Code of Siman (13 page)

“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll have it done.”

“What are we going to be looking for?” Dauphine asked.

“We’re looking for the Fractals, which are hidden in the paintings,” Natanya answered, pausing to check on Gage’s progress.

“I’m not really sure how we’re going to find them…” Natanya looked worried, “But I know what to do with them once we find them.”

“What do you mean you don’t know how to find them?” Dauphine asked.

“I don’t know how we’re going to find the shapes, which were made to stand out within the picture.”

“Because of the composition of the paint?” Dauphine added.

“Yes. Otherwise, well, otherwise we’re going to be missing some really big clues.” Natanya collapsed back into her chair.

“I believe I have a solution. NASA has a multitude of instruments and equipment to evaluate the chemicals within paint.” Gage stated.

“We won’t be able to use it in this case, because we only have a photograph. We’re not going to be able to find some of the paintings,” said Natanya.

“Not so fast…you didn’t give me a chance to finish.” Gage looked like he was about to burst. “You need to evaluate the colors within the painting. Is that right?”

“Well, yes…but…”

“Just wait a sec and watch.” Gage instructed.

Natanya shrugged, “Okay.”

“Take a look at the graph to the side of the scanned photograph. The color temperatures, which are represented within the photographed image, have been given values. These values can be further deciphered into cooler and warmer temperatures. Blues occur at higher temperatures, while red occurs at lower or cooler temperatures. The software we are utilizing here includes additional control settings, such as white balances, blue-yellow axis, and magenta-green axis.” Gage picked up his laser pointer and indicated several points within the photograph. “In this way the analysis of film appears to exaggerate these colors. The human eye may only see white represented in the painting, but upon further examination, this may turn out to be very blue or orange.”

“I see what you’re saying,” Natanya said.

“When breaking down the spectral distribution of energy within the painting, we are able to see the difference within one micro-reciprocal degree. Arrangement of the chromaticity of the illuminants in a serial order follows until we have the differences clearly mapped out.” Gage said while positioned in front of the conference room.

“Since we know that the form or images left for us to find were painted in a lead based white paint, we can view these through the detection of color sensitive analysis, as you can see graphed out here.” Gage tapped the glass panel, then walked toward Dauphine and Natanya, clicking his remote when he reached them, the images floated like holograms before them.

Dauphine and Natanya gasped in unison while viewing the new image appearing before them. Two very distinct shapes became clear, which Gage circled with his laser pointer.

“Now, we’ll take these shapes and insert them into a digital imaging system integrating several imaging sources. The properties of the equation represented from the Fractal image in the first component, and then the second.

“Celestial coordinates need two sets of numbers, and if we go by the theory you’ve been using, Natanya, which has been represented by the use of the Hebrew alphabet, we will move within the painting from right to left. North being the first, East being the second. Assuming these are in Europe, of course.”

Natanya asked, “Is this accurate since we’re not using the actual painting?”

Gage responded, “Yes, we can establish the color temperature, which is not the ‘true temperature’, but will distribute approximately the same energy as the source in question. These parameters fed into the system will generate the same results, so you can be sure that we’ll arrive at the right coordinates.”

“Here’s what we were missing…why it wouldn’t make sense before, these were the missing pieces,” Natanya said, drawing each of her words out.

“We still have a problem…” Dauphine sighed.

“What’s that?” asked Gage.

“We have too many numbers…don’t we?” Dauphine asked.

“No…not at all. The Cloak means the painting was hidden, and the illuminated eyes mean it’s being watched over, something that may become clearer once we know where the painting is being hidden,” Natanya assured Dauphine.

“You mean someone is guarding it, as in keeping it safe?” Dauphine asked.

“I hope so…I don’t really know, but we’ll find out,” Natanya replied.

“Do we have the coordinates of the Fractal?” Dauphine asked Gage.

“We do.”

“Well, where is it? Where was it hidden?” Dauphine and Natanya asked in unison.

“I think it would be more to the point as who is watching over it,” Gage said.

Chapter Twenty-Three
The Language of Color

“Well, I certainly hope they’re comfortable,” Philippe said.

“They are,” Warren replied

“Good.”

“You’re not the first one to have underestimated my talents, Philippe.”

“I had a harder time than I thought with the language barrier,” Philippe said as he sulked in the back seat.

“I didn’t have any problem at all,” Warren replied as he comfortably flexed his left foot within the Italian loafer.

“You’re gloating…” Philippe turned towards the window and away from the view of the back of Warren’s head. The change in position didn’t afford him better comfort in his stiff elastic waist coveralls and steel-toed boots.

“Yes…yes I am. I even had time to change clothes,” Warren added, glancing into the rearview mirror at Philippe trying unsuccessfully to find comfort in the backseat.

Pascal turned on the Sirius/XM satellite radio to the designated news station, “I found the station, so we need to be tuned in for the code word, then the coordinates will follow. I should also be able to receive this on my cell phone…”

“Ahh, yes, the Vigenere code. It was used in World War I and World War II. It was unbreakable for three centuries.

“That’s right, there is a beginning word with the information following, then an end word, which was usually the same word, to signal the completion of the message,” Pascal informed them.

“As soon as we hear the code word then we should be ready for the message to follow?” Philippe asked.

“Which is what?”

“The information is sandwiched between the words ‘Genesis’, which is the first book of the Bible,” Pascal said.

“We’ll be given multiple opportunities to receive the encoded message of the coordinates, as it will be repeated throughout the day on this channel,” Pascal said.

“How long of a drive are we in store for?” Philippe asked.

“The drive would be approximately ten to eleven hours,” Warren replied.

“Okay, you guys can take the first four-hour shift, and I’ll take the second,” Philippe said as he settled into the back seat.

“I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you,” Warren said.

“Oh, really, why is that?” Philippe asked.

“You didn’t actually think we would be driving, did you?” Warren replied.

“How else are we going to get there?” Pascal asked.

“Helicopter, my friend, a helicopter.”

“Where are we picking up this helicopter?” Philippe asked.

“There’s a small private airport we should be arriving at any minute…and here we are,” Warren continued, “grab whatever you want to keep and let’s go.”

Warren drove through the open gates at the back entrance of the small airport and on to the tarmac where they could see the waiting helicopter.

Philippe halted Warren before he could place his foot on the first step of the stairway to the aircraft, and sprinted his way up the stairs.

“This is amazing…downright luxurious!” Philippe commented after entering the helicopter.

“Whose is this anyway?” Philippe asked Warren.

“It belongs to the ninth richest Russian, the 53
^rd
richest person in the world, who just happens to want to help us on our mission to return the possessions to those both Jewish and otherwise, which were looted during WWII,” Warren replied. Warren boarded the gleaming white aircraft first, choosing one of the tan leather captain chairs within the interior of the helicopter.

“Why would he want to help us, and how would he know?” Philippe asked.

“The Hermitage Museum was establishing a larger area for some of his paintings they have on loan and received an impromptu personal request from him to return a painting as soon as possible,” Warren explained.

“Cool…very cool,” Philippe exclaimed as he sunk into the chair.

“Don’t you want to change out of that uniform Philippe?” Pascal asked.

“I can’t be parted from this chair yet. I love this chair,” Philippe replied.

“Suit yourself, I’ll go into the back area to change,” Pascal said as he walked to the more open area of the helicopter, past the sofas and bar.

“We have a few minutes yet before we get underway, as the painting needs to be delivered by the museum’s security team, and taken on board by Mr. Abramovich’s security team,” Warren said.

“Who is our mysterious benefactor?” Philippe inquired.

“That would be Roman Abramovich, a powerful and wealthy man, who has helped the impoverished regions of Russia by investing his personal funds into areas that help enrich the personal lives of his fellow Russians. Apparently, he had a very close relationship with the former Russian president. It was likened to that of father and son.”

An armored car pulled up with a large well-wrapped painting, the wheels squeaking as the truck came to a stop. The pilot emerged from another vehicle. Warren watched as the pilot walked toward the helicopter, flanked by two guards, both visibly armed.

Warren stood to greet the pilot, extending his hand and thanking him in his excellent Russian. The two security guards nodded, but did not exchange pleasantries with Warren. Instead, they indicated he and the other passengers would be searched.

“Pascal…Philippe? It appears we’re going to be searched before we can fly with the painting.”

“I’m fine with that,” Philippe said as he stood in preparation for the security crew.

“I’m ready.” Pascal emerged from the rear of the aircraft.

The security team patted each of them down, then waved a portable metal detector over each of them.

One of the security guards seated himself next to the pilot, while the other stayed in the rear of the aircraft.

The preliminary status checks of the aircraft were completed by the pilot, the picture securely placed on the aircraft, and Philippe, Warren, and Pascal were comfortably seated, when Philippe jumped up out of his seat.

Warren straightened within his seat, throwing a question at Philippe, “You’re going to change now?”

“Sure, why not. It’s as good a time as any…I’ve got a few minutes,” Philippe replied casually.

“You better not delay anything. You had an opportunity to change earlier, but of course, you decide to do it now. Typical,” Warren muttered.

“Yeah, I’ll probably be a while, since I have to find out where your duffle bag is…where your shoes are…if they fit. Yup, I could be a while…”

“They’re requesting we all be seated for take off Philippe.” Warren disengaged his seat belt after he didn’t receive a response.

Walking toward Philippe who appeared to be moving items aimlessly around within the duffle bags, Warren pulled his bag toward him and withdrew his shoes, handing them to Philippe.

“Here…put these on,” Warren handed him the shoes.

“In due time…I have to change first. Of course, I could be a little faster if I had my own shoes.”

Warren narrowed his eyes at Philippe, threw his head back and laughed. “That may work with most people, but it doesn’t work with me. You know Philippe, I don’t think these men really care if you’re thrown right out the window, let alone experience a little turbulence.”

“…Not bad…not quite as good as mine…” Philippe took the shoes offered by Warren and placed them on the floor next to his clothes, rifling through the two duffle bags before placing them back into the overhead compartment.

Warren returned to his seat, fastened his seat belt, then looked ahead to view the pilot, tuning into their discussion, doing his best to ignore the activities of Philippe as he heard panel doors open and close.

Within minutes, Philippe took his place across from him, locked his seat belt into place, and stretched his legs out before him, crossing them at the ankle.

“So, tell me, how did Mr. Abramovich acquire his position of wealth?” Philippe inquired.

Pascal answered, “He has a privately-owned company which mines and processes aluminum. It was rumored there was a gangland turf war over the control of the smelters, where over 100 people were killed.”

“Huh, was anyone arrested…was anyone held accountable for these alleged slayings?” Philippe asked, his interest in their benefactor becoming his focal point.

“No…Philippe, not that I recall,” Pascal replied.

“We’re going to this guy’s house…to drop off a painting? And he offers the use of his helicopter…just like that?” Philippe snapped his fingers.

“Yes, that’s how the elite move within their circles. I’m sure his requests are met without question,” Warren replied, “You look like you have a problem with this.”

The noise of the engine escalated until the helicopter lifted off the ground, hovering for a few seconds over the ground, before shooting straight up into the cloudless sky.

“If there’s one thing I know, and know well, its people, and this just doesn’t sound right to me,” Philippe said.

“How so?” Warren inquired.

“I sold the forged painting to a middleman who said he was selling it to a family member of Muehlmann, which is how I received the album of photographs,” Philippe mused aloud.

“So…where are you going with this?”

“When you think about it, it’s probably made the World News how you were removed as the Director of the National Gallery, yet no one said anything to you at the Hermitage Museum.”

“No…No one said anything to me about it,” Warren stated, his brows furrowed as he reflected on his conversation with the Director’s Assistant at the Hermitage.

“They gave you a car…the use of a helicopter…everything just laid out for your personal use…just like that.”

“Ahh, I see what you mean…” Warren glanced from the pilot to the security guard, and back to Philippe.

“We’re being led right into a trap. We have to find out what Mr. Abramovich knows, and what he thinks he can gain from us,” Philippe stated as he eased himself back into the captain chair to contemplate their next move.

“Do you think that the buyers of the Vermeer have been in touch with him? That he might be trying to secure the priceless catalogue of photographs? That he knows what they lead to?” Pascal asked.

“I don’t know, Pascal, but it’s a good question. We may have more of a delay than I previously anticipated,” Warren checked his watch, calculating how much time they had to prepare.