The Icon Hunter

by Tasoula Georgiou Hadjitofi

  “If I were the president of Cyprus, I would demand they remove that flag before ever sitting at a negotiation table. It is psychological warfare on our people,” I add.

  “It is a test of our faith every time our eyes rest on this indecency. Instead of it destroying us, it fuels our determination to return home to the occupied area one day.” The archbishop turns toward the icon of Jesus Christ.

  “The eyes of an icon represent a window into heaven,” he says. “And what we see when we pray before them is God’s gaze returned. The cowardly act of gouging the eyes out of icons is committed to deprive us of our connection to God. With or without the eyes we continue to pray with them. The cross is also a target as fanatical Muslims reject the resurrection of Christ, the symbol of Christianity. Even our dead must endure this hatred as the crosses marking their grave sites in our cemeteries are desecrated and destroyed.”

  As he leads me to the sitting area, I notice that his slow and graceful movements are in tune with his calm and serene demeanor. I find myself feeling strangely at ease around him and impressed that he can be this calm despite the protesting. I sit on the red velvet settee and admire how the sunlight filtering in from the floor-to-ceiling windows reflects off the crystal chandelier.

  “How is Kyprianou doing with the Lans case?” he asks.

  “The Lans case lead will be R. W. Polak, the Dutch lawyer we just hired. Mr. Kyprianou will be an asset to Polak, with his experience on the Kanakaria case and in Cypriot law. I will need Kyprianou and Papageorgiou to come to the Netherlands.”

  There is no hesitation on the archbishop’s part to proceed with the case. What is clear is that he and I share the same passion about seeing these artifacts returned.

  I remove from my case the photograph of the Royal Doors that Van Rijn gave me and place it before him.

  “Van Rijn says the Royal Doors are in Japan. His book is about to be released there and he is looking to publicize it. His supposedly non-negotiable terms are to be the lead negotiator on behalf of the Church and to have his expenses paid.” The archbishop continues to listen thoughtfully.

  “I sent the photograph to Mr. Papageorgiou, who confirms that the Royal Doors are from the old church of Agios Anastasios in Peristerona.”2

  “How do you suggest we proceed?” the archbishop inquires.

  “Van Rijn cannot be trusted. I’ll have to go to Japan with him because he is withholding the location. If we agree to pay his expenses, after giving me proof of the Royal Doors’ whereabouts and revealing who the possessors are, I will take over the negotiation and see to it that he doesn’t compromise the Church in any way.”

  “Can you manage this trip alone? It sounds far too dangerous,” he says.

  “Michael will accompany me,” I say.

  “And the children?”

  “My parents will be with them while we are gone and they will have the support of our live-in nannies.”

  “Let me pay for your tickets,” he says.

  “If you pay, my compatriots will accuse me of using this trip to further my personal business, and there will be questions about why I was sent. I would rather pay my own way so that our actions cannot be questioned.”

  “I admire your dedication. The Church is grateful to you.” The archbishop scribbles several telephone numbers on to a sheet of paper. “This is my personal fax number. The others are private numbers no one has access to. When you need anything, you call me without hesitation,” he says. Knowing I have the archbishop’s unconditional trust gives me immeasurable strength.

  “Van Rijn’s deals can be full of traps. I plan to lead him to believe he will be speaking for me, but when I meet the possessors I shall ask to speak to them alone.”

  “Will there be any repercussions?”

  “I will not deceive him, just outsmart him, which he will respect.”

  The archbishop smiles, and a feeling of regret passes through me.

  “Your Beatitude, it is probably not proper for me to say such things,” I say.

  “I like that you don’t change who you are in my company. I get to know the real you and the you I am getting to know, I like. You remind me of myself,” he says.

  “I’m flattered,” I say. “May I speak candidly, Your Beatitude?”

  He nods his head in agreement.

  “Shouldn’t your views show the compassion you have for the plight of homosexuals?”

  “A parade of people march through these doors each day, most of whom pretend to agree with my views. You are the exception.”

  “Your Beatitude. I mean no disrespect. I understand that the Church has its rules and teachings, but as a modern woman of faith, who is influenced by the Dutch in some ways, I happen to disagree with a few things.”

  “I’m interested in what you have to share. Please, go on.”

  “Being a bishop in the Orthodox faith, one must be celibate. Which is more disturbing to you, the fact that a bishop has an active sexual life, or that he lays with a man and not a woman?”

  “Both, of course! Bishops must live in celibacy.”

  “Let’s take a moment to debate this.”

  The conversation deepens as I reveal my thoughts on everything from the Church’s position on banning cremation to my views on homosexuality. To have the archbishop’s ear like this is a poignant moment. As a child, my nonconformist attitude was discouraged, and I was continually reprimanded, especially when it came to the topic of religion. To be engaged in this kind of debate with the archbishop is to receive an acceptance that I’ve longed for. As he sees me to the door, I feel that my own faith has been deepened from this experience.

  “My regards to Michael and the children,” he says, as I bow my head and kiss his hand.

  “Next time, it would be nice if we can continue our discussions over lunch or dinner. You are always welcome.”

  Valentine’s Day is spent at my office meeting with Papageorgiou and Kyprianou, who flew in from Cyprus to meet with Polak and me regarding the Lans case, so my romantic dinner with Michael is postponed until Saturday. Polak discusses the materials we must secure by the end of the month, of which the biggest challenge will be getting a statement from Dergazarian, the dealer who sold the four icons looted from the church of Antiphonitis to the Lanses. The statement must include the date of sale, the purchase price, when the icons were restored, and the name of the Greek dealer involved.3 I didn’t have high hopes that the Armenian would give up the Greek dealer; getting the date that the icons were restored was more likely.4

  In an attempt to reassert himself, Van Rijn leads journalist Jan Fred van Wijnen to Dergazarian, which I believe is his way of showing me that I do need his help. The Dutch are consumed with the breaking story that two of their citizens are involved, and the media frenzy continues.

  Van Rijn calls to see if I’ve changed my mind about the Royal Doors and Japan; this is my opportunity to negotiate for what I want.

  “Introduce me to Dergazarian. Then we can speak about the Royal Doors,” I say.

  “Come to London tomorrow,” I hear him say as the phone disconnects.

  Traveling to London is easier for me to arrange because it’s a short flight and I can return home on the same day without disturbing the family dynamics.

  In the middle of central London, on a side street somewhere between the palace and Parliament, I meet Van Rijn at a Lebanese restaurant. As I enter, he and Dergazarian are engulfed in conversation. Both men stand to greet me. Dergazarian is tall and dark, with slightly grayish hair and sharp features. The waiter places bowls of tabbouleh and fattoush salads on the table, accompanied by smaller saucers of hummus and baba ghanoush.

  “I’m sure Tazulaah will find what I ordered suitable, as the food is similar to her native Greek dishes. Efharisto,” he says to the Lebanese waiter, who turns to me and says, “Milao Ellinika,” which means “I speak a bit of Greek.”

  “It’s nice to be surrounded by so many Greek friends today,” I say, in an attempt to relax ev
eryone, but it has the opposite effect.

  “What do you mean by ‘Greek friends’? Do you speak of dealers? Are you selling icons?” Dergazarian asks.

  “No, I’m sure Mr. Van Rijn has told you I’m here in search of information specifically about four Cypriot icons you sold.”

  Van Rijn writes in his book that he first met Dergazarian in a teahouse in Istanbul and later in Beirut, where he became Van Rijn’s source for Russian artifacts.5 Their friendship runs deep, as did their loyalties to each other.

  “Not every icon that is sold on the market is from Cyprus, Madame Consul, and not every piece of art from Cyprus is looted. Artifacts were shipped out of Cyprus by your own people after the war as well. What can I do for you today?” asks Dergazarian.

  “Mr. Dergazarian, I am not here to argue about what was shipped by who or to take anyone to task for it. I’m here to get a copy of a receipt or a statement about when you sold the Antiphonitis icons to the Lans couple.”

  He laughs. “So you can prosecute me for selling them?”

  “My priority is to get the artifacts back, not to prosecute people. If my strategy is to prosecute, your friend here would be long gone,” I say, looking at Van Rijn.

  The look in his eyes says my sense of humor doesn’t appeal to him.

  “You can trust her,” says Van Rijn to Dergazarian.

  “How can I prosecute you without an address anyway?” I say. “Why don’t you just give me a statement now?”

  “Excuse us for a moment.” Van Rijn speaks a few words of Arabic to the Lebanese owner and disappears into another room with Dergazarian. While I’m enjoying my hummus, I see Van Rijn and Dergazarian in a heated debate, but I can’t hear what they are talking about. They appear ten minutes later and hand me a statement.6 I notice that it has all the points Polak wanted me to obtain for the Lans trial. However the writing is Van Rijn’s and not Dergazarian’s.

  “I need a statement from Dergazarian, Van Rijn, not from you! Mr. Dergazarian, can you please compose your statement here in front of me.”

  “Finalize Japan, and you get your statement,” says Van Rijn. “See you at the des Indes tomorrow.”

  I allowed Van Rijn to drag me to London, away from my family and business, and make a fool of me. How can I consider going to Japan with him? My mind works overtime preparing for all of the different scenarios that Van Rijn might try to pull next.

  The spring blooms in their infancy mark the end of a gray winter. When I arrive at the Hotel des Indes, Van Rijn is sitting at a table in the back of the lobby smiling like a Cheshire cat.

  “You better have that statement today,” I say to him.

  Van Rijn, turns over Dergazarian’s statement to me.

  The statement says that Dergazarian acted as an intermediary for Van Rijn in selling the four Antiphonitis icons to the Lans couple in 1978, not 1971 as they originally told me, which proves our argument that the Lanses purchased the looted icons after the war, not before as they claimed. As much as this document helps to prove that the icons were bought from the conflict zone after the invasion, there is still the unknown of how the statute of limitations issue will be judged. What is clear to me, from the date of Dergazarian’s statement, is that Van Rijn has had this short document in his possession for the last six months and has been holding it to use as a bargaining tool. We have an understanding. He sees me as his window to clearing his name. I see him as an open door to lead me to the rest of the dealers. Even if I had enough evidence to have him arrested, I wouldn’t have him prosecuted at this point because I would then close the door to the world of art trafficking.

  “Where are we with Japan?” Van Rijn asks.

  “It’s clear that you are not going to tell me who the possessors are and that I will not give you the power of attorney to act on behalf of the Church. We are at an impasse.”

  “I’ve already been corresponding with them from Malta,” he says. “They are an institution and very anxious about Cyprus taking legal action against them. They don’t want negative publicity, Tazulaah. If you don’t trust me, I can have the Royal Doors delivered to Scotland Yard, but you are to do as I say.”

  “Enlighten me,” I reply.

  “Write a letter to the possessor stating your position as acting on behalf of the Church of Cyprus and say that the Royal Doors were looted from Cyprus during the invasion in 1974. Also, confirm that you will not prosecute them if they agree to return the doors. Everything must be on consulate stationery. You must show proof that the icons were stolen and that they came from Cyprus. I’ll have my lawyer send you a fax later on this afternoon with an example of what I need you to say. So, do we have a deal?”7

  “In theory, we have a deal but, in terms of the letter, I can’t give you a blanket yes on that because it will have to go through the Church’s attorney.”

  “Deal,” he says as he taps his espresso cup to mine.

  Seconds after I fax the statement of Dergazarian to Polak, he rings me at my office.

  “Well done, Tasoula. This statement establishes that the icons were purchased after the war. I’ll draft some legal text for you to include in your letter to the government requesting they invoke the Hague Protocol.”8

  The Cypriot foreign minister makes the request to the Dutch government to invoke the Protocol of the 1954 Convention for Protection of Cultural Property in the Event of Armed Conflict.9 This is the first time the Protocol will be invoked, and it draws the attention of global media as well as UNESCO, who sends an observer to follow the case. The Dutch government reply is that because the question of ownership has already been taken to the court of Rotterdam, they cannot intervene in the civil procedure until after the court’s ruling. Since we can’t invoke the treaty at this point, having Dergazarian’s statement is essential.

  On March 11, I forward a copy of the letter that Van Rijn asked me to write to the possessors of the Royal Doors to Polak for his comments. Van Rijn is still refusing to reveal who the possessors are, so I am acting with him as though I may pull out of the negotiation without having that information first.10 Polak suggests a few edits, as the draft can be construed to read that Van Rijn is negotiating on behalf of the Church. I fax a revised copy of the letter to Van Rijn’s lawyer for added protection, in order to have third party witness to what Van Rijn is promising me. He is not pleased with the revised letter or that I sent it directly to his attorney.11, 12

  We continue to disagree about format until he calls me from Malta.

  “Just do what I tell you, woman, if you want to see your doors,” Van Rijn says.

  “Send me a fax where to go,” I say, leaving the dial tone ringing in his ears.

  On April 19, I update the archbishop on the Japan trip.13 I receive formal approval to cover Van Rijn’s expenses, after securing proof of the doors and the identity of the possessor. I send a fax to Van Rijn’s attorney giving them the go-ahead to schedule an appointment with the possessor for April 23 and 24.14, 15, 16 Michael and I rarely have the opportunity to travel alone together and look forward to our trip to Japan.

  OSAKA, JAPAN

  When we arrive at the hotel in Osaka, a petite Japanese woman greets us at reception and hands me a letter and a gift. The letter has five bottles drawn on it. Under the bottles appear the names Dikmen, Van Rijn, Roozemond, Dritsoulas, and Petsopoulos. The text reads, “Wouldn’t you like to see all of us dealers bottled up like this?” I unwrap the gift, which is a bottle of Japanese clear alcohol with a gutted salamander in it. Supposedly, when the two elements are joined they make an aphrodisiac. After one look at the lizard you could hear my scream at the opposite end of the lobby, which is where I hear the sound of Van Rijn laughing at the top of his lungs.

  Making our way over to Van Rijn, I ask him, “Do you find this funny?” Van Rijn is hysterical. Michael and I join him at his table.

  “Who are the possessors?”

  “Relax. Please let me get you each a drink.”

  The waiter brings us drinks. />
  “The doors are at the Kanazawa College of Art. It’s a several hour train ride from here. Tomorrow we will meet the professors at their attorney’s office.”

  “Van Rijn, you told me the possessors are going to give the Royal Doors to me. Why are lawyers involved?” I ask.

  “One look at you and they will turn the doors over.”

  Now I know I’m in for a fight tomorrow.

  “Don’t let me be the one to interrupt the golden couple’s getaway,” he says. Van Rijn hands me the address of the possessor’s lawyer. “I’m in negotiations with them on other business, so I’ll be there when you arrive. We will finish at ten A.M. Be on time. Enjoy the aphrodisiac.”

  Heading back to my room, I feel all kinds of guilt about exposing Michael to the antics of Van Rijn and to this situation in general. I can’t sleep, wondering if the Japanese will be cooperative and return the doors or if I will have to begin a civil case with the college. Knowing Van Rijn, he is scheming, and I’m waiting for the plot to unravel. Michael and I have a private breakfast in the room.

  “In case I don’t return or something goes wrong, here is Polak’s mobile number. Call him. He will know what to do,” I say as I leave for the appointment the next morning.

  I validate that the address is indeed connected to a lawyer’s office and take a taxi there alone. As I walk up the long flight of stairs leading to the office wearing a dark blue Louis Féraud dress with a white-and-blue-striped short jacket, I see Van Rijn waiting for me at the top.

  “Wow, you look smashing!”

  Van Rijn leads me to a conference room where there are four Japanese men standing. Van Rijn says, “I introduce Mrs. Hadjitofi, honorary consul of Cyprus.”

  The Japanese men bow. I’m well versed in their culture, so I know not to shake their hands. Bowing slightly, they each offer a business card using both hands. I hand them each a Consul of Cyprus card in return, keeping eye contact but not bowing.