turned to see a police truck, tailboard down, parked in front of the District
Building, Barriers were being lifted off and carried onto the pavement to make
sure innocent passers-by did not stray onto the set during those crucial three
minutes when the filming would be taking place.

Lloyd
Adams had spent the previous day going over his lines one last time and dipping
into yet another book on the history of the Declaration of Independence. That
night he had sat in bed replaying again and again a video of Bill Clinton on
his Georgia Avenue walk, noting the tilt of the head, the Razorback accent, the
way he subconsciously bit his lower lip. The Monday before, Adams had purchased
a suit that was identical to the one the President had worn to welcome the
British Prime Minister in February – straight off the rack from Dillard’s
Department Store. He chose a red, white and blue tie, a rip-off of the one
Clinton wore on the cover of the March issue of Vanity Fair. A Timex Ironman
had been the final addition to his wardrobe. During the past week a second wig
had been made, this time a little greyer, which Adams felt more comfortable
with. The director and Cavalli had taken him through a dress rehearsal the
previous evening: word perfect – though Johnny had commented that his collapse
at the end of the scene was a bad case of overacting. Cavalli felt the
Archivist would be far too overwhelmed to notice.

Cavalli
asked Al Calabrese to go over the breakdown of his staff yet again. Al tried
not to sound exasperated, as he had gone over it in great detail during their
last three board meetings: ‘Twelve drivers, six outriders,’ he rattled off.
‘Four of them are ex-cops or military police and all of them have worked with
me before. But as none of them are going into the National Archives, they’ve
simply been told they’re involved in a movie. Only those working directly under
Gino Sartori know what we’re really up to.’

‘But
are they fully briefed on what’s expected of them once they reach the
Archives?’

‘You’d
better believe it,’ replied Al. ‘We went over it at least half a dozen times
yesterday, first on a map in my office, and then we came down here in the
afternoon and walked the route. They drive down Pennsylvania Avenue at ten
miles an hour while they’re being filmed and continue east until they reach 7th
Street. Then they take a sharp right, when they’ll be out of sight of everyone
involved in the filming, not to mention the police. Then they turn right again
at the delivery entrance of the National Archives, where they’ll come to a halt
in front of the loading dock. Angelo, Dollar Bill, Debbie, you and the
counter-assault team leave their vehicles and accompany the actor into the
building, where they’ll be met by Calder Marshall.

‘Once
your party has entered the building the cars will go back up the ramp and take
a right on 7th Street, another right on Constitution Avenue and then right on
14th Street before returning to the location where the filming began. By then,
Johnny will be ready for a second take. On the signal from you that the
Declaration of Independence has been exchanged for a fake, the second take will
begin immediately, except this time we’ll be picking up the thirteen operatives
we dropped outside the National Archives.’