Spoils of the Game (18 page)

Austin ended his presentation by outlining the importance of the Church and the Louvre in the project because of their resources and leadership roles in the art industry. After thanking everyone in attendance, Austin ended his presentation, and several people applauded. Vassar rose and asked if anyone had questions, and Austin handled them with appropriate answers and reinforced the positive impression he had made during the presentation.

It was about noon when the presentation was completed. Vassar had arranged for a private luncheon for those in attendance, and everyone was escorted from the room. Vassar approached Austin with an outstretched hand and invited him and Madeline into his office. Vassar made it very clear that he was impressed by the reaction of the group, and he praised Austin for his understanding of the European art world and his business sense. Both men agreed that there were lingering issues, but Austin’s concept that the Church art in question be loaned instead of given to the proposed foundation might help to reduce resistance.

“Monsieur Clay,” said Vassar, “the Louvre has many friends in the Church. I know that you have met with Father Moreau, and he has told me that he is a supporter, but we will continue to address this topic with some of our contacts. I thought your proposal for fund-raising was excellent, and your definition of the key steps and the timetable put the whole project in perspective. I want to thank you personally for an excellent job. I must warn you that, starting shortly, many of the staff will be on vacation, and I am afraid that not much will happen until we get back. In some cases it may be two weeks, and in some cases it may be a month. I don’t want to keep you hanging. Perhaps we can again meet in August.”

Austin smiled at Vassar. “I understand that if you want to make enemies, then stand between a person and his vacation,” he said. “Before I go, I want to thank you for allowing Madeline to assist me. I am afraid being my assistant and resource resulted in her having two jobs, but she was just great. If she lived back in the United States, I might hire her away from you.”

“Monsieur Clay, I am afraid that I might have to fight you for her. Madeline is one of those people that we all depend on. And we are very glad that she is a help. Hopefully your work here is not over, and she can continue to be of assistance.”

Madeline was blushing.

“Monsieur Clay, will you join us for lunch?” asked Vassar.

“Certainly,” replied Austin who understood the importance of working the crowd.

Austin left Vassar’s office feeling that he had achieved a short- term objective. He had been in this position before and did not like the delay that would allow for a cooling off of emotions and commitment. Whatever he was to accomplish, would take more time than he would have liked, but he had made the commitment, so he would have to keep his eye on the long term.

After the luncheon was over and Vassar had taken his guests to another area of the museum, Austin walked down the hallway and spotted Madeline talking with one of the women that worked in her office.

“Well, Monsieur Austin Clay, how was the luncheon?” said Madeline with a little attitude.

“I looked for you to get you invited, but I could not find you,” said Austin, trying to slap together an excuse.

“Austin, my boss, Badeau, told me I was not to go. He said that my other work was more important, and that with everyone going on vacation, I should just worry about the things on a list he gave me.”

Austin just smiled, but Badeau was working on making him an enemy.

Madeline said, “Austin, this is Sabine. She works with us in the Renaissance painting department, and her father owns the tailor shop where you got your suits.”

“Hi, Sabine. I am Austin Clay,” Austin said with a smile as he held out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Monsieur Clay. Madeline has kept me informed of your progress, and she says that you are doing a great job.”

“Well, the way things are going, I will tell you in a couple of years if the job was as good as you say. We Americans like instant success and a minimum of delays. But there are a lot of interested parties and a lot of good people that have to be included.”

Madeline and Austin said good-bye to Sabine, and then Madeline had Austin follow her to an empty conference room. She appeared to be slightly concerned.

“First of all,” she said, “you were absolutely wonderful today. I am so proud of you. You looked so good in your suit, and I love that shirt and tie combination. I think a couple of the older women there had special plans for you later.”

Austin laughed.

“Austin, Sabine just said something that I don’t like,” said Madeline.

Austin was surprised by her comment. What had this previously unknown woman said?
Perhaps the presentation did not go as well as I thought,
he said to himself.

“Sabina said that Badeau had a meeting with Feret, the older gentlemen that knew about Maetan.”

“Okay,” said Austin with a question in his voice.

“She was at the copying machine outside of Badeau’s office and apparently heard Feret tell him that since he saw the Maetan painting the other day, he had done some research. He went through some old files, and he believes that Maetan really might have stolen the treasure. He also thought that you were interested in going to look for it and wanted to call you to see if you and Feret might make a deal. Then she heard Badeau tell Feret that he should not talk to you and that perhaps he could make arrangements for him to talk to other people.”

Austin walked to the window. “Well, this might be fun.”

“Fun?” said Madeline, trying to understand.

“Well, let’s look at the facts. A respected historian thinks that there might be something to the story. When I met Sir Reginald, I learned that he had an interest in it, and I sensed that previously—perhaps years ago—he and Feret had at least talked about the topic. We know that Badeau has a strong interest, because he asked Feret to keep his meeting a secret. We know that Feret talks with Badeau. We also know that Badeau does not think we know about his interest or his deal with Feret. I am also sure that Feret’s buddy, the art collector Phillips, has the money and contacts to launch an expedition. If we give false information to Feret, it is safe to assume that it will get back to Badeau. Let’s get back to basics. Did we learn about the date of the painting and Maetan’s date of death?”

“A woman I know in our history department says she is pretty sure the painting depicts the Battle of Agnadello, which took place in May 1509. She gave me these books and some copies of some papers. She said she had much more information, but these two books are the only ones she had in English. On my desk are two books in French and one in Italian. I have not had time to study them. The important thing is that Feret said that Maetan died in 1510, so everything fits.”

“Madeline, I will bet you a giant cheesecake that the critical clue is in that damn painting we are going to have scanned. We have to keep the scan secret, and then that painting has to get lost in your warehouse. Then I will approach Phillips and perhaps Feret, and I will make the deal.”

Austin took the books and the papers. “I would ask you to lunch, but I am full of caviar,” he said with a smile.

“That’s okay, Austin. I promised Sabine that I would take her out to lunch. It might be a good opportunity to perhaps a learn little more.”

“Okay, I will see you later. Hey, are we still on for the infrared scan tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I talked with the photo guy, and he said that tomorrow afternoon would be fine.”

Instead of going back to his apartment, Austin took the documents Madeline had given him and headed for a sidewalk cafe he had often visited. With the documents piled up on a small table, there was hardly room for his coffee. Austin read carefully a very confusing story of shifting sides mixed with mercenaries, payoffs, cannon, and almost too many permutations to understand. Forces resulting from the formation of the League of Cambria in 1508 launched a series of attacks against Venice. On May 14, 1509, French forces, in a heavy rain and under the command of Louis XII, surrounded a Venetian force of about twenty-five thousand, including their hired force of Swiss mercenaries, at Agnadello, Italy. In a three-hour battle, five thousand of the Venetian forces were killed and those who survived ran south in a disorganized mob of the defeated, the wounded, and those deserting the fight. It was this battle that Maetan was charged with documenting with his art. Maetan did not sit on the hillside and paint, but certainly he sketched the events to render into a painting when conditions would allow. And it was at this battle that the twin boys from Venice were captured. Austin read the details and imagined the carnage on the battlefield. The French aimed their new bronze cannon directly at the unprotected and slaughtered them with grapeshot. Those lucky enough to be in armor had some protection against the pike or the sword, but they died in mass when hit with cannon fire.

Feret was right,
Austin thought to himself. He really did not know much about European history. He began to understand that the history of Europe was built on war and the death of millions. Sometimes they died for a noble cause, but the war that Austin was learning about was, in the end, as Feret had said, senseless with no lasting results. If Maetan did stumble across the gold ransom, as some had suggested, he could not have traveled too far before he had to hide it. Austin looked at maps of the region, but there were no clues.

The sun was moving toward the southwest, and he was no longer in the shade. It was time to change to beer. At about five o’clock his phone rang; the technician scheduled to study the Maetan painting planned to be at the Louvre at two o’clock on Friday afternoon and hoped that that would not be too late. Under normal conditions, that might be too late for the staff, but Madeline had made arrangements with security, and it should be fine.

Austin called Madeline. “Hi, it’s me,” he said, knowing that she would know his voice. “The camera guy called, and he can be at the Louvre at about two tomorrow. Does that still work for you, and is everything ready?”

“Yes. I was just down in the work area, and they have the painting located in a nice, dark area, as you suggested.”

“Hey, I will need your help with this guy. His English is poor, and I think his French might be worse. He kind of speaks French with a Polish accent,” said Austin with a laugh.

“I will be there. I have a commitment that the work area will be available till about five, so I hope he can be in and out quickly.”

“I’ll push him.”

Austin spent Friday morning going over e-mail and stuff that his office had sent him. He also did what packing he could for their trip to the coast and did his best to clean the apartment, which was beginning to look a little too lived in.

At about one o’clock he walked over to the museum’s restoration shops, which did much to maintain and preserve the paintings in the gallery. Keeping the inventory and new arrivals in excellent shape required a big effort, and many of the people involved were skilled artisans. Austin was surrounded by millions of dollars’ worth of fine art, and he never lost respect for the items that were on the benches and easels around him. This was a secure area, and bringing in an outsider to photograph a painting was a big deal. Without Madeline as a resource, this would not have happened. At ten minutes of two, a Renault van entered the designated side entrance. Austin approached the van along with two members of security.

“Monsieur Telofski?” asked Austin.

“
Oui
.”

“Please put your van over on the right, and I will help you unpack your equipment.”

It took about an hour to set up. Telofski was a thin man with very white skin, hair that pointed in all directions, and a confused accent. It was tough for Austin to be critical, since he had few language skills, although his French was getting better. What really mattered to Austin now were the language of science and the results of the scans.

“Monsieur Clay, I am going to use several thermographic techniques. This should not take long. I will generate a CD with all of the results based on several different wavelengths, and you can see whatever secrets might exist.”

“Monsieur Telofski, we appreciate your help. Please remember that I have funded this effort. I trust that I will be the only one to see the results.”

“I understand that there is a need for secrecy. Your request will be honored.”

Austin watched the scans develop on the laptop computer that Telofski was using to record the image. Austin looked at Madeline, who was standing to the side, and gave her a wink and a smile. Austin could not see all of the details, and he did not want to interrupt Telofski, but hidden images could easily be seen. At about four-thirty the work was done. As he packed up his equipment, Telofski handed Austin two CDs and a copy of the invoice. Austin accepted the CDs like a gift on Christmas morning and handed him a check.

“Madeline, let’s get out of here,” said Austin, who wanted to get back to the privacy of his apartment and his computer.

“Are we going to eat somewhere?” said Madeline.

“I am too excited to eat.”

“But I am starving. I got busy and did not have any lunch.”

“We’ll pick up some takeout. There must be a Chinese restaurant or something in my neighborhood.”

An hour later Austin sat in front of his computer, looking at the images he had paid for while Madeline sat beside him, eating fortune cookies.

“Help me,” said Austin. “Tell me what I am seeing here.”

Madeline studied the pictures on the computer screen and jumped from image to image, trying to see which of the images taken at different infrared frequencies gave the most information.

“Okay. See these lines here? I think it tells you a lot of information. These lines appear to be sketch lines that Maetan used to lay out the painting. You can see here the line of soldiers … and here, the mountains in the background. Here is a sketch of what is probably Louis XII. Now if we look at the lower right-hand corner, it appears that the sketch lines were not followed, or perhaps they were and the painting was painted over.”