Book 11

by Robert P McAuley

  “Adel Damien, my mother’s great aunt, was an artist at a time when only the male artists were recognized. She purposely took a job at the Louvre two years before the theft to decide which painting she should take and, even though the da Vinci was not famous yet, Adel knew that some day it would be. She enlisted a male artist friend to be seen leaving the museum when it opened in the morning. He had a white smock on, which she provided, and a plumber who passed the gate the same time every morning on his way to work, stopped and helped the man out of the locked gate as he thought he was only helping one of the museum staff.”

  Seeing that she was the center of Maryellen’s attraction, Maud took another sip of her tea before continuing.

  “While the police of Paris looked in every conceivable place for the painting, it was with her in the sewers of Paris.”

  “The sewers of Paris?” asked a shocked Maryellen.

  “Yes, she never returned to the museum and nobody really missed a cleaning woman. The sewer system had a colony of artists who lived and painted beneath the Parisian streets. They were a tight-knit group and although the police searched them, the sewers had twists and turns and only those living in them could navigate them.”

  “But,” asked Maryellen, “didn’t a man return the painting to a museum in Italy in 1913?”

  “Yes. And by then the Mona Lisa was famous worldwide and the museum authorities were ecstatic on its return as the lines of visitors were around the corner. Business had never been so good.”

  “That’s some story, Maud. Glad it had a happy ending. What happened to Adel?”

  Maud smiled largely as she leaned across the table and, still in a low tone of voice said, “Oh deary, that’s just the beginning of the story.”

  “There’s more?” asked Maryellen as she met her halfway across the round table.

  “As they say, ‘the best is yet to come’.”

  Her voice seemed to change into the sort of voice a storyteller had. The sing-song voice of an elderly person was gone and became stronger when she spoke of the theft and escape with the masterpiece, yet gentle when she mentions Adel’s name; and happy when she mentions the bumbling museum curators and gendarmes.

  “As you know, the Mona Lisa was stolen on 8/21/1911 and while the police looked for a man, she sat tight with the masterpiece as it became worth more and more with each passing day because of its notoriety.” She took another sip of her warm tea before going on.

  “In 1913 she decided to take it to America, but first she needed cash and wanted to see if she could make the painting worth more. In her art circles she heard of an Italian man, Vincenzo Peruggia, who wished to own the masterpiece and as she was an artist who had spent years looking at the painting in the Louvre and an extra two years studying it every night, she painted him an exact copy using da Vinci’s same type tools and techniques. She had the man who had worn the white smock that night, tell Peruggia that he owned it and would gladly sell it to him as it was too hot to sell in France. Believing that he was the man who stole it as he fit the description, Peruggia agreed and purchased it from him. For some reason the new owner contacted an Italian museum and said he had it and would sell it to them. The head of the museum came to his apartment and Peruggia took a valise from under his bed, emptied it of papers and other items before getting to the bottom and removing the painting. The museum man’s eyes went wide and he agreed to pay the man, but instead he had the police waiting downstairs and after signaling them, he stepped aside as they rushed into the room, grabbed Peruggia and handed the painting to the head of the museum.”

  “Wait,” said Maryellen, “are you saying that the Mona Lisa hanging in the Louvre is a forgery?”

  Maud shrugged her shoulders and said, “As I said, it could just be a story that began and ended in my family history.”

  “Well, what happened to Adel?”

  “This is the sad part,” she said, “With the money she received from Peruggia, she and her boyfriend booked first-class passage aboard the Titanic to find a rich buyer in America.”

  Maryellen recoiled, “Oh, how sad.”

  “Well, not that bad. She survived but he didn’t.”

  Maryellen had to ask, “What happened to the original Mona Lisa?”

  Maud shook her head as her voice suddenly went soft, “According to Adel, while aboard the Titanic, she was pulled aside by a gruff private detective who told her that Peruggia had him track down the man in the white smock by watching where most of the artists’ hung out and her friend told him the complete story. According to her, the detective said, ‘We have the entire trip across the ocean before us and believe me, sooner or later I will go through your baggage and claim the reward for the real Mona Lisa.’”

  Both women stopped and sipped their tea before Maud went on.

  “Adel and her boyfriend, Jim, stayed in their cabin with the painting in a box trying to think up a way to get it off the ship when it docks and after being locked up in the cabin for four days they were tense, so to speak.”

  Suddenly Maryellen saw Maud’s eyes tear up and her chin trembled slightly. She continued slowly, “According to my family, she said that on the night that the Titanic hit the iceberg she was devastated that after all these years she was going to lose ‘her’ painting.” Maud looked at Maryellen and with a small smile said, “Yes, ‘her’ painting. You see, she studied it before she stole it and after, when she lived for a few years in the sewers of Paris. It was her companion, her family, her baby, so to speak. She felt that before she took it, the so-called art critics of Paris looked right past her, never seeing what she and Leonardo saw in the painting.” Maud looked over the lip of her teacup and said, “Of course it was wrong of her to take it, but she did, and she did bring it to the world’s attention.”

  Maryellen’s tea was cold but she dared not stop to refill it, as she needed to hear the rest of the story. “Maud, please tell me what she did when the ship hit the iceberg.”

  Maud smiled, “She was awake in her cabin when they hit, and feeling the vibrations as the ship’s side scraped along the iceberg she looked out her window and seeing the huge mass of ice going slowly by, she grabbed the painting and said, as she flung it out the porthole window towards the iceberg, “If I can’t have her, nobody will and it will be my Mona Lisa that hangs in the Louvre for eternity.”

  Maryellen sat back with a gasp, “Oh my! This-this just can’t be true! The painting that was returned would have been scrutinized so closely that a forgery would never have gotten past them.”

  Maud smiled and said with a wink, “And therein is the beauty of the story. Those museum people had egg on their faces when it was stolen and they had the chance to remove the egg simply by telling the world that it was now back where she belonged: in the Louvre! Now, perhaps the forgery was done so well that even though they must have inspected it, they too were fooled by a female artist, my great-aunt, Adel Damien?”

  “But today they can carbon test it and tell the real date that it was painted,” said Maryellen.

  “And do what with the information?” answered a smiling Maud, “Tell the world that for well over one hundred years they were showing a forgery? Not likely, my dear.”

  Maryellen was stunned by the story and then Maud’s voice slid back into the singsong voice of an elderly person.

  “Well, my dear, I really must be off as I have to get a birthday card for the woman next door to me. I do so enjoy our tea time and look forward to the next one.”

  Maryellen offered her arm to Maud and both left the teashop.

  DATELINE: MAY 4, 2070 PLACE: HISTORY TRACKING CENTER, NEW YORK CITY

  Maryellen sat at the center of the conference table. The entire crew was there and all were eating cookies made by Jerry Sullivan.

  “I had no idea,” said Joseph as he flicked crumbs off of his red tie, “that you were so multi-talented, Jerry. These cookies are delicious. Your recipe?”

  “Yep!” answered a proud Jerry, “I’ve been a closet
cookie maker for years.”

  “Hey,” said John Hyder as he took a bite, “this tastes like Girl Scout Cookies.”

  The rest of the crew laughed and Jerry quipped, “Well of course they do. I once went back in time and gave the recipe to them.”

  The friendly laughter filled the conference room.

  It was Alexis Shuntly’s turn to chair the weekly meeting of the History Trackers Group and she smiled as she said, “Jerry, I hereby appoint you as the person that brings cookies in for our weekly meetings.” She did a quick look around the room and asked, “All in favor?”

  The raised hands of John Hyder, Joseph Sergi and Maryellen Muldey answered her question. “Done, then,” she said as she wrote it down on a memo pad. “Any new business, gang?”

  Maryellen Muldey stood and said, “I have a possible mission, but I need to bounce it off of you all.”

  Alexis sat back and said, “”Go ahead, Maryellen, you have the floor.”

  “Thank you, Alexis,” she said and then faced the others and started her briefing.

  “I’m sure that you are all familiar with the Mona Lisa being stolen from the Louvre back in 1911 and returned in 1913.” As all nodded silently she went on as she started to pace the floor. “Well, there is a chance that the painting hanging in the Louvre is a forgery.”

  Joseph raised his hand and asked, “Maryellen, did you see something in a hologram?”

  “No. I had tea with an elderly neighbor who told me of an old story that has been kept quiet in her family for over one hundred and fifty years.”

  “Well,” said Jerry as he searched his laptop for the story on the theft, “It just goes to show that it’s not always the hologram that starts a mission, it can be an old letter, a hunch or, as in this case, a person telling an old family story over a cup of tea.”

  Maryellen spent the next twenty-minutes telling the group the story she heard from her friend, Maud. After she finished, Alexis nodded and said as she stood, “I believe that we should send back a probe to watch the theft and, though I’m next, I propose that Maryellen takes the mission.”

  All agreed and Maryellen opened the conference room door and motioned to Clara Murphy, the young girl who sat there in case a hologram was needed.

  “Clara,” Maryellen said as the dark-haired, freckle face girl entered the room, “I’m going to work up a hologram request for you and your group in a few minutes.”

  “That’s fine, Miss Muldey. I’ll activate it as soon as possible.”

  Jerry handed Maryellen a slip of paper with the coordinates and time of the theft written on it.

  “Thank you, Jerry,” she said as she turned and handed it to the girl from the Hologram/Drone Department. “Here, Clara. Can you tell me how soon we will have the hologram?”

  The young lady looked at the coordinates and said as she closed her eyes for a moment, “About three hours, Miss Muldey.”

  “Fine. Thank you so much, Clara. Will you alert Edmund Scott about the delivery to the 1800 Club?”

  “Yes, m’am.” She walked quickly down the long hallway, through the double doors at the end and went down to the second floor. Using her key, she entered an unmarked door and after closing it behind her, threw the light switch that illuminated the six, wall-to-wall shelves. On the shelves were various drones that travel back and capture history in their hologram units for the History Tracking Group to go over. She picked up a speedy Peregrine Falcon, one of her favorites. She read the status ticket attached to its leg. Flight status: Ready. Hologram camera: Inspected. Infrared camera: Installed 6-1-70. Fuel: six C61 pellets.

  Nice, she thought as she placed it on the worktable. She then entered into her laptop the mission coordinates and data that Maryellen gave her for the flight to England. Next she connected the laptop to the drone and downloaded the mission information. Finished, she left the room with the drone and went up to the Time Transfer Room.

  Fred Murphy, an elderly man with pure white hair, guarded the time travel door. He wasn’t there to stop anyone from going back as much as he was to keep a record of all who went back and their return.

  “Hello, Clara,” he said as she approached his desk, “Taking a trip back?”

  “Yep!” she said with her usual smile as the man turned his laptop to face her. She said, as she entered the information into the computer, “Clara Murphy, I.D. 075, August 21, 1911, 5:00 p.m.” She then hit the activate button and the door behind Fred’s desk opened.

  Fred held out a small plastic bag with a set of filters in it as he said, “Will you be needing nose filters, Clara?”

  “I’ll just be a moment,” she said before changing her mind, “You know what, Fred, on second thought, yes, I’ll take those filters.” She opened the bag and inserted them into her nostrils, inhaled deeply and said, “Guess there’s no reason not to be prepared for anything.” Picking up the bot she went through the open door and stood for a moment on the cool landing as she took in the light of the gas lamps reflecting off of the red brick walls. She went down the stone steps and soon stood before the large, steel security door. She used her passkey to open it and stepped out into the garden of August 21, 1911.

  DATELINE: AUGUST 21, 1911 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

  As it was only 5:00 p.m. the warm summer sun was still beating down on the shrubs, trees and flowers of the club’s garden.

  This is beautiful, she thought as she looked around. Seeing the pond, Clara went and sat on one of the flat stones that encircled it. She wet her fingertips in the cool water and was pleasantly surprised when the goldfish came to her. “Oh, you think I’m going to feed you,” she shook her head and went on as she flicked the water around, “I’m sorry. Next time I’ll bring some fish flakes along.”

  “Why not use these?”

  She stood quickly to see who had spoken when a figure stepped out of the shadows of a large evergreen tree.

  “I’m sorry if I frightened you,” the tall, good-looking man said as he showed her the can of fish food he held. “We keep the fish food back here on one of the limbs of the evergreen so we always know where it is.” He was well dressed in a blue, three-button suit with a high, white, stiff collared shirt that covered the knot of his deep blue silk tie. He wore highly polished black shoes and a black, flat fedora with a gray hatband. Though it was a warm day he wore black form-fitted leather gloves and carried a slim walking stick.

  “I-I’m sorry, sir,” she said as she tried to hide the bot behind her back.

  “Please,” he said, “don’t be afraid, I’m Bill Scott from the 1800 Club, and seeing your drone, I figure you are from upline. Am I correct?”

  Relieved, she nodded, “I’m sorry for the mistake, Mister Scott, but I thought you were from 1911 and had somehow entered the garden.”

  “I completely understand,” he said as he offered her his hand. “As I said I’m Bill from the 1800 Club.”

  Clara’s eyes opened wide as she stammered, “Mister Scott, it is an honor to meet you, sir. I’m Clara Murphy from the H&D, ah, I mean the Hologram/Drone group.”

  They shook hands.

  “Grab a seat, Clara,” he said as he sat on one of the garden’s stone benches.

  She sat next to him. “This is so beautiful and peaceful. I envy you, Mister Scott.”

  “Please, Clara, call me Bill.” He took his hat off and looked around. “You are right about that, Clara, it is beautiful and peaceful.” He looked at the drone, “Guess someone in the History Watcher’s Group asked for a bot mission?”

  She mentally slapped her forehead as she stood, “Oh, I have to send this out immediately. Miss Muldey is waiting for the hologram.”

  “How far does it have to travel?”

  “France.”

  Bill nodded as she stood in the middle of the garden and activated the drone before tossing it up. They both watched as its flapping wings carried it around the garden twice as it started to follow the path that was programmed into it. It flapped its wings faster
and as it flew away, it climbed higher. Both knew that when it was too high to be seen from the ground its small rocket engine would kick in and it will fly supersonically across the Atlantic Ocean to its destination.

  She turned to Bill and said, “Well, that’s done. I better get back to the group now. It was nice meeting you, Bill.”

  “The pleasure was mine. Clara.” They shook hands once again and Bill said as they walked to the door, “Hey, do you know my grandson, Edmund Scott?”

  She turned with renewed interest and said, “Edmund Scott? He’s your grandson? Yes I know him, he is cute.”

  Bill grinned, “I’ll tell him that you said that.”

  Her smile was warm as she said, “Actually, I’ll tell him myself as we’re having dinner tonight.”

  Now Bill smiled, “Well, tell him I said hi and I hope you two enjoy yourselves. Now, go ahead and set your time into your TFM and then I’ll do mine.”

  She entered her time into the TFM and smiled as she said, “Bye, Bill. Hope to see you again.” She opened the door and after closing it behind her, Bill entered his time destination into his Time Frequency Modulator and pressed the activate button, opened the door and went back to the 1800 Club.

  DATELINE: MAY 4, 2070 PLACE: HISTORY TRACKING CENTER, NEW YORK CITY

  Maryellen Muldey was on her laptop reading all she could about the Mona Lisa robbery and its return when there was a tap at the conference room door.

  “Come in,” she said as she stretched her back.

  Clara entered with a hologram in her hand. “Here’s the hologram you wanted, Ms. Muldey.”

  “Thank you so much, Clara. Are you still on duty?”

  “Yes. Ten minutes before I’m relieved by Ted.”

  Maryellen smiled and turned to the hologram. Using her thumb, she depressed the end of the cool metallic cylinder and a small scene suddenly appeared on the conference table. The History Tracker watched and as it took shape she rubbed her hands together.