Honour Among Thieves (28 page)

A
doorman responded to the call. Cavalli walked into a marble-pillared hall of
perfect proportions.

‘Perhaps
you would like to go straight to the tenth floor, Mr Cavalli? I believe
Monsieur Franchard is expecting you.’

Cavalli
had only entered the building twice before in his life. How did they manage it?
And the porter turned out to be as good as his word, because when Cavalli
stepped out of the lift, the chairman of the bank was waiting there to greet
him.

‘Good
morning, Mr Cavalli,’ he said. ‘Shall we go to my office?’

The
chairman’s office was a modest, tastefully decorated room, Swiss bankers not
wishing to frighten away their customers with a show of conspicuous wealth.

Cavalli
was surprised to see a large brown parcel placed in the centre of the boardroom
table, giving no clue as to its contents.

‘This
arrived for you this morning,’ the banker explained. ‘I thought it might have
something to do with our proposed meeting.’

Cavalli
smiled, leaned over and pulled the parcel towards him. He quickly ripped off
the brown-paper covering to find a packing case with the words ‘TEA: boston’
stamped across it.

With
the help of a heavy silver letter-opener which he picked up from a side table,
Cavalli prised the wooden lid slowly open. He didn’t notice the slight grimace
that came over the chairman’s face.

Cavalli
stared inside. The top of the box was filled with styrofoam packing material,
which he cupped out with his hands and scattered all over the boardroom table.

The
chairman quickly placed a waste-paper basket by his side, which Cavalli ignored
as he continued to dig into the box until he finally came to some objects
wrapped in tissue-paper.

He
removed a piece of the tissue-paper to reveal a teacup in the Confederate
colours of the First Congress.

It
took Cavalli several minutes to unwrap an entire tea set, which he laid out on
the table in front of the puzzled banker. Once it was unpacked, Cavalli also
appeared a little mystified. He dug into the box again, and retrieved an
envelope. He tore it open and began reading the contents out loud.

This
is a copy of the famous tea set made in 1777 by Pearson and Son to commemorate
the Boston Tea Party. Each set is accompanied by an authentic copy of the
Declaration of Independence. Your set is number 20917, and has been recorded in
our books under the name of J. Hancock.

The
letter had been signed and verified by the present chairman, H. William Pearson
VI.

Cavalli
burst out laughing as he dug deeper into the wooden box, removing yet more
packing material until he came across a thin plastic cylinder. He had to admire
the way Nick Vicente had fooled the US Customs into allowing him to export the
original. The banker’s expression remained one of bafflement. Cavalli placed
the cylinder in the centre of the table, before going over in considerable
detail how he wanted the meeting at twelve to be conducted.

The
banker nodded from time to time, and made the occasional note on the pad in
front of him.

‘I
would also like the plastic tube placed in a strongbox for the time being. The
key to the box should be handed over to Mr Al Obaydi when, and only when, you
have received the full payment by wire transfer. The money should then be
deposited in my No. 3 account in your Zurich branch.’

‘And
are you able to tell me the exact sum you anticipate receiving from Mr Al
Obaydi?’ asked the banker.

‘Ninety
million dollars,’ said Cavalli.

The
banker didn’t raise an eyebrow.

The
Archivist looked up the name of the Commerce Secretary in his government
directory, then picked up his phone and pressed one button. 482 2000 was now
programmed into his speed dial.

‘Department
of Commerce.’

‘Dick
Fielding, please.’

‘Just
a moment.’

‘Office
of the Director.’

‘This
is Secretary Brown.’

The
Archivist had to wait only a few seconds before the call was put through.

‘Good
morning, Mr Secretary,’ said an alert voice.

‘Good
morning, Mr Fielding. This is Calder Marshall, Archivist of the United States
of America.’

‘I
thought...’

‘You
thought...?’

‘I
guess I must have picked up the wrong phone. How may I help you, Mr Marshall?’

‘I’m
trying to trace a former employee of yours. Rex Butterworth.’

‘I
can’t help you on that one.’

‘Why?
Are you bound by the Privacy Act as well?’

Fielding
laughed. ‘I only wish I was.’

‘I
don’t understand,’ said the Archivist.

‘Last
week we sent Butterworth a merit bonus, and it was returned, “No forwarding
address”.’

‘But
he has a wife.’

‘She
got the same response to her last letter.’

‘And
his mother in South Carolina?’

‘She’s
been dead for years.’

‘Thank
you,’ said Calder Marshall, and put the phone down. He knew exactly who he had
to call next.

Dummond
et cie is one of Geneva’s more modern banking establishments, having been
founded as late as 1781. Since then the bank has spent over two hundred years
handling other people’s money, without religious or racial prejudice. Dummond
et cie had always been willing to deal with Arab sheik or Jewish businessman,
Nazi Gauleiter or British aristocrat, in fact anyone who required their
services. It was a policy that had reaped dividends in every trading currency
throughout the world.

The
bank occupied twelve floors of a building just off the place de la Fusterie.
The meeting that had been arranged that Tuesday at noon was scheduled to take
place in the boardroom on the eleventh floor, the floor below the chairman’s
office.

The
chairman of the bank, Pierre Dummond, had held his present position for the
past nineteen years, but even he had rarely experienced a more unlikely
coupling than that between an educated Arab from Iraq and the son of a former
Mafia lawyer from New York.

The
boardroom table could seat sixteen, but on this occasion it was only occupied
by four. Pierre Dummond sat in the centre of one of the long sides under a
portrait of his uncle, the former chairman, Francois Dummond. The present
chairman wore a dark suit of elegant cut and style that would not have looked
out of place had it been worn by any of the chairmen of the forty-eight banks
located within a square mile of the building. His shirt was of a shade of blue
that was not influenced by Milan fashions, and his tie was so discreet that,
moments after leaving the room, only a remarkably observant client would have
been able to recall its colour or pattern.

On
Monsieur Dummond’s right sat his client, Mr Al Obaydi, whose dress, although
slightly more fashionable, was nonetheless equally conservative.

Opposite
Monsieur Dummond sat the chairman of Franchard et cie, who, any observer would
have noticed, must have shared the same tailor as Monsieur Dummond. On
Franchard’s left sat Antonio Cavalli, wearing a double-breasted Armani suit,
who looked as if he had dropped in on the wrong meeting.

The
little carriage clock that sat on the Louis-Philippe mantelpiece behind
Monsieur Dummond completed twelve strokes. The chairman cleared his throat and
began the proceedings.

‘Gentlemen,
the purpose of this meeting, which was called at our instigation but with your
agreement, is to exchange a rare document for an agreed sum of money.’ Monsieur
Dummond pushed his half-moon spectacles further up his nose. ‘Naturally, I must
begin, Mr Cavalli, by asking if you are in possession of that
document?
’

‘No,
he is not, sir,’ interjected Monsieur Franchard, as prearranged with Cavalli,
‘because he has entrusted the document’s safekeeping to our bank. But I can
confirm that, as soon as the sum has been transferred, I have been given power
of attorney to release the document immediately.’

‘But
that is not what we agreed,’ interrupted Dummond, who leaned forward, feigning
shock, before adding, ‘My client’s government has no intention of paying
another cent without full scrutiny of the document. You agreed to deliver it
here by midday, and in any case we still have to be convinced of its
authenticity.’

‘That
is understood by my client,’ said Monsieur Franchard. ‘Indeed, you are most
welcome to attend my office at any time convenient to you in order to carry out
such an inspection. Following that inspection, the moment you have transferred
the agreed amount the document will be released.’

‘This
is all very well,’ countered Monsieur Dummond, pushing his half-moon spectacles
back up his nose, ‘but your client has failed to keep to his original
agreement, which in my view allows my client’s government’ – he emphasised the
word ‘government’ – ‘to reconsider its position.’

‘My
client felt it prudent, in the circumstances, to protect his interest by
depositing the document in his own bank for safekeeping,’ came back the
immediate reply from Monsieur Franchard.

Anyone
watching the two bankers sparring with each other might have been surprised to
learn that they played chess together every Saturday night, which Monsieur
Franchard invariably won, and tennis after lunch on Sunday, which he regularly
lost.

‘I
cannot accept this new arrangement,’ said Al Obaydi, speaking for the first
time. ‘My government has charged me to pay only a further forty million dollars
if the original agreement is breached in any way.’

‘But
this is ridiculous!’ said Cavalli, his voice rising with every word. ‘We are
quibbling over a matter of a few hours at the most and a building less than
half a mile away. And as you well know, the figure agreed on was ninety
million.’

‘But
you have since broken our agreement,’ said Al Obaydi, ‘so the original terms
can no longer be considered valid by my government.’

‘No
ninety million, no document!’ said Cavalli, banging his fist on the table.

‘Let
us be realistic, Mr Cavalli,’ said Al Obaydi. ‘The document is no longer of any
use to you, and I have a feeling you would have settled for fifty million in
the first place.’

‘That
is not the...’

Monsieur
Franchard touched Cavalli’s arm. ‘I would like a few minutes alone with my
client, and, if I may, the use of a telephone.’

‘Of
course,’ said Monsieur Dummond, rising from his place. ‘We will leave you.
Please press the button under the table the moment you wish us to return.’

Monsieur
Dummond and his client left the room without another word.

‘He’s
bluffing,’ said Cavalli. ‘He’ll pay. I know it.’

‘I
don’t think so,’ said Franchard.

‘What
makes you say that?’

‘The
use of the words “my government”.’

‘What
does that tell us that we didn’t already know?’

‘The
expression was repeated four times,’ said Franchard, ‘which suggests to me that
the financial decision has been taken out of the hands of Mr Al Obaydi, and
only forty million has been deposited by his government with Dummond et cie.’

Cavalli
began pacing round the room, but stopped by the phone which rested on a small
side table.

‘I
presume that’s bugged,’ said Cavalli, pointing at the phone.

‘No,
Mr Cavalli, it is not.’

‘How
can you be so sure?’ asked his client.

‘Monsieur
Dummond and I are currently involved in several transactions, and he would
never allow our relationship to suffer for the sake of one deal. And in any
case, he sits on the opposite side of the table from you today but, like every
Swiss banker, that won’t stop him from thinking of you as a potential
customer.’

Cavalli
checked his watch. It was 6.20 a.m. in New York. His father would have been up
for at least an hour. He jabbed out the fourteen numbers and waited.

His
father answered the phone, sounding wide awake, and after preliminary exchanges
listened carefully to his son’s account of what had taken place in the bank’s
boardroom. Cavalli also repeated Monsieur Franchard’s view of the situation.
The chairman of Skills didn’t take long considering what advice he should give
his son, advice which took Cavalli by surprise.

He
replaced the phone and informed Monsieur Franchard of his father’s opinion.

Monsieur
Franchard nodded as if to show he agreed with the older man’s judgement.

‘Then
let’s get on with it,’ said Cavalli reluctantly. Monsieur Franchard pressed the
button under the boardroom table.

Monsieur
Dummond and his client entered the room a few moments later and returned to the
seats they had previously occupied. The old banker pushed his half-moon
spectacles up his nose once again and stared over the top of them as he waited
for Monsieur Franchard to speak.

‘If
the transaction is completed within one hour, we will settle for forty million
dollars. If not, the deal is off and the document will be returned to the
United States.’