by Scott Soloff
Nick Gambelli and Danny Morelli both were pronounced dead at the scene. It didn't take long for any government agency to decide not to press charges. Special Agent Robert Simmons of Interpol produced an audio recording with Nicky's confession to all the events leading up to his death.
"Aye son, did everything work out as ye hoped?" Two days after becoming a corporeal being, albeit a temporary one, Uncle Moe came strolling through the door while TJ, Kelly and I were having breakfast before another go around with the authorities.
"Looking good, Uncle Moe. Feeling better, I hope?" Kelly asked. The nature of Kelly's relationship with Moe had obviously changed after the little incident in the gallery basement.
"Feelin' like a new man, lassie. Never been better."
I couldn't help but laugh. Kelly Lane talking to an apparition. Who would have thought? As for the painting, there were still a few lose ends before actually putting it up for auction.
While the days following the 'incident' were more than a little time consuming and distracting; the best was yet to come.
"Check tomorrow's headlines." Connor was calling me directly on my cell. It was mid-summer.
"Which newspaper?" I wanted to know.
"Doesn't matter, bro. Take your pick."
The following morning, a Saturday, I drove to the store and bought a New York Times. On the front page, above the fold, was the following story:
Vatican Cardinal Stuns Art World
In what appears to be an unprecedented move for the Vatican, Cardinal Francesco Carlo Calgiliano announced today the return of "Mother and Child" by Johannes Vermeer to what the Church is calling its rightful owner. A high ranking member of the Vatican Bank, Calgiliano convened a news conference and made the following statement: "The rightful ownership of this painting has been established beyond all reasonable doubt. The Vatican cannot, and will not, justify a lengthy legal process where the outcome is obvious. Arrangements are being made for a timely and safe return to the rightful owner. The Vatican is pleased to be in the position to make the damaged parties involved whole once again."
A complete printed copy of the statement was provided to the press and made available on news organizations’ websites worldwide.
All the pieces were falling in place for the eventual sale of the painting. That little piece of manipulation involving Cardinal Calgiliano was not as difficult as you may think. When this project first got off the ground, Connor was musing aloud that the last piece of the puzzle was the Vermeer being Nazi war loot.
"It's not difficult to imagine some of this war time treasure ending up in the hands of the church." Connor's reasoning continued, "It's a two step process, really. The first is to find someone in the Vatican where we can apply some pressure. The other step is to have someone with enough clout or contacts to handle the negotiations."
"You got someone in mind?" I asked.
"Don't sweat it, little brother. Take care of your end; let me take care of the provenance."
Huh? Little brother! Sonofabitch is only a year older.
Take care of it he did. Eckhart did what can only be considered magic regarding hacking one of the world's largest private banks. The Institute for Works of Religion, more commonly known as the Vatican Bank, is located within Vatican City. It is managed by a professional CEO who, in turn, reports to a committee of cardinals.
It was in the 1980s that the Vatican Bank was involved in a far reaching financial scandal. What is publicly known is that Archbishop Paul Marcinkus was about to be indicted but was never brought to trial. What is not known anywhere is that Cardinal Francesco Carlo Calgiliano was a serious player in this debacle. Through extreme cleverness and politics, his role in this shocking controversy never came to light.
Until Eckhart uncovered incriminating and irrefutable evidence that would severely damage Calgiliano's reputation and career, even to this day.
This was joyous news for us. The remaining piece was having an effective liaison to deal with the Cardinal.
"I have someone in mind Picker. I'll handle it, don't worry." I had no reason to question Connor's effectiveness. Everything that he had done to this point was better than I could have ever expected. I decided to drop the matter.
"Do I have 40 million... The gentleman in the back is now high bidder at 40 million... Ladies and gentleman, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity... 45 million anyone, 45 million...
Kelly and I were observing the proceeding from the back of the room. "Excuse me darling, I have to use the restroom." She leaned in, ran her fingers through my hair and kissed my cheek.
A couple of moments pass and I sense someone standing next to me. LaVache.
"Monsieur Picker, how nice to see you again."
"And you, Jean Pierre."
"It's a pity about the painting." Yeah, a pity that he didn't get it.
"I don't suppose it would help you to know that it's not real."
"No difference, Mon ami. By the way, a little secret between you and me. The gentleman that I work with made it very clear that you were to be..."
"Eliminated?"
"Oui."
"And you didn't because...?"
"Very simple, Monsieur. You conducted yourself with honor throughout this entire affair."
"Plus, I didn't shoot you when I had the chance."
"There is that."
Unexpectedly, Uncle Moe leaned over and whispered in my ear. "Laddie, this man knew your father. You might say that they were friends, of sorts." Why he whispered is beyond me, no one can hear him.
"Huh?"
"There's more, boyo. He's the one that handled the deal with the Bead Mumbler." Moe was talking about the Cardinal.
"No shit." Did I say that out loud? I turned back to LaVache. "Much appreciated, JP. By the way, how long are you going to be in town?"
"A few days, perhaps a week."
I reached into my sports coat and extracted two tickets. "Jean Pierre, maybe you can take in a Yankee's game while you're here." Box seats, third base line near home plate.
"Merci bien." He offered his hand, we shook. "Perhaps our paths will cross again."
I had to laugh. "Perhaps under more pleasant circumstances."
LaVache turned and began to walk away. He paused, looked around and said, "England."
"Beg your pardon?"
"The name that you want, it's Terrance England."
April 1997 Buckinghamshire
No man knows what tomorrow may bring...
Two Scotland Yard Inspectors arrested Simon Jones when he stepped off the plane twenty five years ago. He had just stolen a hundred million dollar work of art; killed one man and was complicit in the murder of a second. Instead, they got him on the Russian Mafia money laundering scheme. This, of all things, is the one for which he goes down.
I hear that your mother never gave you a first name. They call you Picker. Well, Picker, I'm making this video for you...
Simon Jones is finishing up a twenty five year sentence. Originally he was jailed at the high security Wandsworth Prison in South London which held murderers, robbers and other violent criminals. Due to consideration for Simon's particular skill set, he was quickly transferred to a Category D facility that housed white collar criminals.
I look forward to meeting up with you, circumstances permitting. However, there are some items that I wish to clear up in the event that such a reunion fails to materialize...
Spring Hill Prison in Buckinghamshire is a minimum security facility, set up in a manor house surrounded by immaculately manicured lawns.
I don't know how much you've heard. I'll fill you in best I can. Whatever gaps there are can be covered by one or two people who will make themselves known to you at the appropriate time…
Simon Jones spent the last quarter of a century making money for his jailers. This was accomplished by utilizing the laundering and investment skills acquired as a younger man. In turn, Simon was permitted certain privileges.
Twenty seven years a
go I was involved in a project which brought me to the states. It was at this time that I met your mother. We fell in love although I was married and had a son, Connor…
This last week of incarceration, prior to his release, Simon received a telegram:
‘Engelond's progeny vows retribution. Extreme caution advised. JP’
The project which I mentioned came to an unpleasant end in Sweden. My plans were to return to London; confide my plans to my wife; and return to America to spend my life with Emily, your mother, and to raise you…
A guard interrupted Simon's recording. "Jones, you have a meeting in the conference room with your solicitor. Five minutes."
Well, the best laid plans and all that. I stepped onto the tarmac at Heathrow and was met by two lovely gentlemen from Scotland Yard. A trial followed; found guilty and sentenced to twenty five years. Some old business with the Russians. Anyway, that's how I arrived at my present living situation.
Simon stopped the video for the time being and made his way to the conference room. Harold P. Smythe, solicitor, sat at the end of a long table; briefcase opened before him.
"All arrangements are taken care of, Simon." Smythe slid a yellow tablet across the table. "This is a list of everything that you'll need to know initially. We've set up a fully furnished flat, the address is right there. Your suits are ready and have been delivered. One will be here for you to change. A ledger with accounts of your funds is waiting at the flat along with bank cards, identification and your passport. I believe that we've thought of everything. Of course, if you can think of anything else, let me know. Be happy to handle it."
"Thanks, Harold. You've been a good friend. I'm in the process of making a video. Please make sure that it makes its way to my American son, that is, in the event of my demise. You already have my will. Coordinate with Connor."
"Don't be silly, old boy. Everything will be fine. Ah yes. I nearly forgot. I've arranged to have the Morgan delivered here on the day of your release. The Warden will pass you the keys."
They made their goodbyes and Simon returned to finish the recording.
I made arrangements for both of you to be provided for during my absence. My Uncle Moe was on hand to look after you. It pained me greatly to hear of your mother's passing when you were only six. Still, I thought, Uncle Moe could be counted on to raise you…
A little more than a year later news reached that he too passed on. Although I'm afforded certain liberties, communicating and coordinating with the outside was painfully slow…
By the time anything could be accomplished it turned out that you were already in the foster system. Undoubtedly sped up by the fact that your Mother had no living relatives…
Eventually, my people tracked you down. Over the years I've managed to keep informed on your progress. The going seemed a little rough for a while. Nonetheless, you have turned out to be a fine young man. I'm sure that your Mum would be proud. I am…
I look forward to spending time with you. In the event that is not possible, you will be contacted. Mutual family will fill in the gaps...
Well, then, that's all for now. I hope we talk soon.
That last week passed. The guard brought the Saville Row hand tailored suit to Simon's room. He changed and went to the Warden's office.
"Glad to see you go, Simon." The Warden handed Simon a large manila envelope. It contained the discharge papers and a bundle of cash left by the solicitor. "I wish you the best of luck. Honest, I truly mean that."
"Thanks Warden."
The Warden reached into his pocket and handed Simon the keys to his car.
Simon walked out the front door of Spring Hill Prison. There waiting in the drive was his Morgan.
Simon opened the car door.
Sat down.
Inserted the key.
Started the ignition.
The car exploded.
Fini
"I have 90 million dollars, do I hear 100 million..."
"Darling, who was that man?" Kelly returned just as LaVache was leaving.
"Jean Pierre."
Until this point, the record for a work of art sold at auction was a little more than $250 million. It was for Paul Cézanne's 'The Card Players'. And, this was just last year. For 'Mother and Child', ostensibly by Johannes Vermeer, the hammer fell at $263 million dollars. As we say in the antiques business, not a bad day's pay.
We got into the car and headed across town to Penn Station.
"Couple of questions Mister I-Just-Pulled-Off-One-Of-The-Biggest-Scams-In-History." Kelly smirked. She was clearly amused, a reaction that would have been out of character six months ago.
"Sure, if you'll answer one of my mine first," I said as I wiggled my eyebrows and tapped my cigar.
"Shoot."
"Well, to put it bluntly, aren't you upset to be involved in one of the biggest scams in history?"
"To be honest, I should have been. As a matter of fact, until recently it would have been a major problem. It would have torn us apart. But, since that kidnapping fiasco, you coming to my rescue, Uncle Moe doing whatever it was that he did, well, let's say that the whole thing taken in its entirety changed my world view."
"Good enough. Your turn."
"Just a couple of sticking points. One, the cops, and I mean all the cops from Philly all the up to the feds and even Interpol, saw Doo Wop's prototype at the gallery. Don't you think that they would be even a little bit suspicious when #37 turns up at a major art auction? Wouldn't they put two and two together?"
"Okay and your other sticking point."
"How are you going to legitimately get the money to Millie and her kids? That type of thing is sure to get noticed."
Wow! That is one bright girl. Or should I say woman.
"Simple. We do what all good magicians do. A little misdirection. You're absolutely right. There had to be some logical reason for Anthony to be able to copy a painting that was not known to exist.
"Once again, Connor thought ahead. When the provenance was being prepared his team fabricated some vintage photos with 'Mother and Child' on prominent display. One such photo was discovered in Anthony's studio. It was accompanied by a letter and canceled envelope from France. The descendent of the man that originally purchased the painting commissioned Doo Wop to make a copy fearing that the original would never be returned."
Kelly was awestruck. "You've got to be kidding. This is like being privy to a Mission Impossible plan. So, who's the descendent?"
"Connor's aunt. His father's sister married into a prominent French Jewish family. Prior to the war they had amassed a fortune in the department store business and real estate. The fact is that they did ship valuable art to England before fleeing France, that some of their possessions were on loan to British institutions until after the war and that not everything made it to Great Britain. Some of their valuables were confiscated by the Nazis as war plunder."
"And, let me guess. The Vatican returned the painting to Connor's aunt who in turn consigned it to auction."
"Correct."
"Okay, last part. How to get the money from the aunt to Millie?"
"To be perfectly honest I don't know, nor do I think I would understand, the fine points of transferring the money. But, this is what I do know. Connor's father, well, our father, was some sort of genius when it came to laundering money. According to Elisabeth, that's Connor's mother, dear old dad once cleaned a billion dollars for the Russian mob. And, according to legend, in a record amount of time. I imagine that my brother may have picked up a thing or two from father."
I reached over and pulled four rolls of quarters from the glove compartment. Kelly and I got out of the car, broke open the rolls of quarters and fed them into the New York Times vending machine on 7th Avenue. I pulled the two remaining papers out of the box leaving it empty. Kelly took an envelope from her purse, addressed to 'Newspaper Vendor' and taped it to the inside wall.
The envelope contained a note that read as follows:
Dea
r Mr. New York Times Vendor,
A short while ago I found myself in your fair city stripped of all possessions and money. I 'borrowed' the newspapers from your box and sold them. In turn, I used the proceeds to finance an antique buying spree.
I have just placed forty dollars into the box. To compensate you for your trouble, included are two box seat tickets to a Yankee's game next week. If you prefer the Mets, feel free to call me.
