The Eleventh Commandment (1998) by Jeffrey Archer

asked the Chairman of the Board. It was his first question in an interview that had already lasted for over an hour.
    ‘Twenty-eight years in May, Mr Thompson,’ replied Connor, looking directly at the man who sat at the centre of the large table facing him.
    ‘Your record is most impressive,’ said the woman sitting on the Chairman’s right. ‘And your references are impeccable. I’m bound to ask why you want to leave your present job. And, perhaps more important, why Maryland Life seems willing to let you go.’
    Connor had discussed how he should answer this question with Maggie over dinner the previous evening. ‘Just tell them the truth,’ she had said. ‘And don’t bother with any guile; you’ve never been any good at it.’ He hadn’t expected any different advice.
    ‘My only immediate chance of promotion would have meant moving to Cleveland,’ he answered, ‘and I felt I couldn’t ask my wife to give up her job at Georgetown University. It would be hard for her to find an equivalent post in Ohio.’
    The third member of the interviewing board nodded. Maggie had briefed him that one member of the panel had a son who was in his senior year at Georgetown.
    ‘I don’t think that we need to detain you any longer,’ said the Chairman. ‘I’d just like to thank you, Mr Fitzgerald, for coming to see us this afternoon.’
    ‘My pleasure,’ said Connor, standing to leave.
    To his surprise the Chairman rose from behind the long table and came round to join him. ‘Would you and your wife care to have dinner with us one evening next week?’ he asked as he escorted Connor to the door.
    ‘We’d be delighted, sir,’ Connor replied.
    ‘Ben,’ said the Chairman. ‘Nobody at Washington Provident calls me sir, and certainly not my senior executives.’ He smiled and shook Connor warmly by the hand. ‘I’ll ask my secretary to phone your office tomorrow morning and fix a date. I look forward to meeting your wife - Maggie, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ Connor replied. He paused. ‘And I look forward to meeting Mrs Thompson, Ben.’

    The White House Chief of Staff picked up the red phone, but didn’t immediately recognise the voice.
    ‘I have some information you might find useful. I’m sorry it’s taken so long.’
    Lloyd quickly grabbed a blank yellow pad and flicked the top off a felt-tip pen. He didn’t need to press any buttons - every conversation that took place on that particular phone was automatically recorded.
    ‘I’ve just returned from ten days in Bogota, and someone down there was making sure that doors were not only slammed in my face, but locked and bolted.’
    ‘So Dexter must have found out what you were up to,’ said Lloyd.
    ‘Within minutes of my speaking to the local Chief of Police, would be my bet.’
    ‘Does that mean she also knows who you’re working for?’
    ‘No, I covered myself on that front, which is why I’ve taken so long getting back to you. And I can promise you that after the wild goose chase I led one of her junior officers on, she’ll never be able to fathom who I’m reporting back to. Our Cultural Attache in Bogota is now following up every known drug baron, every junior official in the narcotics department, and half the local police force. His report will fill so many pages it will take them a month just to read it, let alone figure out what the hell I was doing down there.’
    ‘Did you come up with anything we could pin on Dexter?’ Lloyd asked.
    ‘Nothing she wouldn’t be able to explain away with the usual smoke and mirrors. But all the evidence suggests that the CIA was behind the assassination.’
    We already know that,’ said Lloyd. ‘The President’s problem is that, although our informant’s credentials are impeccable, he could never appear on the stand, because he’s the person who directly benefited from the assassination. Do you have anything that could stand up in court?’
    ‘Only Bogota’s Chief of Police, and his