The Stolen Da Vinci Manuscripts by Joshua Elliot James

if
found, he would already have completed a deal and merely be a
departing tourist.”
    “True – do you know his location Mr.
Hamilton?”
    “No, I don’t, please believe me.”
    “I do – Gavin’s no fool.”
    “Well, Ms. Raphael, this has been a very
interesting conversation – I would love to play chess with you some
time. Now I must prepare for a prior engagement, so if you will
excuse me. How may I get in touch with you?”
    I give him my cell phone number along with my
hotel information and take my leave.
    On the way out I release the guard from his
shackles. “Good luck.”
    Bob Cameron looks at me in amazement. “What
the heck happened to you?” he asks.
    “I had a fascinating conversation with
Hamilton.” I answer.
    “You got to see him? I thought the guard had
you all this time.”
    “He was otherwise tied up.” I smile. “Get you
camera ready – Hamilton will be coming out shortly.”
    “Thanks – let me have your cell number, I’ll
call you if I see your man.”
    “You are so kind. See you later, I hope.”
    “Me too.”

Chapter 4: Confusion
     
     
    My opinion of Hamilton’s intentions are
confused – I am not sure that he will do the right thing and hand
Gavin to me on a platter, because of his love of unique artifacts –
he is the type of collector who would get much pleasure possessing
such a prize purely for his own enjoyment. Giving Gavin up leaves
nothing in it for him and conversely could be damaging or harmful,
so he will have to find an angle that gives him an out.
    I am again a puppet and I’m getting mad. I
spot a scooter rental shop and decide to do some following of my
own. The helmet covers my give-away hair and a black jump suit
completes the camouflage and renders me anonymous, so when
Hamilton’s chauffer steers the Bentley onto the street I am ready.
No need to stay close behind as the car stands out in the crowd, so
to speak, and I blend in with rush hour traffic. The car noses into
the prestigious Raffle’s Club arched gateway and pulls up to the
entrance steps, where Hamilton is greeted with all due pomp and
circumstance.
    Now one does not ride into Raffle’s on a
Vespa, so I have to park it and utilize plan B which in this case
is to disrobe my suit and walk breezily to the entrance like I own
the place. Lucky for me the ‘gentlemen only’ rule was dropped and I
am welcomed with an appreciative look from the doorman.
    “Evening miss.” He says, holding the door
open.
    “Good evening.” I respond with a smile.
    “Can I show you to the restaurant or lounge
bar?”
    “No, I am familiar with the club, thank you.”
I dismiss.
    Hamilton is not to be found in any of the
drawing rooms, which leads me to assume that he has reserved a
private, upper salon. I have no choice but to watch the stairway
and wait and so I opt for a stool and employ the reflections in the
bar’s mirror. Two slowly sipped ‘Old Fashion’s’ later, I see
Hamilton heading down followed by – Gavin! I slip off the stool and
conceal myself behind a pillar before they spot me and try to catch
sight of their expressions, between palm fronds. They both look
stern and have no conversation on their way out, giving no clue
whether that’s good or bad.
    I must find a way to follow Gavin but getting
ahead of him to the scooter is near impossible. A flashback of the
window in the ladies room prompts me to action, but I find it
barred from the outside. The chefs are somewhat surprised to see me
hurry through their kitchen and out the rear door but give no alarm
– I leap to clutch the top of the seven foot dividing property
fence and swing over like a pole-vaulter and land among flower pots
on the other side. My ankle twists but I pay no heed to the pain as
I run to the gate. The Vespa is where I left it and I don the
helmet to hide my hair in case Gavin sees me and just have time to
pull on the jumpsuit before I see him pulling out of Raffle’s
driveway in a Blue Toyota Prius rental car. I