New York
Present day
Giorgos landed at New York’s JFK Airport and took a cab straight to the Metropolitan Museum where James and John were expecting him.
Within half an hour he was seated in the office of a nervous, angry and clearly ruffled James. John looked positively despondent. Giorgos immediately forgot the usual pleasantries and anything else he was planning to say.
‘What’s happened? You both seem to be wearing the latest in fashionable funereal expressions. Has somebody died?’
‘The ring and the icon were stolen sometime between 8 o’clock last night and 7 this morning.’ James was crestfallen.
‘But how? How the hell could it have been taken under your own nose like that?’
‘I’m sorry Giorgos. However, all is not lost. I have taken precautions.’
‘You’ve taken photos of it.’
‘No, it’s better than that.’
‘Come on, James, don’t keep me in suspense.’ Daggers were shooting out of Giorgos’ eyes.
James put up his hands as if in a gesture of surrender. He could never resist the temptation of winding up Giorgos who right now looked positively livid and murderous, foaming at the mouth and fuming with anger. James saw a jerk of a movement from Giorgos who looked as if he was about to hit him and decided to stop playing games.
‘I’ve had them both copied.’
‘But how? In two days?’
‘It wasn’t easy, but john here is a master of his craft.’
‘Let me see them, please.’
‘No, you don’t understand. It’s better than that. I’ve got the originals.’
Giorgos’ jaw dropped, but he recovered quickly.
‘Smart guy. Show me.’
James went around to his desk, put a finger under it and pressed a button. The fireplace revolved, revealing a secret passage.
‘Follow me.’
‘Of all the…’
Once back in James Calvell’s office, Giorgos was very excited.
‘That is Konstantinos XI Palaiologos on the icon as we suspected. You know what this means. That ring could have been his. It could of course have been taken from his body during the looting that followed the fall of Constantinople. But how did it end up in here? Can you imagine the journey it must have had? This is big.’
Giorgos was a child again. James could see it and smiled. Welcome back to the land of the living, Giorgos, he said to himself. John was smiling too. He could see now what James meant when he talked about Giorgos’ infectious enthusiasm for his passion that was his work.
He could see the Giorgos that James had told him so much about. John had only met Giorgos briefly once before, but through James he knew more about Giorgos that an introduction could ever merit. Giorgos was impatient and fidgeting. He turned to James.
‘James, do you know how the museum came by this icon? That may give us a clue as to its history and tracing its source may provide us with useful information relating to my search.’
‘Well, I did a quick check and it appears to have been a donation by a collector who wished to remain anonymous. And apparently it was a very obscure and minor item and certainly not a very valuable piece which, considering that the thief could have had his pick of any number of very valuable, small and easily transportable pieces, makes the interest in this particular item all the more intriguing. Nothing else was taken. The thief knew exactly what he wanted, where to find it and how to get it.
‘The whole theft was completed within thirty minutes which is the time between rounds that it takes the guard to pass by the restoration room, where the icon was kept overnight. The guard has stated that he saw and heard nothing and we have to believe him, assuming, of course, that he was doing his job properly and was not snoozing somewhere, oblivious to anything going on around him. Interestingly, none of the security systems was tripped. We only found out about the theft this morning when John went into the particular restoration room.’
Giorgos’ fertile brain was back, working at full throttle. ‘We need to get someone who’s a whiz with computers to take this further and follow the trail.’
James was on the same wavelength. ‘A hacker. I know just the guy. I’ve known him for a few years now and I’ve used him before. He’s your man.’
‘Great. That’s settled then.’ Giorgos rubbed his palms together with glee at the appetising prospect of following through the discovery and its implications. He could not wait to get stuck in, grab the baton and run with it to its logical and, hopefully, as envisaged conclusion.
Silence descended before James stirred.
‘There was another theft, a few months ago. It was an artefact from the museum’s Cypriot collection. I had not thought about it before now, but I believe that the two thefts could be connected.’
‘What was taken on that occasion?’
‘Oh, it was a Byzantine icon depicting the Emperor Justinian and his Empress Theodora. It was a valuable icon, but it seemed insignificant at the time, as it was such a minor item in the museum’s collection and not on display. We have so little display space and so many works that we have to be very selective. I don’t know, not just when, but, if, any of the works we have in storage, apart from a selected few, will ever see the light of day whether exhibited permanently here at the museum or as part of a touring exhibition.
‘Anyway, the theft was never reported, and as we had no leads, the case was closed. The icon was taken from the museum’s storage vaults deep underground. Security down there is not as tight as it is in the exhibition halls and the displays above ground, apart from the basement restoration rooms which are also well protected and monitored. And I’m afraid we do not have any security footage of the thief.’
‘Why do you think the thefts may be connected?’ Giorgos asked.
‘Well, when I checked about the other icon that contained the ring, I thought I would do a background check on the other one that was stolen as well. And guess what. Both icons were donated at the same time by the same anonymous person.’
‘We urgently need to put a name and face to that person. And assuming that they are still alive, warn them that their life may be in danger. We need to get whatever information they may be able to provide us with soon, in case whoever is after these icons gets to them.’
‘I agree. I’ll get that hacker guy onto it right away. Now, Giorgos, when are you going back to Athens?’
‘Well, I would need to be back at work in three days.’
‘Would…?’
‘You know what? Now things have changed. I need to study that icon and the ring, so I’ll stick around for a while. I’ll call the University and get a few more days off. They owe me plenty already, anyway, and I’m not missing this opportunity. It’s what I’ve been waiting for for some time now, since…’
Giorgos paused, almost becoming too emotional, and there was only the slightest hint of the great struggle taking place inside him to hide his emotions. He fell deep in thought.
None of the other two men dared break the silence and invade Giorgos’ thoughts that seemed before their eyes to transform from emotional strife to inspired flow.
When Giorgos looked up at James and continued his eyes were shining brighter than the Northern Star. ‘I will need to get funding.’
‘Funding? You mean…?’
‘Yes, I’m going back to the dig in Cappadocia. I want to restart the excavation. This discovery changes everything.’
‘I’ll make a few phone calls and see if I can help you with that, but it may take some time which I gather you cannot afford. I can see you are in a rush to get back and I agree with you that it should be sooner rather than later.’
The thefts were a sign. Giorgos was now more determined than ever. He knew he was onto something. He knew continuing with this project could be dangerous, but when had that stopped him before? James beat him to it and put Giorgos’ thoughts into words.
‘It’s going to be dangerous.’
‘I know. If somebody goes to all that trouble to steal something so specific and not the most valuable item in your treasure trove of a place here, then what this person is after is worth risking jail or death for. We are going ahead with the project. Now I’m more sure of it than ever.’
James got out three small glasses and a bottle of rum. He poured them all a drink and raising his glass, proposed a toast.
‘To the bitter end.’
‘To the bitter end.’ Echoed the others.
James’ first call was to Iraklios Symitzis. They had known each other for a few years now and James was aware of Iraklios’ interest in all matters pertaining to Byzantine history. James was also aware of the Symitzis’ family’s prominent private art collection and their huge financial support of archaeological expeditions and of museums and galleries housing Byzantine and Greek related collections.
He only wished he had thought of contacting them before now and bringing to their attention Giorgos’ Cappadocian expedition back when his funding had dried up. Unfortunately at the time James was caught up in too many projects that came all at once, almost drowning him, and clouding his mind.
Iraklios knocked on the door of Elli’s office. She called him inside and gestured to him to sit and wait until she ended her phone call. Five minutes later she gave him her full attention.
‘What’s on your mind?’
‘I received a call from the deputy director of the Metropolitan. It is a request for funding for an archaeological expedition in Cappadocia led by a young archaeologist from Athens. One of my reasons for wanting to fund this is that I would like to control the information flowing out of the expedition, away from the world’s critical eye. I thought this expedition may interest you.’
‘Why’s that? What’s so special about this expedition to make it stand out from so many others?’
‘Apparently they already found something there last year, a chapel dating from 1453 and a sarcophagus which appears to be Byzantine with Imperial insignia.’
‘Has it been dated? And what was inside?’
‘Their funding dried up and they had to stop any further examination. The sarcophagus remained unopened and the tomb sealed. I only wish we knew about it then. I would have stepped in and paid for them to continue.’
‘Iraklios, what do you think they will find? Do you know more about this than you’ve told me so far?
‘I need to tell you a story that I’ve guarded for many years, a story entrusted to me by our mother.’
‘Whatever it is, why was I not told?’
‘I don’t know, but it’s time for you to know. It goes back to the fall of Constantinople on 29 ^th May 1453.’