The Icon Hunter

by Tasoula Georgiou Hadjitofi

  I forward the request to Nicosia for further verification of their records. There are those who wrongly judge me for going into my own pocket to incur expenses for a position that is unpaid, but I consider it a privilege to serve my country as honorary consul. These men needed a compassionate heart today, and I have contacts in the occupied area of Cyprus now.

  My talk with the Turkish Cypriots spurs thoughts about how the looted artifacts might be transported out of Cyprus. The occupied area is free of controls. One can easily travel by boat with contraband into Turkey and from that point gain access to the rest of the world. Cyprus is a small, independent country and most customs officials, when called upon, can’t even pinpoint its location on a map. Most times they see it as an extension of Greece or Turkey. If these artifacts are accompanied by false documents from the Turkish Ministry of Culture made by corrupt officials, the shipment is sure to go through unchallenged.

  The injustice of what transpired in Cyprus did not end with the war. Wealthy collectors from around the world lined up like vultures to pick at the bones of our looted land. Now that our cultural heritage is broken into pieces and sold to collectors and museums globally, the story that our ancestors meant for us to see can no longer be told in the same way to future generations. The loss is immeasurable. There is a way to stop the problem. Markets, legal and illegal, exist because there is demand. Without the demand, there is no market.

  Nine

  HAPPY NEW YEAR!

  1990

  A major break in information occurs. Bankruptcy records reveal that Robert J. Roozemond organized an exhibit in The Hague in 1977 drawn from the De Wijenburgh Collection, of which he was director. The receiver of the De Wijenburgh1 bankruptcy case, Mr. Saasen, connects our lawyer, Anja Middendorp, to Victoria Van Aalst, curator of the A.A. Bredius Foundation who, by purchasing documentation from the De Wijenburgh Collection, has gained possession of thousands of the exhibit’s photographs, slides, catalogues, and lists of icons, many of which are potentially looted.

  “Unfortunately, this documentation provides no origination information, so an expert from Cyprus will be required to establish provenance. I did find two eighteenth-century Royal Doors among the icons,” says Middendorp.2 “It’s possible they belong to Cyprus.”

  “I’ll get back to you regarding an expert,” I say. “It will be helpful if you can send me a copy of the catalogue.”

  I contact renowned Byzantinologist and director of Cyprus’s Department of Antiquities, Athanasios Papageorgiou, urging him to schedule a trip to the Netherlands to view these slides. I also leave a message for Michael Kyprianou, who is now in the midst of the Goldberg appeal. Being one who likes to resolve things with a sense of urgency, I find my lack of authority and the bureaucracy within the Cyprus government to be frustrating at times because of the slow pace at which decisions are made that we keep having to navigate.

  After the Goldberg appeal is completed a month later, I remind Kyprianou and Papageorgiou once again that the Beker CS Advocaten law firm needs to establish whether we will be expanding our investigation to include Roozemond and the De Wijenburgh bankruptcy and ask when Papageorgiou will be able to come to the Netherlands to view the slides.3

  On March 15, Roozemond, bypasses communication with Kyprianou and me, and sends a letter directly to Papageorgiou along with twenty-one photographs of artifacts. He requests that Papageorgiou identify which ones are of Cypriot origin.4 Papageorgiou confirms that both Saint John the Baptist and the Royal Doors are from Cyprus. I inform the lawyers in Holland of this latest development and phone Anja Middendorp with our concerns.

  “Let’s suppose, Anja, that an artifact is neither listed with Interpol nor recorded in the Cyprus database as missing. Can a dealer then claim that he has done his due diligence and that he is free to sell the artifact? Remember, Roozemond first approached me wanting the Cyprus government’s database list of looted and missing artifacts from every cultural heritage site in the occupied area.”

  “In theory, he could claim due diligence, but its not that simple. According to Dutch law, the burden of proof is on the original owner. The Cypriots must prove that the dealer or possessor purchased the artifact in bad faith, meaning that they knowingly purchased it illegally. The dealer will try to prove that he purchased in good faith and did all that he could to check with the proper authorities: as an example, checking Cyprus’s database records, as well as the Interpol database and media reports regarding the conflict in Cyprus. In addition it would have to be decided whether the artifact was purchased within the statute of limitations period. The judge would then evaluate the evidence before ruling.”

  “What do you mean by statute of limitations?”

  “In Holland, a bad-faith purchaser after twenty years can acquire a legal title of ownership.”

  Anja’s firm urges us to officially respond to Roozemond’s letter of the fifteenth of March. Papageorgiou sends an official response to Roozemond’s letter requesting to view the icon of Saint John the Baptist and the Royal Doors in person in order for him to officially authenticate their provenance.5

  As I place the phone down, I think about the unfairness of it all. These laws protect the criminals and the art trade, and this is just one of many ways in which an unethical dealer can avoid prosecution. How can I possibly determine whether Roozemond’s request for the database is well intended? One day I will challenge these laws by lobbying politicians.

  I arrive at the VIP room at Schiphol airport to meet the president of Cyprus, George Vasiliou, who is on a layover in Amsterdam en route to the United States. Since there is no Cypriot embassy in Holland, I am the designated point person to meet such esteemed dignitaries in The Hague. We take the opportunity to discuss his upcoming official visit to the Netherlands as a guest of the queen and to attend a state palace dinner. I will be in charge of making the arrangements and handling the logistics of his visit in liaison with the queen’s staff and the Cypriot Ministry of Foreign Affairs and in cooperation with the Cypriot ambassador in Brussels, Nikos Agathocleous.

  The president and I have common backgrounds in market research, and as we begin talking, we immediately form a bond. Just before the president and his wife depart, he asks, “When are you due?”

  “April,” I reply. By this time, I am showing, so his remark does not catch me off guard. The president and his wife look at each other and nod.

  “Just in time! We will christen your baby during my visit in June.” This means they wish to be godparents to my son or daughter, according to Greek Orthodox tradition.

  I am beyond flattered and surprised! It is such a thoughtful gesture that I accept his offer on the spot without thinking about it or discussing it with my husband.

  “Our choice for a godfather should not be based on being politically correct,” says Michael in response to my good news. He was quite disturbed that I would commit to something as important as the selection of a godparent without consulting him.

  My work is cut out for me. Judging by his response, it may take me a little time to get my Englishman to see the president’s offer in a more positive frame of mind.

  I’m two weeks overdue and scheduled to deliver my baby today. In the middle of a deep sleep, Michael rolls over and whispers into my ear. “It’s time, love.” Michael has been preparing for the birth of our son for weeks now. I hand the reigns of my life over to him, knowing that my job is to deliver our baby and his job is to do everything else. He picks up two bottles of champagne, our pre-packed bags, and drives me to the Bronovo Hospital. Being the one who always takes care of every detail, I do nothing this time. My only wish is to be in the moment with my child as I welcome him into this world.

  Andreas is born on April 9, 1990. Michael and I are deeply impressed with our baby boy who makes his debut appearance with a Beatle-like full head of hair. He is only minutes old, and I can see that his personality is wrapped in a blanket of pure sweetness. If a smile were to take human form it would look like Andre
as.

  Paying my respects to the icon of Saint Andreas, which I brought with me to the hospital, I name my son in his honor, hoping it will lead me to the stolen mosaic of his image, the one that Van Rijn dangles in front of me to keep me interested. Like my mother, I will now trust that I have the saint’s blessing to guide me where I need to go.

  At the time of Andreas’s birth, business at Octagon is thriving, as I purchase the rights to a new software application from a company named Trimco. It revolutionizes the oil and gas industry with its document management system, a paperless office solution, which creates a reputation for me as a wunderkind. As the head of the company, maternity leave was never an option for me, and honestly, it just isn’t a part of my nature to focus on one thing.

  The day that my stitches are removed I take my infant son and his nanny to my office and set up a temporary nursery. Andreas adapts to his new surroundings beautifully, and for the moment I get to breast feed and work and “have it all.”

  Meanwhile, Anja Middendorp secures an opportunity for Papageorgiou to review seven thousand slides of icons from Roozemond’s De Wijenburgh exhibit. The date is set for June, but Papageorgiou has to cancel when a conflict arises, and several more weeks pass without any word of when he can come to examine the doors. Timing is critical to our success.

  After attending a meeting with the staff of Her Majesty Queen Beatrix at the Noordeinde palace, I pass by Roozemond’s gallery. In the window hangs a set of Royal Doors. Standing across the street from the main entrance, I marvel at the temerity of Roozemond to display the Royal Doors in plain sight. I am no expert, but there is no question that these doors are works of art that came out of an ancient church in Cyprus. They also look exactly like the Royal Doors Anja Middendorp brought to my attention. Now it is up to us to establish that these doors were looted from Cyprus.

  I place a call to Anja Middendorp, who advises me that there is nothing I can do until Papageorgiou formally confirms them to be of Cypriot provenance and provides evidence from government records or photographs taken prior to the 1974 war.

  “Roozemond is flaunting them in our face,” I say.

  “Displaying them does not mean he has ownership of them. He understands his legal position, and you must do the same.”

  “Of course,” I say. “I will check whether or not Papageorgiou sent a reply to Roozemond.”

  We soon learn from Papageorgiou that the Royal Doors are from the old church of Agios Anastasios located in the village of Peristeronopigi, in the Famagusta district,6 south of Lefkoniko in the Mesaoria plain. Agios Anastasios was just one of several hundred churches completely vandalized and looted of their contents after the 1974 invasion. When one culture targets the other’s faith so disrespectfully, the resentment can be passed on from generation to generation.

  In an Orthodox church, the Royal Doors are the doors in the wall of icons and religious paintings (the iconostasis) that stands in front of the altar leading to the sanctuary, the most sacred space in the church.

  Returning to my office, I fax Kyprianou and Papageorgiou about seeing the sacred doors in Roozemond’s gallery window and ask them to take action so that I can go through the proper legal channels to confiscate the doors. This is a hallowed piece of sacred art and should be held in the highest esteem, not hung in a window to lure wealthy collectors.

  Dashing back to my desk to retrieve a ringing phone, I hear the sound of Van Rijn’s voice.

  “Madame Consul, you don’t call or write. Have you lost interest in getting your precious artifacts back?” he says, slightly agitated.

  It is true. I have been avoiding him, even refusing to meet with him during my pregnancy, feeling it vital to keep my personal life to myself.

  “I have been traveling for my business, Van Rijn.”

  “Then you can meet me at our usual place at two P.M.?”

  “Tomorrow,” I say.

  My reason for meeting with Van Rijn now is twofold: to retrieve information regarding Roozemond and the De Wijenburgh exhibit and to gain insight into who is in possession of the Saint Thomas and Saint Andreas mosaics. Being at the center of a living jigsaw puzzle reminds me to use puzzle strategy; search for the edge pieces to create a border, then work from within. In this situation the borders are not clearly defined.

  Ten

  BAPTISM BY FIRE

  Holy Baptism is the first of seven sacraments received in the Orthodox Christian Church, which is also known as a christening. Its purpose is to remove the “original sin” we are born with so that we may unite with the body of Christ and begin our spiritual life’s journey.

  Having a sponsor or “godparent” in the Orthodox faith dates back to the Roman Empire when Christians were often slaughtered and godparents would need to step in to supervise the religious growth of a friend’s or relative’s child for the rest of their life.

  The planning for Andreas’s christening became a bit challenging, as I found myself caught in the middle between my husband and the president of Cyprus.

  Michael did not want to mingle politics with a personal matter as sensitive as the baptism of our son. Yet the fact that the president offered this says a great deal about the man himself, and I respected what he was trying to give to our family. It was an honor, and I felt we had to accept.

  “Why are we still talking about this? I deplore crowds of people,” Michael says.

  “Michael, I respect who you are. I want to shout to the world that my boy has arrived, and I cannot refuse the president’s generosity. I plead with you to understand my side.”

  “I am a private person, Tasoula. If you want me to compromise it will be on one condition: no public affair. You and I must select who comes, and I don’t want to have to follow any protocol.”

  We schedule the christening of Andreas to coordinate with the president’s forthcoming trip to the Netherlands in June, a day after his official visit ends, in a private ceremony.

  The square outside the Hotel des Indes is buzzing with tourists, and an ocean of multicolored crocuses are in full bloom. The crowded lobby makes it difficult to navigate my way to the bar to meet Van Rijn, who is already sitting at a table sipping espresso when I arrive. He is dressed in a custom-made dark navy suit with a scarf from Hermès, and he stares at my manicure as I nervously look down to see if there is a chip in my polish.

  “You look well, Tazulaah.”

  I am dressed in a black skirt and a pink Escada jacket with my hair in a bun, wearing another pair of long chandelier earrings from Lalaounis’s Helen of Troy collection.

  “Thank you, Van Rijn.”

  “Is the offer of Kyprianou so big that it doesn’t fit in your Chanel bag?”

  “Let me remind you that you called me here,” I say.

  Van Rijn has a full-size diary open in front of him at every meeting. He takes notes with a green Mont Blanc pen. A waiter appears who seems to be extremely familiar with him.

  “Give the consul of Cyprus her cappuccino. Do you know she is the consul?” There is always someone he makes a witness of, which makes me think he is trying to compromise me at every meeting.

  “Now that you’ve won the Goldberg-Kanakaria case, it’s time for your government to act. They can really use my services. Don’t they see that?”

  “Please, enlighten me,” I say.

  “There are illicit dealers quivering in their boots waiting to see if the appeal sticks.”

  In the case of the Autocephalous Greek Orthodox Church of Cyprus v. Goldberg (Goldberg-Kanakaria case), Indiana District Court Judge James Noland ruled that the right of possession of the sixth-century Kanakaria mosaics in dispute belonged to the original owner, the Church of Cyprus. Under Indiana law, a thief cannot pass the right of ownership of stolen items to subsequent purchasers. Because the mosaics were stolen from the Church of Cyprus, Goldberg had no right to title or possession of the mosaics. This precedent-setting case now has the world’s attention as it awaits the final outcome of an appeal.1 I wish that ever
y European country would follow in Judge Noland’s footsteps.

  Van Rijn leans into the conversation and lowers his voice.

  “What is ten thousand a month to your wealthy church? You will pay a lot more in legal fees and court battles. I know how to get the artifacts.” He shows me a Polaroid of himself standing next to the “Feet of Christ” mosaic looted from the Antiphonitis church and a newspaper with yesterday’s date. “How badly do you want it?”

  If I reveal how badly I do want it, he will hold on to the information even more tightly.

  “Enough already, persuade your government to make a deal with me.”

  “Why should my government pay you to give us the names of those to whom you sold our looted artifacts, then spend more money to sue these people in order to get back what rightly belong to us? If you have the ‘Feet of Christ,’ why don’t you just give it to me?”

  “There are others who have a stake in it. That’s why I need the money: to pay the others off,” he says, as he removes a Gauloise cigarette from an antique silver case.

  “Cyprus will not pay to buy back looted art. If you want to win the trust of my government, tell me where they are for free and I’ll move in with the police,” I say.

  “No other dealer will offer you and Kyprianou what I am offering.”

  “No other diplomat would agree to see and speak with you like I do,” I say.

  “You would make a brilliant art dealer.”

  “Teach me the trade and let’s start with the De Wijenburgh exhibit of ’77.”

  “What do you wish to know?” Van Rijn says with a smile.

  “We know that Roozemond organized the exhibit. How many Cypriot artifacts were actually sold by him?”

  “Information comes at a price, but I’ll give you one piece for free. Roozemond’s name is never found in a transaction.”