The Antarctic Forgery Page 4

  "So, what's the context?" Denzel asked.

  “A map,” Kotler said.

  They were quiet for a moment, each thinking through what they knew so far. “So,” Denzel said, “what map?”

  Kotler shook his head, smiling. “I have no idea.”

  Denzel closed his eyes and shook his head. “Great. We’re no closer than we were before, then.”

  Kotler chuckled. "Not true. We just got a whole new series of clues. Our first new ones since this started."

  “What clues?” Denzel asked.

  It was Liz who answered. "Why you?" she asked Kotler.

  Kotler looked at her, nodding. “Exactly.”

  “What?” Denzel asked, confused. “What do you mean, why Kotler? He’s the one she’s been screwing with since the start.”

  “Yes,” Liz said. “But this isn’t just about screwing with him. It’s about screwing with him specifically. Why would she bother giving him these artifacts and a bunch of clues? Why does she have an inside man in the FBI, with orders to alert her to information specifically tied to this case? A case we wouldn't even have unless she'd given it to us."

  Kotler nodded along and looked to Denzel, who still seemed confused. After a second, however, his eyes widened. "We have something she needs," he said quietly. "The FBI. We have something. We have …" he thought for a moment, then shook his head. "We have the map."

  Kotler grinned. “We have the map,” he said. “She did all of this, used me, used our own resources, just to get her hands on it.”

  Denzel stood away from the work table. He shook his head again, and then looked Kotler in the eye. “You said it was a fake.”

  This time it was Liz who was confused. "What was a fake?" she asked.

  Kotler sighed. “It is a fake, Roland." He looked at Liz. "A map. One that was recovered from a British Earl, a little over a year ago. A very expensive fake that I haven't thought about in quite some time."

  “A fake map,” Liz said. “Of what?”

  Kotler again sighed, shaking his head. "Antarctica."

  Chapter 4

  It had been nearly a year since Agent Sobiek had retrieved the map, as part of an ongoing investigation. At the time, the FBI was investigating the smuggling network operated by Richard Van Burren and Edward McCarthy—Gail McCarthy's paternal grandfather. Though at the time, neither man had been named in the investigation.

  Denzel had brought Kotler into the case because by his estimate it fit with Kotler's skill set. He'd known that ferreting out fraudulent activity in the antiquities trade wasn't entirely in the purview of Kotler's expertise or even his personal preference, but Historic Crimes Division had been new and was still establishing its footing. Kotler understood that Denzel wanted to stack up a series of wins.

  It was just that the forgery wasn't quite "historical" by Kotler's estimate.

  A chemical and spectral analysis had revealed most of the map's secrets. It had been artificially aged through a chemical process. The markings on the map were made using modern inks and dyes. The paper itself was the oldest thing about it, with fiber content that marked it as having once been a piece of parchment pressed in the late 1800s. It had most likely been a different document at some point in its history, maybe another map or possibly just some sort of signage or public notice. The forger had washed it in a chemical bath to remove the ink, so it could be used as fresh stock—a common trick in the forgery racket. The map currently inscribed on its surface was so detailed and elaborate, it was difficult to determine if there had been something else printed there previously.

  This was a routine sort of forgery, in Kotler's estimate. The kind of thing art thieves had been doing for decades. The only thing that genuinely interested Kotler was the subject matter.

  Much like the famed Piri Reis map, the forgery featured a detailed sketch of what appeared to be the continent of Antarctica, prior to it becoming an ice-covered mass at the bottom of the globe. That, in itself, was interesting, because it provided a hint of something truly ancient and profound—the idea that the Southern Continent might have once been teeming with life until some unrecorded cataclysm wiped it from the Earth.

  This wasn't a wholly original idea. Humanity had dreamt of a lost continent throughout most of its history, and Antarctica had been portrayed numerous times as a lush, green landscape, tragically sheathed in ice after some ancient global catastrophe. It was an old tale but seeing a never-discovered map of the region, in that warm and living state, would have been very exciting.

  Kotler had been asked to examine the map but had very quickly determined it was a fake. And not a particularly good one. For a start, despite appearances, it was not hand drawn. The forger had used some sort of printing process, essentially painting the image onto the paper before using an aging process to give it increased authenticity. Kotler had seen that there were no impressions or indentions in the paper, nothing to indicate that someone had drawn the map by hand. It's beauty, in a word, was only skin deep.

  He had briefly considered that it might have been based on a legitimate source, but as they hadn't yet gained any clues as to what might have happened to that original, the investigation had stalled, and so had Kotler's interest.

  It was around that time that a more pressing case had come their way, and Kotler had soon found himself embroiled in intrigue, gunfights, even mind control schemes.

  His life was different than other people’s.

  Now Kotler and the others hovered over the map, inspecting it once again, looking for anything that might provide a clue.

  “How do we know this is the map Gail is after?” Liz asked.

  "It's the only map we have in our inventory, here in the Manhattan offices," Denzel replied. "And the only one the FBI and Kotler would have in common."

  "So, what does she want with it?" Liz asked in quiet fascination, bending to inspect the map closer.

  Kotler didn't answer, mainly because he had no idea.

  When he had initially examined the map, he'd more or less stopped digging after discovering that it was a forgery. He knew the FBI would continue their investigation, but he couldn't see how his expertise could help. It had become more of a White Collar crime than anything in Kotler's purview.

  Looking at it now, though, he felt a thrill go through him.

  What if it was real?

  Not the physical map itself. That was indeed a fake. Now, however, he was looking closer at the content of the forgery. What if, by some fantastic stretch, it was a duplicate of an actual and authentic map of Antarctica, from centuries before the continent's official discovery?

  There was a precedent for this.

  In the mid-1920s, a German theologian named Gustav Adolf Deissmann had been commissioned by the Turkish Ministry of Education to explore and catalog the official and historical library of the Topkapi Palace.

  Deissmann had a keen interest in historical documents and was particularly fond of maps and charts. He must have been overjoyed, then, to discover that among the stacks of the library were piles and stacks and bundles of ancient documents that had not been seen by human eyes for centuries. Among these, Deissmann discovered a map that was later determined to have been drawn by Ahmed Muhiddin Piri—better known as Piri Reis.

  Reis was an Ottoman cartographer, as well as an admiral and navigator in the Ottoman navy. His maps and charts were among the first used by sailors crossing the seas and oceans that connected the lands of the ancient world. They had even influenced modern maps, with details from some of those ancient drawings carried over, iteration after iteration, until they'd become rote and commonly accepted parts of those representative virtual landscapes. Mapmakers throughout most of modern history were familiar with the work of Piri Reis and had referenced and copied him in their own charts.

  His most famous map, by far, was an illustration of the known world, which combined elements from maps and charts collected from a variety of sources. This seminal map was richly detailed, but it’s most surpris
ing and delightful feature was a land mass that many modern observers would come to believe was a depiction of Antarctica, though it was enticingly devoid of ice and snow. It included ports and other signs of humanity living comfortably on the continent, which appeared to be located several thousand miles north of its more familiar polar coordinates.

  While some historians pointed to this land mass as a quirk, and as a consequence of the limitations of world exploration and the state of cartography at the time, still others saw it as a hint of something profound and ancient beyond the recollection of human history. It had awakened a question that plagued historians for centuries: Was Antarctica once temperate, with a thriving population?

  Reis had used a variety of sources to form his world map, including charts carried and possibly even drawn by Christopher Columbus in his exploration of the New World. Speculation was high that Columbus had gotten his maps from some other more ancient explorers who had seen the continent with their own eyes, had sailed along its shores, had perhaps even greeted its people.

  It was all the stuff of myth and legend and archaeological thriller novels, but it also had a great deal of credence in the scientific and academic communities. Kotler himself had been fascinated by the Piri Reis map and had studied replicas of it at length. He'd even managed to see the original, briefly.

  Of course, Piri Reis was executed in 1533, cutting short his cartography career. Perhaps if he'd lived just a bit longer, there might be fewer historical mysteries to solve. That, of course, was part of the intrigue of the story.

  Kotler was presently examining the map before him with a renewed wonder. He now regretted his almost flippant dismissal of the map, all those months ago. He should have paid closer attention, instead of wallowing over his slightly derailed career and the troubles in his personal life.

  Now, however, the map had his complete attention.

  The room they were in was for the preservation of evidence, particularly documents. It was kept at a specific temperature and humidity, and outside of a museum, it was one of the best systems for historical preservation Kotler had seen in his career. The necessity to protect these documents was less about their history and more about what clues they could provide in ongoing investigations, notably as new technologies emerged which could offer fresh avenues of exploration and further clues. But the effect was the same as if these were prized and coveted pieces of history, preserved for future generations to inspect and study and enjoy.

  It was a shame, Kotler felt, that the best technology for preservation was used in pursuit of criminals, while ancient manuscripts and paintings and other clues to the historical richness of humanity would often be found rotting in rooms that barely had electricity. Maybe he could find a way to translate this technology into something museums and other historical perseveration groups could use. That might serve to put him back in the good graces of academia, though he wasn't sure if that was something he particularly cared about these days. Still, making a contribution to the discipline he loved would be its own reward. Something for him to consider.

  For now, Kotler resolved himself to the task at hand. He had the map spread out on a light table and was using a magnifying glass to give it a close inspection. It was most likely a scan and print of a hand-illustrated map, just as he had assessed a year ago. There was no way to know the original age or origin, based on the copy, but Kotler could get a sense of it. Certain flourishes among the handwriting, as well as the style of the illustrations, the place names, and many other details—all of these could help him determine a general age range for the original map. He wasn't looking for the usual markers this time, however. He was looking for connections.

  There were characters on the map, and Kotler almost groaned as he realized the first and most notable connection.

  Phoenician writing.

  He had already translated these and recognized them as primarily the ancient names for known land masses, seas, and oceans. There were marks to indicate borders, capital cities, ports, and more that would have been of importance to ancient sailors. The implication was that Antarctica had not only once been a more temperate climate, but it had also been a highly populated center of commerce and industry. That alone was startling and intriguing, from a historical point of view.

  There were also other markings Kotler didn't recognize and couldn't decipher. In one region of the continent, there were bits of Phoenician script that were mostly nonsense. Kotler had first determined them to be place names. Now, however, he couldn't help seeing them in a new light.

  He hadn’t brought the artifacts with him, and he now regretted it. He’d have to waste time going back to the lab to bring them here. He was about to say as much when he spotted something both odd and familiar.

  A circle of random-looking characters, sharing characteristics of Phoenician writing but not quite forming any words or characters he recognized.

  He took out his phone and opened a note he'd been keeping on the artifacts. He brought up an image of the brass plate and held the phone in such a way that they could see both the map and the phone's display.

  “What are we looking at?” Denzel asked.

  Kotler pointed to the map, “This series of glyphs,” he said. And then he pointed back to the photo of the brass plate. “And these.”

  “Are they the same?” Denzel asked.

  Liz replied, shaking her head. "No, they're different. But very similar. Almost as if …" she paused.

  Kotler was looking at her, then turned to Denzel. “I’m taking this map with me.” He said.

  Back in the lab, Kotler spread the map out on the workbench, shoving the microscope out of the way, and nudging the three artifacts to make room. He then picked up the brass plate, looked from it to the map a few times, and repositioned it until he felt he had it right. He placed the plate on the map, aligning the small circle with the characters drawn on the map’s surface.

  When he felt he had things right, he stood back and examined the result.

  The markings on the plate and the markings on the map now combined to form a Phoenician word that Kotler could finally translate.

  “What’s it say?” Denzel asked.

  "Gateway," Kotler replied, his voice quiet. His mind was racing, trying to put together everything he knew, looking for how "gateway" fit. It wasn't a nautical term. It had nothing to do with navigation. But there it was, as clear as day if a bit small.

  What did it mean?

  Liz leaned over and inspected the plate and the map. “Look at the corners,” she said, pointing with the tip of a pen. Probably a habit from dealing with crime scenes, Kotler mused, to avoid contaminating any evidence with a touch.

  “Each corner lines up with a notation on the map,” she said.

  Kotler peered closer and saw that she was right. He took out his phone and took photos of each notation, then stood back and studied them.

  These, too, were written in Phoenician, but each notation represented a set of numbers. The numbers had made no sense before, but with the brass plate obscuring some of them, they were now broken into four- and five-character sets. Each contained four digits, and two included additional characters:

  35.46

  -97.50

  11438

  51766

  Kotler turned and found a whiteboard and picked up a marker to jot the numbers down.

  “What do they mean?” Denzel asked.

  Kotler shook his head. Then circled the top two numbers. “I think these are coordinates, but that doesn’t make sense.”

  “Why not?” Liz asked.

  “Because they wouldn’t match the coordinates of Antarctica.”

  "Wait," Denzel said. He pulled out his phone, and after tapping for a moment, he held it up for them to see. "Oklahoma City," he said.

  “Oklahoma?” Liz asked, confused. “There are coordinates for Oklahoma City on a map of Antarctica?”

  Kotler was also confused. He turned back to the map, studying the four points of the bra
ss plate, trying to determine if there was something he’d missed. He glanced at the other two artifacts. What part did they play in this? The fact that Gail had gone to the trouble to procure them and deliver them to Kotler indicated their importance. They weren’t superfluous, in other words. They had meaning.

  He picked up the sunstone, and held it over the map, trying to determine how it might apply. There was no light source, after all, and the sunstone would be functionally useless without that. He set it down for the moment and picked up the compass.

  There were no markings on the compass that matched anything on the map. Kotler felt a bit deflated at that. He had hoped, after seeing the results from the brass plate, that he was onto the secret of the thing. But once again he found himself frustrated.

  Liz moved around the table, taking a better position so she could study the map alongside Kotler. As she moved, she created a slight breeze, and one corner of the map flipped up.

  Kotler sighed, disappointed that things weren’t yet clicking. Absently he placed the compass on the table, on top of the map at that loose corner, using it as a sort of paperweight. At the moment, that was about all it seemed useful for.

  He stood aside, still studying the map, trying to determine what he was missing.

  He paused, staring.

  He reached out, slowly, and took hold of the compass, lifting it away.

  “What’s up?” Denzel asked.

  Kotler turned to him, holding the compass in the palm of his hand. “Look,” he said. “What do you see?”

  Denzel shrugged. "A really old compass."

  “What direction is North?” Kotler asked.

  Denzel studied the compass again, then pointed in the direction indicated by its needle.

  Kotler turned to Liz. “You agree?” He asked.

  She studied the compass, then took out her phone. She swiped and tapped the screen, then held it out flat in the same manner Kotler was holding the compass. On the phone’s screen was a digital version of the compass, and its needle agreed with the artifact.