Honor Among Thieves Read online

“OK, boss. Understood.”

  Cavalli checked his watch again. It was 9:36 and the traffic was now flowing smoothly. He walked over to the officer coordinating the shoot for the city’s motion picture and television office.

  “Don’t worry,” said the Lieutenant even before Cavalli had opened his mouth. “The traffic will be stopped and the detour signs in place by nine fifty-nine. We’ll have you moving on time, I promise.”

  “Thank you, Officer,” said Cavalli, and quickly dialed Al Calabrese.

  “I think you’d better start getting your boys back…”

  “Number one has already left with two outriders. Number two’s just about to go; after that, they leave at twenty-second intervals.”

  “You should have been an army general,” said Cavalli.

  “You can blame the government for that. I just didn’t get the right education.”

  Suddenly, Pennsylvania Avenue was ablaze with lights. Cavalli, like everyone else, shielded his eyes and then, just as suddenly, the lights were switched off, making the morning sun appear like a dim light bulb.

  “Good sparks,” Cavalli heard the director shout. “I could only spot one that didn’t function. The seventh on the right.”

  Cavalli stood on the sidewalk and looked towards the corner of 13th Street. He could see the first of Al’s limousines with two outriders edging its way back through the traffic. The sight of the shining black limo made him feel nervous for the first time.

  A tall, well-built, bald man wearing dark glasses, a dark blue suit, white shirt and a red, white and blue striped tie was walking towards him. He stopped by Cavalli’s side as the first of the two outriders and the leading police car drew in to the curb.

  “How are you feeling?” asked Cavalli.

  “Like all first nights,” said Lloyd Adams. “I’ll be just fine once the curtain goes up.”

  “Well, you sure knew your lines word perfect last night.”

  “My lines aren’t the problem,” said Adams. “It’s Marshall’s I’m worried about.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Cavalli.

  “He’s not been able to attend any of our rehearsals, has he?” replied the actor. “So he doesn’t know his cues.”

  The second car drew into line, accompanied by two more outriders, as Al came running across the sidewalk and Lloyd Adams strode off in the direction of the trailer.

  “Can you still do it in eleven minutes?” asked Cavalli, looking at his watch.

  “As long as Chief Thomas’s finest don’t foul things up like they do every other morning,” said Al. He headed towards the cars and immediately began to organize the unfurling of the presidential flag on the front of the third car before checking on any specks of dirt that might have appeared on the bodywork after one trip around the block.

  The staff van drew up in line. Scasiatore immediately swung around on his high stool and, through a megaphone, told the actor, the secretary, the Lieutenant and the physician to be ready to climb into the third and fourth cars.

  When the director asked for the Lieutenant and the physician, Cavalli suddenly realized that he hadn’t seen Dollar Bill or Angelo all morning. Perhaps they’d been waiting in the trailer.

  The fourth limousine drew up as Cavalli’s eyes swept the horizon, searching for Angelo.

  The Klaxon sounded again for several seconds, this time to warn the film crew that they had ten minutes left before shooting. The noise almost prevented Cavalli from hearing his phone ringing.

  “It’s Andy reporting in, boss. I’m still outside the National Archives. Just to let you know it’s no busier than when you checked up an hour ago.”

  “At least someone’s awake,” said Cavalli.

  “There can’t be more than twenty or thirty people around at the moment.”

  “Glad to hear it. But don’t call me again unless something goes wrong.” Cavalli flicked off the phone and tried to remember what it was that had been worrying him before it rang. Eleven vehicles and six outriders were now in place. One vehicle was still missing. But something else was nagging at the back of Cavalli’s mind. He became distracted when an officer standing in the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue began shouting at the top of his voice that he was ready to stop the traffic whenever the director gave the word. Johnny stood up on his chair and pointed frantically to the twelfth car, which remained obstinately stuck in traffic a couple of hundred yards away.

  “If you divert the traffic now,” shouted Johnny, “that one’s never going to end up in the motorcade.”

  The officer remained in the middle of the road and waved the traffic through as fast as he could in the hope of getting the limousine there quicker, but it didn’t make a lot of difference.

  “Extras on the street!” shouted Johnny, and several people whom Cavalli had supposed were members of the public strolled onto the sidewalk and began walking up and down professionally.

  Johnny stood up on his chair again and this time turned to face the crowd huddled behind the barriers. An aide handed him a megaphone so that he could address them.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “this is a short cut for a movie about the President going to the Hill to address a joint session of Congress. I’d be grateful if you could wave, clap and cheer as if it were the real President. Thank you.” Spontaneous applause broke out, which made Cavalli laugh for the first time that morning. He hadn’t noticed that the former Deputy Police Chief had crept up behind him during the director’s address. He whispered in his ear, “This is going to cost you a whole lot of money if you don’t pull it off the first time.”

  Cavalli turned to face the ex-policeman and tried not to show how anxious he felt.

  “The holdup, I mean. If you don’t get the shoot done this morning, the authorities aren’t going to let you go through this charade again for one hell of a time.”

  “I don’t need to be reminded of that,” snapped Cavalli. He turned his attention back to Johnny, who had climbed down from his chair and was walking over to take his seat on the tracking dolly, ready to move as soon as the twelfth vehicle was in place. Once again, the aide passed Johnny the megaphone. “This is a final check. Check your positions, please. This is a final check. Everyone ready in car one?” There was a sharp honk in reply. “Car two?” Another honk. “Car three?” Another sharp honk from the driver of Lloyd Adams’s car. Cavalli stared in through the window as the bald actor removed the top of his wig box. “Car four?” Not a sound came from car four.

  “Is everyone in car four who should be in car four?” barked the director.

  It was then that Cavalli remembered what had been nagging at him; he still hadn’t seen Angelo or Dollar Bill all morning. He should have checked earlier. He hurried towards the director as a naval Lieutenant jumped out of a car which he’d left stranded in the middle of the road. He was six feet tall, with short-cropped hair, wearing a white uniform with a sword swinging by his side and medals for service in Panama and the Gulf on his chest. In his right hand, he carried a black box. A policeman began chasing after him while Dollar Bill, carrying a small leather bag, followed a few yards behind at a slower pace. When Cavalli saw what had happened he changed direction and walked calmly out into the middle of the road, and the naval officer came to a halt by his side.

  “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” barked Cavalli.

  “We got held up in the traffic,” said Angelo lamely.

  “If this whole operation fails because of you…”

  Angelo turned the color of his uniform as he thought about what had happened to Bruno Morelli.

  “And the sword?” snapped Cavalli.

  “A perfect fit.”

  “And our physician. Is he fit?”

  “He’ll be able to do his job, I promise you,” Angelo said, looking over his shoulder.

  “Which car are you both in?”

  “Number four. Directly behind the President.”

  “Then get in, and right now.”

  “Sor