The Stolen Da Vinci Manuscripts (7 page)

Now one does not ride into Raffle’s on a
Vespa, so I have to park it and utilize plan B which in this case
is to disrobe my suit and walk breezily to the entrance like I own
the place. Lucky for me the ‘gentlemen only’ rule was dropped and I
am welcomed with an appreciative look from the doorman.

“Evening miss.” He says, holding the door
open.

“Good evening.” I respond with a smile.

“Can I show you to the restaurant or lounge
bar?”

“No, I am familiar with the club, thank you.”
I dismiss.

Hamilton is not to be found in any of the
drawing rooms, which leads me to assume that he has reserved a
private, upper salon. I have no choice but to watch the stairway
and wait and so I opt for a stool and employ the reflections in the
bar’s mirror. Two slowly sipped ‘Old Fashion’s’ later, I see
Hamilton heading down followed by – Gavin! I slip off the stool and
conceal myself behind a pillar before they spot me and try to catch
sight of their expressions, between palm fronds. They both look
stern and have no conversation on their way out, giving no clue
whether that’s good or bad.

I must find a way to follow Gavin but getting
ahead of him to the scooter is near impossible. A flashback of the
window in the ladies room prompts me to action, but I find it
barred from the outside. The chefs are somewhat surprised to see me
hurry through their kitchen and out the rear door but give no alarm
– I leap to clutch the top of the seven foot dividing property
fence and swing over like a pole-vaulter and land among flower pots
on the other side. My ankle twists but I pay no heed to the pain as
I run to the gate. The Vespa is where I left it and I don the
helmet to hide my hair in case Gavin sees me and just have time to
pull on the jumpsuit before I see him pulling out of Raffle’s
driveway in a Blue Toyota Prius rental car. I snap the visor down
and ride two cars behind him – as before I am among many scooters
and bikes. He is heading to the opposite end of the island from the
hotel district, as I expect, and enters a bed and breakfast
accommodation driveway – ‘The Paradise Inn’ - I would never have
thought of looking for him here in a hundred years. Good
choice.

He scans around him as I ride by, but is not
worried by what he sees, so I continue to the end of the street
where I turn left and park - the only thing going for me is the
element of surprise, but I have to use it carefully. There are no
nearby stores, so another camouflage act is out of the question and
it is about an hour to dusk – I am forced to wait again or I can
bust in on him and take my chances - I don’t like that idea, but it
could be my best option as I cannot see what he’s doing from here.
I’m torn – I hate the thought of him coming back out with the books
without me knowing and meeting Hamilton to get the deal done, but
what if Hamilton plans to do the right thing?

I cannot sit here too long without being
reported by one of the neighbors and be arrested for loitering, so
I have to make a decision.

“Fancy meeting you here…” I declare when
Gavin opens the door and I knee him in the groin.

I decided on the direct approach.

He writhes on the floor in pleasing agony and
adopts the fetal position to avoid a second blow. Silly man… I
deliver a kick to his kidneys which would fell a sumo wrestler and
consider where the next blow should land. Poor Gavin – he doesn’t
know what to do and rolls to his knees making my choice obvious –
an instep to the solar plexus, which lays him flat and gasping for
breath.

When able, he raises an arm in defeat.
“Please – no more.” He begs feebly.

I let him recover and stagger to a chair.
“How…?”

“Did I know where to find you?” I finish. “I
thought you knew me well enough to know that I’d track you
down.”

“But here?”

“I followed you from Raffles.”

“I didn’t see anyone following – I was
watching carefully.”

“On a scooter. It doesn’t matter – here we
are.”

“Yes, here we are – now what?”

“What have you done Gavin – why?” I ask. “I
don’t understand.”

“Why did I take the books? It was an impulse
– a moment of weakness where I saw a way to punish you for
rejecting me – for not marrying me. Then I regretted it and wanted
out, but I was already in too far.”

“Where are they?”

“In the closet.” He gestures.

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“Good, I will get them back to Roberto.”

“No!” Ne blurts.

“Why? They belong to him.”

“No – I…I sold them.”

“You what?!!”

“To Hamilton.”

“Is that why you met at Raffle’s?”

“Yes – he wired the money to my bank account
from there.”

“How much?”

“Twenty million – pounds.”

“You jerk – they are worth a hundred times
that. You will return the money immediately.”

“He’ll have me killed before he takes the
money back – he wants the books more than you know.”

“I know how much he wants them – we had a
little chat earlier.”

“You went to see him…Oh my Lord – I’m done
for.”

“That would be what you deserve - give me the
books.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“It seems to me you’re in no position to do
otherwise.”

“Arcadia – have a heart.”

“I did, until you broke it – it’s ironic, I
was just starting to like you again.”

“I’m so, so sorry.”

“Too late for that.”

I remove the curtain sashes and use one as a
gag and the other to tie him to the chair. He is still begging as I
force the sash between his teeth and step back.

“Don’t come after me and don’t tell Hamilton
where I’m going or I’ll kill you myself.”

His eyes plead with me but to no avail. I
take the books and turn my back on him for the last time. My
luggage has never been packed so quickly and a cab readied for me
by the desk clerk – we are at the airport in record time, earning
the driver a nice tip. I don’t care where I fly, I want the first
flight out of here, which the departure board tells me is the red
eye to Sydney, Australia.

“They’re boarding now miss.” The ticket agent
says. “I’ll call and let them know you are on the way, but you’d
better hurry.”

“Thanks.” I remove my heels and run to the
gate in time to fall in behind the last boarder and am soon settled
in my seat. Takeoff, climb to altitude and a Scotch whisky in hand
help me relax and relive the day in my mind. I must call my friends
in the morning and let them know I have achieved my goal, but now
it’s time for a nap - I swear British Airways have the most
comfortable pillows.

Six and a half hours later the smell of fresh
brewed coffee brings me out of slumber and ready to start a new day
without stress. The flight attendant brings a cup and an egg
croissant and informs me that we have about two hours flying time
remaining. Barty and Anastasius thank me for the calls, but regret
not being able to say their goodbyes. I promise next time to stay
longer and make up for it.

My smart phone tells me that I can expect a
twenty hour plus flight from Sydney to Rome so the space and luxury
of first class will be a necessity and I’ll buy a tablet or
notebook to help pass the time – it will amuse me to see how far I
can reprogram one of them.

The wait for the Rome flight is three hours,
but Sydney airport has plenty to occupy passengers in the way of
shopping and entertainment. It’s a relief not having to worry about
the precious cargo I am toting and I find a stunning pair of red
high heels made from kangaroo skin and a couple of dresses I
like.

I won’t bore you with the twenty hour and
forty two minute flight to Rome, even the episode where a middle
age drunk tried to proposition me and was reassigned to the smaller
confines of coach accommodation. We land at La Roma airport and to
the amusement of passengers, a flight crew member announces “If you
get the insane urge to hurtle through the air in a metal tube
again, please consider Alitalia Airlines.”

When in the arrivals building, I get an
uneasy feeling that raises the hairs on my nape, so I hop into a
photo kiosk to take a look around the terminal from behind the
curtains.

Nothing looks out of place, but when I step
out an elderly woman dressed like a grandmother approaches and
places a phone in my hand. “Listen.” She instructs and walks
away.

The voice says “We have Gavin – you have the
‘item’ – we suggest a trade.”

“Who is this? Where are you?” I ask and look
around again.

“We are here, we’ve been waiting for
you.”

“I don’t care about Gavin – ask him to show
you the bruises.”

“The bruises are nothing compared to what we
did to him.” Voice says. “But he’ll recover pretty normally if you
do as we say.

“I can’t trade the ‘item’ - it does not
belong to me.”

“No, it belongs to my boss.” Voice
states.

“No it does not – the money will be returned
to him.”

“He does not want the money back – perhaps
you don’t comprehend clearly. I have been charged with the safe
recovery of the item, at
any
cost – do you understand?”

“I understand completely.”

“Good, then I suggest we do this in a civil
manner and you hand over that roll on bag to the woman who gave you
the phone and she will take you to your precious Gavin.”

I look around and see the same woman hovering
a short distance away. She smiles and nods knowingly.

“There are others…” Voice says. “Watching
you.”

I walk slowly, the woman shadows and I am
aware of other people moving in the same direction. “So I see.” I
respond.

My direction takes me towards the escalator
and when close, I jump on and lug the case up the steps. I see a
man standing at the top and assume he is one of the ‘watchers’.
When he reaches out I let go the case, put the phone in my pocket
and pull on his wrist as hard as I can. Caught off balance he lands
on the stainless cover between escalators and slides down, yelling
when his body bounces off each of the joints. Gate A1 – A17 is
across from me and I charge down until reaching a plane about to
board. I mingle with the passengers and make my way to the
desk.

“I need a standby ticket.” I gasp, out of
breath.

The rep scans the computer and says that
there are plenty of seats and issues a ticket. We board and I see
no signs of followers but remember the phone.

“Not smart.” Voice scolds. “You really don’t
like Gavin, do you?”

“You won’t kill him – he’s the only hold you
have over me.” I disarm.

“Don’t be so sure - he may soon outlive his
usefulness. We will find you eventually; there are only so many
places to hide.”

“Good luck.” I challenge.

I turn the phone off and put it back in my
pocket. A flight attendant comes down the aisle. “Excuse me.” I
ask. “Where are we flying to?”

He looks at me like I am joking and waits for
the punchline.

“No, I’m serious.” I remark.

“We will be landing in Madrid in six and a
half hours miss.”

“Madrid!” I echo; well at least I don’t need
cold weather clothes so far.

He walks away with a quizzical
expression.

I attach the phone to my notebook and
download its operating system – I should be able to set up a
triangulation application using my home laptop, to pinpoint from
where the incoming calls originate. I see that my programming is
successful when the phone rings again and shows that ‘Voice’ hasn’t
relocated.

“I see you took to the skies again,
Arcadia.”

“I see you are still at the airport.” I
respond.

There is a gap. “Good guess.”

“What do you want?” I ask.

“It’s simple - the books. Let’s stop playing
games before you get hurt – there will be a welcoming group at
Madrid to take them from you.”

“Go right ahead – I’m not heading to Madrid.”
I bluff.

“Ah, but I think you are.” Voice disagrees.
“That was the only flight that departed from any ‘A’ gate before we
got there – we searched thoroughly.”

“Did you search the ladies room next to gate
19?” I taunt.

More silence. “I’ll check into that.”

“There is no ladies room next to A19, but
good try.” Voice rejoins. “See you in Spain.”

“Not if I see you first.” I hang up.

I can’t keep playing hide and seek in
airports so I have to plan a different strategy, but at least this
time I won’t be blindsided. There are no clothes in my bag that
don’t demand attention so I need others. There is a woman in aisle
seat F17 who is about my dress size and wearing brown slacks and a
wool kaftan – perfect! Retrieving a new silk dress from my luggage
I fold it into a small package and get a hundred dollar bill from
my purse, which I slip under the belt.

The woman in F17 eyes the dress
appreciatively before she knows I am going to see her.

“Would you trade for what you’re wearing?” I
whisper in her ear, making sure that she sees the cash.

She looks shocked; I show the ‘Vera Wang’
dress tag - she beams and nods. Nobody pays much attention as we
move to the bathroom, but those who see us enter together smile.
Those who see us emerge wearing each other’s clothes positively
gasp and look away.

Now, a hair redo of some kind and I’m in
business. Its obvious that I cannot return these ‘items’, as
everyone is wont to call the books, to Roberto and the apparent
solution is to marry them with the others in my father’s care. So -
a trip to London is called for and the decision to be made is
whether I can slip past my ‘welcome group’ to take another flight –
which is risky given that they know I am arriving on this flight –
or rent a car and drive all the way or to a different airport.