The Stolen Da Vinci Manuscripts (6 page)

The floor manager looks at me like he knows
me but frowns. He looks at my red shoes and smiles broadly. “It
is
you!”

“Yes – it is me.”

He takes my hand and kisses it passionately –
almost stooping to one knee in the process. “Madam – this is great
honor. Come – I find you best table.”

He leads me to a table occupied by a lone man
beside the dance floor and whispers in his ear. The man leaves and
takes a table to the rear.

“What did you tell him?” I ask.

“I tell him next five drinks are on the
house, so move or I throw you out.”

“Kai-liang, you are impossible.”

“You remember my name!” He beams.

“You are also unforgettable – do you still
dance?”

“Tango?”

“Yes.”

“But of course.”

“Then order me a Mai Tai and tell the band to
play their best…”

“Ah, Oui… of course!”

Kai-liang leads me almost as well as Adriano
Bellini in Rome, but he has more youthful passion and vigor. The
music is like a drug taking control of my senses and it seems that
we dance for hours. Most of the time we are alone on the dance
floor, much to the delight of the other patrons, who applaud our
performances enthusiastically, but all too soon the band has to
call it a night and pack away their equipment. Kai-liang escorts me
to a waiting taxi and hands me a cocktail to take to my room.

Morning light awakens me at seven thirty and
I throw back the drapes to see the sun sparkling on waves and
seagulls circling fishing boats on their trip back to port. It’s a
glorious morning. My cell phone announces a call from my father,
who confirms that the books are indeed genuine and locked securely
in the British Museum vault under his name – safer and more
hermetically desirable than any bank.

If there’s anything I hate it’s the waiting
game – I am not given to sitting on my rump doing nothing, but in
this instance there is not much I can do about it, so I decide to
visit the National Museum and compare wares, so to speak. They have
a decent collection of artifacts but nothing to drool about like
the ‘Rosetta Stone’ that my father had a hand in discovering a few
years ago.

The required tourist boat ride around the
islands takes care of a little over three hours and reminds me of
Singapore’s ever-changing skylines and architecturally exciting
buildings, but I need action…

Right on cue my cell rings.

“Arcadia?”

“Yes.”

“This is Bartholomew – I have a lead but I
would rather tell you in person – can you come to my office?”

“I can be there in about fifteen minutes.” I
promise.

“I called in a few favors.” Bartholomew
informs me. “And this might be worth following up on.”

He slides a buff file folder across the desk
and I find a photo inside. It shows the back view of a man entering
the Ardmore Park condo complex – one of
the
most prestigious
apartment buildings in town. The man could be Gavin – the build is
about the same but it’s inconclusive.

“Jeffrey Hamilton maintains a home there.”
Barty explains.

“Oh
does
he?”

“Thought that might interest you.”

“Indeed it does – I assume he’s in town?”

“Flew in yesterday.”

“So one of the world’s richest men arrives in
Singapore at the same time as Gavin and we have this photo – it
could be Gavin I suppose.” I mull. “How did you obtain it?”

“Paparazzi – Hamilton’s always high on their
target list – I used to be, once.” He rued. “I asked Bob Cameron to
keep an eye out for Gavin and this man showed up while he was
staking out Ardmore Park.”

“Too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
I pose.

“That’s why I telephoned. Bob said he’ll call
me if he shows up again.”

“Sounds like I ought to make Bob’s
acquaintance.” I suggest.

“You know where to find him.” Barty
approved.

“How will I recognize him?” I ask.

“Oh, you’ll know him…”

One look tells me it is him. The fedora hat
with pheasant quill alone would have been enough but the handlebar
moustache is the clincher – it says ‘yes, it’s me’.

I have no hesitation in approaching and greet
him by name. “Hi Bob – I’m Arcadia.”

“I know.” He responds with a disarming smile.
“Bartholomew’s description was spot on.”

He has an Australian accent though I detect
faint traces of Scottish. “Thank you for contacting Barty with the
photo - I believe it may be the man I’m looking for – can you tell
me how long he stayed inside?”

“About half an hour – he seemed very happy
when he departed.”

“That’s not good – did you notice if he was
carrying anything when he entered or left?”

“Nothing when he came in – he pushed me aside
when he saw my camera, so I saw his hands quite clearly. I don’t
think he had anything when he left – now I think about it, his
hands were in his coat pockets.”

“Thank you so much – did you see which
direction he took on leaving?”

“Oh yes, he headed west along the promenade –
he kept looking back at me for some time – like he thought he was
being followed.”

The promenade, huh. Gavin is far too smart to
make it that easy to track him so he would have doubled back or
taken a diversionary route to his final destination. That’s a dead
end, but there is one other way…

“Where are you going?” Bob asks with concern
as I enter the grounds.

“To see Jeffrey Hamilton.” I answer over my
shoulder.

“You can’t – security…”

Security appears in the form of a uniformed
guard who slides a panel in the door open to enquire as to the
purpose of my visit.

“I am here to see Mr. Hamilton.” I
answer.

“Mr. Hamilton is not receiving visitors
madam.” A perfect English accent replied.

“He will receive me, I’m sure – please
announce me. I am Arcadia Jones.”

“Madam, I have strict instructions…”

“Well can I leave this package for him
then?”

“What package madam?”

“This one.” I point down to the side of the
door, knowing he cannot see down there. “It’s too heavy for me to
lift.” I apologize.

Sucker! He opens the portal a crack, but
that’s all I need and I lunge my shoulder at the door with my full
force. He stumbles back and is unable to arrest his fall, making it
child’s play to straddle him and lock him in his own handcuffs.

“All you had to do was announce me.” I
wisecrack.

“Please – beat me a bit – mess my face up –
don’t let Mr. Hamilton see me like this.”

“I’ll tell him that you put up a brave fight
but were outnumbered.” I promise.

“Outnumbered?” He quizzed while trying to
look around.

“You were – by a
girl
.”

I tie him to a railing using an electric
extension cord and head to Hamilton’s apartment - A1A as noted on
the mailbox sorting boxes.

The doorbell sounds the beginning chords of
the 1812 concerto and I wait patiently for a response. I am aware
of the spy hole cover swinging aside but the door remains closed. I
ring the 1812 again. After a minute the door opens to the extent of
the security chain and an eye peeks through and looks me up and
down.

“Who let you in the building?” A gruff voice
demands. “How dare you knock on my door.”

“It is irrelevant how I got in.” I reply. “Is
Gavin Galbraith still here?”

“Who is Gavin Galbraith?” He asks without
blinking.

“My ex-fiancee.”

“What makes you think I should know the
man?”

“Oh come on – he contacted you recently
regarding an ‘item’ for sale – that’s why you flew here – to meet
with him.” I bluff. “Do you wish that we should continue this
conversation out here in the corridor?”

The door closes and I hear the chain clunk
against the door frame before it opens sufficiently for the man to
look outside to ensure that I am alone.

“Come in.”

I behold a man reminiscent of Douglas
Fairbanks, even to the graying temple and sideburns that gave him a
devil may care appearance in his movies. He is clad in a claret
color smoking jacket, an almond silk shirt with high collar and
black slacks.

“I am Arcadia Jones.” I introduce myself. “I
am, amongst other titles, the curator of the Metropolitan Museum in
New York”.

“I have, of course heard of you and your
exploits – I am also acquainted with your father – a good man.”
Hamilton declares. “But I must confess to being confused – how did
you know he came to see me, it is my understanding that he is
acting alone – and if that is true – why are you in Singapore
together?”

“We are not together – I don’t know if he’s
even aware that I’m here. As far as knowing he came to see you –
well that was a well educated deduction. I knew he was here and
with the item he is trying to sell I knew that there are only so
many collectors in the world with the credible finances to acquire
them. When I learned that you were in town I just put two and two
together.”

“So what am I missing? If you are not
together, then why are you here?”

“To regain what he stole from me.”

Hamilton plops down in a quilted armchair and
rubs his brow. “Are you telling me that Gavin… stole the item from
you? Please say no.”

“Sorry.”

He holds his head in hands and remains silent
for several minutes.

“Now what?” He asks dejectedly. “This is
totally incomprehensible.”

“I’m not sure.”

“If they are returned to you would you
consider selling them? Hamilton asks.

“They don’t belong to me – they are owned by
a man in Italy. He wants to sell them and invited me to bid on
behalf of the Metropolitan. They were stolen from him and I was
able to retrieve all but the thirteen books, which I placed in my
father’s care.”

“It would seem that I am in a position to
help or to hinder you Ms. Jones.”

“That is true.” I concede. “But given your
reputation I hope that the former will be the case.”

“Not all of my dealings have been achieved by
gentlemanly means, I can assure you.”

“And many of mine have been achieved by
‘womanly means’ – you can be sure.” I counter.

“So we are at a standoff then.”

“I hope not.”

“You are telling me that I have little hope
of ever owning these masterpieces legitimately, but now I have them
almost within my grasp and you expect me to do the right thing.
Does that about sum it up?”

“I would say so.” I agree.

“Hmmm. Let’s say, just for argument’s sake I
agree – what’s to become of Mr. Galbraith?”

“That is a very interesting question and one
which I have deliberated repeatedly. In a court of law I could not
positively prove that he stole the books, so it would be his word
against mine - I am sure he also considered my embarrassment if
this should become public knowledge.”

“So he goes scot-free and I am without the
most incredible discovery of our lifetimes?” Hamilton asks.

“Oh, there will be punishment – you can be
sure of that.” I promise.

“So you also expect me to be instrumental in
helping you obtain the books?” He asks.

“I don’t see any other way.”

“You expect an awful lot Ms. Jones.”

“I have been accused of that before. What
arrangements have you made with Galbraith?”

“At this point that is privy information, I
am afraid and I will have to give this serious thought before
reaching a decision. You are between the proverbial rock and a hard
place, don’t you see. You cannot involve the police without making
charges and as you do not know Galbraith’s location, the best
likelihood of finding him would be to monitor the airport. Even if
found, he would already have completed a deal and merely be a
departing tourist.”

“True – do you know his location Mr.
Hamilton?”

“No, I don’t, please believe me.”

“I do – Gavin’s no fool.”

“Well, Ms. Raphael, this has been a very
interesting conversation – I would love to play chess with you some
time. Now I must prepare for a prior engagement, so if you will
excuse me. How may I get in touch with you?”

I give him my cell phone number along with my
hotel information and take my leave.

On the way out I release the guard from his
shackles. “Good luck.”

Bob Cameron looks at me in amazement. “What
the heck happened to you?” he asks.

“I had a fascinating conversation with
Hamilton.” I answer.

“You got to see him? I thought the guard had
you all this time.”

“He was otherwise tied up.” I smile. “Get you
camera ready – Hamilton will be coming out shortly.”

“Thanks – let me have your cell number, I’ll
call you if I see your man.”

“You are so kind. See you later, I hope.”

“Me too.”

My opinion of Hamilton’s intentions are
confused – I am not sure that he will do the right thing and hand
Gavin to me on a platter, because of his love of unique artifacts –
he is the type of collector who would get much pleasure possessing
such a prize purely for his own enjoyment. Giving Gavin up leaves
nothing in it for him and conversely could be damaging or harmful,
so he will have to find an angle that gives him an out.

I am again a puppet and I’m getting mad. I
spot a scooter rental shop and decide to do some following of my
own. The helmet covers my give-away hair and a black jump suit
completes the camouflage and renders me anonymous, so when
Hamilton’s chauffer steers the Bentley onto the street I am ready.
No need to stay close behind as the car stands out in the crowd, so
to speak, and I blend in with rush hour traffic. The car noses into
the prestigious Raffle’s Club arched gateway and pulls up to the
entrance steps, where Hamilton is greeted with all due pomp and
circumstance.