The Stolen Da Vinci Manuscripts Read Online Free

teak chest with metal
reinforcing banding. About fourteen inches by eighteen and twenty
four inches deep. It is dark brown in colour. The letters L.D.V.
are stamped in Gold just below the lock.”
    “Thank you – one last thing…”
    “Yes?”
    “Did you place the ‘page’ in a bank
yesterday?”
    “I did.”
    “Good. Keep your father under control.”
    “I will.”
    “Roberto – if anyone asks – I was never here
– capiche?”
    “Capiche.”
    “Pray that I find the trail and can
re-acquire the books, though I don’t know who in the world has
enough money to buy them – I’ll have to work on a consortium. Okay,
I’ll be in touch.”
    “I trust you and I pray for you.” Roberto
promised.
    I turn as we step out. “Don’t even think of
trying to sell that page.”
    “I will wait.”

Chapter 8: Murder In Geneva
     
     
    My parting with Gavin is tearful, but
necessary. I must be free to make decisions and act quickly, but I
promise we’ll make up for lost time when I’m back in England.
    This is not looking to be a good day, traffic
delays cause me to miss my flight to Geneva and the best option is
to take a different flight routed through Frankfurt. I take my seat
in a less than positive mood. I need a drink.
    The plane is barely airborne before the ‘A2’
seat light illuminates in the galley.
    “Yes ma’am” the flight attendant asks.
    “A double Scotch whisky please.”
    “Ma’am we are not serving alcohol at this
time, would you like coffee?”
    “Is this First Class?”
    “Yes ma’am.”
    “Then can I expect First Class service?’
    “Absolutely ma’am.”
    “Then you can do two things for me…”
    “Yes ma’am.”
    “Firstly – stop ending every sentence with
the word ‘ma’am’ and secondly bring me a double Scotch whisky.”
    “I’m sorry m…, but we are only serving coffee
and soft beverages now.”
    “Very well – I will take an Irish coffee made
with Scotch whisky, but hold the coffee and cream. Do I make myself
clear?”
    “Let me have the chief steward attend to you
Ma…‘Miss.’
    “Good morning ma’am, how may I be of
assistance?”
    “I am having a very bad day, we can
make it acceptably tolerable, or I can be a total bitch for the
remainder of the flight; which would you prefer?”
    “The former ma’am.”
    “Then I would very much like you to bring me
a double ‘Scotch whisky’ on the rocks.”
    “We are not serving…”
    “If you say the word ‘alcohol’, I’ll scream.
I assure you that if you open any dictionary and look up the word
‘ bitch ’, you will find my photograph staring back at you. So
what’s it to be?” I demand coldly.
    “I will be right back.”
    “I’ll take one of those also…” A fat man in a
business suit across the aisle, requests. He wants to make small
talk but I’m in no mood, so he retreats back into the pages of his
‘Financial Times’.
    After a couple of sips of whiskey and I
mellow enough to put the earlier snafus of the day out of my mind.
I won’t waste time developing a plan because I don’t know what I’m
up against, so I watch the scenery unfold below like a patchwork
quilt.
    We finally land at Geneva airport at eight
o’clock, as darkness falls – I could have rented a car and have
driven here in the same amount of time as the flight took and been
more mobile, but there is a readily available taxi to take me to
the ‘Victoria Grand Hotel’.
    The desk clerk looks me up and down with
approval and smiles. “Good evening madam, how can I be of
assistance?”
    Strange how the word ‘madam’ does not irk me
like ‘ma’am’ does.
    “A room please – the best.”
    “Oui, but of course. How long will you be
staying?”
    “I’m not sure, three or four days, I would
imagine.”
    “Then let me suggest the ‘Einstein
Suite’”.
    “Great idea…” I quip, but I’m not sure he
gets it. I complete and sign the guest log at the top of a fresh
page –not what I want, so I flip back to