Artifice

by Gooch, Patrick

  With a lingering look at the warehouse, then at us, they drove away.

  “Phew! Now we can get to work.” Turning to McKenna I added, “That was quick thinking.”

  He shrugged. “That was the easy part. Now we need to roll up our sleeves better suin as syne.”

  In other words, let`s get on with it.

  John produced the third set of keys.

  *

  By five o`clock in the morning we had finished.

  All Turner`s works and the Laura Knight painting were now in the Gurlitt truck, having been repacked in a range of new crates. The batch of paintings McKenna had acquired were now installed in the original Knight and Turner containers, and secured in the transporter/coach in the same manner we found them.

  It had been a Herculean effort, and Fielding had made a massive contribution.

  McKenna went home to his cottage, John to his house in Blandford Forum, and I to shave and shower at Mead Court and catch an early train to London.

  *

  I spent much of the day with Murdoch, editing the Newlyn film. We finished close to four o`clock. The only thing to be done now were the opening titles.

  I caught the half past three train from Waterloo, which delivered me to Hamworthy two hours later. John Fielding was there to pick me up.

  “Did you manage to get hold of a shipping container, John?” I asked as we neared the industrial estate.

  “Yes, it wasn`t a problem, Alan. There are plenty of companies only too eager to sell you any size you like. I borrowed a trailer and tractor unit from another local haulier, and collected it this morning. It`s in one of the warehouses.”

  In the office the three of us discussed ways we wanted the conversation with Engel`s men to go.

  *

  That morning, they had managed, at long last, to inform Nicholls of the potential problem and the temporary hiding place.

  “But we have to vacate the site within forty eight hours,” explained the leader. “It`s a haulage company storage depot, and there are too many inquisitive people working there.”

  “I`ll phone you back shortly,” Nicholls said.

  *

  Engel was comfortable in the back of the big Mercedes. The banker`s draft in an envelope resided in an inside pocket, and his hand rested lightly on the case holding four million dollars. This is how life should be, he thought. If I can afford the pleasures, then I shall indulge myself. I have worked hard for success, I am almost there. All it takes is detailed planning, composure, and nerveless execution. These were his watchwords.

  As an afterthought, plus the ability to bend others to his will.

  Two more weeks and I shall be an extremely rich man. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the side window, and smiled to himself.

  On his way back to Vitznau, they had by-passed Milan and Lugano, and when asked by his driver, the tunnel or the mountain road, he had opted for the latter. They were just entering the switchback section at the southern end of St Gotthard`s Pass when his satellite phone rang.

  “Ja?”

  It was Trevor Nicholls, his UK agent.

  “Herr Engel, do not be alarmed, but we have had to move the merchandise to a temporary home in Blandford Forum. It seems there were several calls by unwanted visitors, and we took this action as a precaution. However, it cannot remain where it is, and I needed to speak with you about its further removal.”

  They were on the trail of the stolen paintings already! Impossible! They had at least another two or three days before the authorities realised how it was done. Even then there would be no possible connection to Cleverdens` warehouse. . .surely?

  But doubt was creeping in. Something must be done. The vision of all those extra millions growing distant.

  “What do you suggest we do, Herr Engel?”

  “Mr Nicholls, do nothing. I shall join you later this afternoon. Meet me at the Compton Abbas Airfield. I`ll let you know my arrival time.”

  *

  His Cessna Seneca landed as dusk was settling. The last plane to touch down before the airfield closed.

  Nicholls was waiting in the car with the engine running. When Engel joined him, he said, “I`ve booked you a room at the Royal Chase Hotel in Shaftesbury. Is that all right?”

  “Thank you”

  “So do you want to go there? At the moment everything is in the Cleverdens` warehouse, about twelve kilometres south of here.”

  “No. Take me to the Cleverdens at Mead Court.”

  *

  “I understand the two vehicles and their contents are in your premises at Blandford Forum, Mrs Cleverden,” said Engel. “It would appear you, your son and your manager are now in the worst possible situation. If the Dinah`s Hollow store is under suspicion, it can only be a matter of time before the police come calling on your haulage company.”

  He lit a cigarette, uncaring of others.

  “So, I ask you… what do you propose to do? After all, I can just fly away, while you would be branded the culprits in this little venture.”

  I looked hesitantly at McKenna before I answered on behalf of my mother.

  “As you say, Mr Engel, we shall have to move everything out of the haulage company warehouse, not only because of the people working on the site, but because of a possible visit by the law. They may well have their suspicions about us. So, I would suggest we use a vehicle to move the Turners, and you get rid of the transporter.”

  Engel`s mouth twisted in thought. “You are suggesting this as the first step? Mm… that might be a sensible move. But how would we do it?” Where could we hide such a vehicle?”

  This time McKenna answered him.

  “There is no place to hide it. Eventually, it would always be found. So, you would have to destroy it completely. But how? You could`na burn it. It`s too big, and there`s no way one could bury it. No, the answer is to sink it. And I know just the place.”

  He outlined his idea, as though he had just thought of it.

  Engel nodded his agreement.

  “So, I ask, what about the Turners, and the Knight painting?”

  “I may have the answer to that as well,” responded McKenna. “We have a tractor unit and a large shipping container we use from time to time. We could use that to transport the paintings to a storage facility far away from here. That way, there would be no connection to us, and they would be safe and secure.”

  “Where is this site?”

  “It`s at Queensway Meadows Industrial Park in Newport, over the border in Wales. It`s quite easy to get to. What is more, you could even fly in to a local airport only a mile or two away. It would be like having your own safety deposit box.”

  “Show me a map.”

  I went into the hall and took a map book of the British Isles from a side table drawer.

  “Mm… about a hundred kilometres,” mused Engel. “Where is the airfield?”

  “It`s called Uplands Farm Airfield. It`s a grass track like Compton Abbas.”

  “Right. Mr Nicholls, advise your team what is going to happen. Mr McKenna will arrange the dispatch of the container to Wales. One of your team will follow the vehicle. When that`s done, you will take Mr McKenna`s advice regarding the transporter. Now, what do you propose to do with the paintings in the Gurlitt truck?”

  He had turned in my direction.

  “I believe we should bring them back here. Store them in a barn at Mead Court. It`s a good distance from the road, not even visible from the house if there were unwanted callers. It`s a secure store, alarmed and with motion sensors that ring bells in the house. They will all be safe there. What do you think, McKenna?

  “A good idea, laddie.”

  I could almost hear what Engel was thinking.

  If they were at Mead Court he would still retain a lever to enforce his wishes upon us.

  “OK. Let us go now to Blandford Forum. I want to see that the container is properly loaded. Afterwards, I`m sure these two gentlemen will run me to the hotel in Shaftesbury,” Engel said,
looking first at McKenna then at me.

  “I must speak with Fielding, the manager,” said McKenna. “Get him to bring the container round to the depot. It is garaged off the industrial estate. I won`t be a minute.”

  *

  Fielding was talking to the Nicholls` three members of the surveillance team when our two vehicles pulled onto the forecourt.

  In fact, with the number of people available, the loading of the shipping container was finished in half an hour. Engel inspected the strapping of each crate to ensure they were secured to his satisfaction. Then it was bolted and padlocked. At his insistence, the keys were passed to him. John Fielding volunteered to sit alongside one of the trio who would be driving the container lorry. The other two would follow in their car.

  *

  When I phoned the hotel the next morning, I was told by the receptionist Mr Engel had already checked out.

  But Trevor Nicholls was still around. His car was coming up the drive just as I was getting into McKenna`s Land Rover to catch the London train at Gillingham.

  “Can`t stop, Mr Nicholls, got a train to catch!”

  “In which case I`ll deliver Herr Engel`s message. We are to accompany the Gurlitt truck when it is moved to the barn tonight. Then take the keys and the alarm control unit. So, I shall see you at the haulage depot at nine o`clock this evening.”

  “You`ll see McKenna. You won`t see me. I won`t be back here until Saturday morning.”

  “Just make sure you`re there tonight, McKenna,” called Nicholls, before reversing rapidly, swinging round in a shower of gravel, and speeding back down the drive.

  *

  “Did everything go as planned with the container?” I asked as we drove through Shaftesbury.

  “Yes. As you know I phoned John to bring round the container. I also told him to change the plates on the tractor unit, and he used the spares taken from the transporter. Moreover, he made sure there were no references to us. In effect, an anonymous container. What is more, when they arrived at the site, to avoid being recognised, John got Engel`s man to do the paperwork, pay, and sign over the container.”

  Chapter 42

  “Go over that again, Mark. I`m sure the Home Secretary would like a little more detail, as would I,” remarked the Prime Minister.

  The Minister for Culture, Media and Sport cleared his throat.

  “As you know we have closed off the rooms displaying the Parthenon sculptures, and notices have been posted that that section of the building is being renovated. As it`s separate from the rest of the museum, it was quite easy to do.

  “Moreover, no one, not even the staff, other than the director and his deputies of course, know the reason for the sudden closure. So, where the thieves are concerned, we appear to be responding to their wishes.

  “At the same time, the director and his close-knit team, have been scouring other museums for look-alike sculptures. Ones which should pass scrutiny. The pediments and metopes illustrate episodes from Greek mythology, while the frieze represents the people of Athens in religious procession. If we can get close to the ancient statuary, we could well get away with it. But if these people have someone well-versed in Greek archaeology, we could come unstuck. That is the gamble.”

  The PM glanced at the Home Secretary.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think we go for it. I have never accepted any justification for parting with the Marbles, and certainly not under this sort of threat.”

  “That is also my view,” said the Prime Minister in a quiet voice. “As a matter of interest, Mark, do any other museums, outside Greece, have Marbles from the Parthenon?”

  “Yes, Prime Minister, quite a few. The Musée du Louvre in Paris, the Vatican Museums, the National Museum in Copenhagen, the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, the University Museum in Würzburg, and the Glyptothek in Munich.”

  “So we`re not only ones with a fair-sized chunk. Right, let`s keep the pressure on the Museum to acquire a good selection of look-alikes, and see what happens.”

  “They`ve already got a number of items,” said the Culture Secretary. “From the vaults they`ve added outstanding replicas of the statue of Iris, from the west pediment of the Parthenon, and a first-class copy of the statue of the river god, Ilissos. Do you recall the British Museum loaned the real thing to the Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg? And we`ve also got a copy of the Selene Horse. You probably know the one… that magnificent horse`s head. I think it`s one of the better pieces of classical Greek sculpture.”

  “Do you think we shall be ready when they phone in a couple of days’ time, Mark?” asked the Home Secretary.

  “It will be tight but, yes, I really think we shall.”

  *

  The special on the Newlyn School was finished. Music had been added to the sound track, and both Melville and I were pleased with the result. What is more, we had managed to borrow a smaller, well-executed copy of The Beach, by Dame Laura, and in the studio superimposed me and the painting against shots of the Runswick Bay shoreline.

  John Beatty and Ben Ashley viewed the final result.

  Ben was effusive in his praise. Beatty said, ”Mm.. well, I suppose it will do.”

  From him that was welcome approval.

  “I`ve got it down for transmission in two weeks’ time, OK?” ventured Ben, looking across at Beatty. He nodded to Ben, rose from his chair, then nodded to Melville and myself before wandering out the room.

  I was walking with Ben back to his office when my mobile rang.

  It was Sophie Linard.

  “How are things?” she asked.

  “Difficult,” I replied.

  “Mm… look I`m having a small party at my place tomorrow night… a few friends and neighbours… wondered if you`d like to come?”

  Two or three hours free of the current turmoil was just what I needed.

  “I`d love to. What time?”

  “About eight. Is that all right?”

  *

  I got to the party at eight thirty.

  Twenty minutes after I had arrived at the front entrance.

  The intercom was working, but the noise of the music drowned conversations and door buzzers. Once I reached the third floor there were no further obstacles – the door to Sophie`s apartment was wide open.

  I strolled in, and Sophie rose from the lap of some fellow and came over. She was a little tipsy. I wasn`t sure if it were alcohol or something else.

  “Hello, Alan,” she said dreamily, and kissed me hard on the mouth.

  Passion, plonk or poppers, I wondered.

  She took my hand and the bottle I had brought, and dragged me into the kitchen.

  “If anyone talks about paintings, don`t mention I`ve been assessing yours, will you? Some people from the Institute are here, and I don`t want them to know. Is that understood?”

  It was said in such an authoritative tone, I was suddenly aware of another side to the demure Miss Linard.

  “Of course, I shan`t,” I replied sharply. “Surely, you realise that that would be the last thing I would want to do.”

  “Just thought I`d mention it, darling. That`s all.”

  The soft, tender side of her personality was back in place.

  “By the way, who was that fellow whose lap you were sitting on? Someone special? It looked like it to me.”

  “My… are we jealous?” she grinned. “Actually, it`s my cousin, Nikos. He is staying with me during a visit from home. Come on, let`s join the party.”

  After two hours I had had enough. Brief conversations with a few people were conducted by shouting. I did not want to drink too much, in many ways I felt an outsider.

  I was making my way slowly towards the door, when Sophie materialised at my side.

  “Not going already are you, Alan? You haven`t danced with me, and I did just want a brief word.”

  She took my arm and we walked together to the lift.

  “What was it you wanted to say?”

  “Alan, that painting
, The Fire Eater by Marc Chagall, you know, the fake. Would you be prepared to sell it to me? It would be just the right present for an uncle of mine. As it`s a fake, I don`t suppose you would be asking too much for it, would you?”

  Smiling, appealing, my arm caressed.

  “If I were to sell it, no I wouldn`t ask much for it. But in truth, Sophie, I don`t see how I can sell it. I still haven`t decided if it`s mine to sell. Alright, it`s not genuine, but until I know for sure whether my grandfather actually bought it in good faith or not, the painting cannot be sold.”

  The smile was replaced by a look of irritation.

  She turned and marched back into the apartment.

  Chapter 42

  At one thirty in the morning, Nicholl`s trio draw up outside the warehouse on the Blandford Heights Industrial Estate. Their approach had been cautious, no headlights, no internal lights blazing when doors were opened. Two of them eased out of the car. Silently, they moved towards the building. Keys were used to unlock the large sliding doors, newly greased to soften noise of their opening.

  Inside the warehouse, the transporter, still retaining its disguise as a motor coach, loomed before them.

  A different set of keys were produced; and they climbed into the cab.

  A turn of another key showed the vehicle had sufficient fuel for the journey. Whereupon one of them went back to the car, opened the boot and removed a stout rope. The car reversed to the door of the building. One end of the rope was slipped over the tow bar, and the other end tied to the transporter.

  Taking up the slack, the car inched forward, then gently dragged the vehicle into the open. A necessary precaution. The warehouse would vastly amplify the noise of an engine being started. It could have attracted unwelcome attention.

  The rope was quickly removed and stowed in the boot.

  *

  The transporter was driven north on the A350 towards Warminster, where it picked up the road to Bath. Crossing the River Avon on the outskirts of the city, it turned north, heading for junction 18 of the M4 motorway.

  Now the driver could relax as he drove towards the crossing of the River Severn and on into Wales. After seven or eight miles he turned onto the slip road at junction 24.