The Da Vinci Deception Read Free

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.
    â€œWelcome, 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.
    â€œOur 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.
    â€œI 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.
    â€œIf 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?”
    â€œIn many ways, I am sure. First you should know what we’re all about.” Jonas lit his cigar.
    â€œWe 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.