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  “Buy Amalgamated Wire.” He paused the tape. “Seventy-six, Mr. Bishara’s normal level.” He pressed Play. “But don’t let anyone know I authorized it. Eighty-four. Because that would be insider trading. Seventy-six, back to normal. Keep up the good work, Gavin. Eighty-one.”

  “How do you explain the discrepancy?” asked Mr. Foreman.

  “Because as I suggested, sir, the tape that was provided to this committee is a compilation drawn from four different conversations. To use a vulgar American expression, the originals have been sliced and diced. I concluded that two of the conversations were conducted on the telephone in Mr. Bishara’s office as their levels are between 74 and 76; one was from overseas, when people have a tendency to speak up—in this case the level increased to 84; and one from Mr. Bishara’s home in the country, when the level is 81, and where the sound of birds—blue tits and sparrows, I believe—can be heard faintly in the background.”

  “But,” said Mr. Foreman, “he did say ‘Buy Amalgamated Wire.’”

  “I accept that,” said the professor. “But if you listen carefully to that section of the tape, I think you’ll come to the same conclusion as I did: that a word has been cut out. I’d stake my reputation and experience on that word being ‘don’t.’ In doctored tapes, that is the most common word to be deleted. So Mr. Bishara’s actual words were ‘Don’t buy Amalgamated Wire.’ You will of course be able to test my theory more fully when you interview Mr. Buckland again.”

  “With that in mind, professor,” said the chairman, “may we call on your services when we see Mr. Buckland?”

  “I would be happy to assist you,” said the professor, “but my wife and I are only in England for a week conducting further research.”

  “Into what?” asked Sir Piers, unable to resist.

  “I plan to record the sonic output of London’s buses, particularly double-deckers, and to spend some time at Heathrow recording 707 takeoffs and landings. We’re also going to attend a concert by the Rolling Stones at Wembley, when Matilda’s little indicator may hit its maximum level of 120 for the first time.”

  The chairman allowed himself a chuckle before saying, “We appreciate your giving us your time, professor, and look forward to seeing you and Matilda again in the near future.”

  “And I have to confess,” Horowitz said, as he placed a plastic cover over his offspring and zipped her up, “you only got me just in time.”

  “And why is that?” asked Sir Piers.

  “Scotland Yard have set me an interesting conundrum that Matilda can’t handle on her own. However, I’ve almost perfected an odious little boyfriend for her, called Harvey, but he’s not quite ready to be let loose on the world.”

  “And what will Harvey be able to do?” the chairman asked on behalf of everyone in the room.

  “He’s an equalizer, so it won’t be too long before I will be able to take any tape that has been sliced and diced and reproduce it at a constant level of 74 to 76. If whoever tampered with Mr. Buckland’s tape had been aware of Harvey, Mr. Bishara would not have been able to prove his innocence.”

  “Now I recall why I know your name,” said Sir Piers. “Mr. Hardcastle told us that you were awarded the Congressional Science Medal, but he didn’t tell us what for. Do remind us, Mr. Hardcastle.”

  Arnold stood up again, opened the Horowitz file and read out the citation. “At the time of President Nixon’s impeachment, Professor Horowitz was invited by Congress to study the Nixon tapes and see if he could show that there had been any deletions or tampering with their content.”

  “Which is exactly what I did,” said the professor. “And as a staunch Republican, it was a sad day for me when the president was impeached. I came to the conclusion that Matilda must be a Democrat.”

  They all burst out laughing.

  “Mind you, if I had perfected Harvey a little earlier, the president might still have served his full two terms.”

  * * *

  Adrian Sloane picked up the phone on his desk, curious to know who was calling him on his private line.

  “Is this Adrian Sloane?” said a voice he didn’t recognize.

  “Depends who’s asking.” There was a long pause.

  “Chief Inspector Mike Stokes. I’m attached to the drugs squad at Scotland Yard.”

  Sloane felt his whole body go cold.

  “How can I help you, Mr. Stokes?”

  “I’d like to make an appointment to see you, sir.”

  “Why?” asked Sloane bluntly.

  “I can’t discuss the matter over the phone, sir. Either I could come to you, or you could visit me at Scotland Yard, whichever is more convenient.”

  Sloane hesitated. “I’ll come to you.”

  43

  THE TOASTMASTER WAITED for the applause to die down before he banged his gavel several times and announced, “Your excellency, my lord, ladies and gentlemen, pray silence for the bridegroom, Mr. Sebastian Clifton.”

  Warm applause greeted Sebastian as he rose from his place at the top table.

  “Best-man speeches are almost always appalling,” said Seb, “and Victor is clearly a man who doesn’t believe in breaking with tradition.” He turned to his old friend. “If I was given a second chance to choose between you and Clive…” Laughter and a smattering of applause broke out.

  “I want to begin by thanking my father-in-law for so generously allowing Samantha and me to be married in this magnificent embassy with its romantic past. I didn’t realize until Jessica told me that the palazzo had its own lady chapel, and I can’t think of a more idyllic place to marry the woman I love.

  “I would also like to thank my parents, of whom I am inordinately proud. They continue to set standards I could never hope to live up to, so let’s be thankful that I’ve married a woman who can. And of course, I want to thank all of you who have traveled from different parts of the world to be with us in Rome today to celebrate an event that should have taken place ten years ago. I can promise you I intend to spend the rest of my life making up for those lost years.

  “My final thanks go to my precocious, adorable and talented menace of a daughter, Jessica, who somehow managed to bring her mother and me back together, for which I will be eternally grateful. I hope all of you will enjoy today, and have a memorable time while you’re in Rome.”

  Sebastian sat down to prolonged applause, and Jessica, who was seated next to him, handed him the dessert menu. He began to study the different dishes.

  “The other side,” she said, trying not to sound exasperated.

  Seb turned over the menu to find a charcoal drawing of himself delivering his speech.

  “You just get better and better,” he said, placing an arm around her shoulder. “I wonder if you could do me a favor?”

  “Anything, Pops.” Jessica listened to her father’s request, grinned and quietly left the table.

  * * *

  “What a fascinating job, being an ambassador,” said Emma as an affogato was placed in front of her.

  “Especially when they give you Rome,” said Patrick Sullivan. “But I’ve often wondered what it must be like to chair a great hospital, with so many different and complex issues every day—not just the patients, doctors, nurses and—”

  “The car park,” said Emma. “I could have done with your diplomatic skills when it came to that particular problem.”

  “I’ve never had a car parking problem,” admitted the ambassador.

  “And neither did I, until I decided to charge for parking at the infirmary, when one of the local papers launched a campaign to get me to change my mind and described me as a heartless harridan!”

  “And did you change your mind?”

  “Certainly not. I’d authorized over a million pounds of public money to be spent building that car park, and I didn’t expect the general public to use it for free parking whenever they wanted to go shopping. So I decided to charge the same rate as the nearest municipal car park, with concessions for hospital staff and