Free The Da Vinci Deception by Thomas Swan

on the large sheet.
    Over the Leonardo and his copy he placed a clear sheet of acetate film; it, too, had ruled lines forming half-inch squares. As he compared his copy with the original and spotted an error or change he wished to make, he made a mark on the overlay grid and at a corresponding position on the larger sheet. Stiehl had devised his own code and the marks he made on the large sheet were also recorded in a notebook that was divided into sections marked: drawing, shading, writing, paper, ink, age and distress, and miscellaneous.
    Twenty minutes passed and Stiehl had not scanned the first row of half-inch squares.
    â€œMy God, Stiehl, it will take a fucking bloody millennium at the rate you’re going.”
    â€œPatience, Tony. Remember the long summer we spent. And besides it will go faster after I’ve evaluated the top row. I made an accurate copy of the reproduction, but that doesn’t mean I’ve made an accurate copy of the real thing. With the original I’m able to see how Leonardo drew in the deep, shaded sections around the eye socket and in the mastoidal passages.”
    Tony stared down at four detailed drawings of human skulls, two by Leonardo, two by Stiehl. He couldn’t turn away and he began muttering. Then he covered his eyes with shaking hands. He moaned. A low, muffled cry.
    Stiehl turned to him. “Hey! You all right?”
    Tony dropped his hands. “Yes. Of course. Get on with what you’re doing.”
    â€œHave you had anything to eat?” Curtis asked.

    â€œI’ll wait for Kalem. The dining room’s open until eleven.”
    Stiehl continued to analyze the first row of squares. His notations included the condition of the ink and the deterioration to the paper. From a heavily inked area he scraped off a minuscule amount of ink and carefully put it in a sterilized vial. He repeated the process on the verso side. Next he sliced away a small piece of the paper, careful to take a sample large enough to contain the original fibers, yet not too large as to be detected.
    He then placed the Leonardo in a glass frame and set it on a copy stand in front of two flood lamps. He positioned the camera and took a half-dozen exposures of each side of the folio. Then he moved the ultraviolet lights into position. “Now for a critical test,” he announced softly to Tony. “This will tell us if there is any faded ink or traces of silverpoint on the drawing.” He switched on the lights and carefully examined each side. “See? A few faded lines show up under ultraviolet. We can handle those.”
    He noted the location of the faded lines on the control sheet, inserted ultraviolet film into the camera, and took several exposures.
    Throughout, Stiehl had moved with speed and confidence. Tony retreated to the bed and sat on the edge, watching every move with grudging respect. Stiehl knew he was being watched closely, and he had also sensed Tony’s growing uneasiness. He completed his camera work and turned off the hot lights. “I’ll develop the film and make sure I’ve got everything.”
    Tony returned to the window and parted the draperies again. He watched Patrick open a taxi door. A huge man stepped out and entered the hotel.

    Jonas Kalem was a punctual man. To be nearly three hours late could only be justified by a matter of overwhelming importance. His lips pursed into a small “O” signifying that the time had been well spent. He called the Duke of Gloucester suite and, content that the Leonardo was safely in hand and Stiehl was progressing with his work, instructed Tony to meet him in the dining room.
    Jonas approached the evening meal with a ritualistic fervor, and this evening it was to the complete consternation of both the dining room and kitchen staff. Two of the six tables in the small room were occupied
as they entered. Maître Servio’s plastic smile turned more genuine after a quantity of pound notes