The following day, July 16, is a Sunday, and although I am lonely without Michael, his absence provides me with an opportunity to work around the clock without restriction. I continue to familiarize myself with the Goldberg and de Menil cases in preparation for my next meeting.8
Returning to Van Rijn’s suite in the Park Hotel the next day we sense Wim’s frustration.
“Kyprianou’s absence speaks volumes,” says detective Wim. He continues, “Van Rijn needs a guarantee that the information he provides will not be used against him.”
“Detective Wim, Mr. Kyprianou’s absence does not prevent Mr. Van Rijn from stating his demands,” I say. Van Rijn seems to enjoy being the focus of attention.
Wim continues, “If there are thousands of missing artifacts, and he is willing to provide details about their whereabouts, what is the issue of paying him?”
Inspector Antoniades responds, “Come on, Wim! In some circles paying for information like this could be considered to be unethical!”
“Call it cooperation, then. Buy the artifacts back, write a ‘thank you’ or ‘forgive you,’ letter, whatever the guy wants, and be done with it. Getting your cultural heritage returned is what is most important, isn’t it?”
Wanting to expedite the meeting and end the bickering, I spread the photographs in front of Van Rijn.
“Yes, I’m aware of this one and that one and this piece, too. I know who the possessors are.” His piercing eyes watch my every move.
“I was a middleman on most of the sales. Either you give me money to buy them back for you, or you pay me a monthly fee to track their whereabouts, and you can repatriate them yourselves.”
“You’re asking my government to buy back our own stolen treasures while you are left off the hook?”
Van Rijn laughs. “Under Dutch law, if these goods change hands several times, the sale could be deemed completely legitimate. Even if the original owners have proof of provenance, they will be unable to seek possession,” he says, educating me about a method used by art traffickers to turn an illicit item into one that is legally owned. I do not let on that I am involved in the Kanakaria case, nor do the police. Van Rijn continues, pointing to artifacts, “This one will cost you three hundred fifty thousand dollars.”
I record his every word, knowing this will become legal evidence in a case that Kyprianou will start to build against Van Rijn. He looks up from the pictures.
“I hope that this will give your Mr. Kyprianou what he needs for us to move ahead,” says Van Rijn. I gather up the photographs and place them inside an envelope that I will turn over to Kyprianou later that day.
“We are done, Mr. Van Rijn,” I say. “Please, leave a contact number with me this time.”
He smiles and says, “I appreciate your tenacity, but you don’t call me. I call you.”
Back at my office, I find my assistant serving sandwiches and coffee to Michael Kyprianou, who has been awaiting our return.
“Van Rijn appears to have a strong connection with the detective,” says Antoniades.
“That is not our concern,” says Kyprianou before turning his attention to me. “Tasoula, Van Rijn might be thinking he can take advantage of your youth.”
I nod. “Here are the prices he quoted,” I say, pointing to the backs of the pictures.
Kyprianou inquires, “If Van Rijn wants to meet with him, are you willing to do so?”
I turn to him and say, “I want you to put him behind bars, Michael. I’m a girl from Famagusta; this is personal.” We then set out to meet dealer Robert Roozemond.
Coincidentally, the ART.E+S gallery is also in close proximity to the Noordeinde Palace, and is just around the corner from the Park Hotel where Van Rijn’s suite looks over the queen’s gardens. The area surrounding the royal chambers of the queen’s work palace, where she receives foreign dignitaries and displays her golden carriages at the opening of Parliament season each year, is quite posh.
When Kyprianou and I enter the gallery, Roozemond is there to greet us.
He has red hair and glasses, and puts forth great effort to present an image of perfection both in his speech and in his attire. We are led into his elegantly decorated office, adorned with fine arts.
“I have been following the Kanakaria case in America, Mr. Kyprianou. Actually, the registry system I created speaks directly to the plight of your government’s needs. If you choose to employ our database registry, we can create an accurate accounting of what was stolen from Cyprus so that we can better prevent the art traffickers from getting wealthy off of these stolen antiquities, at least the ones that pass through the Netherlands,” he says, pushing forth his agenda. “What brings you to the Netherlands?” he inquires.
“I’m investigating reports of other Byzantine artifacts that might be for sale in the Netherlands,” says Kyprianou.
“If there were artifacts from Cyprus for sale, I would know about them.”
“That’s interesting, because we hear information to the contrary from another Dutch dealer,” says Kyprianou.
“Strange indeed,” replies Roozemond. “Which one in particular are you searching for?”
Kyprianou bluffs, “We are expecting a list from the other dealer any time now. I’m afraid I will have to get back to you on that.”
Roozemond leans back in his chair and springs forward, flips through his Rolodex and pulls out a card, which he passes to me across the desk. It reads, “Dr. Chr. Schmidt 064 7798.”
“This is the name of a doctor who is known to have purchased a few artifacts from Cyprus in the past, but all legal buys, I assure you.”9
I copy the information down from the card and hand it back to him. He continues, “As a token of my goodwill and desire to work with your government.”
He continues, “If the dealer you are alluding to happens to be Mr. Van Rijn . . . I’m sure you know from the Kanakaria case to be skeptical of him.”
“What is your issue with Mr. Van Rijn?” I ask.
“He used to be a star dealer. Now he does business with people like Dikmen, and there is no place for that kind of trading in my business.”
“Encouraging to hear, Mr. Roozemond,” says Kyprianou.
“Thank you for squeezing us into your schedule,” I say, sensing a good exit point.
Kyprianou stands and says, “We will be in touch with you shortly.”
Kyprianou and I exit the gallery and grab a cup of espresso at a nearby café.
Kyprianou says, “Let’s see what the Dutch lawyers can dig up about this Roozemond character.” He checks his watch. “I’ll miss my flight if I don’t leave now. Tasoula, you are a terrific addition to the team. I’m counting on you.”
“I have a true master to learn from,” I say, wanting him to be assured of my commitment. Driving back to my office, my thoughts go to Van Rijn. I make a mental note to see what information I can get out of him about Roozemond.
My office is bustling with activity, and I turn my attention back to Octagon trying to make up for lost time. I return a call fromThomas Kline, the lawyer handling the Peg Goldberg case in America. Kline has a reputation for being a cultural property dynamo of a litigator. His friendly and open demeanor puts me instantly at ease.
“I need whatever information you can find on Van Rijn and Dikmen and their network in the occupied territory of Cyprus,” says Kline. “Can we find out who is doing the actual removal and destruction of the mosaics? This could help Cyprus to consider criminal prosecution and the extradition of these men.” He says.
“I’ll be in Oman for a week, but I’ll attend to it once I’m back and report to you and Kyprianou,” I say, wondering if Kline realizes that I have no experience in this field. The question is how I can now manuever Van Rijn into giving me more information that might help the outcome of the Goldberg trial.
Seven
A SIGN
JULY 1989
The gray silk sari, purchased in India, is the last item I place in my suitcase as I prepare for my
departure to Oman. By day, Michael will continue his enhancement oil recovery work for Shell Petroleum Development Organization (PDO).
His evenings and weekends will belong to me. As newlyweds living in separate countries, one of us travels to see the other every three months, and this trip marks our honeymoon. As much as I miss Michael, leaving my responsibilities is difficult for me.
Meanwhile, in America, the Peg Goldberg-Kanakaria case promises to be precedent-setting and is attracting the international media in droves. I find myself obsessed with securing as much information as I can to help my government win this case. The only technology available to me at the time to aid me in my research efforts is a fax machine, a telephone, and the library. Calling experts, journalists, and soldiers is how I gather information. I leave for the airport from my office in order to handle some last-minute details and to place a call to Beker CS Advocaten, the Dutch law firm now handling the affairs of the Church of Cyprus. I am hoping to find out if we currently have enough evidence to prosecute Van Rijn under Dutch law. Anja Middendorp, the lead attorney, is a smart, resourceful woman in her forties, and we have been getting along quite well.
“Unless we have proof that the Cypriot artifacts are in Van Rijn’s possession and we can prove provenance, there are no grounds for a criminal or civil case,” she says to close our call, to my disappointment.
The circumstances in Cyprus are not in our favor. At the time of the invasion, the most reliable records of the artifacts available were those of the government’s Department of Antiquities, a handwritten card system describing the most valuable and historical artifacts. It was far from a comprehensive catalogue, and very few of the cards describing the artifacts had photographs attached to them. The most notable antiquities of Cyprus were studied by foreign scholars and referred to in international publications, and these records became a vital source of confirmation of provenance during court cases. In some cases the records of outside scholars were the only proof that these treasures existed. Experts the world over had come to Kanakaria to study unique iconographical characteristics of the mosaics in the Goldberg case. They were well documented, and the prosecution relied upon these records in the court cases. There was so much else that went unrecorded, as the people of Cyprus were not looking at the sacred artifacts as cultural heritage items; they were praying with them. And thus the icons occupied an unusual spot at the center of the intersection of the Greek Orthodox Church and the secular legal system.
The Holy Synod of the Greek Orthodox Church consists of a group of six bishops who rule over six regions: Kyrenia, Famagusta, Nicosia, Paphos, Larnaca, and Limassol. Each bishop governs his own region and they have the power to elect the archbishop. Each domain is handled independently and differently. Some regions kept very accurate records of the contents of the churches and monasteries, while others only listed the most valuable artifacts. All identifications came from eyewitness accounts of people in the community: priests, caretakers, restorers, and historians. To initiate a legal case one must first establish provenance to prove ownership. Having inadequate and antiquated systems of recordkeeping created a great challenge in legal battles. The burden of proof of ownership lies with the church, the legal owners of the sacred artifacts, and with the government for historical artifacts.
“In consideration of these circumstances,” says Middendorp, “why not see if there is a possibility to secure information from Van Rijn regarding the whereabouts of the artifacts.”
“I want Dikmen and Van Rijn to pay for what they did.”
“Your best bet is to win his trust and hope he’ll lead you to the treasures.”
No sooner do I put the phone down when it rings again. Van Rijn is on the line, which makes me wonder if my telephone is tapped. My burgeoning paranoia has me secure a job for my intern, Jeroen, with one of my customers, to get him out of my office in case he was is a possible mole.
“I have something very important to discuss with you, Tazulaah,” Van Rijn says.
Knowing that I will never enjoy my vacation if I decline to meet him, I agree. The Hotel des Indes is his meeting place of choice. Van Rijn is sitting at a table waiting for me when I arrive.
“Madame Consul, I must commend you on your taste. That yellow Escada suit is perfection.”
“Thank you,” I say as I take a seat, “You are well versed in designers, I see.”
“I’m an observer of people and works of art, Madame. Sometimes they are one and the same.” He studies my jewelry. “Those Lalaounis earrings suit you,” he says.
Lalaounis is a Greek artist who is world famous for creating jewelry inspired by Classical, Hellenistic, and Minoan Mycenaean art. My hand subconsciously touches the earring.
“A nice replica of a headpiece worn by Elena of Troy,” says Van Rijn.
The waiter delivers a double espresso and a Pellegrino for him and a cappuccino for me. “So, what is so urgent?” I ask.
Van Rijn places an envelope on the table for me to open. Could this be a trap? A seemingly innocent photograph of me opening this envelope could appear as if I am accepting a bribe. Kyprianou’s warning words are ringing in my ear now.
“Would you mind opening it for me?”
He opens it without hesitation and removes a photograph. It’s a picture of an archangel Michael icon.1 I notice the copy was stamped by a Dutch notary and dated October 16, 1987, and it shows three signatures. Van Rijn’s is legible. Looking carefully, I see the other signature is Aydin Dikmen’s, but I can’t make out the third.
“A doctor has it,” says Van Rijn.
“What’s his name?”
“We are not there yet. Let me explain why I called you here.” He takes a sip of his espresso. “You should be cautious around dealers like Robert Roozemond.”
“Why is that?”
“Do you know why spiders never get caught in their own webs? They glide over it by way of the hair that is at the very tip of their legs. They never come in contact with it.”
“How did you know that I met with Roozemond?” I ask.
“The art world is small. I know the players, the network, how the deals work.” He points to himself. “That is not the case with everyone.”
“Why should I trust what you say, Mr. Van Rijn?”
“No one can really be trusted. Only a fool would believe otherwise,” he says.
“My word is bankable,” I say.
“Everyone has a price, and when that price is met, their word becomes worthless.”
“My integrity is non-negotiable.”
“There is something about you . . . I will figure it out . . . count on it,” he says.
“Mr. Van Rijn, what I do, I do for Cyprus. There are some you cannot buy.”
“So I push on until I find your price,” he says with irony.
Pointing to the photograph, I ask, “Tell me where the doctor lives?”
Van Rijn has a little trace of the devil in his smile. “That is for you to find out.” Van Rijn’s game is to give me bits and pieces of information, none of which add up to anything conclusive. He likes to test my capabilities by seeing what I can uncover with only a tidbit of information.
“May I take this?” I ask, pointing to the photograph again. He approves.
“Give my regards to your Michael . . . lucky man . . . !”
Leaving the hotel, I remind myself to fax Kyprianou, who will be pleased with the new information. Van Rijn’s parting comment about sending regards to Michael triggers additional anxiety. Could he possibly know I am on my way to Oman?
OMAN
Love and romance set against the exotic backdrop of Muscat. Located in the eastern corner of the Arabian Peninsula, the majestic Al Hajar Mountains that rise in the distance are a contrast to its beautiful signature whitewashed buildings. The house that Shell provides Michael sits on a cliff overlooking the sea. It is the perfect place for newlyweds to nest.
While Michael is at work, I entertain myself at the suk (open-air market). I make
sure my attire fits the cultural surroundings, covering my arms and head when outside of the Shell camp. My Mediterranean coloring helps me assimilate even more easily, and in no time I make friends with the locals. The smell of frankincense emanating from burning resin in little pots transports me back to Cyprus in a single breath.
“Fresh fish, fresh fish, miss,” yells a toothless elderly Arab man in a kind of pidgin English. His curly gray hair does not cover the lines baked into his face by the sun. He is holding a tuna that looks as if it was just pulled from the sea. I purchase two pieces for dinner. One day when I arrive at the market the fisherman places a shark he just caught before me and cuts its belly open. To my horror it was pregnant. I was unnerved by having to witness this fisherman’s way of life, and when he sees my reaction he tries to make up for it. For the next two hours he carefully removes the teeth from the shark and gives them to me as a gift. He tells me I must bury the teeth in the sand for a few days so that the worms and ants will clean off the remaining flesh. He gives them to me as a memento of our friendship, and I am touched. Culturally, we can be so different and at times shocked by each other’s ways and customs, but this is the beauty of a colorful society and the world of diversity in which we live.
I struggle thinking about how to reciprocate, and I decide that the most appropriate gift for him would be a Swiss Army knife so that he can work as a fisherman with a bit more ease. By embracing his rituals, I seek to create a space of respect between our two cultures.
While in Muscat, I also contact the honorary consul to Cyprus in Oman in order to connect Michael to the Cypriot community, so that I can leave him with a circle of friends outside of Shell, something he has been yearning for but unable to attend to with the demands of his job. At a dinner party hosted by the consulate, we meet a diving instructor who convinces us to take lessons, the best move we could have made. Diving in the crystal blue waters abundant with sea life, we see beautiful colored sea reefs and corals, and huge stingrays mate several feet above us, making the dive in Oman a spectacular adventure.
The Icon Hunter Page 9
