The Stolen Da Vinci Manuscripts (9 page)

“Responde!” There is an urgency to the demand
that presses me to pick up the microphone.

“Do you speak English?” I ask.

There is a delay and a male voice answers.
“This is Sergeant Sergio Aviles – why are you using our radio?”

“The officer who drives this car has been
shot and killed by someone in a Silver BMW presently heading north
on Rio Del Sera Road there is a second car – a Renault with him.
They are north of the town of Aronde del Duero. The officer is on
the same road beside a silver Jaguar XJS nine miles after the
mountain turn off. I am sorry.”

“Is that where you are?”

“No I have to get to the airport.”

“You are driving the Policia car?” He sounds
very angry.

“Yes.”

“You will pull over immediately and wait for
my officers to reach you.” He demands.

“Sorry, I cannot do that.”

“Why?”

“The men in those two cars are chasing me –
they will kill me if they find me. I tried to warn the officer but
he wouldn’t listen.”

“You will pull over!” He yells. “Now!”

I keep driving and turn the radio off.
Flashing red and blue lights coming from the opposite direction
warn me in plenty of time to pull behind a barn and out of sight.
When I can no longer hear the sirens I resume my trip.

It was the unmarked detective car that got me
a mile later. The driver slammed the brakes and did a one eighty
that would make a Hollywood stunt driver proud. A dash top flashing
light flickers in my rear view mirror as he begins the pursuit and
he catches up quickly – oh for my XJS now. He tries to pull
alongside but I swerve the width of the road to prevent it and we
force oncoming drivers to veer off the road to avoid collisions,
but I cannot let him perform the ‘nudge’ maneuver and spin me out.
We speed onward and now I turn my sirens and roof lights on to warn
others. There is no shaking this guy off my tail no matter what I
try, even taking a one way street in the wrong direction.

Road signs announcing Madrid Airport appear
and tell me that we only have five miles to go and from nowhere I
am suddenly surrounded by four additional Policia cars with all
systems operating and the noise of our cavalcade echoes off
buildings and assure clear avenues ahead.

We are now in the outer limits of the airport
and I take the concourse to ‘International Departures’ – I have a
super slim margin to get to the building first, but that will leave
little time to grab my case and disappear into the crowd. I speed
up to the point of recklessness and reach the doors first – I grab
my bag even before the car stops rocking and run to the door. A
body blocks my way – I try to push past but I’m blocked.

“You’re under arrest.” The plain clothes man
says.

“For what?”

“Complicity to murder, stealing a policia
vehicle, evading police, need I go on?

Turn around.”

Handcuffs are locked in place and I am frog
marched to the nearest car.

My luggage is handled roughly. “Please be
careful – there are fragile items in there.”

I am put in a holding cell to await
questioning and insist on a phone call. Voice answers.

“I am in police custody – let Gavin go. There
is no reason to hold him now.”

“Ah – this is another trick?”

“You may visit me if you wish – I am in the
Madrid police building. Turn on the news – I’m sure by now there
are reports of my capture.”

The phone goes dead.

“Hello…” No response.

I don’t have to wait long for the
interrogator to get to work; He starts with the ‘good cop’
approach. “Senora I’m sure you are scared – no?”

“No.”

“Why – you should be.”

“It’s true I borrowed a policia vehicle for a
short time, but I was fleeing for my life.” I explain.

“Why did you not stop for the officer
following you?”

“I did not know if he was police, or one of
the men trying to kill me – his car had no markings.”

“And when the other policia cars joined the
chase?”

“We were so close to the airport – I didn’t
want to disrupt traffic on the highway.”

Bad cop kicks in and he screams in my face.
“Why did you kill the police officer?” Garlic breath makes me
recoil.

“I did not kill him – you will see that I
don’t own a gun.”

“The officer had a non standard issue gun
with two bullets fired.”

“He shot my tires. That’s why I had to take
the policia car. One of the men in the BMW shot him - you will find
that the bullet matches that gun when you catch them.”

“We did apprehend them.”

“Good then you can let me go – I have a plane
to catch.”

“Not so fast Senora – even if what you say is
true, there are many other charges against you. It will be for the
judge to decide when to release you.”

I am left alone in the room for hours and
finally the door opens.

“Senora Jones, the facts you gave us have
been verified and the judge has ruled on your punishment for the
other offenses. You have to pay a fine.”

“Do you take credit cards? How much?”

“One hundred thousand Euros.”

“What! That’s a hundred and twenty five
thousand dollars!”

“More like a hundred and twenty six
thousand.” He corrects.

“That’s outrageous – let me speak to the
judge.”

“You cannot speak to the judge – he has
ruled.”

“I have to go to America to arrange that
amount of money. I need an attorney.”

“I will see what I can do.” He promises.

An hour or so later, I meet my
‘attorney’.

“Your fine has been paid Ms. Raphael.”

“By whom?” I ask suspiciously.

“A mutual acquaintance.”

I realize immediately who that is.

“He asks that you call him after you are
released.” I am given another throw away cell phone. “He also
apologizes for your ‘inconvenience’. The number is pre-programmed
of course.”

The policia are kind enough to give me a ride
to the airport, from where I call the number while waiting for my
flight to Heathrow.

“Hello Arcadia.”

“Hello Hamilton.”

“I assume you have been freed?”

“Yes.”

“I am very sorry for the misunderstanding –
things got out of hand quickly I’m afraid. My people were too
zealous.”

“There’s a dead police officer who would
agree with you.”

“I very much regret that.”

“You are the one who should be standing trial
– not your minions.”

“I understand your bitterness, but…”

“But nothing!” I retort. “You think you’re
wealth puts you above the law. One day I hope you’ll be on the
receiving end – like Gavin and I hope I’m there to witness it.”

“I have instructed that he be set free after
a doctor has attended to him.”

“Good.”

“Arcadia?”

“Yes.”

“I am still very much interested in
purchasing the ‘item.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

I snap the phone shut and toss it in the
nearest trash can.

Finally I can board my plane without looking
over my shoulder and relax during the flight.

The attendant come saround for drink
orders.

“Scotch whisky – on the rocks.” I
request.

“We are not serving alcohol at this time
Miss.”

Oh no here we go again…

My parents greet me and we go directly to the
London Museum to deposit the books along with the others. I almost
faint with relief when the safe door closes behind us.

Back at their apartment it takes hours to
relate the tale of my trips and tribulations.

“Sounds like our good old days.” My father
says to mother.

“I do so miss those times.” She replies
wistfully.

“Don’t think we’d have the stamina any more
old girl.” He grins.

“You’re right. Just listening to Arcadia
wears me out.”

‘Arcadia – what will you do about the
books?”

“I have to fly to Rome and speak to
Roberto.”

My father tells me that he spoke to the
curator of the museum who has immense interest in purchasing some
of them for display – even perhaps on a reciprocating basis with
your museum he said.

“That could be a possibility – it would be a
shame to separate the collection but I don’t think any one museum
could raise the funds to buy them all.”

“Well, speak to Roberto about it and get back
to me.”

I spend a day regrouping with them and board
a flight to Rome the next day where Roberto picks me up and takes
me to his home. I tell him what transpired but leave out the death
of the policeman – I don’t think he wants to associate the books
with death.

“I have been so worried about you.” He
informs. “And it all started because of my father.”

“Well it’s over with. Now you have to decide
what you want to happen with the books and how much you wish to
sell them for.”

“Si, I have been thinking about that. I sent
the sample to you because you are well known and I think Americans
can pay most money for them, but now things have changed. What you
and your parents have done is magnifico and makes me humble. I put
you and Gavin at risk and that was wrong. I have a good life here,
I have my home, my friends and my father – I don’t think he would
like anywhere else. The books belong to the people, not me. Here is
my wish; I wish the books to be divided into three – one third to
the museum in London, one third to your museum and the last third
to the museum here in Rome – after all, da Vinci was Italian, but
there
is
a price to pay.”

I am confused. “What is the price?” I
ask.

“A kiss – one kiss from you.”

“You are crazy… A kiss – that’s really all
you want?”

“Si, you are so beautiful, a man who would
kiss you would have heaven in his heart forever.”

“Roberto – you flatter me too much, I am just
a woman.”

I didn’t know that Italians could kiss like
that… and I granted his wish with bonuses – it’s the least I could
do.

As for Gavin? He is re-growing fingernails
I’m told and has become somewhat of a recluse. It seems that he is
embarrassed by the new shape of his nose and limp so he doesn’t
welcome friends any more.

I have sympathy but he made his own bed.

The museums are beyond ecstatic that they
have the most sought after collections ever recovered and have
signed a contract to rotate them among each other every year. My
parents have been given the honor of overseeing those exchanges and
of setting up displays at the London Museum.

As for me? I am back rotating my positions at
Harvard and the Metropolitan, where I spend most time – I sit and
stare at the exhibit for hours and remember what it took to get
them here. I have been offered all kinds of promotion and gifts,
but, like Roberto, I have everything I want and need. Except red
high heeled shoes of course… I can never have enough of those - and
a tango partner.

As for Roberto? He is coming to New York next
month, at my invitation, to bring the page that he deposited at his
bank in Rome and to see how we have presented his gift to the
world. He declines to be interviewed by the press and has remained
an anonymous donor.

I haven’t told him that I have arranged tango
sessions for us with my dance instructor.

I suspect that I will be making further
payments…

***THE END***

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