The Stolen Da Vinci Manuscripts

by Joshua Elliot James

  “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…”

  Chapter 3: The Millionaire

  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 consi
dered 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.”

  Chapter 4: Confusion

  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.

  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.

  Chapter 5: Facing Gavin

  “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.”
<
br />   “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.