by Dayna Rubin
Warren kicked a line of garbage cans stacked neatly along the wall. “So, the original Old Master is completely and totally lost since I may have possibly removed the painted symbols, is that what you’re saying?”
Warren began pacing within the confined area of the pantry and storeroom of the kitchen.
“Show him the album, Nat,” Philippe whispered as he handed her the album, then he plucked a toothpick out of an open box lying on the open mesh steel shelving unit as he waited for her take the album from him.
“Mr. Panetiere?” Natanya approached him tentatively once he had stopped pacing. He stood still, facing the wall, leaning on it with one hand. Natanya tapped on his shoulder, then showed him the album after he turned around.
Taking the album from Natanya’s extended hand, Warren asked, “What’s this?”
“These are photographs of the Old Masters, Impressionist and degenerate paintings encoded with symbols to save them during World War II.” Natanya said solemnly.
Warren was mystified by what she was telling him. “Explain what you mean by encoded.”
Natanya swallowed hard, and pushed back her fear of revealing her secrets. “There are symbols within the paintings, which were added afterward to give the celestial coordinates of where the original paintings were hidden along with changes within the signature depicting ownership.”
“Would that mean that all the pictures of paintings that had been forged or copied are contained within this album?” Warren asked.
“Not necessarily. There wasn’t always time. In some cases, they just marked the paintings.” Natanya explained.
Warren looked sideways at Philippe while Natanya spoke, who seemed very nonchalant about the entire situation. “What happened to your face?”
Philippe shifted the toothpick to the other side of his mouth, propped himself up by placing his right foot behind him against the wall, “What do you think? I connected with some unsavory characters who are going to sell that Vermeer for millions of dollars. They’re working with the family of one of the most notorious dealers within the Third Reich. They didn’t want me to know who they were, but they wanted me to know who they were, if you get my meaning.”
“Which dealer?”
“Kajetan Muehlmann.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Does my face look like they were just joking around?”
Not ready to redirect his questions from his main source, Warren turned his focus back to Natanya, “Besides saving the pictures, you’ve indicated they used an identifying mark. You need to explain that to me.”
“All right, I can see how this is coming as a big surprise to you. Under the law of the Torah, a Jewish individual must give their property an identifying mark in order to have it returned. The relationship between a Jewish individual and his own property is to be honored under all circumstances. This identifying mark is called the Mark of Siman, which invokes Hashovas Aveidah or its literal translation ‘All is Not Lost’.”
Warren opened the catalogue, finding the handmade envelopes containing multiple photographs in each. Warren asked as he sifted through the contents, “If you knew all this time, why didn’t you come forward?”
Natanya replied, “The album was lost and without it there’s no proof. This album is what we received in exchange for the original Vermeer. You’ve seen what happened when you started asking questions and making problems for the gallery. I’m not sure how many others know there were fakes created for the purpose of deceiving the Nazis, but I do know that most of them are still being shown as originals in museums, galleries, and private homes. There’s a big coverup about it and I don’t know why.”
“Open the catalogued grouping of pictures within the album, and further to the back, you should see the section for Vermeer. Extract the first photograph. What do you see?” Natanya asked.
“It’s the Saint Praxidus by Vermeer, and I don’t see anything unusual about it at all. It looks just as it should look.” Warren handed Natanya the photograph.
Natanya gently took the photograph offered to her. “I’ll need more tools to find all the embedded codes, but I think I can decipher a few for now.”
“You had said something about the signature. The signature is or has always been strange, and no one has been able to give an explanation that truly makes sense. This is the copy by Vermeer that materialized in 1962.” Warren stated.
“You do realize the one on display is a copy, and there is another that is actually the original? The signature is letting us know the code used is from the Hebrew Alphabet, and not the Phoenician.”
“Some of them are inscribed using the Phoenician alphabet?” asked Pascal. “How do you know which one is being used?”
“A symbol depicting the Hebrew alphabet will be placed within the signature. The Hebrew word for letter is ‘ot’ and it means sign or wonder, pointing to the wonderful truths about life.”
Natanya begrudgingly answered Pascal, annoyed with him for a myriad of reasons; the first being he could be down right annoying, the second being, she did not wish to be distracted. “The Hebrew alphabet is read from right to left…I see the two lower case letter o’s which mean ultimate support, and since there are two, they may mean a doubling has taken place. The cross had been added within the closed hand and she was given a receding hairline…hmmm.”
Philippe leaned casually against the shelves of the storeroom, plucked another toothpick from the open box and played with it between his teeth, jumping it from one side and back to the other.
Warren cast a disdainful look in his direction, while Natanya continued to hold the picture up to the light.
“Closed hands, a cross, receding hairline…the cross is the last letter of the alphabet or tav, which is the 22nd letter proclaiming ownership, and the closed hand is the tenth letter, but we have the doubled lower case o, and of course the receding hairline.” Natanya slid down the wall holding the photograph. “It’s either 22 and a 10 multiplied by 2 or maybe it’s 10 divided by two….but it’s two individual digits because of the double o’s.” Natanya worked the problem aloud.
“It’s 55,” declared Pascal. “You’re clue is the receding hairline which means to reduce not divide. It’s two fives or 55.”
“He’s right. The celestial coordinates would be 22 degrees East by 55 degrees North.” Natanya stood up alongside the wall.
“The original is located there? These celestial coordinates somehow indicate where this particular painting was hidden?” Warren asked, unsure of what he was hearing.
“Yes.” Natanya began to say, but Pascal interrupted.
“It’s in Russia, according to my GPS, something they didn’t have back then, and it is, ahh give or take a few miles, at the Ragnit Castle. This is what it looks like.” Pascal passed his cell phone to Warren who looked him over quizzically, then accepted the offered phone.
Entranced by what he was seeing, Warren scrolled through all of the views, “The coordinates given are indeed in Russia.” Warren stated in amazement. “Here it is, the views from that spot…East, West, North, South, then back to the castle, which is just as Pascal had said. It’s not precisely within the coordinates, but understandably so because of the rotation of the Earth’s axis or Right Ascension, and the Epoch.”
“What is the Epoch,” Philippe inquired.
“An Epoch signifies a moment in time. A measurement using the Celestial Coordinates within different time periods must be rotated to match a common Epoch. During WWII, the Besselian system was in use, and was much more complicated to compute. Currently, we use the Julian system when measured out for January 1, 2000, it would be J2000.0.” Warren explained.
“Well, I’m certainly glad that was so easily explained, and found. Unfortunately, we’re not going to be quite so lucky with all of them,” Natanya said, grabbing a toothpick herself.
“What do you mean?” asked everyone in unison.
“This is going to be much harder to explain, but I’ll try. Durin
g the war, an individual by the name of Benoit Mandelbrot, a Polish refugee who had been attending college studying a specific type of mathematics in France, was forced into hiding. He had a talent that no one was able to foresee, and it turned out to be very useful. Initially, he was a messenger, but because so many of the notes intended for the French Resistance fell into the hands of the Germans, he began encrypting the notes, and showing others how to decipher them. This took on larger proportions when one of the degenerate artists had the idea to paint copies of Old Masters, the most valued paintings of the Third Reich, then sell them to the Fuhrer for inflated prices. In some cases, the Resistance would leave them for the Nazis to confiscate, believing that they had acquired something of value, when in fact, they had nothing more than a cheap imitation.”
“I don’t understand how this is different from the painting you just deciphered.” Warren said.
“Benoit was studying the exploration of geometric forms which compute into mathematical equations. He was studying the findings by Gaston Julia at the time, when it occurred to him that these very things, Fractals, could be used within the paintings themselves.”
“How so?” asked Pascal.
“A visual pattern is created by beauty and power within an image, showing the correlation to mathematics. These patterns create links between mathematical formulas. These links illustrate an equation describing a surface with one local maximum or peak, the scale and viewpoint reveals the property of the number. Fractals are codes that can actually generate pictures, or visa versa; the picture can generate a code, which is a Fractal.”
“I’m not sure if I’m following you. How are these represented within the pictures?” Warren asked.
“Okay, let me see if I can break it down further.” Natanya reached within her purse and pulled out a used envelope and a pen, then drew examples as she spoke. “Natural Fractals can be seen in cauliflowers and ferns due to their consistent variations within their structure. Like this… Much the same can be said for the shapes within a painted picture. Take for example, a Van Gogh Painting. I believe we’re all pretty familiar with them. Can someone remove a photograph from the album and pass it around…carefully?”
Philippe picked up the album laying it on the shelf, found the section for Van Gogh, and removed a random picture.
“I’m amazed that every picture in the album is indicative of a copied work where the original has been secreted away somewhere. It’s truly, truly incredible. I’m sorry, please continue.” Warren backed up a step and leaned against the rough plaster wall of the kitchen storage room.
“I agree, which is why we risked so much.” Natanya nodded in the direction of Philippe.
“Okay, I’ll try to explain this as clearly as I can. Let’s take the clouds for example, in this painting by Van Gogh, we see numerous swirls. These swirls have a center point and an end point, as well as an angled curve. The measurements of these, when computed, generate a number. The same could be said for the peak of a mountain from its base, or the depiction of water. These are the best examples of Fractals used within a painting.” Natanya looked around for something to drink, but was unsuccessful.
“How do we know which paintings have Fractals?” Pascal asked.
“Which shapes within the pictures are actually clues? This seems like it’s going to be a lot of work.” Philippe whined. “How do we compute the angle without any kind of tools, or machines? No offense to anyone here, but none of us are exactly rocket scientists.” Philippe shrugged, and then threw out his toothpick. “I’m just saying, how are we realistically going to figure this out?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Ideally, an overhead projector would have helped, but Philippe was unable to sneak back into his work to obtain one. Somehow, I need to see the signature, the tiny details within the picture, the Fractals, and the Magic Squares. If we were studying the actual paintings, we would need an X-ray machine as well. But since we have these photographs, along with the negatives, it should be all we need. Well, these along with a few mirrors and lenses we can re-align, a computer, and the software to compute the equations,” Natanya finished.
Everyone turned at once to Pascal and Warren who were both standing by the doorway. “Out of all of us, both of you are still able to have unlimited access to everything.” Philippe stated.
“I can go back to my house for now, and I think I can help out with the mirrors and different powers of lenses. I have an antique set of kaleidoscopes, which can be dismantled, and a pair of Opera Glasses that could possibly be re-worked to fit our needs. I’ll have to return to my house soon, as I have a feeling they didn’t leave me to my own devices, and will be monitoring my activities.”
“I have a laptop, and I do have many software programs I can alter to help us with the mathematical equations.” Pascal offered.
“Did you mention something called Magic squares, and do I really need to know how that works, or will you just tell me you know how to look for those as well?” Philippe asked as he pushed himself away from the wall, placing an arm over her shoulder.
Natanya laughed. “I know how to look for those as well, so no, you don’t really need to know what they are.”
“What I could really use, but am not going to be able to retrieve due to the surveillance, are my notes left to me by my Great Aunt Rose, which described what I should look for. Her notes hinted there would be more there too…”
“Do you think you’re going to be able to decipher the images without your Great Aunt Rose’s notes?” Philippe asked, more serious now.
“I’m going to have to, aren’t I?” Natanya replied earnestly.
“You’ve got this, Nat.” Philippe hugged her to him.
“I hope so…”
“I’m heading back to my place. Where should I meet you?” Warren’s large frame filled the doorway.
“Pascal’s apartment,” Natanya handed an envelope to Warren. “I’ve written the address on this envelope for you. Please hurry; I don’t know how long our luck is going to hold out. I was told by Geoffrey…the security guard at my place of work, that the Signature Art Conservatory and the National Gallery concocted some story about the original Vermeer being sent away for an intense cleaning and restoration.”
“I heard the latest news release…they’re saying there was an error.” Warren added.
“This makes me wonder,” Pascal mused.
“What’s that?” Natanya couldn’t help but ask, impressed that Pascal was able to follow her line of thought earlier.
“If you know that there is a forgery of a Vermeer because you painted it, and they know, but they’re denying it…how many others do they know about?”
Chapter Eighteen
Cool and Austere
“Stop pacing.” Philippe tilted his beret, blocking out all of the natural light to let him sleep.
“If you can’t see me, how did you know I was pacing?” Natanya challenged.
“I just know. That’s what you do when you’re anxious.”
Natanya fell into a nearby chair in the family room of Pascal’s apartment. “Well, I can’t just lie there in some catatonic state and wait.”
“Why not? All the worrying and fretting isn’t going to make anything happen any quicker or differently.” Philippe crossed one tanned ankle over the other.
“I just hate it when you’re right.” Natanya curled her legs up underneath her and stared at the ceiling, then down at the floor at Philippe’s soft leather Italian loafers.
Philippe laughed, “Why are you frowning?”
“You look too comfortable…and your shoes look too comfortable.”
“And that’s bad?”
“Yes…it is, you should be…I don’t know, more concerned.” Natanya unfurled her legs and practically leaped out of the chair.
“Did you want to punch me in the other eye?” Philippe pulled his hat back down again.
“No, how could you think that?” Natanya walked over to Pascal where he sat w
orking through re-adapting a software program.
“How are we doing over here?” Natanya peered over Pascal’s shoulder.
“Good, I think I’ve made some inroads to achieve what I’d like to do.”
“What have you got there?” Natanya looked at what appeared to be lines of script.
“I’m telling the program to read the photograph and generate equations based on shapes that we can point to within the picture.”
“So you are linking scanner software with picture editing software, which can be dumped into mathematical software.”
Pascal turned toward Natanya. “Impressive. That’s exactly what I’m doing.
“That’s amazing. When should it be ready?” Natanya asked.
“Without all the bugs…probably in the next few days. I’d really like to be able to perfect it before we try it out.”
Natanya blinked a few times, frowned, then turned away from Pascal in frustration. “Don’t you guys get it? We have to do this in a hurry! We don’t have time to perfect the program.” Natanya’s voice raised an octave, “Please, let’s just take a photograph or a negative, and put it in the scanner and try it out.”
“The program’s not ready. An improper reading would be a variant of the coordinates, leading to the incorrect location. We could invariably be led on a wild goose chase if I can’t decipher the equations from the images correctly.”
Natanya sunk back down into the puffy vinyl recliner chair, dwarfed within its massive proportions. “You’re right. We should make sure it works correctly before we use it.”
“See, there’s no need to try to speed things up. It could just cause problems for us later,” Philippe added from his comfortable position on the couch.
“Humph.” Natanya pulled the lever on the side of the recliner to release the footrest.
A soft knock on the door sounded, followed by another, but a little louder.
Natanya jumped up out of the chair with the foot rest still extended and opened the door.
“You shouldn’t open the door unless you know who it is,” admonished Warren who quickly entered.
