Tuesday, July 25, 2006

The Code Bonaparte

It was about time to start thinking about opening a nicely chilled bottle of Tariquet when Andrew called.

“You know, when you were talking to my about Pamphylian treasures a while back, I thought you’d been on the Pernod for too long,” he began. “Now I’m not so sure. This Da Vinci Code nonsense has flushed out a whole new crop of conspiracy theories, hidden ciphers, and secret societies and the number of people who believe them is astounding.”

“I know,” I said. “I have to wade through lines of tourists on Da Vinci Code tours around the Louvre when I cut through. Some of them can’t believe that the old meridian DOESN’T actually line up with the inverted pyramid. They think it’s been moved to hide the real location.”

“The geography’s all wrong, too, isn’t it?” Andrew asked. “Versailles is to the southwest Paris, not the northwest.”

“Yes, and you cross the Place de la Concorde and the Crillon Hotel before going up the Champs Elysées. Books used to have editors who were literate,” I said.

Andrew considered this.

“Look, I don’t know about the Pamphylian Treasure, but it looks like Napoleon might have hidden something somewhere,” he began. “I just finished reading a biography and all the ingredients are there:

“Napoleon was extremely good at map reading and navigating on land; he was mathematically astute, as his calculations of armaments and supplies demonstrate; he was a complete master of military equipment; and – this is the clincher – large amounts of his plundered treasure never reached Paris.”

Andrew waited for a response.

“And you are suggesting. . . .” I prompted.

“Well, he melted the gold, plundered from churches in Northern Italy during his early campaigns, into – I don’t know – bullets, cannon, something - and hid it somewhere.”

“Sounds almost credible. You should write a book,” I said. “Send it to me, I’ll edit it. Do you have any idea where he might have hidden this treasure?”

“I’ve thought about that,” Andrew said. “I reckon its at the bottom of a lake.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s less likely to be stumbled upon. It would have been difficult for individuals to recover, but a small military operation could retrieve it easily enough. Gold wouldn’t tarnish, and once it was at the bottom, it wouldn’t matter if the black paint wore off.”

“This has possibilities,” I said. “What lake?”

“That’s tougher – it would have to be fairly convenient and easy to get to. He might want it nearby so he could keep an eye on developments in the area.”

“So you think it’s in Paris?” I said. “Not in the Seine?”

“No, not in the river,” Andrew said. “Too much traffic, prone to flooding that could scatter it along the bottom. A lake is better, no current. No heavy traffic.”

“Let me guess, the middle of the long lake at Versailles.”

“’X’ marks the spot,” Andrew laughed.

I thought of the great cross-shaped basin that was the ornamental long lake.

“That lake was built to hide something in. Look at the satellite maps – you can see it from about twenty thousand feet!”

“Next time you’re over, Andrew, we’ll get a metal detector and go for a boat ride. In the meantime, see if you can find the clues that lead to there.”