nodded.
Thirty-six
hours later, the chairman and the chief executive of Skills boarded a shuttle
for Washington.
They
had two assessments to make before flying back to New York. If both came out
positively, they could then arrange a meeting of the executive team they hoped
would carry out the contract.
If,
however, they came away unconvinced, Cavalli would return to Wall Street and
make two phone calls. One to Mr Al Obaydi, explaining why it would be
impossible to fulfil his request, and the second to their contact in the
Lebanon to tell him that they could not deal with a man who had demanded that
ten per cent of the money be lodged in a Swiss bank account in his name.
Cavalli would even supply the number of the account they had opened in Al
Obaydi’s name in Geneva, and thus the blame for failure would be shifted from
the Cavallis to the Deputy Ambassador from Iraq.
When
the two men stepped out of the main terminal, a car was waiting to ferry them
into Washington. Crossing the 14th Street bridge they proceeded east on
Constitution Avenue where they were dropped outside the National Gallery, a
building that neither of them had ever visited before.
Once
inside the East Wing, they took a seat on a little bench against the wall just
below the vast Calder mobile and waited.
It
was the clapping that first attracted their attention. When they looked up to
see what was causing the commotion, they watched as flocks of tourists quickly
stood to one side, trying to make a clearing.
When
they saw him for the first time, the Cavallis automatically stood. A group of
bodyguards, two of whom Antonio recognised, was leading the man through a human
passage while he shook hands with as many people as possible.
The
chairman and the chief executive took a few paces forward to get a better view
of what was taking place. It was remarkable: the broad smile, the gait and
walk, even the same turn of the head. When he stopped in front of them and bent
down to speak to a little boy for a moment they might, if they hadn’t known the
truth, have believed it themselves.
When
the man reached the front of the building, the bodyguards led him towards the
third limousine in a line of six. In moments he had been whisked away, the sound
of sirens fading into the distance.
‘That
two-minute exercise cost us one hundred thousand dollars,’ said Tony as they
made their way back towards the entrance. As he pushed through the revolving
door a little boy rushed past him shouting at the top of his voice, ‘I’ve just
seen the President! I’ve just seen the President!’
‘Worth
every penny,’ said Tony’s father. ‘Now all we need to know is whether Dollar
Bill also lives up to his reputation.’
Hannah
received an urgent call asking her to attend a meeting at the embassy when
there was still another four months of her course to complete. She assumed the
worst.
In
the exams which were conducted every other Friday, Hannah had consistently
scored higher marks than the other five trainee agents who were still in
London. She was damned if she was going to be told at this late stage that she
wasn’t up to it.
The
unscheduled appointment with the Councillor for Cultural Affairs, a euphemistic
title for Colonel Kratz, Mossad’s top man in London, was for six that evening.
At
her morning tutorial, Hannah failed to concentrate on the works of the Prophet
Mohammed, and during the afternoon she had an even tougher time with The
British Occupation and Mandate in Iraq, 1917-32. She was glad to escape at five
o’clock without being set any extra work.
The
Israeli Embassy had, for the past two months, been forbidden territory for all
the trainee agents unless specifically invited. If you were summoned you knew
it was simply to collect your return ticket home: we no longer have any use for
you. ‘Goodbye,’ and, if you were lucky, ‘Thank you.’ Two of the trainees had
already taken that route during the past month.
Hannah
had only seen the embassy
Thirty-six
hours later, the chairman and the chief executive of Skills boarded a shuttle
for Washington.
They
had two assessments to make before flying back to New York. If both came out
positively, they could then arrange a meeting of the executive team they hoped
would carry out the contract.
If,
however, they came away unconvinced, Cavalli would return to Wall Street and
make two phone calls. One to Mr Al Obaydi, explaining why it would be
impossible to fulfil his request, and the second to their contact in the
Lebanon to tell him that they could not deal with a man who had demanded that
ten per cent of the money be lodged in a Swiss bank account in his name.
Cavalli would even supply the number of the account they had opened in Al
Obaydi’s name in Geneva, and thus the blame for failure would be shifted from
the Cavallis to the Deputy Ambassador from Iraq.
When
the two men stepped out of the main terminal, a car was waiting to ferry them
into Washington. Crossing the 14th Street bridge they proceeded east on
Constitution Avenue where they were dropped outside the National Gallery, a
building that neither of them had ever visited before.
Once
inside the East Wing, they took a seat on a little bench against the wall just
below the vast Calder mobile and waited.
It
was the clapping that first attracted their attention. When they looked up to
see what was causing the commotion, they watched as flocks of tourists quickly
stood to one side, trying to make a clearing.
When
they saw him for the first time, the Cavallis automatically stood. A group of
bodyguards, two of whom Antonio recognised, was leading the man through a human
passage while he shook hands with as many people as possible.
The
chairman and the chief executive took a few paces forward to get a better view
of what was taking place. It was remarkable: the broad smile, the gait and
walk, even the same turn of the head. When he stopped in front of them and bent
down to speak to a little boy for a moment they might, if they hadn’t known the
truth, have believed it themselves.
When
the man reached the front of the building, the bodyguards led him towards the
third limousine in a line of six. In moments he had been whisked away, the sound
of sirens fading into the distance.
‘That
two-minute exercise cost us one hundred thousand dollars,’ said Tony as they
made their way back towards the entrance. As he pushed through the revolving
door a little boy rushed past him shouting at the top of his voice, ‘I’ve just
seen the President! I’ve just seen the President!’
‘Worth
every penny,’ said Tony’s father. ‘Now all we need to know is whether Dollar
Bill also lives up to his reputation.’
Hannah
received an urgent call asking her to attend a meeting at the embassy when
there was still another four months of her course to complete. She assumed the
worst.
In
the exams which were conducted every other Friday, Hannah had consistently
scored higher marks than the other five trainee agents who were still in
London. She was damned if she was going to be told at this late stage that she
wasn’t up to it.
The
unscheduled appointment with the Councillor for Cultural Affairs, a euphemistic
title for Colonel Kratz, Mossad’s top man in London, was for six that evening.
At
her morning tutorial, Hannah failed to concentrate on the works of the Prophet
Mohammed, and during the afternoon she had an even tougher time with The
British Occupation and Mandate in Iraq, 1917-32. She was glad to escape at five
o’clock without being set any extra work.
The
Israeli Embassy had, for the past two months, been forbidden territory for all
the trainee agents unless specifically invited. If you were summoned you knew
it was simply to collect your return ticket home: we no longer have any use for
you. ‘Goodbye,’ and, if you were lucky, ‘Thank you.’ Two of the trainees had
already taken that route during the past month.
Hannah
had only seen the embassy
Similar Books
