Wizard of the Presidential Library

By A. A. Randazzo

Mess with time at your own risk!
Annabelle, Rusty and Whitney find this out as the frightening ramifications of the time machine threaten their lives and the very existence of humankind.
In this mystery thriller, the unlikely heroes come together again in this companion book to Ghosts of the Presidential Library. The setting again is the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library and Museum where excitement is high when an exhibit on Leonardo da Vinci and his masterpieces and devices is about to open.
The most curious of the devices Leonardo created is tempus machina. Historians conclude that the device was Leonardo’s attempt at a perpetual motion machine. Annabelle, a docent at the presidential library, believes otherwise. Her psychic senses tell her that the device is indeed a time machine.
The museum’s curator, Rusty hopes to introduce museum goers to the genius and wizardry of the Renaissance artist. His assistant Whitney, who is Annabelle’s daughter, has returned home after a personal tragedy. Rusty has loved her since they first met when Whitney was a security guard at the library.
Whitney, who served as a helicopter pilot in the U.S. Army, faced many life-threatening situations in combat. She could not have imagined the intense danger she, her mother and Rusty would encounter when the time machine unexpectedly animates.
Past, present, and the future collide in interweaving stories that begins with the audacious theft of Leonardo’s priceless masterpiece...the Mona Lisa...and ends...well, time will tell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. A. Randazzo
• Release date: Aug 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005673468

A. A. Randazzo

Angela Randazzo (A.A. Randazzo) has worked in several artistic fields. She played a bridesmaid in The Godfather and performed in numerous theatrical productions. As an author Angela’s plays published by the Dramatic Publishing Company, are Bats in the Belfry, Zara or Who Killed the Queen of the Silent Screen? and the children’s play The Tiger Turned Pink. Other published plays included a collection Fantasy and Drama, plays by Angela Randazzo and Crash Course in Herstory.Angela is an emeritus member of the Writers Guild of America and former co-chair of the women’s committee and emeritus member of the Screen Actors Guild of America. Angela has produced and directed plays and musicals in New York City, Los Angeles, and local communities. In 1997, Angela received the Artistic Director Achievement Award for Best Director presented by the Valley Theatre League in Hollywood.Her children books include The Christmas Dragon, Bless You, Angel Bear, My Budding Bears, Outer Space Alphabet and Don’t Forget I Love You. Her latest series The Adventures of J. Pierpont McPooch features a globe-trotting hound dog and magic suitcase.Angela wrote the Ghost Tour in Strathearn Park featuring ghosts of pioneers and infamous characters in Simi Valley. The annual show started in 1999 continued for twenty years as a favorite Halloween attraction for the community.Angela also writes novels those include The Wicked Will series, Southern Charm series, and Bats in the Belfry series. She is a docent at the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library and Museum, coincidentally the location of her latest mystery thrillers, Ghosts of the Presidential Library and Wizard of the Presidential Library.Visit: randomhorsepublishing.com

Book preview

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Epilogue

Historical Personae

CESARE BORGIA (1475-1507) Military commander, illegitimate son

of Pope Alexander VI and patron of Leonardo for war weapons.

FILIPPO BRUNELLESCHI (1377-1446) Architect and engineer.

Major work dome of the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore (the

Duomo) in Florence. Leonardo was part of the team that had the

monumental task of hoisting a two-ton gilt copper ball on the peak of

the dome.

CARDINAL LUIGI OF ARGON (1474-1519) an Italian Roman

Catholic cardinal and supporter of Leonardo’s work.

SER PIERO DA VINCI (1426-1504) Leonardo’s parents were

unmarried at the time of his birth in the village of Vinci in the Tuscan

region. His father, Ser Piero, was a Florentine notary and landlord, and

his mother, Caterina, was a young peasant woman who shortly,

thereafter, married a local artisan.

ANTONIO DE BEATIS (1474-1519) Secretary to Cardinal Luigi of

Aragon. He detailed the day-to-day events during a ‘Grand Tour’

undertaken by the Cardinal and his entourage.

ANDREA DEL VERROCCHIO (1435-1488) Florentine sculptor and

artist in whose workshop Leonardo trained and worked from 1466 to

1477.

FRANCIS I (1494-1547) King of France from 1515 to his death.

Admirer of Leonardo and his last patron. Francis invited Leonardo to

live at Chateau de Cloux in Amboise, France where the artist spent the

last years of his life.

CECILIA GALLERANI (1473–1536) Mistress of Ludovico Sforza,

Duke of Milan. Leonardo painted her portrait Lady with an Ermine

from 1489–1490.

LISA del GIOCONDO (1479–1542) The wife of a wealthy Florentine

merchant, Francesco del Giocondo, whose portrait by Leonardo is

known as the iconic painting the Mona Lisa.

LORENZO the Magnificent de’Medici (1449-1492) Ruler of

Florence from 1469-1492 and patron of Leonardo.

LOUIS XII (1462-1515) King of France from 1498, conquered Milan

in 1499 when Leonardo was living there.

POPE LEO X (1475-1521) Son of Lorenzo de’Medici, elected pope in

1513 and patron of Leonardo.

GIROLAMO SAVONAROLA (1452-1498) Dominican friar who

preached in Renaissance Florence denouncing moral and political

corruption within the church and within an individual. His rise to

power ended when the church and the mob turned against him and

condemned him to death by execution.

LUDOVICO SFORZA (1453-1508) Duke of Milan from 1481 to 1499

then ousted by the French under King Louis XII. Early patron of

Leonardo and commissioned the great horse monument whose

completion was scuttled by a French invasion.

GIORGIO VASARI (1511-1574) Italian painter, architect, writer, and

historian known for Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors,

and Architects that included a detailed biography of Leonardo’s life.

Prologue

The past - Chateau de Cloux, Amboise, Kingdom of France

Shadows stirred, outlines shifting in the darkness. The once revered Dominican friar was watching as were two unfortunates that had followed him into a desolate purgatory. The fires of Hell awaited them, a place even more forbidding and cruel than the twilight world in which they existed. However, the promise of salvation was not lost. The disgraced friar knew the old man had it…the holy relic that would wash away the sins of the condemned. The holy relic that would shield him from eternal torment. The hooded figures, each wearing a roughly hewn long robe, emerged from the darkened backdrop floating closer to the sleeper.

The sleeper, one Leonardo da Vinci, tossed on his downy pillow, his dreams jumbled. It had been a busy day and he had been exhausted when he crawled into his heavily blanketed bed on this chilly night. A distinguished visitor, Cardinal Luigi of Argon, had arrived that day at the stately manor in the city of Amboise where Leonardo now lived. Within the Cardinal’s entourage of forty was his secretary, Antonio de Beatis, who would later write in his diary that Leonardo was the most eminent painter of our time.

Leonardo would not disagree and yet he would not limit himself to artistic pursuits, his interests were far ranging from astronomy to architecture to mathematics and so much more. The noblest pleasure is the joy of understanding he had noted in one of his journals. From his earliest days on this earth, Leonardo strived to understand the very essence of life and creation.

Within this quest, he would create a work of art that would inspire the imagination of those of his time and those of time to come…the Mona Lisa. She was with him now, the image of a woman painted on a panel made from a poplar tree. The painting rested on an easel in the corner, her alluring smile from across the room directed at her creator.

Earlier that evening, Leonardo had escorted the Cardinal and de Beatis into his chamber, a comfortable room with a stately four-poster bed rimmed with red velvet drapes and gold tassels, a tall marble hearth, ornate furniture and a whimsical lattice window that overlooked the lush lawn to Chateau d’Amboise, the palace of Francis I. Indeed, Leonardo was a guest of the newly crowned king.

Francis, at the age of twenty-one, was a robust, broad shouldered youth with black hair and beard who succeeded his father-in-law Louis XII to the French throne. During his reign, Louis had appreciated Leonardo’s art and intellect and collected his works. Francis wished his court to be one of culture and innovation as well. He had met Leonardo in December of 1515 in the city of Bologna when Leonardo had traveled there in the company of Pope Leonardo X.

As an artist Leonardo was always in need of a patron, you might say, as most creative talent did then, he lived off the kindness of strangers. At the age of 63, Leonardo found paydirt in a patron that put a roof over his head and yet demanded no great works in return. It was not primarily Leonardo’s skill as an artist that captivated Francis, it was his philosophical discourse. Upon their meeting Leonardo and Francis talked into the night on all manner of subjects. Leonardo’s insights into nature and the very essence of life sparked the young king’s imagination.

Leonardo was living in Rome at the time and running low on funds. Younger artists like Michelangelo and Raphael were the pop du jour, the new kids on the block, and the puttering Leonardo with his distractions into anatomy, astronomy and mathematics didn’t endear him to his patron pope who had commissioned him to produce a work of religious art. Pope Leonardo commented in exasperation, Alas this man will never get anything done, for he is thinking about the end before he begins!

And so, during his meeting with Francis, Leonardo received a better offer. He graciously accepted the king’s invitation to come to France as his guest. In addition to giving Leonardo a generous stipend, Francis agreed to provide his famous albeit eccentric guest with a residence, Chateau de Cloux, a charming red brick building with sandstone trim and fanciful spirals. In the summer of 1516 before the snows made the Alps impassable, Leonardo traveled with his own entourage (not quite as grand as the Cardinal’s convoy) with wagons pulled by mules that carried his household furniture, trunks of clothing, journals of his observations and some paintings including his most cherished lady.

Leonardo comfortably settled into his new home but certainly not in retirement. He was busier than ever with his own interests and conjuring amusements for the French court. In addition, many a traveling party from his native country sought out his company. Cardinal Luigi, richly dressed as befitting his status, had arrived with proper fanfare that morning. Leonardo had warmly greeted his guest and personally guided the Cardinal, grown stout with age, and his secretary, just the opposite thin of face and figure, through the mansion. The trio spoke in their native Italian that Leonardo was pleased to hear instead of the French of his host country.

The Cardinal had begged for a viewing of Leonardo’s masterpiece he referred to as the Florentine lady. Her creator called her his Madonna Lisa. A mystery did surround the portrait as Leonardo had not delivered the painting to the Florentine patron who commissioned the work in 1503. Since then, Leonardo had kept her to himself, although those rare few he had permitted to view the portrait spoke of the work in glorious terms. Their accolades turned into whispers that such a work existed and was worthy to behold. Leonardo would have preferred to keep his beloved lady to himself, but, as host, he could hardly refuse.

Upon entering Leonardo’s bedchamber, the Cardinal and de Beatis both stopped midway, each gazing across the room at the portrait set on the easel and bathed in golden light from the window. However, it wasn’t the sun’s radiance that caught their attention, it was the radiance of the image herself. Leonardo stood by, captivated as he always was by his creation that seemed to him and to his companions viewing her now, a living being. The three men gazed on the portrait in silence, the ticking of the pendulum clock on the mantle the only sound. Time was advancing and yet, as they gazed at her in awe, time seemed to have stopped. Only the entrance of the servants with wine, cheese, and other culinary delights broke the spell.

Finally, the Cardinal spoke. So, this is the Florentine lady, he whispered. What can you tell me about her?

Leonardo didn’t answer. He would guard her secrets and his own. The Cardinal’s gaze shifted to the tasty offerings while the interest of de Beatis turned to a device deep in the opposite corner and shaded from the light. Even in shadow by its size, nearly seven feet in height, made it hard to miss. It had a circular form with spokes from the hub radiating to a large wheel that resembled a paddle wheel. The device was mounted upright on a wooden scaffold. De Beatis thought it might be a clock but could see no dial or numerals.

Maestro, he said, motioning. What is this? An invention?

Leonardo nodded.

What is it for? To tell time?

Yes, said Leonardo. A timepiece.

Leonardo would say no more and gestured for his guests to partake in the feast. They sat before the dancing fire, sipping wine, and chatting amicably, not only about art and philosophy, but gossiping as well. Gossip about the royal court of the Italian dukedoms was nectar for the soul. The sexual and political machinations of the expansive de’ Medici family, the ruling class in Florence off and on since 1389, were enough alone to fill a night’s conversation. When Leonardo was a young artist just starting out, Lorenzo de’ Medici was his patron, but gave him few commissions. Lorenzo eventually dismissed Leonardo from his court giving him a lyre as a diplomatic gift. Leonardo had hoped for more, at least a vineyard in the rolling hills. The modest gift wasn’t a total loss he had mused at the time. He taught himself to play the lyre and, in due time, constructed a better sounding instrument of his own.

Leonardo and the Cardinal had many mutual acquaintances and Leonardo had attended the Cardinal’s lavish banquets in Rome. The Cardinal remarked with glee that Leonardo had cut a jaunty figure back then in his colorful attire. Leonardo recalled that in his youth he preferred wearing a short tunic and the bold colors of rose and yellow. Talking of past adventures pleased Leonardo as memories of those times passed through his mind.

With the food now consumed, and the wine doing its work to relax and amuse, a lull in the conversation led Leonardo to a moment of reflection. Leonardo had been living in France for a year as a guest of the king and now in his sixties undeniably nearing the end of his life’s journey. A stroke that had weakened his right hand was just one more sign of failing health. He contemplated lazily that only God knew how much more time he was granted.

Those who had known him as a quixotic youth filled with grace and vitality now commented in whispers that he looked older than his years. Well, the long gray hair and billowy beard might have something to do with that. His mind was still keen was it not? That was all that mattered when all else failed. There was no argument that time was running out. There was so much to do, so many questions, so many inquiries, so many problems to solve…time…time…time!

With the descending twilight, his guests had departed for their bed chambers. Leonardo was tired, his body frail and weak, but he felt satisfied after the stimulating conversation and succulent food. He lay his head on the pillow, closing his eyes. He waited for sweet sleep to envelope him, but his mind would not silence. A myriad of tasks tumbled through…observe a goose’s foot…get a master of arithmetic to show him how to square a triangle…find a noted astronomer and get the measurement of the sun. Yet, even with all that, when sleep caressed him, she was foremost in his dreams. He dreamed of her, he always dreamed of her.

The desperate specter now watching cared not about Leonardo and his vain painting. He would set the place ablaze, Leonardo and the painting included, with the dark arts he possessed had not his quest stopped him. He had to find it, he had to find the holy rosary beads given to him by the Blessed Mother.

The tormented friar recalled the day the miracle happened. Each day the friar had gone to the church of San Marco, a simple building of unadorned stone, to pray. He preferred its plainness, unlike the Florence Cathedral with its magnificent dome, towers and spirals, the showy church went against his nature. The friar had taken a vow of poverty, chastity and obedience and his fiery sermons had condemned all sinners and the objects of their sins, their vanities, to Hell. Now the hierarchy of the church and the crowds were turning against him. He prayed before the statue of the Blessed Mother for perseverance and resolve to meet the challenges ahead, challenges dark and foreboding. Then one morning, that glorious morning, when he came into the church and knelt before her statue, he saw it. A ray of sunlight angled from a tall glass window to a spot at the foot of the statue. There in a golden pool of light, a black beaded rosary lay on the flagstones.

Hail Mary full of grace…his prayers answered.

In Leonardo’s bedchamber, the friar stirred, pushing away the agonizing memory on how the rosary came to be lost. How cruel that it should end up in the possession of a sinner, a known sodomizer. He could not allow Leonardo to take the secret of the holy relic’s whereabouts to his grave.

Give it to me, the shadowy figure cried out.

Leonardo suddenly woke up, bolting upright. The moonlight coming through the lattice windows delicately laced the room. All looked normal, but he knew better. The old man frowned aware that within the darkness was a tormented soul.

Go away Savonarola, he muttered.

Leonardo gracefully collapsed on his pillow falling once again into a sound sleep. The plea of the friar went unheeded, and the shadows remained watching…watching…watching.

Chapter 1

The present - The Ronald Reagan Presidential Library and Museum,

Simi Valley, California

Rusty stood before the closed double doors of the special exhibit gallery. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Why was he so nervous? He steeled himself from chewing on his nails, a habit he had vowed to kick. Why did he get the shakes each time he faced those doors? Hadn’t he survived numerous exhibits in that gallery in his relatively short tenure as curator of the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library and Museum? True, one exhibit at the start of his employment two years ago, had gone off the rails. He hadn’t anticipated that the exhibit entitled The Ghost Ship HMS Resolute and the Epic Search for the Lost Explorer Sir John Franklin and the Northwest Passage would unleash supernatural forces. Rusty breathed out. All that had been resolved and the original Resolute desk no longer housed restless spirits. Ms. Babcock, the presidential library’s executive director, had discreetly returned the original desk to the federal government. It now sat in the Oval Office with only a handful of people with the knowledge of its disturbing history.

Why the vapors now Rusty asked himself? He reasoned it was just the challenge before him. Every exhibit that he had supervised had its own challenges (nothing like the Resolute debacle, thank you very much) but logistics, transporting of the artifacts and dealing with an array of people from persnickety contractors to nit-picking foreign governments had been daunting at times. Rusty reminded himself that he had succeeded each time and pulled it off.

Rusty was nearing the milestone of turning fifty. He had noticed the subtle changes of age. His coppery hair, the source of his nickname, was no longer the vibrant red of his youth. His ex-wife had once told him that he looked like the actor Kevin Costner. Rusty had pulled up the actor’s photo on the Internet and, using a mirror to reflect his face, compared the two. He hadn’t seen any resemblance to the dashing Costner who had starred in hits like Dances with Wolves and Field of Dreams. He doubted that any female on the planet, (other than his hyperopic ex) would see the resemblance either. Costner looked out on the world with keen blue eyes, Rusty’s pale blue eyes were generally described by his previous dates as kind looking, hardly the man of action image he wanted to project. To make matters more discouraging, now he needed reading glasses…and that growing paunch was troubling.

Rusty straightened his posture, vowing to join a gym. He sighed. His duties as curator were all consuming. He hardly had time to go home and rest before the next fire blazed that needed his attention. Rusty didn’t mind the activity. He lived alone in an apartment on Madera Road, a highway at the foot of the mountain where the library/museum complex was located. It was a lonely existence. He intermittently saw his now 11-year-old son who lived with his mother in Northern California. He had missed his boy’s last birthday. Busy with an exhibit, he had simply lost track of the date. He tried to make up for it with a harried phone call and overly expensive electronic gift, but the under tone of disappointment in his son’s voice stayed with him.

Yet, even with all his frustration and the balls he had to keep in the air, Rusty reminded himself that he loved his job. And now there was an added reason for him to joyfully come into work each day, a reason that now put a smile on his lips.

Whitney!

After a two year-long absence, Whitney had returned home and, even better, was again working at the presidential library.

As he stood in the small lobby before the special exhibit gallery, a security guard in the gift shop to Rusty’s left, slid open the glass door to open the store for the day.

Rusty looked over at a stocky man perhaps in his late forties or early fifties, his muscles bulging under his uniform shirt. Rusty didn’t know him but that was not unusual with a routine turnover of guards and rotation of working hours. Still, Rusty thought he must be a new hire. Rusty’s glance captured the security guard uniform, one he still wasn’t used to seeing. Last year, the government wing of the museum, The National Archives and Records Administration (NARA), had delivered an edict and changed the uniforms of all security guards working in the 14 presidential libraries around the country. A crisp white shirt with a showy gold badge and emblem of the flag on the shoulder sleeve, a black tie and pants was the new look.

Rusty missed the previous uniform the guards wore with a gray wool jacket. As unfashionable as it was, the jacket hid the guards’ weapon and, with the jacket, the guards seemed to blend with the background. Without the overcoat, the lethal weapon, handcuffs, and blackjack on the guard’s thick belt was visible. The guards looked more like police officers than with their previous uniform as guardians of the museum. Yet all that was not foremost in his mind. Whitney had been hired as a security guard when she first worked at the museum. Rusty pictured Whitney wearing that uniform. True, the jacket had hidden her vivacious curves, but his imagination had filled in. A man can but dream.

You need to go to the lobby for entry, said the guard gruffly.

Rusty paused not understanding and then realized the guard thought he was a visitor, no doubt lost in the maze of corridors.

Oh, no, said Rusty. I’m the curator, Henry Ruskowski.

He purposely left out his middle name, Rutherford also emblazed on the badge he wore on the lapel of his reliable tan suit. The name was a bit of an embarrassment to Rusty as it was old fashioned and last used with any conviction in the bygone era of the 19th president of the United States, Rutherford B. Hayes.

Yeah? the man replied and then turning, walked away into the gift shop.

Apparently, the new hire wasn’t a talker, Rusty thought a bit miffed. He had a strange adverse reaction to the man, maybe it was his unfriendly attitude. He had a good rapport with the security guards. Most were friendly and, when the museum wasn’t busy, would briefly chat with the staff and docents. Well, a new hire probably didn’t feel part of the family thought Rusty, not yet anyway. He shrugged it off, returning to the task at hand.

Rusty was surprised it was 10 a.m. when the museum opened. On any given day, visitors gathered in the courtyard at the entrance to the museum waiting for the doors to open. Time had flown since he first arrived at 8 a.m. He had mostly been on the phone during those two hours, making arrangements for the upcoming exhibit.

A list of the previous exhibits ran through his mind, The Lost Cities of Ancient Egypt, Treasures of the Vatican, and The Legacy of Abraham Lincoln were among his favorites. The exhibits had opened on time and the public flocked to the museum to view the wonders inside.

In the range of 400,000 people visited the museum proper each year learning about the life and times of Ronald Reagan, the 40th President of the United States. The temporary exhibit galleries, formally called National Treasure Gallery and the Mary Jane Wick Gallery, with a combined 10,000 square feet, were further incentive for people to visit and learn about a wide range of topics.

The next exhibit soon to open…was about a mysterious man known for his gifts as an artist, engineer, and inventor. The term polymath crossed Rusty’s mind. The term from the Greek polymathēs, having learned much. Also apropos was the Latin term homouniversalis, universal man. Rusty thought of a term perhaps more fitting…Renaissance man.

Rusty had aptly named the exhibit Leonardo da Vinci, the Wizard of the Renaissance. Most people Rusty thought knew of Leonardo da Vinci as an artist…although in his lifetime he had trouble completing paintings. That lack of completion often got him into trouble with the wealthy patrons that had commissioned the work. In his time, he gained a reputation as incompetent, lackadaisical, and even lazy. Leonardo ignored such comments going on his merry way, his mind wandering to solve a mathematical problem or a question most profound…why is the sky blue? His curiosity took him to many different fields of inquiry and some as noted in his journal endearingly odd…describe the tongue of a woodpecker.

His skill as an artist was only one aspect of his life. Today there are only fifteen paintings that Leonardo fully or partially created. Yet, of those, unquestionably the most famous in history is the painting known as the Mona Lisa.

Early on Rusty had told Whitney that he wanted this exhibit to center on an aspect of Leonardo not as well-known…Leonardo as an alchemist and inventor.

Alchemist? she had said surprised. You mean he was a wizard?

Rusty gave it some thought before answering, Yes.

Rusty speculated that if Leonardo had experimented with turning lead into gold it wouldn’t be for the value of gold…it would have been for the wonder of finding out how such a transformation happened.

Rusty knew that Leonardo’s wizardry extended to creating new inventions, some used as weaponry, others to improve the working world. His armored car was the precursor of the modern-day tank. He invented a machine that could grind needles, an innovation that in his time, revolutionized the textile industry.

Within the pages of his journals, Leonardo had sketched wondrous things from futuristic looking inventions such as a corkscrew-like flying machine to human veins showing the flow of blood to the flight of birds. He had packed each page with his observations…the whirl of water eddies, geometry calculations, bridge and building designs, all seemingly random entries yet each a thoughtful inquiry into the nature of existence.

With a keen eye for detail, he drew figures on those pages, some figures had noble features, others grotesque with a bulbous nose and flabby lips. He wasted no paper as that was a precious commodity back in his day and filled each page with his thoughts and drawings. There was enough material in any one of the journals to fill an exhibit many times over. Rusty smiled. His exhibit would offer what no other exhibit had in the past. Rusty’s flesh tingled just thinking about it. His exhibit would concentrate on Leonardo’s inventions, and for the first time, those inventions would be presented as working models.

Rusty was on his way to Florence to meet with the builders, Cavalli e Compagnia (Cavalli and Company). The artists and engineers had diligently studied Leonardo’s journals and then painstakingly built the devices. They had added cogwheels, levers, and pullies that Leonardo had not included in the sketches to make the devices work. Those parts the artisans had meticulously researched to be true to the era in which Leonardo lived. Notably few of the inventions in his journals were built at the time and remained only the fantasy of a brilliant mind. Some of the inventions such as the glider Leonardo conceived would have worked during his time had he had modern materials. Other devices like the human powered flying machine would never get off the ground.

Via phone calls and emails, Rusty had been working diligently with the company for the past year. He was eager to see the devices built by the company and select the ones for the exhibit. These were replicas, of course. However, Rusty was pleased to note, the exhibit would also include original devices fashioned during Leonardo’s time…viola organista, (an organ-like instrument), a Magic Cube (a hiding box perhaps to send secret messages) and, most intriguing of all…tempus machina, (a time machine - the function unknown).

Rusty heard footsteps and looked to his left. An elderly couple standing in the gift shop were staring at him.

Good morning, he said to them.

The man was stooped and wearing a cap embroidered with Vietnam Vet.

Thank you for your service, said Rusty with a smile.

The man nodded, a shade of sadness passing in his eyes.

We’re looking for the gravesite, said the woman.

The couple were a comfortable fit. Rusty surmised they had been married for many, many years. The woman looked at him with expectant eyes. We’re from Ohio, she said.

A brief conversation ensued and Rusty found out that a visit to the presidential library was on their bucket list. Rusty warmly welcomed them. He wished they were visiting when the Leonardo exhibit was open but, he assured himself, there was still much to see within the museum proper and the pavilion that housed the mighty 707 Boeing airplane…Air Force One.

President Reagan and Mrs. Reagan’s burial site is across the lawn, he said.

Oh, said the woman dismayed. Did Nancy pass?

Yes, Rusty replied with a note of sadness as well. On March 6, 2016.

They’re buried together? her husband asked curtly.

Oh yes, said Rusty. They were together in life and now throughout eternity.

The woman glanced at her husband. That’s nice.

Rusty directed the couple to go through the gift shop doors they had entered. Once outside the couple would encounter a wide lawn with a circle of roses at center and an expansive sidewalk that led to the gravesite. The mountain top where the complex was located gave visitors a magnificent view of the distant mountains and a panoramic sky.

In his final letter to the American people, President Reagan wrote, I now begin the journey that will lead me into the sunset of my life. Since its opening, the President had frequently visited his library and felt very much at home there. He chose the hilltop location as his final resting place and directed that his coffin, set in a chamber below ground, should face west toward the setting sun.

After a long struggle with Alzheimer’s disease, the President passed into the light on a summer day. As part of the funeral service, the President laid in state with full military honors at two different locations, the Capitol rotunda in Washington D.C. and the presidential library.

For two days, the American people had the opportunity to pay their respects as the flag draped coffin rested in the lobby of the presidential library. Over 120,000 people filed past, some waiting eight hours in a line that weaved from the building along the winding drive to Madera Road below.

The simple granite marker reads: Ronald Wilson Reagan, February 6, 1911 - June 5, 2004 (and 12 years later added) Nancy Davis Reagan, July 6, 1921 - March 6, 2016. Engraved on the horseshoe-shaped wall behind the marker is one of the President’s inspiring thoughts to generations now and in the future.

I know in my heart that man is good. That what is right will always eventually triumph. And there is purpose and worth to each and every life.

The couple toddled away through the gift shop and out the door.

Time…Rusty thought…if only we could capture it in a bottle.

Rusty’s thoughts turned to Leonardo’s time machine. It would be truly amazing if one could traverse time. He amused himself with the thought. Did Leonardo tinker with time, creating a machine to do just that?

A female voice broke into his lofty thoughts causing his heart to flutter.

Chapter 2

The present - Saint-Tropez, the Riviera, France

Zacharias was a family name that went back in time to the rulers of ancient Greece. Benedictine Zacharias always appreciated that for he thought of himself as a ruler, his kingdom perhaps not as defined as those long-ago kings who ruled over conquered lands, never-the-less, he ruled over a vast domain.

Zacharias looked across the Mediterranean Sea, deep blue this day, a shade deeper than the vibrant blue sky. His keen eyes were the same color as the sea and as cold as its deepest depths. He was tall and hauntingly thin, his skin taut and tanned. He was past sixty now, yet time had not slowed him. He wore white suits, white to him a symbol of purity. Most who knew him would scoff at the notion. There was nothing pure about him. Most shuddered as he approached them, his lean frame sheathed in white like a skeleton walking. Those that saw him coming wished to step gingerly aside but stayed rooted in their spot giving him the deference he demanded. Indeed, he had the air of an important man and so he was, wealthy beyond belief. How he had accumulated such wealth remained a mystery. Yes, you could trace it to a fleet of oil tankers, coal mines, and textile enterprises. These were all on the books but there were other sources of his wealth…blood diamonds, cocaine smuggling and prescription drug enterprises that went unspoken. His kingdom was vast, that much was for certain.

With one leg casually crossed, he sipped a hearty Cabernet Sauvignon from a Baccarat crystal wine glass. He was used to such luxury as fine wines, gold rimmed dinnerware, yachts, and fast cars. The villa where he was now was one of several mansions he owned, each in a different country. His travels took him to these countries, sometimes to attend to his vast business interests; most times in pursuit of his passion – art.

Whenever a statue or oil painting came up for auction, Zacharias had purchased it with the highest bid. Those were his legitimate purchases, however as with his business interests, he had shadow acquisitions as well. These were the items snatched by his Searchers. No artifact escaped, be it from ancient Egypt or Greece or the British Isles. The objects were smuggled out of their home country to be added to his collection.

Antonio, his manservant filled the doorway behind him. His chocolate skin was in brilliant contrast to the stark white of the stucco façade. He looked across the terrace where Zacharias sat in a cushioned lounge chair. Antonio hesitated to walk out and disturb his employer. However, a call Zacharias was waiting for had come through. Antonio knew not to disturb Zacharias when he was in a contemplative mood. Antonio doubted the man was in deep thought about a scheme to make money. More likely, Antonio assumed, Zacharias was thinking about his art collection, an assortment so vast that Zacharias was opening a museum in the United States to house it. The Renaissance Palazzo Museum would feature artwork from an era commonly known as the Renaissance, a zealous period of European cultural renewal following the harsh social constraints of the Middle Ages. The rebirth was a celebration of classical philosophy, literature, and art and the blossoming of new inventions to improve the lives of the populace. One such invention, the printing press, by a German goldsmith Johannes Gutenberg, revolutionized how information was disseminated. No longer would knowledge be the provenance of arrogant nobles and condescending clergy. The printing press enabled the mass production of books and distribution of knowledge to the common folk. In England, the move to translate the Bible from Latin into English made it possible for people to read the Good Book without the interpretation of a priest.

Of course, most people at the time were illiterate, yet these were steps toward enlightenment. During the Renaissance, a different style of art was emerging. The stiff, two-dimensional canvases of the past gave way to a new style where artists strived to make a painting come alive, to look three-dimensional and life-like. Zacharias reveled in this exquisite artistic achievement. Of late his focus on art objects had narrowed. He was now only concerned with the Renaissance period for his new museum. He had already secured works by renowned artists of that period, Donatello, Raphael, and Botticelli. To his credit, he had even scored a man-sized statue by Michelangelo thought to be the model for the towering 17-foot-tall David, now located in the Galleria dell’ Accademia in Florence, Italy.

Zacharias viciously cursed under his breath. Antonio wily noted Zacharias, who spoke several languages, chose Italian for swearing. Antonio thought the guttural sounds of German were more biting. He shrugged. Each to his own. Antonio stepped back into the cool shadows of the villa. Best to leave Zacharias alone with his thoughts.

Museums were the bane of his existence, snapping up the artifacts he wanted. One museum he especially loathed…the Musée du Louvre