The Empress Holds the Key

by Gabriel Farago

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘Excellent, and don’t forget to bring the missing piece of the beard,’ he reminded her and hung up.

  Jack was cooking breakfast while Jana packed her bag. ‘I can see clearly now how our arrangement is going to work,’ observed Jack, stirring the omelette.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you get all the glamorous assignments – Cairo one day, London the next – and I get the drudgery. Wading through endless newspaper articles, doing the research, staring at computer screens all day long, exciting stuff like that – with the occasional bit of encouragement thrown in to keep me motivated, I suppose,’ he added mischievously. Jana threw a pillow at him through the doorway, narrowly missing the frying pan.

  ‘You want your omelette fluffy then, I take it,’ Jack chuckled. Jana tiptoed quietly up to him from behind and put her arms around his waist.

  ‘Careful now. Remember what happened the last time you interfered with my cooking?’ Jack warned, waving his spoon at her. ‘My kitchen table will never be the same again,’ he complained with a sigh and continued to stir the omelette.

  ‘Jack.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I feel so happy here,’ Jana said quietly. ‘I really don’t want to go.’

  ‘Do you have to?’ Jack asked hopefully.

  ‘You know the answer as well as I do.’

  ‘I guess so, but I don’t have to like it.’ Jana began to nibble his ear. ‘Enough of that now. No more smooching or you’ll really miss your plane. Go and do something useful. Squeeze something, preferably an orange, or set the table.’

  ‘Remember how Dr Rosen thought there was an article in an Adelaide paper about the violin at the time her parents got divorced?’ Jack reminded her.

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘Look under your serviette.’ Jana lifted her serviette and found a neatly folded piece of paper under it. It was a photocopy of a newspaper page dated October 12, 1962. In the bottom left corner was a small article with the heading:

  Charity violin to be auctioned in London.

  ‘Where on earth did you find this?’ Jana asked, holding up the page.

  ‘The fruits of drudgery are occasionally quite sweet,’ Jack replied with a grin.

  ‘Prominent Adelaide stock broker, Eric Newman, has donated a precious violin to bushfire victims in the Adelaide Hills. The violin, a treasured heirloom, has been in his family for generations, he said,’ Jana began to read out loud. ‘The magnificent instrument – thought to be a genuine Stradivarius – is to be sent to England for auction. A representative of the auctioneers – McCormack & Sons of London – has indicated that there was already considerable interest in the unique instrument, which is expected to fetch several thousand pounds.’

  ‘I thought, while you’re in London, you could look up the auctioneers and ask them to search their records,’ Jack suggested. ‘It could be useful to find out what’s happened to the violin. A Stradivarius doesn’t just vanish without a trace.’

  Jana nodded and read the article again. ‘This is very exciting, Jack. Dr Rosen certainly told us the truth.’

  ‘And there’s more,’ Jack said, reaching for another slice of toast.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That American attorney called again. You know, the class action in the US?’

  ‘Green ... something ...’

  ‘Yeah, Sam Greenberg from New York. Apparently the investigators had a breakthrough with the Swiss authorities. The international pressure had its desired effect. The banks concerned have agreed to cooperate and open their ledgers and, hopefully, their vaults. Well, at least the ledgers; the vaults will take a little more persuasion, I believe.’

  ‘Does this help us?’

  ‘It could. Remember I told you about a particular bank account set up by the Nazis that is still being accessed regularly from Argentina?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The Americans are now almost certain that an Australian bank is involved. They’re talking to a potential witness in Buenos Aires right now – a former Nazi. It’s all very hush-hush, but who knows?’

  ‘How extraordinary.’

  ‘It gets better.’

  ‘It does?’

  ‘Greenberg and I have made a deal, as the Americans would say.’

  ‘What kind of deal?’ Jana looked puzzled.

  ‘We exchange information. Sound familiar? I keep him up to date about our Newman investigation over here, and he keeps me informed about the Swiss bank proceedings and the new witness.’

  ‘You learn quickly.’

  ‘I have a good teacher.’ Jana began to laugh. ‘And the best bit,’ Jack continued, leaning forward, ‘my paper has commissioned a series of articles about the US class action and the Holocaust victims with their abandoned Swiss bank accounts. You never know, if it turns out that an Aussie bank is involved, well ... In any event, it’s a good story and we stay ahead of the game, don’t you think?’

  ‘Congratulations!’

  ‘And,’ Jack paused, rubbing his hands together, ‘I negotiated a fat advance. I don’t make this kind of money often. After falling down those stairs, my bank balance appears to have fallen with me – quite alarmingly so in fact. My kind of journalism is a fickle business, you know. You certainly wouldn’t do it for the money.’

  ‘That’s my Jack: always charming, always broke, but ready for anything.’

  Jana looked out the window of the small plane and saw Jack standing at the end of the runway. He was waving at the plane with both hands. Jana waved back, well aware he couldn’t possibly see her.

  29

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we now come to the item many of you have been waiting for,’ the auctioneer announced with a flourish. He paused, giving his audience time to settle down. He adjusted his yellow polka-dot bow tie with carefully manicured fingers and scrutinised the potential bidders. ‘A magnificent life-sized statue of a famous – dare I say notorious – pharaoh, exquisitely crafted from black granite by royal Egyptian sculptors 3200 years ago.’ The auctioneer turned around and signalled to his assistant. The blue silk sheet covering the statue was lifted off and a ripple of excitement washed across the room.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure you will agree that many a museum would be proud to display such a splendid piece in its collection. Yet, here you are with a unique opportunity to own it yourself,’ continued the auctioneer. ‘No doubt you have all read the fascinating history of the statue in your catalogues and would have noticed that it forms part of the deceased estate of a Swiss collector. It’s offered for sale here today by his executors. Ladies and gentlemen, the beneficiaries want their money; the statue must be sold,’ joked the auctioneer, shrewdly weaving a reference to the provenance of the item into his opening remarks. The auctioneer paused again and reached for his gavel. Somehow, this gesture appeared to silence the excited crowd.

  ‘I’m in your hands, ladies and gentlemen. Do I have a million pounds to start? A million pounds for a piece of eternity? A million pounds I have, thank you, sir,’ said the auctioneer, pointing to a well-dressed, elderly gentleman standing at the back of the room. Curious heads turned in his direction.

  ‘Any advance on a million pounds? A million I have, a million pounds. A million and two hundred thousand; thank you, madam,’ said the auctioneer, bowing politely towards a young lady sitting in the front row. ‘It’s against you now, sir. One million five hundred thousand; thank you, sir. That’s the spirit. One million and a half I have, a million and a half for a real pharaoh. It’s a bargain at this price. Any advance on a million and a half?’

  The taxi crawled through the heavy London traffic. Carrington looked at Jana sitting next to him and pointed to his watch.

  ‘How much further?’ Jana asked the cabbie.

  ‘We’re almost there, Miss. I’m going as fast as I can,’ the driver assured her.

  At the next intersection the traffic came to a virtual standstill in the pouring r
ain. Their flight had been delayed in Singapore. Carrington had phoned Haddad from the airport and was told to go straight to the auction; there were complications with the injunction ...

  The taxi inched a few feet forward and then stopped completely. Carrington looked again at his watch, reached for his mobile and dialled Haddad’s number.

  ‘Where are you?’ asked Haddad.

  ‘Still in the taxi, where are you?’

  ‘Still at court with the ambassador and the lawyers. How close are you?’

  ‘How much further, driver?’ Carrington asked.

  ‘Just there, guv,’ replied the cabbie, pointing to the other side of the intersection.

  ‘Very close.’

  ‘Run for it!’

  ‘And what do you suggest I do when I get there?’

  ‘You’re the barrister, you’ll think of something. Buy us time. Anything, just hold up the sale. I’ll come with the ambassador as soon as I can,’ Haddad said, and hung up.

  ‘Great! Come on, Jana, let’s go,’ Carrington shouted and opened the door. They ran across the intersection and almost bumped into the liveried doorman standing in front of the auction house. ‘Where’s the auction?’ Carrington demanded breathlessly. The doorman pointed towards a pair of open doors at the end of a long corridor.

  ‘Four million pounds I have, four million, four million pounds,’ the auctioneer droned on, trying to keep the bidding momentum going forward. He knew that any interruption to the flow could be fatal. ‘It’s against you now, madam. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, ladies and gentlemen. Four million pounds for a unique piece of history.’ The auctioneer paused, dabbing his brow with a red handkerchief. ‘I will take advances of one hundred thousand. Four million one hundred thousand I have; thank you, Sir Edmond,’ said the auctioneer, acknowledging one of the regulars. ‘I’m sure your tenacity will be well rewarded.’

  Eager to see what was happening, curious spectators had gathered in the corridor outside the auction room. Carrington ignored their protests and began to push past them.

  ‘Four million six hundred thousand once,’ said the auctioneer, holding up his gavel. ‘Four million six hundred thousand twice. This is your last opportunity, ladies and gentlemen; the Heretic King of Egypt will be sold. Four million six hundred thousand pounds, are you all done?’ asked the auctioneer for the last time. All eyes were on the raised gavel.

  As soon as he saw the black granite statue on the podium, all of Carrington’s niggling doubts evaporated. ‘Stop!’ he shouted from the back of the room and held up his hand.

  ‘Are you bidding, sir?’ asked the surprised auctioneer, lowering his gavel.

  ‘Please, let me through,’ Carrington said. The auctioneer put the gavel back on the lectern.

  ‘Please, sir, answer me. Are you bidding?’ demanded the auctioneer again.

  ‘Mr Auctioneer, the lot you are about to knock down is stolen property and rightfully belongs to another sovereign country. It cannot be sold!’ Carrington said, climbing onto the podium. With his wet hair plastered across his forehead and rainwater dripping from his trench coat, he looked like the Pink Panther under secondment to MI5.

  ‘This is a trick. Throw him out! This is intolerable. Do your duty, auctioneer,’ shouted angry bidders from the floor below. The crowd was turning hostile. The auctioneer motioned to the security guards at the back of the room.

  ‘Don’t make a big mistake, I have proof,’ Carrington warned, looking the auctioneer straight in the eye.

  ‘He has proof,’ shouted someone in the front row.

  ‘He has proof,’ repeated others further back. The auctioneer hesitated, uncertainty clouding his face. Carrington took a deep breath. We may have just bought a little time, he thought.

  ‘What proof?’ asked the auctioneer. ‘Who are you?’

  This is just like a court performance, thought Carrington, turning confidently towards the agitated crowd. He held up his hands and tried to calm the ruffled patrons. ‘My name is Marcus Carrington. I found this statue three weeks ago, buried in an ancient tomb at Saqqara, in Egypt,’ he explained calmly, addressing the crowd like a jury. He paused, and pointed to the smiling pharaoh. ‘It was stolen from the tomb the night after I discovered it. The statue was under guard. Two young soldiers were murdered trying to protect it.’

  The crowd fell silent. The security guards approached the podium and looked at the auctioneer. He waved them away; throwing the man out now would solve nothing.

  ‘Anyone can say that,’ shouted a man at the back. ‘Mr Auctioneer, I demand you continue with the sale immediately.’ Jana looked at the man and instantly recognised Horst Newman. She wanted to tell Carrington but he was on the podium arguing with the auctioneer. Jana kept looking at Horst to make sure she wasn’t mistaken.

  ‘The Egyptian ambassador will be here any moment with an injunction,’ Carrington said.

  ‘You have proof?’ asked the auctioneer, now also trying to buy time.

  I believe I have an ally here, thought Carrington. How quickly things can change.

  ‘Yes, what proof?’ repeated someone in the front.

  ‘Put up, or shut up,’ shouted someone else.

  ‘I do have proof. Please listen to me.’

  ‘Order!’ shouted the auctioneer, hammering the lectern with his gavel. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please. I’m sure we can resolve this quickly. Let us hear what Mr Carrington has to say.’

  ‘Let the man speak,’ yelled someone in the back.

  ‘Yes, let him speak,’ chorused the crowd and calmed down.

  ‘This is a farce,’ shouted Horst, ‘get on with the auction.’ The auctioneer ignored the remark.

  ‘Keep quiet!’ barked a man standing in front of Horst. Colonel Sorokin put his hand on Horst’s arm. ‘The auctioneer won’t proceed with the sale, let it be,’ he said quietly. Sorokin was anxious not to attract any more attention. Horst paled and turned to Farim standing next to him.

  ‘Well, what do we do now?’ he demanded angrily.

  ‘We keep calm and see what happens,’ replied Farim, looking for the nearest exit.

  ‘When I discovered the statue three weeks ago buried in a tomb, it was exactly as you see it here before you now – with the tip of the beard broken off,’ explained Carrington, pointing to Akhenaten. All heads turned towards the statue and looked at the beard. ‘When we tried to move it, we found the missing piece ...’ The podium had become a stage and the bidders had turned into a spellbound audience. I feel like a circus magician, thought Carrington. He already knew the verdict of this jury; all he had to do was present the evidence. By deliberately taking his time, Carrington let the tension mount.

  ‘I have the missing piece right here,’ he announced, holding out his hand. Jana reached into her bag and handed the piece of black granite to him. When she turned around, Horst recognised her. They stared at each other until Horst lowered his eyes. Jana continued to look in his direction.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ mumbled Horst, ‘what on earth is she doing here?’ He looked suddenly alarmed. ‘Do you see that woman over there, in the front?’ Horst asked Sorokin. The Colonel nodded. ‘Do you have someone here who could follow her?’

  ‘Sure, but why?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later. Please, just do it,’ pleaded Horst, looking nervously around the room.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Please take it,’ urged Carrington, handing the small piece of stone to the perplexed auctioneer. ‘After all, it’s part of what you’re trying to sell. If it fits, I think you have your proof, don’t you agree?’

  The crowded auction room turned deathly quiet. All eyes followed the small, shiny stone fragment in the auctioneer’s hand. The tension grew. For an instant, the auctioneer hesitated, as the magnitude of his predicament began to dawn on him. What if it fits? he asked himself. There’ll be one hell of a scandal and I’m right in the middle of it.

  ‘Go on, see if it fits,’ urged one of the bidders impatiently. The auct
ioneer realised he was no longer in control and began to fumble with his bow tie. He walked across to the statue and carefully placed the piece of polished stone against the broken end of the pharaoh’s beard. It was a perfect fit. At first there was complete silence, then the room erupted.

  ‘That was quite a performance; you should try Shakespeare next,’ Haddad said, putting his arm around Carrington’s shoulder. ‘I really enjoyed the show.’

  ‘How long have you been here?’ asked Carrington, surprised to see his friend. He had to shout to make himself heard.

  ‘You were doing so well, I didn’t want to interrupt,’ Haddad replied, sidestepping the question. ‘The ambassador is serving the injunction right now, the auction is over, come.’

  Jana pushed through the excited crowd towards Horst. He saw her coming and hurried towards the exit. When she finally made it to the door, Horst had disappeared.

  30

  ‘Congratulations,’ Jack said on the other end of the line. ‘I’d like to have seen the auctioneer’s face when you two burst into the room crying foul. Here they come again.’

  ‘Who? What are you talking about?’ Jana asked. ‘Have you been drinking?’

  ‘The inquisitive dolphins, silly. They’ve turned up every day since you left – what a sight! I think they’re looking for you. That’s what happens when you walk around starkers on the terrace. You see, they remember those firm, well-rounded ...’

  ‘One more word and I hang up,’ interrupted Jana, choking with laughter, ‘and you won’t find out who bought Newman’s violin.’

  ‘What? You know? Tell me. Dolphins go away!’

  ‘There were no records. They don’t keep them that long. But a nice lady in the auctioneer’s office gave me the address of an old fellow who valued musical instruments for McCormack & Sons for decades. I went to see him. He remembered the violin well. As you can imagine, a Stradivarius coming from Australia was quite a novelty at the time. The violin was apparently bought by a Lady Ashburton for her young son.’