Code of Siman (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four
Lyrical Abstraction

“Tet, Tav, Tav, Dalet, Gimmel, or actually it would be from right to left, so it would be Gimmel, Dalet, Tav, Tav, Tet,” Natanya resumed her post at the table where she took notes on the images looming before her.

“The first transmission is en-route…let’s hope it gets through without any problems.” Dauphine clenched the back of the upholstered tub chair. “Where’s it going to be released exactly?”

Natanya interrupted, “Don’t worry, it will saturate the air waves… They’ll get it. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Pascal could be the poster child for O.C.D., and surrounds himself with people just like him.” Natanya didn’t bother to look up at Gage and Dauphine.

“Okay, Gage, it looks like I have another set of coordinates for you. This would be for the Edgar Degas painting of Women on a Café Terrace…and it looks like we have ownership markings on this one as well as the coordinates.”

Gage asked, “What do you mean by ownership markings? Is it in the signature?”

“It’s not always in the signature, but quite often it is…this one is in the painting itself…right there in the sign…you can see it illuminated by the lead based paint…do you see it?” Natanya took the laser pointer and guided him to the area she was evaluating.

“Yeah, I got it…and this one is also at Ragnit, right?”

“Yes, it is…but I’ve got a few here. I was waiting for you to come back from the rendezvous with our contact for the…”

Dauphine held up her finger over her lips and shook her head.

“So we’re looking at the shapes revealed in the paintings, and ah…okay so let’s set this photograph in place, and you can capture the image, drop it into the program, and let’s see what we get.”

Natanya started to explain further before Dauphine had silenced her, forgetting that for a moment they weren’t free to communicate. Nodding her head in understanding, a blush creeping up to stain her neck and cheeks for nearly revealing too much she continued, “Here’s this one…see it? It’s above the tree limbs…there in gold,” Natanya exclaimed excitedly.

Dauphine said, “I’ve got it, and I’m dragging it over…Gage, it’s all yours.”

Gage moved over into the lab where he received the fractal image, processed it through the adapted program.

“I’ve got ownership markings…Ayin, Chet, Ayin and the last symbol I don’t understand.”

“The coordinates are also Ragnit…”

“Let me list this…Paul Cezanne Mont Sainte-Victoire is also in Rag…nit Castle. Okay, I’ve got it listed. To the side within this spreadsheet we’ll indicate the village, tribe, and family this belonged to.”

Dauphine looked over Natanya’s shoulder to view the spreadsheet as it began to fill in. “We’re about a third of the way through, with ownership found on most of them. But, some of them, I just can’t figure out.” Natanya spoke to Dauphine over her shoulder.

“What about those other ones? How will we know to whom they belong? Dauphine asked.

“We’re going to keep going over them until we find the embedded symbols. They’re in there, we’re just having a hard time because we don’t know where to look.”

“I think it probably helped a little that I added a few of NASA’s instruments we have here…” Gage dipped his chin down and looked at both of the women over his horn-rimmed glasses, a small smirk on his lips.

“Yes…that did indeed help, Gage,” Dauphine added while rubbing her eyes. She then gathered her hair back out of her face with both hands and held it up above her head for a few seconds before letting drift down around her shoulders.

“How do you think the guys are doing tracking the paintings down?” Natanya inquired generally, stopping momentarily from searching the paintings, while gnawing on the end of her pen. She waited for a response, her eyes wide, but received a vehement shake of the head from Dauphine, along with a warning glance.

Natanya shrugged and replaced the last photograph held in place with another from the album. As she did so, she gasped at what she saw in the painting.

“That looks like actual writing…cursive writing on the painting…there in the sky!” Dauphine snatched up the laser pointer to indicate the area. “Let’s magnify it…a little more, a little more…okay, I think I can read it, I believe it’s written in French. It’s barely visible. Can we change the angle?”

The 3D image was picked up and turned until it looked like an object floating in mid air on the glass panels positioned along the far wall. Dauphine, Gage and Natanya involuntarily lifted on their toes as they tried to read the words.

‘He walks in beauty,
like the night

Of
cloudless climes
and starry skies,

And all that’s best of
dark and bright

Meet
in her aspect and her eyes,

Thus mellowed to that
tender light

Which
heaven to
gaudy day denies

One shade the more, one ray the less

Had half
impaired the nameless grace

Which
waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens
o’er
her face,

Where
thoughts serenely sweet express

How
pure
, how dear
their dwelling place
,

And on
that
cheek and o’er that brow

So soft,
so calm
, yet eloquent,

The
smiles that win
, the tints that glow,

But tell of days
in goodness
spent,-

A mind
at peace with all
below,

A heart
whose
love
is innocent
.’

“I’ve plugged in some of the words to find out…”

“It’s Lord Byron…I studied poetry…”

“You surprise me, Gage, I would have thought you were far too cerebral to dabble in poetry,” Dauphine tilted her head to the side as she spoke while addressing Gage.

“Poetry, or written words can be strung together to create the answer to an often complex configuration.”

“The title is ‘The Hebrew Maid’,” continued Natanya, “Which is yet another clue to the symbols they were using.”

“Did you notice that some of the words within the lines are slanted further, as if to draw attention to them. Why do you think they did that? Why put this poem in at all?” Dauphine asked as she approached the panel, the floating words hovering just within her reach.

“It may have been placed on this painting to allow someone the ability to glean the fact that Hebrew was being used, as well as the celestial coordinates within the illuminated shapes. I learned this from my Aunt…but otherwise, without her notes, how would it have been discovered?” Natanya suggested.

“I just realized something.” Dauphine took a few steps back.

“What’s that?” Gage and Natanya asked.

“If they had taken the time to look through every photograph…if they had the seen this…” Dauphine didn’t finish.

“But they didn’t look through each photograph, and they couldn’t have viewed it anyway. They would have had to have known what they were looking for,” Gage shook his head as his previously raised arms to fell to his side.

“…It’s just a poem, after all…” Natanya said as her voice trailed off, “Or maybe not…maybe it’s something more…”

Chapter Twenty-Five
Hard-Edged Painting

The hall of the mansion was flooded with footsteps, but devoid of voices, bathed in shadows but no direct light. Respectful consideration was given to their questions, but they were not rewarded with answers.

“Why have we been taken to his home? Didn’t you say this was all set?” Philippe whispered vehemently to Warren as they walked side-by-side down the hallway.

Warren shook his head, then motioned for Philippe to look farther ahead to the end of the hall where a guard stood waiting.

They had walked from the helicopter on the roof of the multi-car garage, down the stone steps on the outside of the building, across the paved driveway, and had entered the home, which more closely resembled a castle with its elaborate architecture, and were now being led through a dimly lit wood paneled hallway.

A boy erupted from behind them, running ahead, leaving behind a lingering odor of sweat, oil, and turpentine. Warren recalled seeing him darting in and out of the group of men standing at the base of the multi-car garage.

One of the men had accepted a note from the boy, then ground out his cigarette into the gravel, crumpled the note and clenched it in his fist, as if it caused him anguish. His eyes followed Warren as he was ushered into the stately home. He had nodded to the man, but did not chance a conversation. His senses were on high alert as they walked through the hall, distracted by framed portraits depicting Mr. Abramovich with the leaders from around the world, showing him accepting awards for his accomplishments.

Philippe tried again, “What do you think he wants?”

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Warren replied.

“Maybe not so long after all,” Philippe said.

“One at a time please,” a polished and distinguished looking member of the household staff directed them.

The hallway seemed to move as they walked along, narrowing so that they had to walk in single file.

Pascal entered the narrowest area where a row of lights flashed above, below and beside him. The paneled door at the end of the hall slid open to admit him, but before entering he called back, “Body scans,” then proceeded into the other room.

Philippe was processed in the same manner, exiting through the same paneled door as Pascal.

Warren approached, stood within the thick wooden structure, watched as the lights quickly glided around him, and waited for the same paneled door to open before him to follow Pascal and Philippe, but instead, he was led out of the archway, and back a few paces, where another paneled door opened, allowing him entry into a library.

He saw before him an athletic, agile man of about his age, in his forties, viewing a Degas hanging upon the wall. This man’s back was to him, his hands were on his hips, his posture rigid, evident by the tensed muscles displayed in his back and shoulders.

“Do you think it’s real?” The question was shot out like a fastball within a batting cage.

Warren didn’t feel he had enough time to get in the cage, let alone put on a helmet and hold up the bat.

“Well, that’s hard to say…” Warren replied, at once on edge and at ease, well versed as he was on the subject, he wasn’t sure which direction it was going to take him.

A swift turn by the man brought Warren face to face with Roman Abramovich. Warren recognized him from the portraits in the hallway. He found his expression unreadable for the most part, solemn and somewhat guarded.

“Rumors have travelled all the way to Russia that you have revealed a forgery within the National Gallery.” Roman’s straight and direct gaze bored into Warren. “Is that true?”

“Yes.” Warren answered only what was asked, taking more time to evaluate Roman to determine if he was an adversary or an ally.

“What is your purpose? Let me rephrase the question. What will you gain by revealing the true masterpieces from the fakes?”

“You ask the question like you are aware there are forgeries in existence,” Warren countered, standing a little straighter, squaring his shoulders.

“Yes, of course there are! What? You think the black market stopped circulating because we have evolved?” Roman gave a low chuckle, his eyes twinkling in mischief.

“No, not at all. I didn’t think it had stopped all together, but this is something else entirely…” Warren’s hesitation caught a hold of Roman as if he had been tackled in one of his Rugby tournaments.

“Shall we discuss it? Why don’t you enlighten me? Come, sit down.” Roman gestured to two overstuffed faded leather club chairs.

Warren remained standing after Roman seated himself. “About that, you see we have somewhere we need to be and…”

Roman brought Warren’s attention over to the picture of his Rugby team; the rapturous joy was evident upon his face as he accepted the trophy. “You see by the picture there? I win by fair and simple skill, but most of all by assessing my opponent accurately.”

“You believe me to be your opponent?” Warren dipped his head for a moment. “What have you deduced about me?” Warren wondered briefly where Pascal and Philippe had been placed as he waited for Roman’s response.

“Not necessarily. Let’s just say I am reserving judgment of your motives, although I would like to find out what happened after your revelation. It was not something taken lightly, I presume.”

“If I choose not to tip my hand regarding the reasons behind my revelations at the National Gallery…then…”

“You will trust me to keep your confidence. Look around you. Do you not see that I have the ability to crush you? That I am capable of causing you and your friends to disappear as though you were never here?”

Warren shifted on his feet, but then chose to sit down adjacent Roman.

Roman continued, “You might also remember that I have made deep and loyal friendships with many leaders around the world, bonds that have been impenetrable, unshakeable in their strength.”

Roman had leaned forward, opened a humidor to remove a cigar. He offered a cigar to Warren and slowly began the preliminary process of cutting the ends, placed the cigar between his lips and rolled it around and around as he brought the flame to the tip. Taking short puffs until it appeared well lit, then a long puff of smoke, he reclined in the leather club chair and said, “You choose. Right now. I leave it to you to decide. Which will you be?”

“You don’t make this easy do you?”

“I thought I was doing just that?” Roman smiled sardonically.

Warren sighed, then made his choice, the swirling wisps of smoke momentarily obscuring Roman.