by Dayna Rubin
“I believe it was shuttled to an Abbey, a couple of Chateaus, and finally to the Ingres Museum in Montauban,” Natanya explained.
“What’s taking so long Gage?” Dauphine called out, taking a clip from the credenza near the large conference table and pulled her hair back as she tried to get a better look at the image displayed before her.
Natanya continued, “It has survived an acid attack, whereby the lower half was severely damaged and had to be repainted by a restorer. We studied the restoration process of the Mona Lisa in school. It had been touched up by Jean-Gabriel Goulinet who used watercolor on the elbow and evened out the varnish layer. The washed-out appearance of the face couldn’t be improved upon…to do so would be an injustice to Leonardo DaVinci.
“Look at it…it doesn’t look faded at all…and if we magnify it…you can actually see eyebrows and eyelashes…is that possible?” Dauphine said excitedly.
“It would seem to be impossible. Every art connoisseur knows that the Mona Lisa…” Natanya was cut off mid-sentence.
“There must have been a second painting created for the public. The Mona Lisa was stolen in 1911 and was missing for two years. Do you think that it had been created then? And the government knew about it?” Dauphine asked. Her eyes darted from the enlarged photograph on display to Natanya’s surprised face.
“That must be it, they must have retained the forged copy and kept the original back in…let’s see, that would have been in 1913, as the painting was stolen by a Louvre employee in 1911, then ‘found’ two years later.
“His name was Peruggia, the guy who stole it, and he said he had wanted to give it back to the people of Italy, where he believed it should be displayed since it was created by an Italian artist.”
“That was at the crux of the dispute encountered after the Monument Men collected the widely dispersed paintings after the war. Many of the paintings held at the Collection Points were not easily identified or couldn’t be decided as to where they should be returned.”
“So what happened to them?” Dauphine asked.
“The countries they were returned to, held onto them, and after a certain point, displayed them within their own museums.”
“So, the revenue received from the most famous works of art was at issue for the countries themselves, because, when you come right down to it, money is usually at the heart of the matter.”
“You’re probably right. I would like to say it would be the issue of art, but it’s probably…” Natanya was interrupted by a hoarse whisper they knew to be Gage, but it didn’t sound like him. “I’ve got it.”
“Good, let’s see what it is. I’m going to be really interested to see this. We’ve had the Ragnit Castle in Russia, the Chateau Chillon in Switzerland, and the Mespelbrunn Castle in Bavaria so far.”
“It’s not any of those this time.” Gage’s voice carried a mystified puzzlement.
“Well, where is it then?” Dauphine asked her assistant.
“It’s here,” Gage replied.
“It’s here, where here? In the United States you mean?” Natanya asked.
“Yes…” Gage sat down and stared at the image hovering before them.
“This changes everything I ever thought about what I see, what I know,” Gage said, throwing his pen onto the table.
“You’re scaring me! What are you inferring?” Dauphine asked.
“77.02 W and 3.91 N, was all Gage offered.
“Okay, I give up…you’re going to have to tell me where that is.”
Gage swallowed hard, then spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, “The National Gallery, Washington D.C.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Vertical and Varying Widths
The helicopter touched down in the field, blowing the tall grass flat around it with the velocity of its propellers.
Stone rubble greeted them as they walked toward the castle. “How will we know where to look?” Philippe yelled above the sound of the helicopter.
“We won’t know until we go inside!” yelled Warren.
“There is no inside!” Philippe yelled back.
“Over here,” yelled Pascal.
Philippe and Warren stopped walking toward the front of the castle and doubled back toward Pascal who had approached it from the other side.
“What did you find?” Warren asked.
“Most castles have a complex series of tunnels beneath them for their people to escape if the castle were attacked. Just as the mines were used for the paintings during WWII, these tunnels must have been used to hide the paintings.”
“I don’t see any door, or opening,” Philippe paced off the area, returning to Warren and Pascal, shaking his head, then seating himself upon a large boulder, which rolled slightly with his weight.
“Did you hear that?” Warren asked, the helicopter having recently been quieted, just the sound of wind rustling through the grassy fields.
“A crunching, gravelly sound like fingernails on a chalkboard kind of sound you mean?”
“That’s what I mean. Now let’s see where it came from.” Warren reached through the overgrown brush to see that a slab of stone in the ground had opened slightly. He tried to pry the thick stone slab open, but found that it wouldn’t budge.
“The boulder needs to be rocked to initiate the lever which releases the door,” Pascal instructed.
Warren glanced at Pascal with slight irritation for stating the obvious. “On the count of three, we’ll all jump onto the boulder. “One, two, three!” Warren said as they all jumped onto the boulder.
The sound of screeching met their ears as the slab opened completely. A set of stone steps was revealed, leading farther into the cave.
Warren pulled out his flashlight from within his belt, flipped it on, and without a second thought descended the steps. Pascal and Philippe followed close behind.
“We may not immediately find the area where they stored the paintings, as this may be the false opening with traps put into place in case the enemy tried to attack using the tunnels,” Pascal offered as they descended.
They found themselves deep within the ground, their sense of direction confused, the smell of damp earth intermingled with their own sweat, and their breathing became labored as they acclimated to their surroundings.
Pascal and Warren began pushing on the walls when they reached what appeared to be a dead end.
“Nothing,” Philippe sighed dramatically as he watched their fruitless efforts.
“Let’s not give up so easily,” Warren said as he began to become short of breath.
“It’s seems like its becoming harder to breath,” Pascal observed.
“So?” Philippe raised his eyebrows at his cousin.
“If we’re underneath it, and not beside it, then we should be looking up…at the ceiling for an entrance.” Warren flipped his flashlight around and began poking at the ceiling of the cave. Dirt fell into his face with each effort, but he continued.
Philippe leaned against the wall of the cave, crossed his ankles, and leisurely lifted the flashlight to cast the beam of his flashlight above Warren’s head.
Warren grimaced, “Thanks,” and proceeded to press on the ceiling inch by inch.
Pascal placed one foot directly in front of the other and began to count off the steps away from the end of the cave, stopped and shined his flashlight above him.
Taking the end of his flashlight, Pascal jostled the stones hanging above his head. “It’s here!”
“What are those things that are hanging from the roof of the cave? They look like big beads,” Philippe inquired.
“They’re called hag stones or witch stones. The stone is formed by the action of water. If we find the stone with multiple holes in it, we can find the opening.
“Why the stone with multiple holes in it?” Warren asked, walking over to Pascal as he examined the hanging stones.
“It’s supposed to be the most powerful, and contains the magic which evokes the protection of the trip
le Goddess.
“How did you know how many steps to walk off to get to this point?”
“Most sacred grounds use either ‘6’ or ‘11’,” replied Pascal.
“I know, I know. This comes from the plethora of information springing up from that scientific brain of yours…” Philippe said as he pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against, tossing his flashlight in the air from one hand to the other as he spoke.
“Doesn’t look like you’re having much luck there, ahh, if I were trying to hide an entrance, I wouldn’t use such obvious formulas like what you’re talking about.” Philippe looked like he was taking a leisurely stroll down the tunnel away from Warren and Pascal.
“Well, what would you do?” Warren said in exasperation.
“I certainly wouldn’t put it at the end of the cave, that’s too obvious.”
“You might be right, Philippe, as the triple Goddess stone represents the idea of change, as opposed to being stagnant at the end of the process.”
“What is it you’re referring to, if I might ask?” Warren stopped poking the ceiling of the cave to wipe the dirt from his eyes.
“The moon in its phases appears in three aspects, according to Selene the Moon Goddess, which is actually the Triple Goddess, which surged in popularity again in 1940 after it was used in a popular story.”
“I see… Did you notice that we are in a perfect square…” Warren said as he shined his flashlight outward and walked a few paces in each direction. “Here are more stones hanging, but there’s less of them, two stones to be exact.”
“Well, there are seven stones over my head. So much for your original theory, Pascal,” Philippe sneered.
Pascal and Warren looked at each other, and simultaneously shined both their flashlights upon the ceiling where numerous stones appeared set into groups.
“I’ll count them in this direction, which looks like a column within the square,” Warren said.
“And I’ll go this way, counting them in this row, which should give us our answer,” Pascal said.
“Okay. What are you guys doing?” Philippe asked.
“I get thirty-six, what did you get Pascal?” Warren asked while ignoring Philippe.
“I have also calculated thirty-six, which is the number of heaven, doubled is the number of Earth, and tripled is the number of humankind,” Pascal replied.
“The question is, what…”
Philippe cut Warren off to add, “What are you guys doing? That’s the question!”
“No, the question is, what do we do now that we have the answer to the Magic Square?” Warren asked.
“Ahh, the Magic Squares. Not used in the paintings themselves, but in the hiding of them. Got it,” Philippe said.
“Yes, but how do we use the Magic Constant?” Warren asked aloud, but to no one in particular.
“We have the nine squares in rows of three, with each row adding up to thirty-six,” Pascal stated as he looked around the room.
“Within Judaism, it is believed that there are always thirty-six saintly or righteous people on Earth together for each generation, but unknown to one another, and if any of these people were not present, then we would have an end to the world. This belief is called the Tzadikim Nistarim.” Pascal looked contemplative as he continued, his light brown eyebrows furrowed over his dark eyes.
“What else do you know about the Magic constant that we’ve been given to work with?”
“Each of the thirty-six righteous individuals are to justify the purpose of humankind in the eyes of God, although they are unaware of their special role and when these chosen ones have received their calling, they will know what they are supposed to do,” Pascal said solemnly.
“The sign that Natanya was told of by her Aunt Rose, the one that would call everyone into action!” Philippe recalled excitedly.
They all fell silent, deep within their own thoughts.
“Thirty-six steps from the entrance,” Philippe blurted.
Pascal looked from his cousin back to Warren and nodded in acknowledgement.
Warren walked swiftly back to the entrance of what they now saw was a large square room, and counted thirty-six steps to the end of the cave, which is where they found the first set of stones.
Philippe turned to Warren and shined his flashlight in his face as he turned, annoying Warren who grimaced, shielding his eyes with his arm. “Hey, watch where you’re pointing that thing!”
“Put your arm down Warren,” Pascal requested, joining his beam of light with Philippe.
“Why? Okay, is that good? What are you looking at?”
“Your face is glowing Warren.”
“The dirt from the ceiling of the cave, or what I thought was dirt, may be some kind of dust…maybe a type of paint,” Warren said as he touched his face then looked at his fingertips.
“Where were you when that happened to you? When you first felt the dust fall on your face?”
“I was standing toward the back of the cave…I think it was about here.” Warren positioned himself where he had been, shining his flashlight above him. I don’t see anything up here, the dust doesn’t light it up at all.”
“It’s just on your face. So, what’s different about your face than the soil of the earth?” Pascal pondered.
“Oil. He has an oily face,” Philippe suggested.
“Thanks,” Warren said sarcastically.
“No problem,” Philippe replied.
“The chemical reaction is making the marking visible, without it, we can’t see it,” Pascal commented.
“Take off your shirt Warren and we’ll lift you up, then you can press your back up to the ceiling.” Philippe and Pascal had since redirected their flashlights to the floor of the cave, which rendered them unable to see Warren’s expression, but the change in his stance as he turned suddenly to face Philippe gave Philippe fair warning.
“Well, you are more oily than I am…” Philippe said with a sardonic lift of one eyebrow as he pushed Warren to his limits.
“That’s called sweat Philippe. Since I’ve been doing most of the work, that’s what happens,” Warren snapped back.
“Both of you kneel and I’ll stand on your backs.” Warren shrugged out of his shirt while Philippe looked to the damp ground and then at his pants.
Hesitating, he approached Warren. “You know, I think I was too hasty, I’ll switch with you.”
“Come on Phil,” Pascal pulled Philippe down to the ground next to him.
“Too late,” Warren took a step onto Pascal who held his weight well, then Philippe, who dipped down, nearly throwing Warren off balance.
“You being the larger out of the three of us, maybe this was not the best choice to hold you up,” Philippe groaned.
Warren carefully placed his back to the ceiling, rolling the top of his back from one side to the other to pick up the colored dust.
Once completed, he jumped off their backs to the ground.
“I can’t get up…” Philippe whined.
“Come on, Phil, he wasn’t that heavy,” Pascal countered.
“It’s not that, I don’t want to look at my pants,” Philippe slowly stood, pointing the beam of flashlight down onto his knees where two large mud stains were spreading.
Warren presented his back to Philippe and Pascal, the muscles in his shoulders twitching as he waited.
“Oh, right, the imprint…” Philippe pointed his flashlight at Warren’s back to view the image.
“Now, it may be reversed,” Warren cautioned.
“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that,” Pascal said.
“Why, what is it?” Warren asked.
“It’s the Messianic Seal, which is the Viscia Piscis, or the fish, it’s at the bottom, then the Star of David in the middle, then the Menorah is at the top. It was found carved into stone dating back to the first century AD,” Pascal explained.
“Okay, so what do we do now that we have the symbol emblazoned on my back?”
/> “Let’s go back up to the surface…I need some air. Maybe this is just a dead end.” Philippe said despondently and started walking back to the entrance.
Warren took his shirt from the hanging stones overhead, pulled it on with his flashlight tucked between his knees, the beam followed Philippe’s progress back to the entrance. As Philippe continued to walk past the approximate distance of thirty-six feet, Warren discontinued buttoning his shirt, stopping halfway to call out to Pascal to follow him.
Warren sprinted after Philippe. “We opened the door and he went through it.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Suspended in the Trapped Light; Opalescent
Stepping through the opening, Warren immediately saw that there were several tunnels, each leading in a different direction. Puddles of water, some deeper than others, captured his feet as he moved, reluctant to let go.
He hesitated briefly at the place where there had previously been a solid wall, ran his fingers along the wall, looking for an indication of what had formerly been there, impeding them, but was unable to find it and moved on.
As he trudged through the tunnel, the air became condensed and sharp, making it more difficult to breath. This tunnel was significantly wider than the others were, and was also marked by the occasional hag stone, similar to what they had found in the cave.
Shining his flashlight toward the darkened interior, he didn’t see any sign of Philippe or Pascal. Although energized by the prospect of finding the paintings, Warren halted his progress and backtracked to the central location where the tunnels split off.
Releasing a short breath, Warren looked around him for some sign as to which direction they might have taken. Finding their footsteps outlined in the shallow mud upon directing the light of his flashlight downward he called out, “Philippe!” and then again, “Pascal!”
Warren flicked his flashlight down each of the other two tunnels, then walked a few feet down one of the passages. This tunnel narrowed considerably, the space a little wider than the span of his shoulders.
“Where could they have gone?” Warren muttered when he heard a voice behind him.
“Checking back…you obviously believe you have the right path,” Philippe said as he leveled his flashlight at Warren’s face.
