by UD Sandberg
A few hours went by. The guards and uniformed police officers searched the museum.
Although no one had leaved the museum, they could not find the Sapphire Box of Edfu.
26
Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna
June 15
It was an uneasy atmosphere in the lobby of the Kunsthistorisches Museum. August and Ludwig did not say a word. They only watched the guards and guests and the police. Listened to what the other had said when they returned to their companions. When they then met with the police they said the same thing they heard other groups say.
They were photographed and stated their names. None of them had an idea to give a false name. August was well-known, especially by the people that were at the museum, so it would only draw suspicion to himself if he said a false name. Ludwig said his name but changed his mind soon after. But it was too late. He could not imagine that it would mean anything. Ludwig was not often wrong but this time he was.
They were released almost immediately. They went to their suite at Hotel Sacher. They sat down on the couch and looked at each other. None of them could believe it, it had gone the way. It was hard to grasp what they had done.
They were up in speed. They almost had not realized that they had left the museum. They didn´t have the Four-Leaf Clover in their hands but the most risky part of the plan was over. At least that was what they thought.
The adrenaline kept them going. Sleeping was not an option. August asked Ludwig to start the computer while waiting for the next step. Meanwhile, he went off to the toilet.
When Ludwig heard that August locked the door, he ran into August's bedroom and took his cell phone from his nightstand. He stood in the doorway to hear when August came out.
He flipped to the call history. Memorized the dialed numbers. He put back the mobile phone and sat down at the computer.
He surfed in on a search page for phone numbers. Google Translate helped him with the elements of the German as he could not translate itself. He entered the numbers from August's phone and searched.
August did not bluff. The last number dialed went to Bauer, Leitner & Ender law firm based in Vienna and New York.
August came out of the toilet.
”Have you found anything, Ludwig?”
”I'm just about to start looking.”
”The faster you help me to get to the Theatre, you are relieved of your duties, so it is in your interest to saddle on all your senses.”
Ludwig did not say anything but just stared into the screen.
August was curious about the code. The Siena Cathedral. He took out a piece of paper upon which he had written down the code and read a few lines.
Listen to the conversation between the law-giver and the receiver. Then insert the most common symbols in the Four-Leaf Clover.
They linked up to the hotel's wireless network. Searched for pictures of the Siena Cathedral on Wikipedia, Panoramio, Picasa and Flickr. On WordPress Ludwig found a blog of a fanatical American who wrote about his many trips abroad.
He had documented the Siena Cathedral in every detail, written about what ISO each image was taken with, and so on. They went through the material thoroughly but found nothing. Went through it again, just as carefully. Found still nothing.
Both realized that it wasn´t solvable behind book and the computer. They had to go to Siena. But for that, they needed the Four-Leaf Clover.
*
Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna
June 15
The Kunsthistorisches Museum was all quiet in the morning around five o'clock. Janitor Lukas Gruber had heard the news of the theft of the Sapphire Box of Edfu. This did not prevent him from doing the same thing that he had done over the past ten years.
Lukas larmed off. Hung up his jacket. Did his usual rounds. Unlocked doors. Put out the painting equipment that a few artists who came to the museum needed. They replicated the Tower of Babel by Bruegel this time.
He went down to the entrance. A trash can was knocked over the floor. He gathered up the debris. Went on up and emptied the garbage in the trash. Put it in his corner. Unlocked the glass doors to the cash offices. Went to the souvenir corner. Started the register, even if the museum would probably be closed on a day like this. Laid a few audio guides on charge that had fallen off. Rolled away the box with postcards to his office. Emptied it in the outgoing mail that the postman would get in an hour. Put on his own computer. Logged in. Checked his email. Looked to see if the superintendent had written anything about yesterday's theft. She had. Clicked up the email.
He threw up his feet on the desk as he read. The museum would be open, but the Egyptian collection would be closed that day.
Lukas peeled a banana. Opened the door. The sun was shining. He shook out a cigarette from a Prince-pack and stood on the loading dock and lit.
27
Rome
Year 1599
In late May, it was in Rome as it was in Vienna 400 years later. Not many knew where the Sapphire Box was. It was carefully guarded by Thoth´s Brotherhood and it would be some time before Michele came in contact with it.
The thoughts that occupied his time the day after he was chased by Sciarras men, however, had to do with the Brotherhood and especially the Nolan.
The crowd outside the fort had put ideas into his head. He wondered if they knew something that he didn´t know.
He remained a long time in bed, thinking. Unbeknown to him these thoughts brought him closer to the Sapphire Box and Ludwig.
When I see it in the distance, I understand that it must have been unclear to those involved what happened but from where I stand the events stand as clearly as the Evening Star over a dark sea and the effects of the butterfly's wings are impossible not to see.
In the evening met Michele Prospero in his home in Campo Marzio. Prosperino had persuaded him to paint a picture of him to bring around to the studios in hopes of finding employment.
Prospero set up an easel in the corner of the room upstairs. Michele looked out across the street from the window opening. He saw how the light fell into the room and adjusted the amount of light through the window hatch. It was here that the famous Turner light was born which Loretta would give a lecture about a few hundred years later.
Prospero changed into clean clothes while Michele stretched the linen canvas over the frame. Laid out brushes. Ripped the color pigments, put out the linseed oil.
Prospero stood with a fruit basket in his arms and posed.
Michele put the brush to the linen. Founded the cloth in black as he always did.
Michele was an exceptional painter, perhaps the best that had existed even though he was hampered by the passage of fairly mindless orders, mainly from the church. He always painted directly onto the canvas, never made drawings that were comme il faut.
I think I can explain it best by saying that he was Achilles when he painted although it sounds dramatic. But just as for the great warrior it came naturally to him where he would lay the cut, it was just as natural for Michele where he would paint the first brushstroke.
The brushstrokes Michele brought to Rome the eternal city had never seen before. His palette, drama, constitution and light always left his spectators wondering what he carried within him.
He saw that no one else saw.
He had the ability to see beyond the naked eye.
See into the light.
It was also what Thoth´s Brotherhood would soon see in him, an ability Michele himself did not really understand the extent of.
Like all Prospero became deeply influenced by the young artist. When Michele turned the canvas Prospero just went numb. He stood with the finished painting in front of him. Looked wide-eyed at Michele.
”I've never seen anything like it. How are you, how did you do that”
Prospero stared and disappeared into the painting.
The next day Prosperino called in Michele to a whore named Fillide, which I understand was ver
y much appreciated at this time in Rome, at the brothel Angels on his bill. Reluctantly, he went along with it. He went to her in a private room, a separated room with strings from the lounge outside.
Prospero was right. Fillide was a sight to behold. She was well-dressed to be whore. She sat like a blue sapphire in the mud and lit up the brothel. She wore amber-colored gloves and a scarlet taffeta dress.
Prospero said that she was a luxury whore worthy a cardinal and it would not be long before she became a courtesan. It was the opportunity to enjoy the fruit while it still remained.
A medallion hanged off her dress. It looked like a coin attached to a necklace. A circle with two lines, full of strange characters. When she moved it dangled back and forth. She pulled off her gloves as she said.
”So you are Prosperino´s friend. He showed me the painting yesterday. Was it really you who painted it. You seem so unpolished compared to it.”
She sat in the lap of Michele. Put her mouth on his neck. Massaged. Faked a few groans. Michele looked up at the ceiling. She let her fingers fall on the cheek. They kissed.
A deep voice came from the salon. Michele pushed Fillide aside. Stood beside the curtain to the salon. Brought it slowly to one side so that a small run occurred.
It was Sciarra. He had Prospero against a wall with a knife to his throat. Michele buckled cheeks.
From the room Michele heard Prospero refuse to tell Sciarra where Michele was. The knife´s egg touched his neck and small blood streaks ran down his shirt.
Prospero stood firm. Ranuccio, the brothel patron, collected reinforcement and eventually removed Marco and his men from Prosperino.
When they were gone Michele went out to Prospero. He fetched a jug of water and threw it on the shirt and neck. Thanked for his loyalty.
While Prosperino calmed down Michele went back to Fillide. Pulled the curtain. He put her down on the bed. He towered over her and spoke softly. Fillide heard the desperation in his voice.
”If you say something to them men where I am, I cut your throat!”
Fillide smiled.
”Calm down. We'll get along.”
Fillide drew her fingers along his collar and smiled. Michele looked at her locket which a wheel with strange symbols on it.
Fillide said.
”Oh, my heart, that you will never understand.”
He stared at her. Released the locket with his eyes.
He pulled away the curtain and went out to Prospero. Fillide looked after him. She called for Prosperino. Michele went to order a jug of wine.
Prospero sat on the bed and leaned against the wall.
”All right, sweetheart?”
Prosperino touched his neck. He had blood on his hands.
”It's all right.”
”Tell me, your friend, Michele. Where does he live?”
”Why do you ask?”
”I might have a buyer for his painting.”
”That would be something. He lives in the poor house at the Palatine.”
”Prospero. You do me a favor, right? ”
”Anything for you, Fillide.”
”You say nothing to him. I want it to be a surprise. I like him.”
Prospero promised. He went back to his friend.
Fillide looked after the two. She took out a piece of paper, wrote a few lines and then gave it to a boy. She patted him on the head and whispered in his ear. He ran out on the town without a peep, happy to do Fillide a service.
Michele and Prospero went from Angels when it got dark. They had no lantern with them, but made their way by feeling with their hands after the walls.
They hid for other men carrying lanterns. They parted at Prospero's home in Campo Marzio. Michele went to the Palatine Hill.
A dispatch from Fermo was waiting on his bunk. He picked up the letter. The neighborhood boy wrote that the black lines wrapped around Fermo´s fingers a few laps now, and that his father was cold in the shed.
Fermo had specifically instructed him not to write about it but he wanted to do it anyway. Money for food was running out and he would have to get another shipment of money.
The Capuchins which had outlets in Caravaggio had recently closed down and he had to get into Milan to get hold of cheap bread.
Michele took out his purse. He had less money now than he had when he came to Rome.
Perplexed, he went out on the town again. He went through the palace district at Piazza Navona and down to the Tiber. He looked to the castle. The crowd had become even bigger. He thought of what Prospero had said.
A man in Caravaggio had healing powers. He had cured the plague from several of the village but had not succeeded with his mother, Lucia. It had gone beyond the man´s power. He was powerless in the later stages of the plague. Against the Nolan the village healer would have been a wet mark on the floor.
He thought about the miracles that the Nolan had issued. On the rotting oak and when he walked on water in front of hundreds who stood on the Ponte Sant'Angelo. In the Castel Sant´Angelo he was. He who had gained his strength from the Theatre.
Like a bolt from a clear blue sky it struck Michele. Sciarra and the father. It could solve all his problems. He knew it was difficult, almost impossible. Even the church would be more merciful to him if he was caught searching the temple than if Sciarra got him. But if he would succeed it wasn´t going to matter.
When he stood in the piazza outside the Jesuit monastery and painted the day after, he saw two sbirris that pulled a cart behind them. The cart was filled with pamphlets. On the title page on some of them, he saw Thoth´s Brotherhood´s symbol which he had seen in the graffiti on the wall at Piazza del Popolo. He packed up his stuff and put them in the bag. He sneaked after the guards.
28
The cellar in Vienna
June 15
The leader Matteo looked out the window to the street. He pulled back the curtain and turned to the other three. Said sharply.
”What happened? What the hell happened?”
Luca replied but did not think about how stupid he sounded.
”Somebody took it before us.”
Matteo hit him over the head for having pointed out the obvious.
”What was that?”
Matteo went through the evening. He had no idea. Luca shook his head and said.
”Marco, do you have any idea?”
”No, I can´t remember anything that stood out.”
Juan cleared his throat.
”But I can.”
They saw him in the corner as he was sitting in. He was of Spanish descent. With bloodlines straight into the Granada Moors.
He walked out of the corner.
”I had my eye on that little one throughout the evening. He crept around. I saw it on him. Nervous guy. Then when they both disappeared and when the alarm went off it was no question about it.”
”Both? Was that not only he, then?”
”No, it was two. A young boy and an old man.”
”Do you know who it was, they have the Four-Leaf Clover?”
”I'm quite sure that they do not have the Four-Leaf Clover. It would have been impossible for them to smuggle it out. They were searched like everybody else when they left.”
Juan put his Sig Sauer on the bed. Touched the magazine lock. Plucked out the magazine. Continued.
”But they've hidden it somewhere. It is left at the museum. I'm convinced.”
Luca said eagerly.
”Shall we go there now, do our own search?”
”No”, said Matteo. ”It is useless. The police are already there. They probably have double security forces as well.”
Matteo turned to Juan.
”Did you find out who they were?”
Juan nodded.
”I positioned myself behind them in the queue on the way out of the museum. I heard their names. Then I followed them to their hotel.”
”You're sure you know them?”, said Matteo.
”Quite sure. But you will b
e surprised. The young one was named Ludwig Norén and the old man is none other than that rich man´s snob August Iacobi. They are staying at Hotel Sacher here in Vienna.”
*
Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna
June 15
Loretta had only slept a few hours when she met Gruppeninspektor Wagner in the empty entrance in the morning. She was introduced to the other two policemen in Wagner's group, Tobias Mayer and Julian Berger.
She took them to Saal XIII where the glass case still was lying on the floor.
”No one has touched anything in here, I suppose”, asked Wagner.
Loretta shook her head.
”No, we had the door locked in here all night, not even the night guards have been in there.”
Wagner talked fast.
”Good, I want you to seal off this whole part of the museum today and maybe even the next day. Since we have little time, I want to put up a temporary center here in the room next to Saal XIII so we have easy access to all your digital and analog materials. You have a wireless network here?”
”Wireless and wired.”
”Good, we´ll use both. The wired on the sensitive stuff so we can be sure that no one is listening. It would be good if you let someone clear away objects in here so we don´t knock over something valuable, and if you would be so kind and arrange some chairs and tables.”
”Do you need anything else, telephones, computers?” Loretta said helpfully.
”No, we have those ourselves. I have a civilian technician. His name is Max Weber. He uses his own equipment when he is working. He comes in a while. Consequently, he has no police identification. Tell the guards so they will let him in. Anyway, you could carry out some screens for him.”
Loretta nodded. Called then the caretaker and some conservationists who helped her carry items to the adjacent rooms. The policemen with Wagner in front bore out tables from the offices behind the exhibition halls. Rigged with extension cords. Turned out folding chairs. Put up lights.
