dimmed. The mirror became suddenly transparent as a light
flickered on in the adjacent room.
“What is this?”
“We maintain a small mobile laboratory at the airport,”
said Kalou proudly. “We thought some basic tests might help
clear this up. An X-ray, for example.”
“You have no right to . . .”
“Oh, I can assure you, Mr. Martell, we have every right. It
will only take a few minutes and then you and your painting
will be free to go.”
All three men looked on through the rectangular window
as the painting was gingerly lifted out of its climate-controlled
packing case and placed under the X-ray machine. Satisfi ed
that all the settings were right, the technicians stepped back
behind a protective shield and remotely activated the ma-
chine.
Milo looked on, a sweat breaking out across his forehead,
his mouth suddenly dry.
3 8 4 j a m e s
t w i n i n g
“Only a few more minutes now,” the officer reassured him
with a smile. “Ah, here we go.”
The technicians approached the inspection window and
held up the negatives so that they could see them.
“It looks like there’s something else painted under your
obelisk.” Kalou frowned.
“It’s very common for artists to re- use older paintings to
save money,” Milo blustered.
“It’s a woman,” Kalou continued as if he hadn’t heard.
“She seems to have something on her lap. A child—” he ex-
claimed. “A child holding something.”
“It’s known as a yarnwinder,” Lewis said slowly. “I believe
you’ll find the painting is the
Madonna of the Yarnwinder
.
It’s by Leonardo da Vinci.”
“Kirk, you bastard!” Milo shrieked, his fi sts clenching
white at his sides.
“Can I quote you on that?” Lewis intoned.
C H A P T E R E I G H T Y- E I G H T
PALAIS DU LOUVRE, PARIS
28th April— 9:05 a.m.
Please accept this with the best wishes of the government
of the United States of America.” FBI Director Green
gave a small bow as he held out the painting for Maurice Fa-
bius, the French Minister of Culture.
Tom and Jennifer swapped a look but said nothing. Green’s
small moment of theater was a small price to pay for his as-
sistance in getting them out of Cuba in one piece.
“On behalf of the people of France, thank you.” For a mo-
ment Fabius seemed quite overcome, his eyes glistening and
his thin lips compressing as he reached for the frame.
“As you requested, we haven’t touched it beyond conduct-
ing some initial infrared reflectography tests.” Green pulled
the painting back toward him. “It clearly shows the
Mona
Lisa
under the top painting, together with several preliminary
sketches and re-workings.” He held the painting out again
and then, as Fabius was about to grasp it, drew it away as an-
other thought occurred to him. “Interestingly, our experts
believe that there may be a thin, almost transparent veil
around her shoulders. I’m told it was called a
guarnello
and
that this was typically worn by expectant mothers at the time.
Maybe the
Mona Lisa
’s smile is that of a pregnant woman?”
3 8 6 j a m e s
t w i n i n g
“Fascinating,” said Fabius, finally managing to grip the
frame and wrestle it free from Green. “We will certainly see if
we can confirm those findings for ourselves.” He handed the
painting to an aide who lowered it into a container and sealed
it shut. Fabius coughed and straightened his tie. “Please, sit.”
He gestured toward the four seats that had been arranged
around a low table. Tom and Jennifer sat on one side, Fabius
and Green on the other. Tea and coffee had been laid out.
“So it’s all Napoleon’s fault,” Fabius smiled as he handed
Tom a cup of coffee. “Milk?”
Tom shook his head.
“All we know for sure is that at some stage between 1800
and 1804 when he had the painting up on his bedroom wall,
he replaced it with a forgery that was then transferred back to
the Louvre. Then he had the original covered up with the
self-portrait you have just seen, allowing him to secretly take
the
Mona Lisa
with him wherever he went.”
“No one would have been surprised that he carried around
a painting of himself,” Fabius laughed. “Modesty was never
his strongest suit.”
“The Egyptian dinner service was made between 1810 and
1812, so it’s likely that that was when he conceived of his
plan to permanently hide the painting,” Tom continued.
“Keeping with the Egyptian theme, he constructed the
Altar of the Obelisks in the catacombs, placed the painting
behind it, and then had it sealed up, obliterating all signs of
that section of the catacombs ever having existed,” Jennifer
added.
“Then he placed a map and a key inside one of the obe-
lisks from the centerpiece and hid the cipher to the code in
his copy of the newly published
Déscription de L’Egypte
.”
“But why go to such lengths?” Fabius frowned. “He was
the Emperor. He could simply have kept the painting for him-
self if he’d wanted.”
“Who knows?” Tom shrugged. “Perhaps he fell in love.
You’re laughing, but I’ve seen it happen before. People get
obsessed. They get jealous. It’s not enough that they own it
now. They want it to be theirs forever. Often, they would
rather destroy it than contemplate losing it.”
t h e g i l d e d s e a l
3 8 7
“He tried to give the Egyptian dinner service to the Em-
press Josephine after he divorced her,” Jennifer refl ected.
“So in a way, he was giving her the painting for safe-
keeping.”
“If she’d known, she might have kept it.” Green gave the
bitter laugh of someone who knew a thing or two about di-
vorce. “That’s some alimony.”
“But he never got a chance to retrieve it?”
“Again, we’re guessing, but at some stage on St. Helena,
when he knew he was dying, he must have confided in An-
tommarchi. He gave him the book and told him about the
dinner service.”
“The problem was that by then the newly restored King of
France had gifted the dinner service to the Duke of Welling-
ton,” Jennifer added.
“Napoleon must have been able to give Antommarchi the
location from memory and supply him with a duplicate key.
When the good doctor returned to Paris he found the paint-
ing, replaced it with a death mask as some sort of tribute to
his beloved Emperor, and then covered his tracks. When he
died in Cuba in 1838, the secret died with him.”
“It’s an incredible story,” Fabius marveled. “Absolutely
incredible.”
“And one that might never have come to light,” Tom com-
mented.
“One that, hopefully, never will,” Fabius immediately re-
sponded. “While the French Government deeply regrets the
actions of Monsieur Ledoux and Made
moi
selle Levy, no
good will come to anyone from publicizing these individual
transgressions.”
“I agree,” Green said fi rmly, fixing Tom and then Jennifer
with a look. “What’s done is done. The important thing is
that the
Mona Lisa
is back where she belongs.”
“How long will she take to clean up?” Tom asked.
“Six months. Maybe more.” Fabius shrugged. “Neither
time nor money matter in this case.”
“And what will you tell people?” Jennifer inquired.
“The truth. That, thanks to the vigilance of the French
police, the
Mona Lisa
has been recovered. That she has
3 8 8 j a m e s
t w i n i n g
unfortunately been damaged. But that she will go back on
display as soon as possible.”
“So I’m off the hook.” Tom breathed a sigh of relief.
“Indeed you are,” Fabius said earnestly. “You both are.
Again, you have my apologies for the confusion. I’m sure you
understand that Commissaire Ferrat was only acting on the
evidence available at the time.”
“I think we have all been guilty of jumping to conclu-
sions.” Green smiled sheepishly at Jennifer.
“In fact, to signal our gratitude for the efforts you have
made and the hardships you have endured over the past few
weeks, the President has asked me to present you with some-
thing.”
He snapped his fingers twice and an aide appeared at his
shoulder, carrying three small boxes on a velvet cushion. He
stood up and motioned that they should do the same.
“This is the insignia of an Officer of the Legion of Honor,”
he announced grandly, picking up one of the cases and snap-
ping it open to reveal a gilded five- armed Maltese Cross
decorated with an enameled laurel and oak wreath and sus-
pended from a crimson ribbon. “It is granted to recognize
outstanding achievements in military or civilian life. It is the
highest honor that France can bestow.”
Tom swapped an amused look with Jennifer. Green looked
slightly pale.
“Appropriately enough, it was established by the Emperor
Napoleon himself in 1802, the year his Egyptian campaign
ended. And it is on behalf of a grateful French nation that I
present this insignia to you now.”
He stepped forward and with a flourish hung the fi rst rib-
bon around Green’s neck before grasping him firmly by the
shoulders and kissing him on both cheeks. Green said noth-
ing, an expression of dazed delight spreading across his face.
Fabius then went through the same routine with Jennifer,
before turning to Tom.
“Thank you, but I’m afraid I can’t accept this.” Tom gave a
firm shake of his head. “If you want to give it to anyone, give
it to Jean- Pierre Dumas.”
“Dumas was suspended from the DST for a series of in-
t h e g i l d e d s e a l
3 8 9
fractions,” Fabius spluttered. “He would be an entirely inap-
propriate recipient, whatever small assistance he may have
provided you.”
Tom leaned forward and whispered something in Fabius’s
ear. The color drained from the minister’s face as he listened,
his breathing becoming strained. When he spoke, there was
a slight tremor in his voice.
“Perhaps your suggestion has some merit after all. I’ll see
what can be arranged.”
C H A P T E R E I G H T Y- N I N E
RUE DE RIVOLI, 1ST ARRONDISSEMENT, PARIS
28th April— 9:37 a.m.
What did you say to him?” Jennifer laughed as they
made their way down on to the street.
“I just asked him if he had any idea where Ledoux had got
the money to hire Milo.”
“You think he was behind that?”
“I think it’s pretty unlikely that Ledoux and Levy were
acting alone. Someone must have funded them. Someone
must have greased the diplomatic wheels to get the Chinese
to release Milo only two years into a ten-year sentence. If not
Fabius himself, then someone close to him. Close enough to
bring him down if it came out.”
“Well, either way, Green was happy.” She smiled.
“Green looked like he’ll be wearing his in bed,” Tom
agreed with a laugh. “Where’s yours?”
“In here.” She patted her handbag. “I’ll dust it off next
time the French ambassador invites me over for drinks.” She
had a playful tone, but Tom could tell she too was pleased.
“Why did you turn yours down?”
“Because it’s with such baubles that men are led,” Tom
quoted.
“Who said that?”
t h e g i l d e d s e a l
3 9 1
“Believe it or not, Napoleon.” He gave a rueful smile. “I
figure I’m probably better off without it.”
“Any news on Milo?”
“He’s being extradited from Morocco to stand trial in the
UK for the
Yarnwinder
theft. And I expect the Cubans and
the French will want their turn, too, eventually. They’re still
trying to round up Djoulou and his men.”
“And the painting?”
“Didn’t you read Lewis’s exclusive in the
New York Times
?
All the experts are convinced that Rafael’s forgery is the real
Madonna of the Yarnwinder
. As soon as they clean it up, it’s
going back on display in Scotland.”
“I heard that Takeshi’s auctioning his paintings too.”
“Even though they could be forgeries?” Tom asked in sur-
prise.
“He’s got the originals and the certificates of authenticity.”
She shrugged. “As far as anyone else is concerned, the forg-
eries never existed.”
“And Razi?”
“We arranged for him to be sent photos of what Takeshi
had done to Hammon. He took the next fl ight home and has
rolled over on everything in return for being put into witness
protection.”
“No sign of Takeshi himself, I suppose?” he asked.
“Who knows?” She shrugged. “No one’s seen him for the
last six years. It’ll probably be another six before he emerges
again.”
They paused in the middle of the courtyard.
“You know, this is where I first saw you. This is where this
whole thing started.”
“I made sure you saw me,” Tom reminded her.
She turned to face him, her face suddenly serious.