©1998 Jonathan I. Edelstein
Traveling between timelines for a living isn't as steady as teaching history, and it can be considerably more dangerous. Still, my new career has introduced me to many people I would never have met if I had remained in peaceful retirement. For instance, on my seventy-second birthday, I received a visit from Queen Marie- Claire.
I had planned to celebrate the occasion with a quiet gathering of family and close friends at home. Sarah was there, of course - Sarah, who fifty years of marriage have somehow left unchanged. My children and grandchildren were also there, and my two surviving sisters, and a scattering of cousins. Rounding out the assembly was a motley collection of associates from across the fifty worlds of the ITA. The occasion went exactly as planned, until shortly after dinner.
As the host, it was my privilege to announce the first toast. And in my kingdom, that toast is always the same one. I raised my glass and gave my guests the Queen.
"The Queen," rumbled the guests in reply.
"I am highly honored," said a woman who had walked unnoticed through the front door. We all turned around at the unexpected noise, and saw the Queen of America standing in the doorway.
We began to rise, but the Queen waved us down. "None of that is necessary," she said. "This is a private visit." Then she looked straight at me.
"Monsieur Kaplan," she said. "I need to talk to you."
With her usual disdain for security, the Queen had arrived without guards. Before I, or anyone else, could react, she had crossed the dining room and closed the kitchen door behind her. After only one false start, I followed.
My social rank is not high enough that I am routinely visited by monarchs. In fact, this was only the second time I had ever stood face to face with an American Queen. And the first time had been almost fifty years before, during the war, when my battalion was visited by Queen Catherine on her tour of the Polish front. This was the first time a monarch had ever found me worthy of such personal attention.
Queen Marie-Claire was dressed simply, in her usual style; if not for her distinctive features, she might have been any of a thousand women. Her face, however, set her apart. Although she was an adopted child, she had her mother's calm, penetrating eyes, and I could tell that the wit behind them was as keen as reputation had it.
"Your Majesty," I began.
She stopped me. "The proper form of address is Marie-Claire," she corrected. "Or if you must use a title, call me Madame Arondin." That had been her married name as a young woman, before Queen Catherine had adopted her as the successor to the throne.
"Very well," I said. "Can you tell me..."
"You want to know why I came," she replied. "That is only natural. I came because I need you to do me a small favor. I assume that you are familiar with the Mona Lisa?"
All at once I knew what the Queen's visit was about. Two months before, the Mona Lisa had been stolen from the Royal Museum in Montreal. Since then, not a clue had been found as to its whereabouts. Queen Marie-Claire, who was a great patron of the arts, had taken a highly personal interest in its recovery. The fact that the Queen was here, and asking for my assistance, must mean that the painting had turned up - on another world.
I nodded my head.
"Then I don't think I have to tell you much more," said the Queen. "About a week ago, our diplomatic attache at Berlin on Weimar-Earth overheard a nobleman talking at a dinner party. Supposedly, he was telling a friend that someone had offered to sell the Mona Lisa to him."
"And?" I asked.
"That's all we know right now," she replied. "We don't know who offered to sell him the Mona Lisa - or even if the Mona Lisa he was offered is the same one that was stolen from us. That's what I want you to find out.
"And if it is ours, I want you to get it back. Buy it if you have to. Steal it if you can."
I sat in silence for a minute before I replied, thinking the matter over. "I have only one question," I said.
"Which is?" she answered.
I looked down at my seventy-two-year-old frame. "Why are you asking me?"
She smiled. "Because I remember the service you did for me in bringing Diego de Landa here," she said. De Landa was a poet I had brought to the Kingdom the year before from a world where the Inquisition was still in full force. "This service will be like that one," she continued. "Something which requires a diplomat and a scholar, rather than an adventurer. Or at least someone who is all of those."
I nodded again.
"The fee will be the same as last time," she said, "and the Crown will pay your expenses. Is that acceptable?"
I nodded my assent slowly. "More than enough," I said. "But there is a tool I also need."
"A tool?" she asked.
"A Crown Agent's charter," I answered. A Crown Agent had little power within the Kingdom. Outside the Kingdom, however, he could issue drafts on the Crown treasury and call upon the Kingdom's diplomats for assistance. And in countries which had mutual legal assistance treaties with the Kingdom, a Crown Agent could obtain search warrants and subpoenas, and present evidence to foreign prosecutors.
The Queen hesitated only a second before she nodded and laughed. "I like that," she said. "To make a man a thief, make him a diplomat. The charter will be delivered to you tomorrow. Is there anything more?"
I shook my head. The Queen wished me well and departed as suddenly as she had come. After a minute I stood and returned to the dining room, where everyone at once wanted to know what had happened.
I pounded the table for attention. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask some of you to stay after class," I said. "I know I shouldn't work on my birthday, but every rule has its exceptions."
Three days later I was in Berlin on Weimar-Earth. For this stage of the mission, I had brought only two companions. One of them, John O'Malley, was a pharmacist from Earth-Prime with aristocratic manners and a smile which could charm a stone. The other, Moussa Aliyan, was a Palestinian Arab who had come to the Kingdom as a refugee from a Middle Eastern regional war on Nasser- Earth. He knew everything there was to know about practical electronics - at least the electronics which were found in security alarms.
Both of them had, to my certain knowledge, been thieves. Although I was now an agent of the government, I still thought it advisable to add people with somewhat more hands-on stealing experience to my team.
It was not hard to identify our target. In the aristocratic circles in which he moved, his appearance and age - combined with the date and location of the party he had attended - was enough to single him out. His name was Baron Ostermann, a distant cousin of the restored Kaiser, the latest generation of an old and wealthy noble family. Like many of his age and station, he had an apartment in Berlin and a villa outside the city. He had never had a profession; he was a full-time dilettante, specializing in fine art. His collection was one of the most impressive in Germany. And some of it, I learned from the national police, had almost certainly been acquired through questionable means.
He was staying at the villa at the time we arrived, and was not expected in the city any time soon. So O'Malley took our rented car and drove out to the small town where the villa stood, and bought one of the Baron's servants a drink.
O'Malley came back with everything but a floor plan, and what he learned was encouraging. The villa, like its owner, would not be a difficult target. The Baron was not a politician or a captain of industry, and he had no real enemies - so he saw no need for elaborate security. To be sure, there were alarms, and dogs, and a household staff - but none of these were armed or sophisticated in security, and none of them would be any defense against people who were invited in.
The following day, Baron Ostermann's villa suffered a sudden disruption in telephone service. As coincidence would have it, my companions and I were working on the main line outside the villa, in telephone company uniforms, at the time his phone went dead. Within minutes, one of the household servants came outside and explained the problem to us.
Aliyan spoke to the servant, in barely accented German. He pretended to conduct tests on the main line, and concluded ruefully that the problem must be with the wires within the villa. "We shouldn't really go inside," he told the servant, "but this is a light morning. If you let us in, we can check the house wires."
Needless to say, the servant admitted us gratefully.
It took only a few minutes and a single excuse to get away from the servant and make our way upstairs to the Baron's bedroom. The Baron was in bed. He was slightly surprised to see us come in, but our familiar uniforms reassured him. He nodded as Aliyan came around to the bedside and picked up the telephone on the nightstand.
The next thing he saw, however, was not nearly as reassuring. Before the Baron could become aware of what had happened, Aliyan had drawn a nine-millimeter pistol and pointed it directly at his forehead.
"It would be in your best interest not to make any loud noises or sudden movements," I told him. "I have a question to ask you, and if you give me the right answer I will be gone in another minute."
He recovered himself enough to speak. "What is this question?" he spluttered.
"Who offered to sell you the Mona Lisa?" I asked.
He was shocked, but not shocked enough to confess. "How dare you accuse me?" he roared. "You come in here like thieves, and you dare to accuse me of a crime?"
I had expected him to say something like this, but I had hoped he would not. I had a method prepared which would make him more forthcoming, but on many worlds it would be considered a form of psychological torture. Now, however, I had no choice but to use it. I nodded to O'Malley.
He removed a small bottle from his pocket, opened the stopper, held the Baron's nose, and forced the contents down his throat. The Baron's extemporaneous speech had drained him of breath, and he had no choice but to swallow.
When the Baron looked back at me, his expression was one of complete bewilderment. "What was that?" he asked.
"Maybe this will make matters clear," I told Ostermann. I showed him the label on the bottle he had just drunk, imprinted with the mark of the Societe Anonyme d'Ma'at, Louisbourg.
"What does this make clear?" he asked.
"Perhaps you have heard of the Communauté globale," I said, and waited for his nod. "Then you may also know that the Communauté is highly advanced in their biological technology."
His grimace grew tighter, but he still did not understand. "What of it?" he said.
I allowed a broad smile to cross my face. "Don't you know who Ma'at is?" I mocked. "The goddess of law? The goddess of _truth_? This is to make sure you don't give in to the temptation to lie to me."
"This is a truth serum?" he asked.
"Of course not," I answered. "Nobody has invented a foolproof truth serum yet. A person with strong enough character can always lie even if he is drugged. But this is something different. You can lie all you want after a dose of this drug - but the drug will detect the alteration in your body chemistry. And the resulting reaction," I finished with my broadest smile yet, "will kill you within 24 hours."
Ostermann's face went white. "I have never heard of a drug like that," he whispered.
He was right, of course. The preparation I had given him was salt water, with just enough mild opiate to make him feel disoriented. But that wasn't the answer I gave him.
"The ITA is a big place," I reminded him. I looked at him with all the cynicism of my old age. "There are plenty of things in it that you've never heard of. Do you really want to take the chance?"
I looked him in the eye, without speaking further. I counted to sixty in my mind before he broke.
"All right," he said. Words spilled out of his mouth. "Someone did offer to sell me the Mona Lisa. It was about two weeks ago. He named a couple of dealers I know, and said they had recommended me to him. I told him I might be interested, and he gave me a number to call if I wanted to negotiate with his employer. But I didn't call. Really, I didn't call."
"What you really mean," I explained, "is that you haven't called yet."
"I don't know if I would have called," he said. "Believe me. I don't know." His face crumbled further. "I haven't been able to raise enough money," he admitted.
My smile turned friendly. "Doesn't that feel better?" I asked. "The truth sets you free, doesn't it?" He began to answer, but I silenced him with a downward motion of my hand.
"This person who came to see you," I reminded him. "Did he give a name?"
"No," he answered indignantly. "Of course not."
"Then where did he come from?" I continued. "Surely you asked him for at least some credentials."
"I don't know," replied Ostermann. "But wait a second. He did tell me where the painting was. He said that his employer had a warehouse on the Marketplace."
I looked around to include O'Malley and Aliyan in my gaze. "This is better," I commented. "But not good enough for us to find him on our own." Both of them nodded slowly, and I turned back to Ostermann. "I think you should make that call," I said.
"What?" he cried. "So you can kill me anyway when you have the painting?"
"Oh, no," I answered, my voice low. "I wouldn't kill you. I'm not a murderer."
"Of course you're not," he said sarcastically.
"No," I said, "I'm something much worse than that. I'm a prosecutor."
He stared, and I showed him my Crown writ. On this world, it did not matter that my authority was from the wrong crown. By treaty, I could enlist the aid of the Kaiser's prosecutors against him.
"But what would you prosecute me for?" he wondered. "Where is the evidence against me?"
I touched the tape recorder lightly. "This is more than evidence enough," I answered. "You may wish to read your nation's code of law. There is no exclusionary rule here, and this tape may be introduced in court even though it was illegally obtained. This tape which contains your admission to attempted receipt of stolen property. Surely a man of your station would not enjoy prison."
"But you could never take this tape to court without admitting how you got it," he replied. "Then you would be admitting to crime as well."
"If I were a citizen of your nation, that would be true," I said. "Which is probably the reason why your police do not normally ask questions this way. But as a Crown Agent, I have diplomatic immunity. Your authorities might send me home, but no worse than that."
He sagged back against the pillow. "But surely you are at least required to follow your own law," he managed.
"I'm afraid not," I said. "Law enforcement officers in my country are not bound by the Crown Charter when they are abroad." I shook my head sadly and smiled again. "I would have ruled differently, but since the Constitutional Court disagrees with me, I'm afraid I have a free hand here."
I had used the stick; I decided it was time to hold out the carrot. "If you cooperate with me, though, I can see to it that it will be worth your while," I told him. "Our Queen is very anxious to see the Mona Lisa returned to where it belongs. If you assist us, your reward will no doubt be enough to add one or two respectable pieces to your collection. Nothing like the Mona Lisa, but definitely respectable."
Again I counted the seconds in my mind as he considered. This time I only reached thirty-three.
"I'll do it," he sighed. "I'll make the call."
"So what are you waiting for?" I replied.
We watched as he made the call and set up a meeting for the following day. I switched off the tape recorder and gave him a few more instructions, and then we walked peacefully out the door and returned to our hotel.
I needed to wash my hands.
He met us the next day at his villa. He had to. I had told him before leaving that if he did not, we would submit the tape of our conversation to the Kaiser's prosecutors. He met us with bad grace, but he was still there, and he entered our car without question. He rode in silence all the way to the station.
My own Earth is a recent addition to the ITA, and as yet only a few trains per day arrive from other worlds. Weimar-Earth is much more tightly knit into the web of interdimensional trade, and the LED screen at Central Station in Berlin filled an entire wall with one morning's departures. It took us almost as much time to find the Marketplace train as it did to make the trip to New York.
Six more people joined us for this portion of the mission. All six were armed. At this stage, it was much more likely that we would encounter force. If violence threatened, greater numbers would answer it - or forestall it.
The meeting was scheduled for twelve thirty, in a suburban restaurant outside New York. We drove to the restaurant in three rented cars, but only the Baron and I went in. The others waited outside, ready to follow us wherever our contact took us.
He was less than fifteen minutes late. At a guess, he was in his forties; his height and weight were average, and his appearance and dress were unremarkable. The Baron had never met him before, but he recognized us as soon as he saw us and walked over to our table. I ordered a drink for him and we talked briefly about nothing before we departed. I couldn't place his accent, but I could tell that he wasn't from anywhere on the Marketplace. His employer was not local; he had chosen this world for its lax law enforcement and customs regulations rather than because it was home. That meant that if anything happened, I would be the local cops' favorite - I could pay more.
After sharing a drink with us, our contact murmured something inane and ushered us out of the restaurant and into a waiting car. We drove about thirty minutes until we entered an older industrial area - a district full of warehouses and storage rentals. We parked in front of one which was no different from any of the others, and our contact pressed a key code and let us in. His employer was waiting in an office on the second floor, with the Mona Lisa.
To be exact, with five Mona Lisas.
He waved his hand expansively. "Take your pick," he said.
I quickly inspected the paintings, and was dismayed by what I found. Before I left the Kingdom of America, the curator of the Royal Museum had described the distinctive markings that would identify our own Mona Lisa. Those markings, however, were present on not one but three of the paintings. It would take a greater art expert than myself to determine which one belonged in the Royal Museum.
My thoughts were interrupted by a signal from the beeper on my belt. That meant the others were inside and in position. The security system in this building was not an advanced one; it had taken Aliyan less than ten minutes to get through it. I muttered an apology, switched off the beeper, and turned back to my audience.
"How much do you want for all five?" I asked.
I'll give the thief credit; he didn't hesitate a second. Instead, he named a price.
"Not good enough," I replied. "I was hoping I could get a bulk discount."
"So how much would you be willing to pay?" he replied.
"Nothing would be about right," I answered.
"What?" he shouted.
"You know that they say possession is nine points of the law on this world?" I asked. As I did so, my hired guns burst into the room. I spread my arms to include them, and showed him my Crown charter. "Well, I possess you."
Four men broke off from the others and moved to subdue the two thieves. After they had been tied and searched, O'Malley helped me bundle up the Mona Lisas to carry home.
"It's not nice to fool with the government," I said. "I'm taking these back where I belong."
Even in his position, the thief still tried to save something. "One of them really is mine," he said. "I got it on a world that was destroyed in a nuclear war. There isn't anyone to return it to."
I wasn't at all sure he was telling the truth, and even if he were I had no desire to leave him with da Vinci's masterpiece. "Then consider it your fine," I told him, and left the room.
We got back to New York just in time to catch the last train to my world. Fortunately, Crown Agents have diplomatic immunity from customs inspections. Five Mona Lisas would have been somewhat difficult to explain.
The recovery of the Mona Lisa was not without its rewards. The fee was very pleasant, of course, and so was the invitation to the unveiling of the painting in the Royal Museum two days after my return. At the unveiling, Queen Marie-Claire also conferred the honorary rank of Crown Agent on me for life. It doesn't carry much power within the Kingdom, but it does come with a knighthood. That doesn't matter much to me - I never cared for titles, and I think that "Chevalier Kaplan" sounds ridiculous - but Sarah is very pleased to be a noble lady. And anything that pleases Sarah, pleases me.
But none of these was the best thing to come out of my repossession mission. One of the Mona Lisas was never claimed, and six months after my return it was declared mine by finder's right. So if you ever visit my house, please stop and admire the da Vinci over the mantelpiece.
It isn't a copy.