Stella Joannides, the Legal Counsel of the Republic, and I have been in each other’s company once or twice. We are both women making our way in a man’s world, which under certain circumstances would forge a perfect union. Instead, She negates my strategies using legalese. What she doesn’t realize is that I have had access to the best legal counsel in Holland, America, and Cyprus now for ten years.
I welcome Stella and Bishop Vasilios of Trimithounta from Cyprus as guests in my home to attend the press conference on Munich being held in The Hague the following day. At my request, the Church will pay the costs of having the German police, the Cypriot police, and Cypriot government officials attend, as I feel it important to show a unified front to the dealers.
My home is my haven. Visitors who stay with me are exposed to what’s behind the curtain, and what I hope they see is a loving wife, a mother of two children, and caretaker to many animals. I am also a successful entrepreneur and an honorary consul. I consider myself proficient at multitasking, as I find most women are. I field phone calls with one hand, share a glass of wine with you, prepare ingredients from my refrigerator for dinner, and entertain my special-needs daughter, Sophia, who keeps me company at the kitchen table while I cook. I am every working mother who comes home to a large load of dirty laundry after putting in a challenging day at work. I still manage to find time for love and laughter and entertaining my friends.
After dinner, we move to our living room, where my stone fireplace relaxes even the weariest of travelers. The crisp October weather and the warmth of a crackling fire make it the ideal location for a relaxing conversation. Stella wastes no time in getting down to business.
“Is it possible for me to take a peek at your speech?” Stella asks.
“For the press conference?” I ask.
I comply. It can’t hurt to have a set of legal eyes review it. The intense look on her face while she reads through my speech places me a bit on edge.
“Ah, you will have to correct this here,” she says with a disapproving look, pointing to a specific paragraph.
I glance at Michael to see if he is listening, but he and Bishop Vasilios are deep in conversation.
“Come,” I say to her. “Let’s move to the other room so we can talk.”
Around my kitchen table, we sit opposite each other.
“What are you referring to?” I ask.
“Here,” she says, pointing to the place in the speech where I talk about how many sacred religious artifacts were recovered.
“You need to edit this to reflect that there were more archeological artifacts discovered in the Munich sting than religious ones.”
“Why?” I ask.
She leans back in her chair as if she found my question insulting.
“There were both kinds, were there not?” she says.
“Ninety-nine percent were religious artifacts. What difference does it make?”
“Please do as I tell you,” she says without offering any explanation. I can see from her reaction that something bothers her, but I can’t work out what it is.
“I’m going to retire for the evening. Good night,” she says as she climbs the staircase leading to one of our guest rooms.
I join Michael and the bishop in the living room to share what happened.
“Why would she want to change the facts?” Michael says.
Bishop Vasilios reacts with a hearty laugh.
“My dear Tasoula, you have been away from Cyprus far too long.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are the one who holds the ‘power of the attorney’ from the archbishop, as a representative of the Church. You are also the honorary consul who orchestrated the sting operation. The attorney general’s office has no role outside prosecution unless there are archeological findings. This is your success. Unless they twist the facts to give the government a bigger role they look unimportant.”
“Is this what it is all about? Who gets the credit?”
“My dear, that is all that matters in this case to them. It also has to do with the timing. Did you know her boss Markides is rumored to be running for the presidency?”
The puzzle pieces begin to come together. The Cypriot police report directly to Stella, who reports to the attorney general who might be running for president.
Everyone involved played a part in this sting operation, some bigger than others. The fact is, none of us could have executed this sting alone. I have no problem sharing the success, but I resent being presented as an instrument of the police.
I choose my words carefully in the speech, adding that “some archeological artifacts” were found, because that is technically correct.
OCTOBER 20, 1997
The press conference is due to begin shortly at the Museum Het Paleis in The Hague, a former eighteenth-century palace of the Royal Family located in the historical heart of The Hague, now housing the Escher Museum. Van Rijn calls and asks me to meet him in a coffee shop nearby. He is risking exposure as his name is being kept out of the press. This is the first time I will be seeing Van Rijn since the death of his father.
“Don’t you fear you’ll lose your anonymity?”
“I had to see you, to wish you luck,” he says. He hands me a key. “I wanted you to have this.”
Looking at the key, I ask, “Is this what I think it is?”
Closing it in my hand, he says, “Locate the safe that this key opens and you will find your beloved Andreas. Whether it’s fake or real I cannot say. I’ll leave that in Papageorgiou’s hands to determine.”
“Van Rijn, let me remind you that Andreas is part of what you guaranteed the Church.”
His icy stare makes me anxious.
“Listen,” I say, “It’s been ten years now that you and I have been playing this game. It’s time to stop, don’t you think?”
“There is only one way for me to keep you in my life, Tazulaah. Once you have Andreas, you don’t need me anymore.”
“There are other ways, but you must be willing to give up the game. No offense; there will be a price to pay unless you come forward with Andreas.”
Despite his look of contempt, I continue to crack down on him.
“I will find Andreas with or without you,” I say, falling right back into the trap of dueling wits with him. “Did you think I would not read Jan Fred’s article? I know you purchased Andreas, realized it was a fake, but chose not to derail the sting.”
His expression softens.
“I was planning to give the fake Andreas to you as a gift. I withheld the information to surprise you.”
“Who are you kidding? The church agreed to pay you a fee in exchange for a list of guaranteed artifacts.”
“That key,” he says with passion, “unlocks your peace of mind. I beg you, don’t hold up my money or mess with our deal. You knew as well as I did that I made a best guess as to what would be in Dikmen’s inventory. Look at what you did recover!”
We both take a pause to reload some verbal ammunition.
“Don’t call me a crook at the press conference,” he says.
“I can’t say your name! You and your collaborators will lose your anonymity and the Germans will not be able to guarantee your safety.” I remind him.
“Please, just call me something other than a crooked dealer. That is old news.”
“Controversial dealer?” I inquire.
“I can live with that.”
My instincts tell me to leave him feeling reassured.
“Come to dinner tomorrow night with Bishop Vasilios, and we can finalize your deal,” I say.
“I’m proud of you, Tazulaah. I came to wish you well.” For a moment I find myself softening toward him, until he says, “Show the press that I gave you the key!”
At the Museum in Het Paleis, Ralph van Hessen, the publicist, says, “Look at the turnout. You’re a star! This is big news!” Top media companies from around the world overcrowd the room with their video crews and reporters.
; The lights and the media erode my nerves, and I begin to lose my voice. I’ve never been at the center of a press conference before. Taking my seat next to host van Hessen, I smile and acknowledge the other panelists. Just in front of the panel where the table of artifacts are displayed there is a group of photographers jockeying for position to snap pictures of the thirty-two frescoes and the Thaddeus mosaic that we recovered in the first stage of the Munich operation.
Searching the room for Michael, I find my husband’s loving face smiling back at me. He is my rock, my stabilizer, the person I trust explicitly, and his unconditional support has made it possible for me to arrive at this moment.
The photographers take their seats. Ralph van Hessen introduces the panel, which represents the Cyprus attorney general’s office, the German and Cypriot police, an antiquities expert, and Bishop Vasilios. Pointing to me, Ralph says, “I introduce you to Tasoula Hadjitofi, representative of the Church and honorary consul to Cyprus in the Netherlands. She is the woman behind all this success and who has worked for the last ten years on this project.”
As I look out on the sea of press people, I have one intention, and that is to take the lessons learned from Cyprus and share them with the world. In my pocket lies a small icon of Saint Andreas, a gift from my mother as I left Cyprus to secure a new future after the war. I stop and appreciate how far I’ve come since that day. From refugee, to the icon hunter, and a host of other things in between.
My throat is so parched it cracks as I speak my first few words. I stop talking, clear my throat, and force my voice to rise to the occasion.
“In the last few weeks, the Autocephalous Greek Orthodox Church of Cyprus, in close cooperation with the attorney general’s office in the Republic of Cyprus, the Cypriot police, Interpol, and the German police, have succeeded in recovering several icons, frescoes, and mosaics, which once adorned Orthodox churches in what is now the occupied area of Cyprus. These pieces were illegally removed following the Turkish occupation of the northern part of our country in 1974.
“The wider story spans the last twenty-three years since the willful pillaging of the cultural heritage of our country. Since the invasion and occupation of Cyprus in 1974 by the Turkish army, many, if not all, of the artifacts belonging to five hundred churches, monasteries, castles, and museums of the occupied area found their way illegally to various parts of the world. We estimate fifteen thousand to twenty thousand icons have been removed, several dozen major frescoes and mosaics dating from the sixth century to the fifteenth century have been segmented for sale abroad, and some destroyed forever. Several thousand antiquities and individual objects of historical and cultural interest such as chalices, crosses, wooden carvings, and bibles have just disappeared. Apart from the individuals involved in the removal, art dealers from several countries provided a vehicle for the trade in our antiquities and religious objects for which they have received large sums of money from wealthy individuals.
“As a Cypriot and a refugee from Famagusta, I can attest that we have lost many, many things since 1974. However, there can be no greater loss than one’s culture. In 1988 in my official capacity as honorary consul, I was approached by an art dealer in the Netherlands who offered to return one of the Kanakaria mosaics and one icon in exchange for him to legally retain the mosaic of Kanakaria called ‘Andreas.’ Naturally, the response was no. Driven by strong feelings of injustice, I collected information about how the destruction occurred, who the key players were, as well as their methods of trading. The same Dutch art dealer approached me with a proposition to deliver a large cache of our important stolen treasures. Initially, we financed the purchase of thirty-two frescoes from Antiphonitis and one mosaic from Kanakaria, a transaction that was filmed. Armed with the knowledge of who the key players were, we moved on to stage two, which was a sting operation involving the Cypriot and German police. For the record, the Dutch art dealer volunteered to cooperate with the police for his own motives.
“The destruction of culture is a matter for all of us to reflect upon: Why are we forced to resort to such methods to retrieve what is rightfully ours? No Cypriot should have to pay for the return of their culture, although there is no price a Cypriot would not be prepared to pay when all else fails.”
The photographers’ sense something is coming as the sound of their cameras capturing the moment fills the room.
“Today the dealer whose name I cannot reveal for judicial reasons handed me a key to a safe that holds the Kanakaria mosaic of Saint Andreas, one of the most ancient and revered artifacts to the Orthodox community.”
A sea of blinding flashes force me to adjust my vision before speaking again.
“I would like to pass on a message to him.”
The room is so quiet I can feel the journalists moving to the edge of their seats.
“Stop playing games. There are many more Cypriot treasures still at large and in the hands of illicit dealers. Step up. Make a difference. Lead us to them.”1
As I say this, I look around the room to see if Van Rijn sneaked in, but there is no trace of him; for once he adhered to my request. I return to my speech.
“Before I leave you, I want to bring this photograph to your attention. It’s an icon we recently recovered in Germany.”
I hold up the first photo from our records in the Department of Antiquities in Nicosia.
“This is the original condition of the icon before the war,” I say and then holding up the recent photograph taken in Munich, “This is how it looks today.” My voice is strong but quivering slightly with emotion.
“Can you tell me a reason why anyone would wish to scratch the eyes out of the Virgin Mary before they sell it? There is no greater insult to another’s culture and religion than this.”
The journalists are practically jumping out of their seats waiting for the questioning to begin. I remind myself to be careful about what I say, as I can’t jeopardize the criminal case in Germany or Van Rijn’s immunity, but maybe I’m overthinking the situation.
A New York Times journalist asks the first question:
“What is the future of divided Cyprus?”
“That is up to the politicians to solve,” I reply. “I know what I would like it to be—free for all refugees to return home.”
Another journalist from the BBC steps up to the microphone.
“I would like to ask if the Dutch art dealer is granted immunity and if that is why you’re withholding his name.”
“Yes, that is correct. I call him ‘Lefteris,’ meaning free man. He’s the only dealer to walk free because of his cooperation,” I say.
A Dutch journalist from the Haagsche Courant says, “I know that the dealer is Michel Van Rijn. I just had coffee with him.”
Even in his absence, Van Rijn attempts to control the press conference by manipulating the journalist to say his name. This not only sabotages his immunity, it takes the attention away from the artifacts and places it on him.
“You mentioned the name, not I, and I state that for the record. Next question.”
A Turkish journalist from Germany inquires, “Will the artifacts be returned to the churches located in the Turkish part of the island?”
“You mean the occupied area,” I say. “Thank you for your question. Based on the way these artifacts were treated, do you really think we should send them back for more abuse?”
Ralph van Hessen says, “Final question, please.” A reporter from the Kathimerini in Greece asks, “You have the artifacts here and more in Germany, so when will they be reunited and brought back to Cyprus?”
“The ones in front of us, which were acquired during the first part of the operation, will be exhibited in the Gemeentemuseum here in The Hague until December. We hope the Germans will release the rest of the artifacts by then so that they can return to Cyprus for the holidays. This will make for the best Christmas for Cyprus since 1974.”
Later that evening, Ralph van Hessen visits me at my home.
“I’m bo
mbarded by journalists from all over the world, Tasoula, wanting to interview you. The possibilities are endless now. You have to write a book. This story plays like a Hollywood movie.”
Michael explodes in front of Ralph and the bishop.
“Enough! I don’t want to live in a circus anymore, Tasoula. You promised me!”
Turning to Ralph, I say, “Sorry, I can’t do any more interviews. Subject closed.”
I never imagined that the events would turn out to be as big of a news story as it was. After all, I’m just a girl from Famagusta.
Twenty-Four
POWER STRUGGLE
Scheveningen, a district of The Hague and popular seaside resort area, has a four-hundred-meter pier that juts out into the North Sea, offering a spectacular view. References to it date back to 1280 when fishing was a major source of food and income for local residents. Its long, wide, sandy beaches run parallel to a boulevard lined with restaurants and sea life sculptures that attract tourists and locals in droves.
Wanting Bishop Vasilios to experience Dutch “culinary gold,” raw herring, we embark on an excursion to Scheveningen during his stay. Although herring tastes best during the summer season, this dish is in a league of its own any time of the year. We pass herring stands and watch people dip their raw herring into onions, then hold it between their fingers as they lean back and drop it in to their mouths like trained seals.
Inside the Simonis restaurant on the boulevard near the beach, the bishop’s attempt to master the art of eating herring is interrupted by an incoming mobile phone call from Cypriot journalist Marina Schiza, which I place on speaker.
“You will never believe what I am about to tell you,” she says, in Greek. “At the attorney general’s press conference last week with Tassos and Stella in Cyprus, the AG briefed the press as if his office and the police orchestrated the entire Munich sting. Your name never came up!”
“But I saw an official press release where the attorney general gives praise to the archbishop and mentions me too,” I say.
The Icon Hunter Page 29
