Code of Siman (7 page)

“You made a smart aleck remark, didn’t you?” Natanya pursed her lips, frowning at him, the package lying in her lap briefly forgotten.

“Let’s see if it was worth it…open it. I’ll be all right.” Philippe commanded.

“Okay, okay…”

Natanya looked at the paper wrapping the package. Yellowed with age, the newspaper had helped cushion the fall. Carefully removing it, Natanya placed the torn off pieces to the side.

“We’re not going to re-wrap it, Nat…” Philippe swiped at the package but Natanya moved it to the side, and in an unhurried fashion, continued to unveil their prize.

The leather covered binder contained pages of small envelopes mounted upon thick dark paper. Crude tabs divided them into groups. The handwriting was hard for Natanya to read. She could barely make out what appeared to be the names of artists Chagall, DaVinci, Degas, Manet, Monet, and Vermeer.

Opening one of the envelopes, she saw a group of photographs, set between them was small individual sheer papers, and she presumed it was a type of rice paper. Carefully taking one of the photographs, she held it up to the light.

Natanya looked happily at Philippe, who had crept closer to her to take part in the discovery.

“This is it…”

“Look at another one to be sure.” Philippe instructed, his expression and tone quite serious now.

Natanya carefully placed the photograph back in the envelope. She closed the tiny flap, and then turned the page to another farther back. Opening the envelope, she removed another photograph, held it to the light and squealed with joy. “Yes, it’s a Monet.”

Philippe grasped her wrist and looked at her intently. “You know what this means now don’t you?”

A car breezed past them; the paper wrapping caught in the wake of the passing car took flight while Natanya looked on in horror. Her body poised to take flight, Philippe leaned against her to keep her from leaping forward to capture the pieces.

Once the car had passed, he relaxed against her, swallowed hard and tilted her face to him. “You mean more to me than any of these photographs. Nothing we do will have any significance if you aren’t here beside me. Don’t do that again?”

Natanya shrugged, “I didn’t do anything.”

Philippe raised his eyebrows, and then stood, brushing the mixture of sand and gravel from his beige slacks and black silk shirt.

Natanya inched her way on her hands and knees as she sought to retrieve the remnants of the newspaper wrappings, until Philippe reached down to stop the search and rescue mission. Taking hold of her elbow, he pulled her to her feet.

“We’re not doing that, let it go. We’ve got what we need.”

Chapter Twelve
Overt Recognizable Imagery

“How would she know that the painting is a fake? I’ve had experts from the Signature Art Conservatory here to examine it. I haven’t had it out of my sight…this is impossible!”

The staff assistant silently extricated himself from the office as Warren continued his rant.

“We’re going to check it again,” Warren declared to an empty room. The report from the findings of the Vermeer was clenched in his hand. His face contorted in anger, the veins of his neck standing out, he sought out Dauphine.

Marching into the lab from his office, he saw her. She appeared to be shutting down the units supplied by NASA, giving instructions to Gage as they methodically checked each screen.

The air crackled with tension as Warren held out the crumpled paper to Dauphine. “This oxygenated restorative cleaning system has a listing of chemical substances that shouldn’t be in the painting. Is that what you found?” Warren moved back as Dauphine pushed past him, continuing to press buttons and monitor the activity on the screens.

“No.” Dauphine stated, still absorbed with her ‘shut down’ procedures.

Warren took a deep breath. “Okay, then you’ve found something wrong with the signature.”

Dauphine straightened up for a moment, then pulled out a memo pad from her pocket, consulted it, then placed it back into her pocket.

“Um, no. Gage, why don’t you take a moment and get something to eat…I think it’s been a while since you’ve had a break.” Gage looked from Dauphine to Warren, nodded, and then withdrew from the room.

“There’s a hand written note on this report, stating that you believe the painting is a fake. Where are the supportive findings? And why wouldn’t it be constructed in a professional format?”

Warren reread the reports he was holding, and then turned back toward Dauphine. “This concerns me. I asked you here to remove the stain. The stain has been removed without any damage to the painting, and now you’re saying that it doesn’t matter because the painting is actually a fake. Is that right?”

Dauphine glanced up from under the canvas cover she was using to shield the light to evaluate the sensitive calibration of one of the units.

Warren placed his hands on his hips, walked toward the unit, then away from the unit, then back again, as he waited for her to finish.

“Well, that about does it. We’re finished here.” Dauphine straightened once she was free from the confines of the canvas covering. She pushed her hair back out of her eyes and directed her full attention toward Warren. “You look angry.”

“Shouldn’t I be?”

“Probably so. I would be if it were my painting.”

“Thank you for that…” Warren said somewhat sarcastically. “But you haven’t answered my question, and it had better be more than a feeling.”

“It is more than a feeling…”

Warren narrowed his eyes at her as he waited, his anger dissipating with hope of a good alternative to having acquired a forged painting.

Warren folded his arms and leaned against the lab counter as he waited for her reply.

“Yes, I would say that it is definitely more than a feeling.” Dauphine stated confidently.

“All right, so we’ve narrowed it down somewhat.”

“Did anyone actually remove the painting from the frame when they inspected it?” Dauphine inquired as she stood opposite him in the lab.

“No, they didn’t. They were looking at the damage to the front of the painting as well as damage to part of the frame from the lipstick and wine.” Warren lifted his chin as he defended his previous actions.

“Hmmm. And at no time did you ask to have the canvas removed from the frame?”

“No…I didn’t.” Warren inclined his head and frowned. “What are you getting at?” His voice had dropped to a throaty whisper.

“There’s no stamp.” Dauphine’s eyes met Warren’s revealing no malice, no sarcasm and no judgment.

Warren let the gravity of what she was saying sink in. “You’re referring to the stamp applied to the back of each painting which identified which collection point it had been stored during the war.”

“Exactly.”

Warren didn’t take her word for it, and strode toward the painting held within the confines of the temporary containment center, lifted the lid, and turned it over. His hand lightly explored the back of the canvas as his eyes searched the surface.

He carefully laid it back down, replaced the lid and walked out of the lab.

Dauphine caught Gage’s eye as Warren walked back in the lab and said, “Wrap this up, I’ll be back.” She left the lab in pursuit of Warren.”

Unable to take the same length of stride as Warren, she had to run to keep up with him after she reached his side. She soon saw what he was doing.

“I want every picture removed from its frame.” He approached each picture and began removing it from the wall.

“Do you have the capability of X-raying the pieces?” Warren asked Dauphine, somehow sensing that she was by his side.

“Yes, we do, in fact I was going to ask you if you wanted to proceed with that, but since there wasn’t a stamp I didn’t see the relevance.” Dauphine looked around her to see that in the time it took her to reach him, he had already removed several pictures from the wall. She presumed silent alarms were in a chaotic state at this point.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry…yes what?” Dauphine strained to catch Warren’s attention, but he was angrily moving from picture to picture, causing great consternation from the patrons.

“Yes, I want every picture in the gallery removed from its frame. I want them cleaned and X-rayed.”

“Right, every picture…we’ll be here all night, or longer.” Dauphine protested.

“Can you think of anything more important than this?” Warren stopped for a moment to lock eyes with Dauphine.

“No, I can’t. You’re absolutely right.”

A museum staff member nervously approached Warren. “Should I close the museum, sir?”

“Yes, shut it down Joe.”

The staffer scurried away, glancing between Warren and Dauphine before he left.

“You want to help?” Warren inquired over his shoulder.

“Yes, absolutely. I’ll do whatever I can.”

“We’ll be processing these paintings through X-ray.” Warren stated.

“Right…I’ll get that ready.” Dauphine looked first at the pictures, then back at Warren, turned to go, but then stopped to look inquiringly back at Warren.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said simply.

“That they won’t approve of this?” Dauphine supplied.

“Yes, you and I both know it needs to be done.”

“What are you going to tell them?” Dauphine asked.

The entire collection of paintings within the room now lay propped against the wall, the starkness echoing back at them.

“The truth.”

“They won’t like it.”

“People usually don’t.”

Dauphine looked back over her shoulder before she hurried back to the lab, her brow furrowed as she reflected on everything she had come to know about this man. A man that somewhere between the introduction and the action of removing the most valuable paintings of the nation from the walls, she had unknowingly pledged her allegiance.

“Mr. Panetiere’?” A small voice was breaking through the intensity of his thoughts. The weight and size of the picture he was currently wrestling with won its right to continue to occupy its space on the wall, as it was far too large for him to remove by himself.

Stopping for a moment to wipe the beads of sweat that had formed on his brow, Warren turned to the uniformed individual quietly waiting at his side who spoke up again.

“You all right sir? Mr. Pei, he was my grandfather who designed part of this museum. The part that you and I are standing in. I am working here so that I can become an architect just like him, and design something equally as grand.”

Warren looked at the young woman standing before him, small and diminutive, but speaking with pride and courage.

“Please continue. I apologize for not having heard you…this is…occupying me.” Warren indicated the picture on the wall, which was too large for him to remove.

Stepping back from the picture, Warren said, “You are Tsun Jai Pei. I apologize, I never made the connection.” Warren indicated they should sit down at the bench in front of the wall of pictures. “Please, sit with me.”

Once seated, Tsun Jai continued, “My grandfather says every man must meet his greatest challenge one day, and at that time he will either fold under the weight, or he will rise and fly into the wind.”

Warren’s hands were folded in his lap as he looked down at his shoes resting on the pink Tennessee marble floor.

“We want to help you fly Mr. Pan.” Tsun Jai touched his shoulder, caught his questioning look and then inclined her head to show him he needed to look behind him.

Warren turned around to find the entire group of Gallery employees, some in uniforms, some in professional attire, standing en masse, silently waiting.

“Why? Why would all of you want to do this for me?” He addressed the crowd.

“You see us as people. You remember our names, and you make us feel like this is our museum.”

“Okay, as you can see, I need help. I accept.” Warren stood and ceremoniously bowed to the large group.

Tsun Jai also stood, then put her forefinger and her pinky finger between her lips and whistled loudly. “Group one…gather here. Group two….you are in next room. Group three come with me.” Her voice carried within the empty walls of the space, leaving no questions as to who was in charge.

Warren walked away, grateful for the help, but also so that he could start making the necessary calls.

Chapter Thirteen
Colored Webs of Lines

“What exactly are you seeing when you are looking at these photographs?” Philippe asked.

“Well, I can’t see what I need to see without a special device, a type of loop which was made especially for this purpose…if I could somehow magnify these, the images within would be clearer,” said Natanya.

“Okay, let me rephrase the question. What will you see within these photographs once you have this…device?”

“The embedded symbols. I’ll be able to see some of them without it, but…from what I remember reading in my Great Aunt’s notes…I’m going to need it to see everything.”

Philippe reached into Natanya’s purse and found the desired objects. Wiping his cheek after dabbing the Starbuck’s napkins in the bottled water, he was able to clean himself up.

Natanya pulled out onto the road while Philippe addressed his multiple wounds in the mirror on the visor.

Natanya gasped, and took her foot off the accelerator.

“What? What is it?” Philippe flipped the visor back up and looked around the car.

“Umm, where are we going to go?”

“Oh, Nat, you had me going. You always do that when you’re driving.”

“I don’t always do that!”

“You do. Any little thing that pops up, and it’s like the end of the world. I should drive.”

Natanya retorted. “You still haven’t answered my question. Where are we going to go? We obviously can’t go home.”

“We don’t know that. They said you were wanted for questioning. That’s all,” Philippe reassured her.

“If we could go home, I could verify my findings with Aunt Rose’s notes, get the adapted loop, then I could be absolutely sure.”

“You lost me…you recall how to decipher most of it, but you may need a little help, is that what you’re saying? And you need the device hidden in our apartment.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Okay, pull over, and I’ll drive us home, and then we’ll get started.”

“First of all, I’m driving, and secondly, I drive very well, thank you very much.”

“When was the last time you drove?” Philippe asked, as amusement played at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m not sure exactly.”

“You’re not sure. That’s why I should drive.” Philippe found the buttons to adjust the seat, which he started to adapt to a more comfortable position. Then he opened the sunroof, turned on the stereo and started to change the station, but not after listening for a few seconds to one song, then another, and another.

He then went back to adjusting his chair, closed the sunroof, and changed the station.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“What?”

Natanya laughed. “You make things really complicated for me when you don’t want me to do them.”

“Do I do that?” Philippe raised his eyebrows and looked out each of the side windows as if to say he knew nothing about her complaint.

“Yes, you do.”

Philippe reached forward and changed the station. Again.

“I’m not giving you the wheel, so you can just knock it off.” Natanya rolled down her own window and let the breeze blow through her long dark hair.

“We’re approaching town, and you may not want people to see you.” Philippe smirked at her knowing how she was going to react to his statement.

“Ah! Oh My God! You’re right! What am I doing? I can’t just drive into town…” Natanya pushed the button to raise the window back up.

“See? You do that.”

“Okay…so I over react when I drive. But, the question is, how do we find out if our apartment is under surveillance, but not get caught at the same time?”

“Drive to the street of our apartment, and pull around back into the dry cleaners. They know me there, and I’ll find out for us.”

Natanya drove into the back lot of the dry cleaners, parked and turned off the engine as Philippe suggested.

Philippe didn’t wait until the car was stopped to get out, but then ran back, opened the door and asked, “Where are they?”

“In a shoe box, in the closet, under my sweaters.”

“Okay…I’m not going to ask why you felt the need to hide them.”

“They’re more valuable than you realize, and they were entrusted to me! The notes were the only thing that wasn’t seized by the Nazis, and they were the only things left explaining the codes. The loop is the only way the photographs can be deciphered.”

“All this time…” Philippe shook his head.

“All this time, what…all this time?” Natanya’s eyes narrowed beneath her sunglasses.

“I didn’t think you could do it…”

“Do what?”

“Be this deceitful.” Philippe closed the door to the SUV.

Natanya gasped after the door closed. “I was not…being…oh you make me so mad!”

A small statured sinewy older man in a crew neck short sleeve white shirt and khakis was taking a cigarette break behind the Dry Cleaner with the back door open, staring openly at her as she muttered to herself.

Natanya opened the car door, paused in front of the older man who nodded to her in approval; he walked through the open back door of the dry cleaners, and motioned for her to follow.

Natanya stomped through the rear of the building, past the racks of various dry cleaned items and resumed her argument with Philippe while he spied on their building through the front window. “I was not being deceitful. I was, in fact harboring clues to the whereabouts of treasured artifacts, which was and is the only reference in existence.”

Philippe raised his hand to quiet her, then pulled her over to him to show her Mrs. Orbis and her crew of older women as they were walking down the street toward their apartment building.

“Mrs. Orbis…again? And why do they like you so much, by the way? Honestly, I think it’s just a little strange for women of their age to…”

Philippe looked at her with a knowing expression, which was to say…wait for it…”

“Oh, right…you want to use them to check it out…good thinking…and they’ll do it too. I think they would do just about anything for you…” Natanya winked at him, and then smacked him on the butt.

“Oooh, you not do that stuff in here. This is dry cleaner, not for that…no, you not do that.”

Natanya turned to the diminutive yet elegantly dressed woman at the low counter behind her, reading her nametag, “Mrs. Hee, I’m so sorry. You see we’re…”

Philippe interjected, “I’ll go across the street, and you should really wait in the car.” Philippe gave her a warning look.

Natanya smoothed down her white sundress, and asked, “Can I walk through to the back…my car is…um parked in back of your store…”

Mrs. Hee answered with a nod, “You want your stuff? Hee’s dry-cleaning. It ready now.”

“No, thank you. I don’t actually take my clothes to this dry cleaner…” Natanya didn’t attempt to apologize for her answer. Her face flushed as she walked through to the back lot where she slipped onto the passenger side seat and closed the door behind her.

“I can’t even turn the car on…because I don’t have a key.” Natanya whined aloud.

Looking around, Natanya noticed there wasn’t a space for a key necessary to start the car, and turning the ignition, found that she could activate the fan and radio. “Huh, interesting…I should have tried this before.”

Reclining her seat, she began experimenting with all the functions as she waited. Surprised by his sudden reappearance, Natanya looked guiltily at Philippe.

“I couldn’t make it into the apartment.” He said breathlessly. “Mrs. Orbis went upstairs, pretended to forget which floor she was supposed to exit on, then got out at our floor so that she could pass by our apartment. She came back down the elevator to retrieve her mail, saying she had forgotten to pick it up when she was down in the lobby, and then said she needed to bring the newspaper to a friend who resided in the apartment building next to ours. That’s where she met back up with me.”

“She accomplished all of that? I’m impressed.” Natanya said.

“Yeah, it’s me we’re talking about remember…”

Natanya lightly tapped Philippe on his arm for his cocky remark. “She had to have been making a pretense because the apartment is filled with police.” Natanya commented.

“Right on the money.”

“Where were the police? In the lobby and…”

“The elevators, the hall, and in front of our apartment,” Philippe replied.

“Wow, I guess they have us covered, don’t they?”

“Yup. So we’ll take the album, go to my cousin Pascal’s apartment, and get started.”

“Right, but first we’ll need an overhead projector.”

“Seriously, you want me to obtain an overhead projector when the whole town is looking for us?” Philippe questioned.

“Maybe you can get Mrs. Orbis to get you one?” Natanya teased.

“Jealousy doesn’t become you.” Philippe smiled in a beguiling fashion.

“Who said I was jealous? And anyway, so far they’re just looking for me, so you can go to your office and pick one up…” Losing some of her bravado Natanya continued, “Can’t you?”