The Eleventh Commandment (1998) by Jeffrey Archer

and walked across to the window. He removed the case, placed it on the counter, and allowed his customer to have a closer look at its contents.
    Jackson only needed a cursory glance at the handcrafted rifle to know its provenance. He wasn’t surprised to find that one of the cartridges had been fired.
    ‘How much are you asking for it?’
    ‘Ten thousand dollars,’ replied Escobar, having identified the American accent. ‘I cannot let it go for any less. I have already received so many enquiries.’
    After three days of traipsing round the hot and humid city, Jackson was in no mood to bargain. But he didn’t have that amount of cash on him, and he couldn’t just write out a cheque or present a credit card.
    ‘Can I leave a down-payment,’ he asked, ‘and pick it up first thing in the morning?’
    ‘Certainly, sir,’ said Escobar. ‘Although for this particular item, I would require a 10 per cent deposit.’
    Jackson nodded, and removed a wallet from his inside pocket. He extracted some used notes and passed them across the counter.
    The shopkeeper counted the ten hundred-dollar bills slowly, then placed them in the cash register and wrote out a receipt.
    Jackson looked down at the open case, smiled, removed the spent cartridge and put it in his pocket.
    The old man was puzzled, not by Jackson’s action, but because he could have sworn that all twelve bullets had been in place when he had bought the rifle.

    ‘I’d pack up everything and join you tomorrow,’ she said, ‘if it weren’t for my parents.’
    ‘I’m sure they’d understand,’ said Stuart.
    ‘Maybe,’ said Tara. ‘But it wouldn’t stop me feeling guilty about all the sacrifices my father’s made over the years so I could finish my PhD. Not to mention my mother. She’d probably have a heart attack.’
    ‘But you said you’d find out if your Faculty Advisor would allow you to finish off your doctorate in Sydney.’
    ‘My Faculty Advisor isn’t the problem,’ said Tara. ‘It’s the Dean.’
    ‘The Dean?’
    ‘Yes. When my Faculty Advisor discussed the idea with him yesterday, he told her it was out of the question.’ There was a long silence before Tara said, Are you still there, Stuart?’
    ‘Sure am,’ he said, followed by a sigh that would have done credit to a Shakespearean lover.
    ‘It’s only another eight months,’ Tara reminded him. ‘In fact I can even tell you how many days. And don’t forget, you’ll be over here for Christmas.’
    ‘I’m looking forward to that,’ said Stuart. ‘I only hope your parents don’t feel I’m imposing on them. After all, they won’t have seen you for some time.’
    ‘Don’t be silly. They were delighted when I told them you’d be joining us. Mom adores you, as you well know, and you’re the first man Dad has ever had a good word for.’
    ‘He’s a remarkable man.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I suspect you know exactly what I mean.’
    ‘I’d better hang up, or Dad will need a raise just to cover my phone bills. By the way, it’s your turn next time.’
    Stuart pretended he hadn’t noticed how suddenly Tara had changed the subject.
    ‘It always seems strange to me,’ she continued, ‘that you’re still at work while I’m fast asleep.’
    ‘Well, I can think of one way of changing that,’ said Stuart.

    When he opened the door, the alarm went off. A carriage clock in the outer office struck twice as he swept aside the bead curtain and stepped into the shop. He stared across at the stand in the window. The rifle was no longer in its place.
    It took him several minutes to find it, hidden under the counter.
    He checked each item, and noted that one cartridge was missing, placed the case under his arm and left as quickly as he had entered. Not that he had any anxiety about being caught: the Chief of Police had assured him that the break-in would not be reported for at least thirty minutes. He glanced at the carriage clock before closing the door behind him. It was