The Da Vinci Deception (39 page)

“At this point I should like to review a statement which has been prepared by Professor Giorgio Burri, whom I retained to coordinate the attribution study and create a credible provenance.”

Jonas gave each man a copy of a typed report that ran to seventeen
pages. At the mention of Giorgio's name, Pimm and Chamberlin reacted strongly, but in markedly different ways. Pimm smiled broadly and Chamberlin showed great anxiety. The latter waved his copy of the report. “I know this Burri person. He's Italian, of course?”

“Yes.”

“University of Milan?”

“Yes, again.”

“He's a troublemaker, uh . . . controversial. A fraud, did I hear?”

“That would be a strong accusation, Dr. Chamberlin. Do you have any facts to go on?”

“I'm not the one to ferret out those details. It's simply the man's reputation.”

“Like many of us, our reputations are what different people believe about us. Professor Burri is controversial, but his incredible knowledge of the Renaissance masters has never been challenged.”

Pimm leaned across the table toward Chamberlin. “Doan, you have an incredible penchant for slowing things down when you're in a terrible hurry. I think we all know of Burri's unique position on a number of issues, but the man has never been accused of deceit. He's an extremely bright fellow, and I've found his scholarship always at the highest level.”

Pimm's comment seemed to satisfy Chamberlin. Then, with the conversation centered on Giorgio, Jonas had in one of those brief instants that can't be measured in a millisecond, a vision of the lake and of a man standing in a boat preparing his fishing lines. The scene disappeared and Jonas continued. “Gentlemen, please read Professor Burri's report very objectively.”

The report contained three essential parts. The first dealt with Giorgio's qualifications. Next was a detailed description of the Leonardo drawings. And the third was a disclosure of how the Leonardo drawings had been discovered and an accounting of where the pages had been during the past four hundred and seventy years. It was all heady stuff, presented in Giorgio's scholarly, competent style.

Conversation ceased as each man read at his own speed. Gilsanon was the first to complete his reading, followed by Pimm, who pushed his glasses to his forehead, then studied the expressions of the others. Freebury turned the final page and in a voice filled with awe said quietly, “An incredible find. Absolutely incredible.”

Doan Chamberlin, the last to finish, said as if in response to Freebury. “Incredible if true.”

“Excellent,” Pimm said. “This will require corroboration, of course, but it puts us off to a good start.”

“The drawing, Mr. Kalem, I must see it,” Edgar Freebury said.

Jonas placed a thin box on the table. Carefully he pulled out a plastic envelope. He slid the sheet from its protective folders and placed the drawing in front of the committee.

“Gentlemen, I present . . . Leonardo.”

Jonas stepped back so the others could crowd over the drawing. Gilsanon pulled a magnifying glass from his pocket and focused on the paper and the lines of ink forming images of the familiar young woman whose enigmatic expression had, in its completed form, become part of the most famous of all paintings.

The four appeared to be in an attitude of supplication. Pimm's hands were placed palms together at his lips as if he were praying; Freebury was bent forward; Chamberlin, hands on the table, bowed his head; and Gilsanon was kneeling. Without comment, Jonas reached a hand to the drawing and gently turned it over. Edgar Freebury stared down at the
Giaconda.
“First impressions are dangerous, but the delicacy of lines, her eyes . . . there is a sense of knowing it is from Leonardo's pen.”

“Don't be a fool, Freebury,” Chamberlin chided. “Your role is to challenge. We're advocates of the very devil until every vestige of doubt is removed. Then you'll have time enough to be emotional.”

Freebury replied, “I know my role, Dr. Chamberlin. Suffice to say I have been untouched by some of the greatest art of the world yet deeply moved by the simplest drawing of a schoolchild. I react to what I see and feel. I'll make a judgment of authenticity with my head, and confirm it with my heart.”

“You prejudice yourself with emotional dithering,” Chamberlin said.

“And you are prejudiced by withholding yours,” Freebury retorted.

Jonas sensed an argument brewing. “Gentlemen, I have very precise photographic copies for each of you. Mr. Freebury, I have a set of enlarged photographs which should aid in your analysis. You are welcome to compare the copies to the original before Mr. Gilsanon takes it to his laboratories for analysis. How much time will you require for your tests?”

Gilsanon looked up. “I must have the drawing for forty-eight hours. Most of the laboratory work requires two days and several tests may take longer.” He bit on his pipe. “We'll speed everything along.”

“Including spectrometry?”

“Indeed yes. And we have newer methods that are more accurate. But
today's forger has access to the same technology and it's become our task to stay a step ahead. With the stakes so high, they stay right on our heels.”

“What are the newest tests?” Jonas asked.

“Lasers. Chemistry. Autoradiography. Even fiber optics has given us new techniques for age-dating and analysis of dyes and pigments.” He put a match to his pipe. “We've had spectacular success lately with a new process for testing old inks.”

“Something you might use on this Leonardo?”

“It might be worth trying, but most printing papers were sized with animal renderings, and papers used for drawing were not. Artists, and that would include Leonardo, sized and polished paper differently. That's what I've been looking for.” He waved his magnifying glass. “I see the paper was polished, probably with a stone. The red-dyed chalk used as a wash will give us an opportunity to try our new gadgets.”

Jonas felt suddenly warm. “I would like to see your laboratories.”

“I'll see if that can be arranged. We've been protective of our proprietary methods. You understand.”

Jonas nodded. He understood that a single test Ellie had been unable to conduct might uncover the forgery. Masking his disappointment, he said, “Proof of genuineness is in your capable hands, gentlemen. I trust you will go to every length to prove they are genuine.”

Gilsanon drew on his pipe. “We shall, Mr. Kalem. You can rely on that.”

With the meeting adjourned, Jonas went immediately to the side of Doan Chamberlin. “You've been extremely patient. I'm indebted to you.”

“This is not a business where debts are incurred, Mr. Kalem; neither of us can be the other's creditor.”

“I meant that our meeting lasted longer than I planned, and time is valuable to all of us.”

“Quite so.” The slightest hint of a smile crossed Chamberlin's usually dour face. “My accountant cautions me to consider that each hour has a precise value. Rather a tidy sum based on the good fortune I had with my last publication.”

Jonas was keenly aware of the book.
Royal Art and Sexuality
had been one of those scholarly works that received popular response in spite of its supposed narrow appeal. It had been twice reprinted less than four months after the controversial reviews. “You must be pleased with its popularity.”

“The publisher chose the title. I resisted, of course. And so the public's been fooled to think it's about royal infidelity and salacious secrets.”

“And pornographic art, according to reviews in the London newspapers.”

“Sensational rubbish. Not a literate mind in the lot and each with a tabloid mentality. My purpose was to investigate the immense quantity of art and literature in the royal collections that is exclusively concerned with sexual relations, both normal and abnormal. You have obviously not read the book, and once you have, we can discuss it further.”

“Mr. Chamberlin, I know a great deal more about your book than was in the reviews. We could discuss the role David Latcham played, for example.”

Chamberlin's expression froze, his air of superiority suddenly gone. “It's preposterous to think we could talk of such a person.”

“Perhaps, but not out of the question. I heard you say that you plan to drive to the country this evening. Undoubtedly that means the Cotswold, and Chipping Camden to be precise. Is that correct?”

“I said only that I was driving to the country. How would you know about Chipping Camden?”

“I learned by accident, but I did learn. I've made arrangements to stay at the King's Arms and suggest we meet there Saturday evening. Is nine o'clock agreeable?”

“That will be very inconvenient.”

“The bar is pleasant and private.”

Chamberlin's eyes darted left and right, as if he were trapped and couldn't find a way out. Then he lowered his head. “Very well, I will be there, but with the understanding that nothing you say will prejudice my decision regarding the Leonardo.”

Jonas did not reply, but nodded his head slowly and smiled. He watched Chamberlin leave the room, then made his way to Pimm's side and thanked him for his cooperation. Then he made arrangements with Gilsanon for the safekeeping of the drawing. “It shall be safe, Mr. Kalem. We've considerable experience protecting art treasures. That's really what our business is all about.”

“I'm sure it will be safe, but that won't stop me from worrying. Return it to Harold just as soon as you've run all your tests.”

“We'll begin immediately, and I shall personally supervise. You realize that a small slice of the paper must be sacrificed, and ink scraped for other tests.”

“We took our own samples,” Jonas said knowingly. They shook hands and Gilsanon went to find Pimm. Edgar Freebury folded a notebook in which he had been writing. Jonas handed him a slip of paper. “Please call me if you need further information.”

“I have one question.” Freebury's voice was soft and his words came slowly. “Your discovery may be the most important contribution to Leonardo scholarship in this century. Greater than locating the Madrid Codex. Have you calculated its value?”

“A great amount of money,” Jonas said with what seemed genuine sincerity. “I am much more concerned with adding to our knowledge of the great master.”

Freebury continued putting papers into his briefcase. “You said that very nicely, Mr. Kalem, and I trust those are your true sentiments. Yet if your discovery proves to be authentic, it may be worth untold millions. Is that important to you?”

“I have made a large investment in time and money to recover the manuscript, and if there's a high reward, then I feel it will be justified.”

“Did you invest for the sake of enriching our knowledge of Leonardo? Or simply to be enriched?” Freebury reached the door and turned back. “I must remember that when I first look at a work of art, I have an emotional response that tells me if I am looking at truth or a lie. Its commercial value cannot influence my judgment.”

Then Jonas was alone. Chamberlin and Gilsanon had reacted according to form. While neither was in his pocket, both would, in the end, vote affirmatively. Freebury had put his idealism on the table. Yet he showed keen interest in the drawing's value. Perhaps he was showing, like so many, that greed was one of his character defects.

F
riday began in the early morning darkness when Giorgio turned in his bed and tenderly ran his fingers over Ivonne's cheek and neck. She no longer wakened on his fishing days to brew the strong coffee he craved, but would set a kettle of water on the stove before going to bed, knowing he could make his own, and find the basket of cheese and fruit. He smelled the familiar combination of her cologne and perspiration, scents that aroused him. He kissed her closed eyes, then rolled away and onto his feet.

It was 4:45, an hour away from sunrise. The weather was as predicted: cool with an intermittent light rain that might end by noon. Giorgio would set his lines in darkness. The waters along the eastern shore of the lake would remain sunless for most of the day, even though the sun might shine on it later in the afternoon.

Salmonrino
are bottom feeders; a prize catch runs to four pounds. Professionals, and Giorgio considered himself one, laid a series of lines on the bottom, a procedure more easily accomplished with two men. The lone angler devised his own methods. Giorgio recorded selected areas where he had had success, choosing a spot only after studying the weather, the time of year, and the strength of the Tivano wind that was frequently a factor in the early morning. A mild wind and he chose positions away from the eastern shore. Strong winds meant he must stay close to the high, sheltering rocks. He judged that the Tivano was blowing at less than five knots. He could anchor away from shore, and that pleased him. The water was deeper, and, though it was more difficult to set the lines, there were more
salmonrino
to catch.

Steam hissed from the kettle. He brewed strong coffee mixed with chicory and filled his thermos. He had packed the boat the previous afternoon, so the morning preparations were brief. Giorgio was proud of his boat. He had contributed to its design, not that that made it better, but it had features and comforts few others could offer. He flew two
pennants, one on the bow and another at the top of the squat cabin perched amidships. The colors were bright—red, yellow, and green, matching the striped pole at his dock. It was a happy boat, but unpredictably troublesome. The powerful motor behaved unreliably at times and on too many embarrassing occasions the boat had lain becalmed on sunny afternoons when Giorgio and Ivonne intended to take friends for a tour of the lake.