The Icon Hunter

by Tasoula Georgiou Hadjitofi

  The daily grind and uncertainty of walk-in customers is wearing on Veres, who sees himself as above his circumstances. His goal is to minimize the time he squanders negotiating with lower-level coin traders and build a base of elite clientele who will hire him as a curator to build their antiquities collections. All he needs is the proper introductions to the appropriate people.

  A ringing telephone interrupts his thoughts. The voice on the other end of the line is that of Christian Schmidt, an old friend.

  “This is a pleasant surprise,” says Veres.

  “I need a favor, old man, nothing invasive. Are you up to the call?”

  “Tell me,” says Veres.

  “Michel Van Rijn, do you know the name?”

  “Not familiar,” says Veres.

  “He’s a dealer known for his expertise in Byzantine art. A bit of an operator, but he does have a flair for attracting deals. You two might be compatible. Okay if he stops by to meet you?”

  “Sure,” says Veres, who would normally ask why Christian wants to make the introduction but chooses instead to focus on the possibility that good luck has befallen him. Just as he’s attempting to up the quality of his clientele, a potential link to the kind of wealthy customer he seeks presents itself to him on a silver platter—or so it seems.

  When Van Rijn enters his shop a few hours later, Veres can sense his energy before they make visual contact. Van Rijn is examining a vase.

  “How much for the replica?”

  The man is a professional collector, thinks Veres. His sophisticated eye and desire to waste no time getting down to business are giveaways.

  Van Rijn walks toward Veres, extending his hand. “William, I’m a friend of Christian’s. I’m Van Rijn.”

  Veres remembers the intensity of Van Rijn’s eyes, thinking them capable of scanning his soul in the few seconds it takes to shake his hand.

  “Mr. Van Rijn.”

  “Schmidt says you are a master numismatist. I’m embarrassed to say I know very little about the subject but I understand you are an expert on currency.” He points to a group of coins inside a glass case. “What makes these valuable?”

  Veres relaxes into doing what he lives for: demonstrating the unique wealth of knowledge he holds about coins and antiquities. Van Rijn listens with intensity.

  “I’d like to propose a few different ways we might work together.”

  In a café a few minutes’ walk from Veres’s shop, the two men sit drinking whiskey.

  “The Cypriot government is going to pay me a huge amount of money to buy back their stolen artifacts,” says Van Rijn.

  “Really? I’m impressed! How in the world did you manage to strike that deal?”

  “One crucial ingredient is missing that you might be able to help me with.”

  “Please, go on,” Veres says.

  “It’s my understanding that you have a good working relationship with Aydin Dikmen?”

  “What’s your interest in Aydin?” Veres asks.

  “He was a major supplier of artifacts coming out of Cyprus after the ’74 war with a free pass in and out of the occupied area, which holds hundreds of ancient churches.”

  “Sounds like a Byzantine gold mine.”

  “You have no idea.” says Van Rijn.

  “Why come to me?” asks Veres.

  “Dikmen and I had a falling out over a client I introduced to him from America. Are you familiar with Peg Goldberg and the Kanakaria case?”

  “I vaguely recall reading something about it in the papers,” says Veres.

  “Dikmen and I sold Goldberg four rare mosaics considered to be among the oldest Byzantine Christian antiquities, depicting the archangel Michael, the upper part of the Christ child, and the Apostles Matthew and James.”

  “What period?” asks Veres.

  “Sixth-century mosaics originating from the Kanakaria church. Revered by collectors and worshiped by the Orthodox, they survived the iconoclasts.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Goldberg attempted to flip the mosaics to the Getty Museum for millions in profits and got busted. The trial between her and the Church of Cyprus became a huge headache for Dikmen and he holds me responsible.”1

  “What do you propose?” asks Veres.

  “If you know Dikmen, you know his temperament. He will take his anger for me to the grave.”

  “So you’re not on speaking terms?” Veres asks.

  “All you have to do is act as my conduit. If you purchase the artifacts for me, Dikmen will never know that I’m involved. It’s that simple. We’ll get rich, and the Cypriots will have their artifacts back.”

  Veres asks, “What kind of fee are you talking about?” Van Rijn ignores the question as they continue sizing each other up.

  “Veres, we do this deal, and if everything runs smoothly, we go to the next phase.”

  Veres is elated. What could be better than a no-risk, quick-cash deal and access to clients with deep pockets?

  “I appreciate the opportunity. And, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I will have to think about it,” says Veres. He is the perfect shield for Van Rijn, because of his long, trusted relationship with Dikmen.

  “Of course. Take all the time you need, Veres, but let me be straight with you. I feel like you’re the guy. I’m willing to pay you good money. Let’s not waste each other’s time. You are replaceable, my good man. Don’t test me.”

  Veres feels the bite. He wants to investigate Van Rijn beyond Christian’s recommendation. Why would the Cypriot government be buying back their stolen artifacts? Veres would have to reach out to a Cypriot, someone connected to the government who could verify Van Rijn’s story. The bartender pours another round.

  “To all things old,” says Veres, raising his glass.

  The next day Veres reaches for the phone and dials a number in Cyprus.

  “My friend, a quick word. There is a rumor that Michel Van Rijn is working with the Cypriots?” The frown lines on Veres’s face relax as his source in Cyprus reveals the inside information he seeks.

  “I see,” says Veres. “Honorary Consul in the Netherlands . . . a young woman, Tasoula Hadjitofi. Interesting.”

  Two

  HERE WE GO AGAIN

  THE HAGUE, OCTOBER 6, 1997

  An early morning phone call jolts my equilibrium before my lips have a chance to sip the cappuccino just placed on my desk by my assistant. On the other end of the line is the voice of Dutch art dealer Michel Van Rijn.

  “What do you have to say for yourself now?” I ask, knowing that Van Rijn is incapable of providing me with a straight answer. Instead, I opt to give him leave to say his piece, and then I can interpret his layers of meaning as needed. This morning, he is surprisingly brief.

  “I’m out of detox. I leave London for The Hague in an hour. Meet me at the usual place. It’s important, Tazulaah.”

  Van Rijn is streetwise and intelligent, yet he insists on calling me Tazulaah, instead of my given name, Tasoula. His attempt to rattle me with his exaggerated pronunciation fails. During the last ten years, I have tried to become a worthy opponent to his psychological gamesmanship. My focus steadily fixes on getting him to provide me with information that will indict his former business associate, Aydin Dikmen, a Turkish-born art dealer known as “the archeologist.” Dikmen is rumored to be a link between the illicit trade in the Turkish-occupied northern zone of Cyprus, and art traffickers worldwide. In reality, he is a man of great interest to the Cypriot police. He is suspected of leading a team of thieves into the Turkish-occupied northern zone of Cyprus, where the looting and pillaging of hundreds of Orthodox churches occurred.

  Van Rijn and Dikmen were quite the team. Dikmen, the introvert, remained in the background acting as the conduit for the looted Byzantine treasures, while Van Rijn, the extrovert, falsely presenting himself as a descendant of the Dutch master painter Rembrandt Van Rijn, easily charmed a bevy of wealthy collectors to Dikmen’s door.

  “Van Rijn,�
� I say with a sense of indifference, “you can’t disappear in the middle of planning a sting operation, not contact me for weeks, and expect me to trust you to be reliable.”

  He responds with one of the many personalities I have seen surface through the years: that of the little lost boy, reaching out and in need of maternal rescue.

  “Do you know how hard this is on me?” Then the tone of his voice changes again. “If we don’t move on this opportunity now, it’s on your head,” he says, and then the line goes dead.

  Van Rijn’s time as one of the most successful dealers in the art trade is in his past, but the opportunist in him is always present and working. I feel as if I live in a perpetual game, always cognizant of the fact that he analyzes my every word in an attempt to checkmate my next move. I must always be three steps ahead of him. Van Rijn lives everywhere and nowhere, because his questionable business practices leave a trail of angry people in the wake of his deceit. His behavior forces him into a kind of nomadic existence, which means I have no way to contact him; he must always contact me.

  Van Rijn is willing to lead me to a possessor who holds a large inventory of stolen Cypriot artifacts, but unless I move now they could be lost forever. The Church of Cyprus spends a fortune in legal fees for recovery efforts, with no guarantee of results. I feel my best choice may be to make a deal with a devil.

  Cyprus lies at the intersection of Africa, Asia, and Europe, a lure for conquerors who coveted the island’s strategic location and bountiful resources. With a history that dates back to the Stone Age, Cyprus became host to the Assyrian, Byzantine, Egyptian, Greek, Hebrew, Minoan, Ottoman, Persian, Phoenician, and Roman cultures. As each great civilization left its footprint, it transformed Cyprus into a treasure trove of cultural heritage. Archeologically speaking, Cyprus holds valuable clues to the past, but it has also become a target for present-day enemies wanting to eradicate the symbols, iconography, and traditions of other cultures and faiths.

  After the Turkish military invaded Cyprus in 1974, they proceeded to illegally seize control of 36.2 percent of the island, prompting the unprecedented looting and destruction of Cyprus’s sacred sites. Turkey used the occupation to divide the island and expel more than one third of the Greek Cypriot population from our homes and destroy proof that the Greek Cypriot culture existed, a culture and language adopted by the Cypriots when the Mycenaean Greeks permanently settled there during the Aegean Bronze Age.

  Despite the Cypriot Department of Antiquities calling on UNESCO in December of 1974 to send an adviser in order to call for a stop to the destruction, Canadian scholar Jacques Dalibard, the expert called upon, did not arrive until March 1975.1 Dalibard regarded Cyprus as “one huge monument.” During his scheduled visit to the occupied area, he received limited access to churches and archeological sites, and even if he had been given full access, it was almost entirely too late: out of five hundred churches that stood in the northern occupied area of Cyprus, only five remained intact.2

  During the first century, as recorded in the Acts of the Apostles, Cyprus played a major role in Christianity and held some of the world’s oldest sacred artifacts.3 Church interiors were brimming with frescoes, icons, and mosaics, dating back as early as the fifth and sixth centuries A.D.; those works had been brutally removed to be sold abroad. Archeological excavations conducted at Salamis, Soloi, Enkomi, and Apostolos Andreas-Kastros were ravaged. Cemeteries were desecrated and tombstones were shattered. The size and scope of the destruction and looting was impossible to measure because the Turkish army militarily controlled northern Cyprus, and any access to enter that part of the island was denied, even to Dalibard, who called for the creation of a permanent overseer to be stationed in the occupied area to supervise the protection of cultural and sacred heritage. His observations were considered by UNESCO to be too controversial and his report was modified without his permission for political purposes, perhaps due to pressure from the Turkish government.4, 5 I was told by two foreign diplomats, whose names I can’t divulge for security reasons, that Mr. Dalibard’s life had also been threatened.

  The lack of intervention by the international community signaled to the Turkish military, art traffickers, and organized looters that they could continue to do as they pleased with Cyprus’s ancient artifacts. The Cypriot government became aware of the scope of this problem only when the artifacts began turning up for sale on the international market. It is estimated that twenty thousand icons, several dozen major frescoes and mosaics dating from the sixth to the fifteenth century, and thousands of objects of significant historical and cultural value (such as chalices, crosses, wood carvings, and bibles) were looted and found their way into the illicit trade.

  With access to the occupied area revoked by the Turkish military, it was impossible for the Republic of Cyprus to take an accurate inventory or evaluate the scope of the destruction and looting. It had been unfathomable for the Orthodox Cypriots to think that the art and religious symbols within the sacred walls of our houses of worship would ever be stolen or destroyed. Our churches were rarely locked.

  The sacred treasures of Cyprus, even if located, were next to impossible to repatriate. The records kept by the Department of Antiquities prior to 1974 only chronicled the most significant historical artifacts. The information was documented by hand on index cards, and not every object was catalogued. Photographs of any of the treasures were extremely rare. The government did have access to eyewitness identifications made by the people who restored and cared for the artifacts, but most often it was the faithful parishioners who prayed before them multiple times daily who offered the most valuable information. Sometimes proof of provenance could be obtained from international scholars whose research was cited in academic reports and publications. Still, this combination of incomplete, handwritten archives and insufficient church inventories presented enormous challenges for Cyprus, as the courts place the burden of proof on the original owner.

  Stories about the restitution of art looted from Jewish collectors by the Nazis often grab headlines in the media, and it is worth comparing the framework for recoveries with Cyprus’s situation, though the differences are considerable. It’s important to remember that the Nazi government stole from its own citizens in the first instance: it was only after World War II broke out that they turned their attention to the occupied countries, plundering Jewish collections in the Netherlands and France. This was more than wartime trophy-hunting—it was part of a policy of racial persecution against a specific people that ultimately led to genocide.

  Some Nazi-looted art was returned to the original Jewish owners after World War II by the Allies and the West German authorities. But most could not be traced, and a grey market in looted art flourished.

  Even when Jewish families did manage to trace art that was stolen from them and prove it indisputably, there was—and still is—no guarantee they will get it back. Lawsuits to recover Nazi-looted art face considerable hurdles, among them statutes of limitations and other technical defenses. It wasn’t until 1998 that the Washington Conference on Holocaust-Era Assets brought together the representatives of forty-four countries and nongovernmental organizations to endorse the non-binding Washington Principles. These require museums to conduct provenance research on their collections and achieve a “just and fair” solution on Nazi-looted art with the original Jewish owners or their heirs. In the Netherlands, for instance, the government-established Restitutions Committee adjudicates claims from the heirs of Jewish collectors for art in Dutch museums. This extrajudicial institution, which disregards statutes of limitations and similar technical barriers to restitution, has recommended handing over many artworks in public collections, including more than two hundred paintings returned to the heir of the art dealer Jacques Goudstikker in 2006.

  Like the original owners of Nazi-looted art, Cyprus is frequently reliant on the goodwill of the current possessor to reclaim her lost treasures. Unlike Nazi-looted art claimants, Cyprus has no recourse to advisory pane
ls like the Dutch Restitutions Committee. Museums, collectors and auction houses could do much more to help by conducting due diligence and provenance research. The Washington Principles and the publicity surrounding Nazi-looted art cases have helped to raise awareness and sensitivity in the art trade about the need for a clean provenance during the years of the Third Reich. This should also apply to unprovenanced ancient Cypriot artifacts that suddenly appear on the market. The chances that they have been plundered since the occupation began are extremely high.

  The Lange Voorhout is a tree-lined avenue in the old city center of The Hague that runs for about a quarter of a mile past grand homes and stately eighteenth-century former palaces now housing institutions such as the Supreme Court of the Netherlands, foreign embassies, and museums. The area is a popular draw for tourists and locals who in season pass a sea of multicolored crocuses on their way to explore the outdoor markets and art exhibits.

  Stepping through the revolving doors into the lobby of the Hotel des Indes brings one back to a bygone era. Built in 1856 by architect Arend Roodenburg, the hotel’s marble columns and high ceilings give this former palace an atmosphere of grandeur and elegance.

  Accompanying me tonight is my husband, Dr. Michael Hadjitofi, a tall, fine-featured, blue-eyed Anglo-Cypriot who works as a Shell International executive. Whispering in my ear, he says, “I was looking forward to a quiet night, just the two of us, but instead I get to watch my beautiful wife match wits with a dealer.”

  Being referred to as beautiful still makes the tomboy in me blush. Growing up, I challenged the stereotypical definition of femininity by competing against boys in academics and physical competitions. It gave me a unique insight into male thinking and got me accepted into their inner circle as “one of the boys.” My short bob hairstyle suits my active lifestyle, and my sophisticated style of dress is reflective of my respect for the Orthodox faith.