The Da Vinci Deception (32 page)

The now-familiar sounds from the speedboat grew louder. He went to the window to watch the boat pull alongside the dock and Giorgio hop out.

“First we must talk.” Giorgio said after an inspection of the studio. “I must know you better—how you think, what you know of Leonardo, how you express yourself. Do not be offended by my questions, at heart I am a teacher. I am told you were in prison. Why?”

“I counterfeited municipal securities,” Stiehl answered matter-of-factly.

“That is
what
you did. I asked
why.
Why did you counterfeit them?”

“I knew how, and I needed money.”

“Could you not use your skills for another purpose? To be an artist?”

“I didn't think so then. I was impatient.”

“Who is Tony Waters?”

The shift in the questioning surprised Stiehl. “I haven't figured him out. I know very little about him.”

“Do you like him?”

“Not particularly.”

“Are you married?”

“No longer. Divorced.”

“Do you have children?”

Stiehl smiled. “A daughter.”

“Your smile told me it was a daughter.” Giorgio touched the tip of his nose, returned the smile, and continued, “When was Leonardo born?”

“1452.”

“Where?”

“Near Florence. In Vinci.”

Giorgio continued firing questions about Leonardo, and while not prepared for the long quiz, Stiehl was surprised he knew so much. Then Giorgio turned a hundred and eighty degrees and fired more questions about Tony, Jonas, Eleanor, the Renaissance, and finally Giorgio Burri.

“I've never met anyone who has spent a lifetime studying and teaching art. I never thought that is something I could do, and now I think it's the most important thing I could ever do. You could be my father, and somewhere inside I wish you were. But I've known you for too short a time to talk like that.”

“Go on. Not to make my ego blow up. You may tear it down. What is it you like about Giorgio?”

“You speak different languages. You like to fish and hike. You have a good life. You smile and make other people happy.”

“Those are kind words, and I thank you.” Giorgio's tone became serious. “Would you risk going to jail again?”

It was a question Stiehl couldn't give a simple answer to. The quick
answer was no. Even in the apparent safety of a studio overlooking Lake Como, he was at risk. He did not give an answer, and Giorgio did not push for one.

The session lasted two hours, and when it was over, both men knew each other as well as if they had experienced many months of a close relationship. As Giorgio asked his questions he roved around the studio. He now stood near a tall bookshelf, and as Stiehl looked toward him, a glint of light caught his eye. He studied the reflection coming off a round piece of glass. Stiehl remembered that first day in Jonas's office, the hidden television cameras and the room with the TV monitors. Jonas was watching and listening. Then came a gentle rapping and a young couple entered carrying trays of food and wine.

They talked as they ate, and after Giorgio drained his glass he began a serious study of the drawings Stiehl put in front of him. His reaction was spontaneous

“
Splendido! Bello!
It is difficult to believe what I am seeing. Your line is fluid and graceful. They are magnificent.”

“I worry about the handwriting,” Stiehl said apologetically, yet happy with the warm praise.

“
Sì,
there are problems, but you underestimate yourself.”

As the afternoon wore on, Stiehl returned to his apprehension over the handwriting. With Giorgio's encouragement, his confidence increased.

It had been a sunless day. The ubiquitous bells announced seven o'clock, and as Stiehl turned on the ceiling lights he was joined by Jonas.

“I couldn't wait any longer,” Jonas said. “What is your assessment, Giorgio?”

“It may be a miracle, but in this young man the genius of Leonardo still lives.”

Strong praise, thought Jonas, more than he expected, and far more than enough to brighten his round face. “That is the best news of all.” He wrapped his arms around Stiehl in a smothering hug. “You are ready, Curtis. When will you begin?”

“Tomorrow, with luck. Maybe I'll have to psych myself up, but if Giorgio thinks it's time, then I'm ready.”

“Exquisite.” Jonas turned to Giorgio. “You will approve the drawings?”

“That is our agreement.”

“Your original drawings,” Stiehl said. “Can I see them?”

“Of course.” Giorgio opened a small leather folder and took out his original drawings of Folios 4 and 9.

Stiehl examined Folio 4. His first impression was that the Xerox had been an accurate guide. But as he looked more closely, he saw that the writing on Giorgio's original was different from the copies. He compared copy to original and confirmed that a significant change had been made when the copies were run off.

“The writing is different. Why is that?”

Giorgio smiled self-consciously. “Leonardo's words are just as important as his drawings. It is easy enough to decide what sketches he might have made for each of his paintings, but to be inside the Master's mind . . . to know his thoughts . . . well, that is truly the contribution I have made.”

“Are you saying that every damned Xerox has different notations from what Leonardo would have written?” Jonas demanded.

“They are both a fiction, Jonas. However, my originals carry the ideas I am confident Leonardo would have set down. The copies contain what I might describe as idle chatter.”

“I've been memorizing idle chatter?” Stiehl asked.

“But not in vain. I gave you Leonardo's vocabulary, and the shorthand he invented. You have not wasted a minute's time.”

Stiehl knew that his struggle with the handwriting was not in its content, but in forming the words. He also was aware that Giorgio's news did not sit well with Jonas.

“I see there's more unfinished business between us,” Jonas said as he walked quickly to the door. “I am going to the solarium and expect you will join me immediately.”

Giorgio sighed heavily. “How unfortunate that trust becomes something to give and never receive. Ah, well, my very talented friend, I must leave you to humor Jonas into a better mood. Begin with the drawings and put Leonardo's writing out of your mind for the present.” He placed his hand on Stiehl's. “I will help you. In a few days you will be
una scriba esperto.
”

“You made him out to be Leonardo reincarnated,” Jonas said with a measure of approbation. “Or were you building his confidence?”

“If I made him more confident, then I am happy. But you must know that he possesses a rare talent. I have seen many artists at work and I am a failed painter myself, but there is a magic to the way he moves the pen
over the paper . . . as if he wills the ink to flow in a way his mind sees clearly.”

“All that's to the good. But you deceived me again. First with copies. And now I find there is the genuine manuscript copy and what you call idle chatter.”

“I made it clear that I will hold the drawings until each sheet is sold. I have made a concession even so. Two of my originals are with Curtis. It is a fair arrangement.”

“You call it fair because you hold the drawings. They must be here in
Il Diodario
where they will be safe. In your hands there's a risk they'll be discovered.”

“There's little chance of that. My home is filled with drawings and sketches and old books I have spent a lifetime gathering. A few more drawings would scarcely cause attention.”

“But if anything should happen to you . . .”

“Nothing shall happen, Jonas. But neither you nor I are truly safe. Only so long as Eleanor believes what you have told her. If she learns of our plan and how you have used her, then all of us are very vulnerable. I have thought about this and it troubles me.”

Jonas slouched into his favorite chair. “I have thought about it, too. How did you come to
Il Diodario
today?”

Giorgio looked at him quizzically. “By that monstrous boat your man runs all over the lake.”

“Can you come another way?”

“The road to Bellagio runs behind the villa. There is a gate.”

“It has never been used. Welded closed. New chain fences make access from the road nearly impossible. You come by water, and if you leave, you return by water.”

“What has that to do with Eleanor?”

“I gave you my answer. You come to
Il Diodario
by water, and
if you leave,
you return by water. There is no other way.”

F
ew enterprises run as well as European trains, the Italian State Railway System not excepted. The
conduttore
had noted Walter Deats's bandaged hand and had helped him to his compartment for the last leg of his journey to Florence. The rhythmic sounds of the train were relaxing, and staring out to the mountain ranges with their small towns perched high up, Deats remembered his last conversation with Elliot Heston.

“It's more than a case of murder.”

“But what? You've got a queasy feeling about some hanky-panky in the Royal Library?” Heston had replied skeptically.

“Come off it, Elliot, you know that Waters spent the entire summer in the library for a purpose other than installing an air conditioner. It's perfectly clear that he took something. What? Why?”

Heston had calmed his old friend, “I believe you, Walter. I'm convinced you're onto something, and I agree Waters must be found and his friends put under surveillance. But the Yard doesn't go out of the country except on extraordinary cases, and then it's handled very specially. Officially, Jack Oxby is on the case.”

“Why is he out of the country most of the time?”

“That's where the stolen art goes.”

“That's my point. Oxby chases lost art, not killers.”

“He gets his share of both.”

“Damn it, Elliot! I've gone this far. I want to find Waters and I need your help. I can't work with Oxby. No one can.”

“You know he's damned good, Wally. He's coming at Kalem from another direction.”

“Fine. Just help me get to Waters.”

“I'm getting heat for financing your New York escapade, and if I authorize travel funds so you can run off to Italy and you come up empty,
they'll boot my ass back onto the streets with a rank three below constable.”

“I won't fail you, and even if I did, you're too old to be on the streets.”

“You're stubborn, Wally. I'll stick my neck out one more time, but if you don't come back with Waters . . .”

“I'll fish alone.”