CHAPTER 1
Saturday
12:30 AM

I.

Was it gold or fool’s gold? Rick Olsen still couldn’t decide as he peered out at the lights of Malta International Airport. Just the sight made him tingle with anticipation.

His brother and his discovery would be waiting for him. And what a discovery it would be if Stef were right. He would cause a sensation the art world and certainly get a six-figure advance from some publisher for his doctoral dissertation. And he would get at least that much again if he ever decided to sell the drawing.

The drawing! Rick could hardly even imagine what it looked like. Did the work look anything like the Salari?

To remind himself, he took yet another look at the Penguin edition of Cellini’s Autobiography. There, in full-color stood gold-plated salt-and-pepper dispenser Cellini had crafted for Francis the First of France. It was far too large and ostentatious to be tasteful, but it was the Mona Lisa of sculpture, considered to be his greatest masterpiece. Its theft from the Austrian National Museum dealt a blow to the entire world. As the only authenticated piece in existence, the estimated sixty-million-dollar price tag was meaningless. It was priceless. Now, if Stef were right, there was a second such masterpiece. Or at least there had been.

The plane banked, giving a spectacular view of the entire landing area. Rick leaned forward to take it all in. The excitement he felt when he received Stef’s e-mail returned. At the time he couldn’t believe a drawing for such a treasure could turn up in a second-hand bookstore. The idea was laughable coming from anyone other than Stef. But he wasn’t joking, and Rick knew his brother was far too knowledgeable and cautious to make such an enormous mistake. Even more convincing, Stef had asked for Rick’s help with the full knowledge that Rick would land on him with both feet for leaving his research in Florence.

The Air Malta 737 hit the tarmac with a bump, and Rick felt his pulse quicken.

As they other passengers undid their seat belts and began to stir, Rick removed his earphones and shoved the portable CD player into his briefcase. Leontyne Price would have to wait a while for her encore.

Next he took a final look at the Salari before stowing the Autobiography with the CD player. As many times as had seen the photo, it still gave him shivers. Imagine Stef’s excitement when he found a drawing for a second such work! And imagine his disappointment when he learned that the treasure had been lost during the Second World War.

Lost? It was a magic word to Stef. Anyone with any sense would turn around and head back to Italy. But not Stef. Given the opportunity he would forget about his dissertation and search for the treasure until his dying day.

Exactly the thing Rick feared most.

The plane’s doors grated open, and he smiled at the catchy polka blaring from the loudspeakers. He couldn’t imagine it as Mediterranean music. Passengers crowded the aisle. Seconds later, the horde started forward. Nimbly retrieving his laptop from under the seat in front of him, Rick got to his feet. Even bent forward, his six-two frame nearly touched the ceiling. A female passenger stopped to give him room to get into the aisle. He thanked her, retrieved his bag from the overhead compartment and hurried out.

A warm wind blew in his face. As the line of passengers entered the terminal, a woman in a black skirt and blue sweater pointed him to Lane 4. At his departure from Minneapolis, a reservist Army security guard from Rick’s former Intel unit at Fort Snelling had recognized him, giving him VIP treatment through the boarding area. At Malta International, he was just another visitor to be processed.

The agent looked at his passport. “US citizen, I see. Your occupation?”

Not wanting to explain “prairie restorer,” Rick answered, “Farmer.”

“How long will you be in Malta, sir?"

"A week or two. I’m on vacation.”

“Then you may be here for Independence Day. It’s a week from Sunday and I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Have a pleasant stay.”

Happy to meet a friendly face Rick threw him a warm smile. “Thanks,” Rick said. “I’m sure I will.”

Beyond the immigration checkpoint, several signs pointed to the duty-free shop where he located a bottle of Black Bush Irish Whiskey. Stef and he would have a festive time with it while Stef told about his discovery and his visit with Lorenzo, the present-day Cornacchia, whose family name was on the drawing. Stef was convinced that Bartolomeo Cornacchia was the patron who had commissioned the work.