Free Honour Among Thieves by Jeffrey Archer

warned not, under any circumstances, to break the speed limit. T. Hamilton McKenzie was overcome with relief as he watched the car disappear down the hospital drive. He hoped the nightmare was at last coming to an end. The operation had taken him seven hours, and the previous night had been the first time he had slept soundly for the past week. The last order he had received was to go home and wait for Sally's release. When the demand had been put to him by the woman who left five dollars on the table at the Olentangy Inn, he had considered it impossible. Not, as he had suggested, on ethical grounds, but because he had thought he could never achieve a true likeness. He had wanted to explain to her about autografting, the external epithelium and the deeper corium, and how unlikely it was that. . . But when he saw the unnamed man in his private office, he immediately realised why they had chosen him. He was almost the right height, perhaps a shade short - an inch, no more - and he might have been five to ten pounds too light. But shoe lifts and a few Big Macs would sort out both of those problems. The skull and features were remarkable and bore a stunning resemblance to the original. In fact in the end it had only proved necessary to perform rhinoplasty and a partial thickness graft. The results were good, very good. The surgeon assumed that the man's red hair was irrelevant because they could shave his head and use a wig. With a new set of teeth and good make-up, only his immediate family would be able to tell the difference. McKenzie had had several different teams working with him during the seven hours in the operating theatre. He'd told them he needed fresh help whenever he began to tire. No one ever questioned T. Hamilton McKenzie inside the hospital, and only he had seen the final result. He had kept his side of the bargain. She parked the Ford Taurus - America's most popular car - a hundred yards from the house, but not before she'd swung it round to face the direction in which she would be leaving. She changed her shoes in the car. The only time she had nearly been caught was when some mud had stuck to the soles of her shoes and the FBI had traced it to within yards of a spot she had visited a few days before. She swung her bag over her shoulder and stepped out onto the road. She began to walk slowly towards the house. They had chosen the location well. The farmhouse was several miles from the nearest building - and that was an empty barn - at the end of a track that even desperate lovers would have thought twice about. There was no sign of anyone being in the house, but she knew they were there, waiting, watching her every move. She opened the door without knocking and immediately saw one of them in the hall. 'Upstairs,' he said, pointing. She did not reply as she walked past him and began to climb the stairs. She went straight into the bedroom and found the young girl sitting on the end of the bed reading. Sally turned and smiled at the slim woman in the green Laura Ashley dress, hoping that she had brought another book with her. The woman placed a hand in her bag and smiled shyly, before pulling out a paperback and passing it over to the young girl. 'Thank you,' said Sally, who took the book, checked the cover and then quickly turned it over to study the plot summary. While Sally became engrossed by the promised story, the woman unclipped the long plaited rope that was attached to the two sides of her shopping bag. Sally opened the book at the first chapter, having already decided she would have to read every page very slowly. After all, she couldn't be sure when the next offering might come. The movement was so fast that she didn't even feel the rope go round her neck. Sally's head jerked back and with one flick her vertebra was broken. Her chin slumped onto her chest. Blood began to trickle out of her mouth, down her chin and onto the cover of A Time to Love and a Time to. . . The driver of the limousine was