Honour Among Thieves (33 page)

Dollar
Bill knew exactly where there was a perfect copy, hanging on a wall in New
York, but couldn’t admit as much without bringing on himself even greater wrath
than Mr Hutchins was capable of.

‘You
made mention of a prize,’ said Dollar Bill. ‘And a forfeit,’ said Dexter
Hutchins. ‘The prize is that you remain here at our West Coast safe house, in
what I think you will agree are pleasant surroundings. While you are with us,
you will produce a counterfeit of the Declaration that would pass an expert’s
eye. If you achieve that, you will go free, with no charges preferred against
you.’

‘And
the forfeit?’

‘After
coffee has been served you will be released and allowed to leave whenever you
wish.’

‘Released,’
repeated Dollar Bill in disbelief, ‘and allowed to leave whenever I wish?’

‘Yes,’
said the Deputy Director.

‘Then
why shouldn’t I just enjoy the rest of this excellent meal, return to my humble
establishment in Fairmont, and forget we ever met?’

The
Deputy Director removed an envelope from an inside pocket. He extracted four
photographs and pushed them across the table. Dollar Bill studied them. The
first was of a girl aged about seventeen lying on a slab in a morgue. The
second was of a middle-aged man huddled foetus-like in the boot of a car. The
third was of a heavily-built man dumped by the side of a road. And the fourth
was of an older, distinguished-looking man. A broken neck was all the four of
them had in common. Dollar Bill pushed the photos back across the table.

‘Four
corpses. So what?’

‘Sally
McKenzie, Rex Butterworth, Bruno Morelli, and Dr T. Hamilton McKenzie. And we
have every reason to believe someone out there is planning the same happy
ending for you.’

Dollar
Bill speared the last pea left on his plate and downed the final drop of
Guinness. He paused for a moment as if searching for inspiration.

‘I’ll
need paper from Bremen, pens from a museum in Richmond, Virginia, and nine
shades of black ink that can be made up for me by a firm in Cannon Street,
London EC4.’

‘Anything
else?’ asked Dexter Hutchins once he had finished writing down Dollar Bill’s
shopping list on the back of the envelope.

‘I
wonder if Charles would be kind enough to bring me another large Guinness. I
have a feeling it may be my last for some considerable time.’

B
ERTIL
PEDERSSON, the chief engineer of Svenhalte AC, was at the factory gate in
Kalmar to greet Mr Riffat and Mr Bernstrom when the two men arrived that
morning. He had received a fax from the United Nations the previous day
confirming their flight times to Stockholm, and had checked with the arrivals
desk at the airport to be informed that their plane had touched down only a few
minutes late.

As
they stepped out of their car, Mr Pedersson came forward, shook hands with both
men and introduced himself.

‘We
are pleased to meet you at last, Mr Pedersson,’ said the shorter of the two
men, ‘and grateful to you for making the time to see us at such short notice.’

‘Well,
to be frank with you, Mr Riffat, it came as quite a surprise to us when the
United Nations lifted the restrictions on Madame Bertha.’

‘
“Madame Bertha”?’

‘Yes,
that is how we at the factory refer to the safe. I promise you, gentlemen, that
despite your neglect, she has been a good girl. Many people have come to admire
her, but nobody touches,’ Mr Pedersson laughed. ‘But I feel sure that after
such a long journey you will want to see her for yourself, Mr Riffat.’

The
short, dark-haired man nodded, and they both accompanied Pedersson as he led
them across the yard.

‘You
responded most quickly to the UN’s sudden change of heart, Mr Riffat.’

‘Yes,
our leader had given orders that the safe should be delivered to Baghdad the
moment the embargo was lifted.’

Pedersson
laughed again. ‘I fear that may not be so easy,’ he said once they reached the
other side of the yard. ‘Madame Bertha was not built for speed, as you are
about to discover.’

The
three men continued to walk towards a large, apparently derelict building, and
Pedersson strode through an opening where there must once have been a door. It
was so dark inside that the two foreigners were unable to see more than a few
feet in front of them. Pedersson switched on a single light, which was followed
by what sounded like the sigh of an unrequited lover.

‘Mr
Riffat, Mr Bernstrom, allow me to introduce you to Madame Bertha.’ The two men
stared at the massive structure that stood majestically in the middle of the
old warehouse floor.

‘Before
I make a formal introduction,’ Pedersson continued, ‘first let me tell you
Madame Bertha’s vital statistics. She is nine feet tall, seven feet wide and
eight feet deep. She is also thicker skinned than any politician, about six
inches of solid steel to be precise, and she weighs over five tons. She was
built by a specialist designer, three craftsmen and eight engineers. Her
gestation from conception to delivery was eighteen months. But then,’ he
whispered, ‘to be fair, she is almost the size of an elephant. I lower my voice
only because she can hear every word I say, and I have no wish to offend her.’

Mr
Pedersson did not see the puzzled looks that came over the faces of his two
visitors. ‘But, gentlemen, you have only seen her exterior, and I can promise
you that what she has to offer is more than skin deep.

‘First,
I must tell you that Madame Bertha will not allow anyone to enter her without a
personal introduction. She is, gentlemen, not a promiscuous lady, despite what
you may have been told about the Swedes. She requires to know three things about
you before she will consider revealing her innermost parts.’

Although
the two guests remained puzzled as to what he meant, they did not interrupt Mr
Pedersson’s steady flow.

‘And
so, gentlemen, to begin with you must study Bertha’s chest. You will observe
three red lights above •three small dials. By knowing the six-number code on
all three dials, you will be able to turn one of the lights from red to green.
Allow me to demonstrate. First number to the right, second to the left, third
to the right, fourth to the left, fifth to the right, sixth to the left. The
first number for the first dial is 2, the second is 8, the third zero, the
fourth 4, the fifth 3 and the sixth 7. 2-8-0-4-3-7.’

‘The
date of Sayedi’s birthday,’ said the tall, fair-haired visitor.

‘Yes,
I worked that one out, Mr Bernstrom,’ said Pedersson. ‘The second,’ he said,
turning his attention to the middle dial, ‘is 1-6-0-7-7-9.’ He turned the final
number to the left.

‘The
day Sayedi became President.’

‘We
also managed that one, Mr Riffat. But I confess the third sequence fooled me
completely. No doubt you will know what our client has planned for that
particular day.’ Mr Pedersson began twirling the third dial: 0-4-0 ...

7-9-3.

Pedersson
looked hopefully towards Mr Bernstrom, who shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ve no
idea,’ he lied.

‘You
will now note, gentlemen, that after entering the correct figures on all three
dials, only one of Madame Bertha’s lights has turned green, while two still
remain obstinately red. But now that you have discovered her three codes, she
will consider a more personal relationship. You will observe that below the
three dials there is painted a small white square about the size of your hand.
Watch carefully.’ Pedersson took a pace forward and placed his right hand
firmly on the white square. He left it there for several seconds, until the
second light turned green.

‘Even
when she knows your palm print, she still won’t open her heart. Not until I
have spoken to her. If you look even more closely, gentlemen, you will see that
the white square conceals a thin wire mesh, which houses a voice activator.’
Both men stepped forward to look.

‘At
the present time, Bertha is programmed to react only to my vocal cords. It
doesn’t matter what I say, because as soon as she recognises the voice, the
third light will turn green. But she will not even consider listening to me
unless the first two lights are already green.’

Pedersson
stepped forward and placed his lips opposite the wire mesh. ‘Two gentlemen have
come from America to see you, and desire to know what you look like inside.’

Even
before he had finished the sentence, the third red light had flicked to green,
and a noisy unclamping sound could be heard.

‘Now,
gentlemen, we come to the part of the demonstration of which my company is
particularly proud. The door, which weighs over a ton, is nevertheless capable
of being opened by a small child. Our company has developed a system of
phosphor-bronze bearings that are a decade ahead of their time. Please, Mr
Riffat, why don’t you try for yourself?’

The
shorter man stepped forward, gripped the handle of the safe firmly, and pulled.
All three lights immediately turned red, and a noisy clamping sound began
again.

Pedersson
chuckled. ‘You see, Mr Riffat, unless Madame Bertha knows you personally, she
clams up and sends you back to the red-light district.’ He laughed at a joke
his guests suspected he had told many times before. ‘The hand that opens the
safe,’ he continued, ‘must be the same one that passed the palm-print test. A
good safety device, I think you’ll agree.’ Both men nodded in admiration as
Pedersson quickly fiddled with the three dials, placed his hand on the square
and then spoke to Madame Bertha. One by one the three lights dutifully turned
from red to green.

‘She
is now prepared to let me, and me alone, open her up. So watch carefully.
Although, as I said, the door weighs a ton, it can be opened with the gentlest
persuasion, thus.’

Pedersson
pulled back the ton of massive steel with no more exertion than he would have
used to open the front door of his home. He jumped inside the safe and began
walking around, first with his arms outstretched to show that he could not
touch the sides-while standing in the centre, and then with his hands above his
head, showing he was unable to reach the roof. ‘Do please enter, gentlemen,’ he
cried from inside.

The
two men stepped up gingerly to join him. ‘In this case, three is not a crowd,’
said Pedersson, laughing again. ‘And you will be happy to discover that it is
impossible for me to get myself locked in.’ He gripped the handle on the inside
of the safe and pulled the great door shut.

Two
of the occupants did not find this part of the experiment quite so appealing.

‘You
see, gentlemen,’ continued Pedersson, who could not hide the satisfaction in
his voice, ‘Bertha cannot lock herself again unless it is my hand on the
outside handle.’ With one small push, the door swung open and Pedersson stepped
out, closely followed by his two customers.

‘I
once had to spend an evening inside her before the system was perfected – a
sort of one-night stand, you might call it,’ said Pedersson. He laughed even
louder as he pushed the door back in place. The three lights immediately
flashed to red and the clamps noisily closed in place.

He
turned to face them. ‘So, gentlemen, you have been introduced to Madame Bertha.
Now, if you would be kind enough to accompany me back to my office, I will
present you with a delivery note and, more” important, Bertha’s bible.’

As
they returned across the yard, Pedersson explained to his two visitors that the
book of instructions had been treated by the company as top secret. They had
produced one in Swedish, which the company retained in its own safe, and
another in Arabic, which Pedersson said he would be happy to hand over to them.

‘The
bible itself is 108 pages in length, but simple enough to understand if you are
an engineer with a first-class honours degree.’ He laughed again. ‘We Swedish
are a thorough race.’

Neither
of the men felt able to disagree with him.

‘Will
you require anyone to accompany Madame Bertha on her journey?’ Pedersson asked,
his eyes expressing hope.

‘No,
thank you,’ came back the immediate reply. ‘I think we can handle the problem
of transport.’

‘Then
I have only one more question for you,’ Pedersson said, as he entered his
office. ‘When do you plan to take her away?’

‘We
hoped to collect the safe this afternoon. We understood from the fax you sent
to the United Nations that your company has a crane that can lift the safe, and
a trolley on which it can be moved from place to place.’

‘You
are right in thinking we have a suitable crane, and a trolley that has been
specially designed to carry Madame Bertha on short journeys. I am also
confident I can have everything ready for you by this afternoon. But that
doesn’t cover the problem of transport.’

‘We
already have our own vehicle standing by in Stockholm.’

‘Excellent,
then it is settled,’ said Mr Pedersson. ‘All I need to do in your absence is to
programme out my hand and voice so that she can accept whoever you select to
take my place.’ Pedersson looked forlorn for a second time. ‘I look forward to
seeing you again this afternoon, gentlemen.’