by Thomas Swan
I am most cordially,
Jonas Kalem
Chapter 2
The elevator doors opened like a theater curtain, slowly revealing Curtis Stiehl’s eagerly anticipated new world. Directly ahead was a bronze plaque: JONAS R. KALEM & COMPANY, and beneath: NEW YORK LONDON PARIS. He turned left off the elevator and walked into a paneled gallery displaying an exquisite collection of paintings. A voice emanating from concealed speakers welcomed him. Mr. Kalem, the voice said assuringly, would soon join him. He walked anxiously about the gallery, noting the paintings, in styles ranging from Romantic to Postmodern. He stopped, facing a wall on which were a small primitive portrait, a George Stubbs horse, a Manet, and a Childe Hassam. His attention was on the Manet when an opening suddenly appeared in the wall and a man of enormous proportions emerged from the dark void.
Jonas Kalem stood six feet four inches tall and weighed not an ounce under three hundred pounds. He wore a dark blue vested suit accented with a fine gray stripe and punctuated with a maroon tie. He was smiling, all but his eyes, which peered through thick, trifocal glasses. His hair was too black for his sixty years. His voice was deep and resonant.
“Welcome, Curtis. My congratulations upon your release from that great unpleasantness.” He entered the gallery, his hand extended in greeting. “I am delighted you accepted my invitation to discuss our mutual interests.”
Stiehl, still showing his surprise, shook hands gamely.
Jonas led the way through the opened panels to a conventional office with rows of desks and files all surrounded by clicking printers and phones with their blinking lights and electronic chimes. Fax machines spewed out incoming messages and drawings from clients. They paused at a room jammed with video recorders, closed-circuit television screens, and elaborate audio transcribers and players. Five screens displayed each wall of the gallery and the elevator; several smaller screens showed workers in other departments, none apparently concerned that the cameras were trained on them.
“Our security and communications center,” Jonas said. “Damned expensive but it’s paying off. The insurance people like it and collectors don’t mind loaning us their precious paintings.”
They moved through a narrow corridor, the spirited music of Offenbach filling the air. They approached three massive double doors spaced thirty feet apart. Jonas opened the first set of doors and they entered a cavernous room. The room was forty feet wide and nearly seventy-five feet long. Leaded windows reached from the floor to a twenty-two-foot ceiling created by breaking through to the floor directly above. The room was divided into three parts: the first, where they stood, was a library; the second was designed as a conference space and contained a variety of tables and chairs; and the third was an office setting with high-backed chairs and leather sofas surrounding a desk Stiehl estimated at eight feet in length.
The library held more than five thousand volumes, many first editions. Aside from standard reference works and encyclopedias, the entire library was devoted to art and art history.
A balcony ran along the interior walls ten feet over the floor. More paintings filled spaces where there were no bookshelves or windows. Some belonged to Jonas, some were on loan, still others were the works of artists Jonas represented and for whom he secured commissions. Suspended from the ceiling over the conference area was a brass and porcelain chandelier with a spread of over twenty feet.
“I apologize for this ostentation, but I spend too much time here to feel confined. I’m a big person and need space.” Jonas guided his guest to a chair near his desk. He offered a box of Monte Cruz. Stiehl declined, his eyes continuing to inventory the grand room Jonas called his office.
“If I speak bluntly, forgive me,” Jonas said quietly. “I obviously know something about you, including, of course, the reason you spent nearly four years in prison. I feel badly we did not meet before you decided to compete with the American Bank Note Company.”
Stiehl shifted uneasily in his chair. He felt intimidated. “How would that have changed matters?”
“In many ways, I am sure. First you should know what we’re all about.” Jonas lit his cigar.
“We provide a complete range of art services to the communications industry, including the advertising agencies here in the east as well as throughout Europe. But I grew weary of the tasteless art directors that crowd those businesses and looked for new opportunities. Art has been my love since I was a child, and because I have an eye for fine art, I decided to put my knowledge to more profitable use. I added a number of promising artists to our staff and found them commissions for serious work. Their murals and paintings are displayed throughout this country and abroad. I’ll show you the scope of our work.”
Jonas touched the controls of an electronic switcher and a television screen rose from a nearby credenza. Images appeared and Jonas described the client, the assignment, the art, and the artist.
“Very impressive, every one,” Stiehl said. “I wish I had half the talent of any of your artists.”
“Your abilities surpass all that you have seen.”
“I’ve never painted an original painting that was worth a damn, or a dime.”
“What you can do so exquisitely is worth infinitely more. But you require direction.” He paused and twirled the cigar between two fingers then took several puffs and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. Then he added, “My direction.”
Jonas touched another button and on the screen appeared the photograph of a municipal bond certificate issued by the city of Paterson, New Jersey. “Recognize that, Curtis?”
“Of course, but what in hell does that have to do with your direction?” Stiehl’s irritation clearly showed.
“And what of these, Curtis?” In clear focus was a fifty-dollar bill. Then a hundred-dollar bill flashed onto the screen. Two of the hundred-dollar bills Stiehl had received in the envelope sealed with red wax were identical to the one on the screen.
“Very clever, Mr. Kalem. Where did you find those notes?”
“I can’t divulge all my secrets. Suffice to say I have gone to considerable lengths to learn all I can about you. And most especially about your true potential.”
Stiehl was confused. Jonas was slapping one cheek with an old indictment and caressing the other with his praise.
“There is more.” Now there was a photograph of a modest white frame house on the screen. “You will recognize your home. The one where you were living at the time of your arrest. I understand a small army of treasury agents tore up the house searching for a set of printing plates they suspected you made to counterfeit the fifty- and hundred-dollar notes we saw on the previous slides.”
“They found nothing.”
“Quite true. Your wife remarried and the property was finally sold a little more than a year ago. I bought it.”
“You bought my house? Why?”
“Let’s say it was speculation. The real-estate market had been quite bullish and I decided to remodel the home and put it back on the market. But I had another reason. I had a hunch I might find something the agents had overlooked.”
Again the picture changed. On the screen was a photograph showing two sets of engraving plates. “Setting them beneath the metal insulation strip in the front door was brilliant. A metal detector would be confused by the strip and it was otherwise a much too obvious hiding place for those precious plates. The agents were anxious to search inside the house and, not finding them, literally tore the gardens and garage apart.”
With another touch of the controls the screen disappeared.
“My little show is over and you have learned what I know of you. I have come to know that your skill with the pen is at the genius level and so I want you to work under my direct supervision.
“Doing what? U.S. Savings Bonds?”
“No need for a sharp tongue. I have a very challenging assignment for you.” The huge body struggled free of the chair and walked toward a table directly under the wide-spreading chandelier. “Come with me,
Curtis.”
From leather folders Jonas extracted a dozen sheets. Ceremoniously he placed each on the table.
“These lithographs are from the collection of Leonardo da Vinci’s anatomical drawings preserved in the Royal Library at Windsor Castle. There is great beauty here and I believe these drawings prove the Master’s incredible genius. Consider that he had little formal education, yet his curiosity was so intense that he would spend hours with a putrid corpse, dissecting it by the light of a lantern, then create these minutely detailed drawings.” Jonas peered intently through his thick glasses at Stiehl. “Leonardo knew that to paint the human form he had to know what lay beneath the skin. Study these drawings carefully, Curtis. Note his technique, his mastery of shading and shape.”
Stiehl picked up one then another of the drawings. He had a vague familiarity with Leonardo’s anatomical works but could not grasp the point Jonas was making. He was at an even greater loss to understand what bearing it had on him.
Jonas continued. “Leonardo was left-handed. His stroke was from right to left.”
“And he wrote in reverse,” Stiehl added. “I’ve seen examples.”
“It is most convenient that you are left-handed, Curtis.”
“You knew that?”
Jonas nodded. He then took one of the drawings and placed it in front of Stiehl. The sheet contained two human skulls, one drawn above the other. “Can you duplicate what you see on this page?”
“Why would I want to?”
“The question is not why. Can you? And exactly as you see them?” Stiehl studied the skulls. “Yes, I could do that. It would take time before I’d be sure of myself. It’s pen and ink, and all line. But the handwriting. That’s far more difficult.”
“I had no illusions it would be simple.” Squinting eyes stared out from behind thick glasses. “It is critically important that you tell me you can, after sufficient practice, create an exact duplicate of what you see on that sheet of paper.”
“That would be impossible. Only a camera could make an exact duplication.”
“But suppose Leonardo had never put these skulls on paper. Could you draw them so they would appear as if they had been drawn by Leonardo?”
“I can’t be sure that I could. Perhaps.”
“You are unsure. Yes or no,” Jonas shot back, his good humor fading.
“Damn it, I can’t be sure. Not until I try. Copying is one thing, creating is another. And it’s not my strong suit.”
“You underrate your own talents. You’ll have hundreds of his sketches and drawings to guide you. And there are a thousand more skulls in the medical books.”
“Suppose I could draw the skulls. The handwriting would be difficult. It requires an entirely different technique.”
“You will have expert assistance. There are countless studies and references dealing with his handwriting. Just as you will have writing instruments and inks that are authentic to the period. The paper will be hundreds of years old, also dated to the time of Leonardo. You will not make a copy of this lithograph. You will have the genuine Leonardo drawing to guide you.”
“You have a card to the Royal Library?” Stiehl smiled.
“They’re not in the habit of lending their Leonardos,” Jonas replied. “But come, let me explain why I must know if you can produce a duplicate of the skull drawing.” He returned to his desk.
“The most valuable collection of Leonardo’s manuscripts is at Windsor. Nearly two-thirds of Leonardo’s surviving drawings are in the Royal Library. Note I said drawings. There are many volumes and notebooks in other libraries and museums; however, those contain Leonardo’s theories and observations on a wide variety of subjects. Scattered through those manuscripts are the remaining drawings.
“It is known that when he died, Leonardo left other notebooks and drawings. Perhaps a thousand pages have never been discovered. No one knows how many fine drawings are on those lost sheets. Some have probably been destroyed. But what of all the others? What drawings have been lost? And more importantly, if they were found, what would they be worth?”
“Can you guess how many drawings there might be?” Stiehl asked.
“Several hundred, perhaps more. Leonardo’s Leicester Codex was recently auctioned for nearly six million dollars. It consisted of thirtyeight pages and contained but a few unimportant sketches. One sheet holding an early study of the Mona Lisa could bring ten million alone. When a Van Gogh goes for more than eighty million a da Vinci will bring an untold amount.
“No one knows what the missing manuscripts contain, the experts can only speculate. Any that are found will be subjected to intense scrutiny and a battery of highly sophisticated tests. The first criterion is that they must be perceived as authentic.
“And that, my new friend, is where you enter the picture. I plan for you to create a generous supply of the missing Leonardo manuscripts.”
Stiehl’s reaction was immediate. “That’s insane! No one can do that. It’s craziness!”
“It is none of that,” Jonas shouted, and slammed his fist to the desk.
“You were serious about taking a Leonardo from Windsor,” Stiehl responded, his voice raised to match Jonas’s. “I thought that was a pretty bad joke. I was in prison for four years and I have no intention of going back.”
“And I won’t let that happen. You will have privacy and total security. You’ll have every protection.”
“Sort of the honor system,” Stiehl said with more than a little irony. “We protect each other.”
“You can become wealthy, Curtis. Beginning immediately you will have a substantial income and a studio with every amenity. Consider also that it is I who must present the manuscripts to the community of art historians. Should they discredit them, then I would merely say I had discovered worthless copies. There is no crime in being misinformed.”
“Why must I duplicate the skulls so precisely if you plan to create Leonardos that have never been seen before?”
“If you can duplicate a known Leonardo drawing with flawless accuracy, it is very likely that you can create a new work that will go unchallenged.”
“Who else is involved in your little game?”
“There will be three of you involved directly in the development of the Leonardo drawings. I will direct the project, and be aided by my assistant.”
“Who would I work with? When would I meet them?”
“You will proceed alone for at least six months, and then you will work in close association with a former professor of Renaissance studies at the University of Milan. Giorgio Burri is an acknowledged Leonardo scholar.”
“Six months is a long time.”
Jonas smiled indulgently. “Exercise the patience you so painfully learned, Curtis. It has taken more than three years to put this plan together. In the beginning you will receive written instructions from Giorgio and will communicate with him through me or my assistant. When the two of you meet, it will be as if you have known each other a long time. No one is more essential to our success than the one who puts pen to paper. Before you attempt to make a precise copy of the Windsor drawing, you will need all of six months to master Leonardo’s style and technique, and ultimately you must write as he did. No small accomplishment.”
“What if I fail?”
“You won’t. I have complete confidence that you’ll carry it off.”
“Who is the third member of the team? What part does he play?”
“She is a highly qualified chemist with advanced degrees from the University of Chicago and MIT. Her name is Eleanor Shepard; when I met her, she was most unhappy in her assignment with the FDA in Washington. I persuaded her to undertake a special research project in Italy.”
“What kind of research?”
“First she will locate the paper, then find or make the inks and pens you will use. Secondly, she will develop techniques for aging documents. And finally, Eleanor will study the modern methods for detecting the age and authenticity of art and manuscrip
ts. All the more reason we must have the genuine Leonardo from the Windsor Library.”
“Then she knows what you are up to?”
“Not at all.” Jonas blew a thick cloud of smoke. “I have commissioned Eleanor to gather the information and the samples, then prepare a complete documentation of her findings, which I have told her will then be published.
“Will I meet her?”
“You would like that, she is a very attractive woman. But she must never know how the Leonardo manuscripts come into being.”
“At some point the whole world will know you discovered them.”
“And she, too, must believe that I have rescued them from some obscure hiding place. She must not suspect you and Giorgio have created them.”
Stiehl now realized how brilliantly Jonas had put his plan together. One of his conspirators would supply the raw materials for the missing Leonardo manuscripts, and then be the same person to test their genuineness.
“Where is she doing all this research?”
“In Florence. She must be where Leonardo lived most of his years. And where she will find paper of the kind available five hundred years ago.”
“I can’t believe paper that old can be found. And if any is located, could it be handled and worked on?”
Jonas swiveled around to the credenza and took from it a leatherbound book. “This is a rare Elzevir manuscript, printed in 1611. The end leaves have never been touched; the paper has merely yellowed a bit. The paper was made in Holland, possibly Belgium. Feel how supple it is after nearly four hundred years.”
Stiehl was no stranger to paper. He rubbed the sheet between his thumb and forefinger. “You expect the Shepard woman will find five-hundred-year-old paper?”
“She will. You can depend on it.”
“You have an assistant. Another woman?”
Jonas smiled broadly. “My assistant’s name is Anthony Waters, or Tony as we prefer to call him. Tony fills a special niche and will have a variety of assignments. The first, which will occupy him between now and September, is to borrow Leonardo’s drawing of the skulls from the Royal Library.”
