The School of Turin

by Dale Nelson

  “Did you actually know Niccolò Bartolo? I heard he was from there,” Castillo asked. The man did his homework, Jack gave him that. But then, Bartolo was at least as famous as a son of Turin as was Gianni Agnelli, the legendary former head of Fiat. Until the Carlton job, Bartolo was credited with having pulled the largest single jewelry heist in history. It was the “Crime of the Century” for a solid ten years.

  “I knew of him,” Jack said, deflecting.

  “What do you think of the Antwerp heist?” Castillo asked.

  “I don’t think much of it,” Jack told him.

  “Well, how would you have done it?” Aleksander asked, picking up the thread.

  “I wouldn’t,” Jack told him flatly. “Too high profile. Even if he’d gotten away with it, that’s the kind of thing that would have had police from multiple agencies and insurance companies chasing him long after the headlines died. People are still trying to find those stones. I created a set of rules for myself after I saw a friend go to jail, and I’ve stuck with them religiously since then. They would have had me pass on Antwerp.”

  “What are those rules?” Castillo asked.

  “Simple. One—never take a score large enough that someone would notice. Two—never steal from someone with the will or the means to get it back. And three—never steal out of hunger.” Jack took a sip of the red that Javier served with dinner. “If I’d add a fourth and fifth, it would be no goddamn guns.”

  Aleksander laughed. Clearly, the latter point was not something he believed in. He picked up the bottle to pour himself another glass and found it empty. “Ah, let’s go see what we have in my cellar, shall we?”

  Jack caught a look passing between Aleksander and Castillo right before the later stood and said, “Well, I should be getting home.” They bid Castillo a good night, and Aleksander led Jack inside, where Javier was cleaning up from dinner. Aleksander told him they would be in the cellar and for him to see himself out. Aleksander thanked him for another exceptional meal, which Jack seconded, and the chef accepted gratefully.

  Aleksander led Jack to the wide, wood and metal spiral staircase and descend to the basement. The stairs emptied into a wide room with light wood floors, the same blond wood that the stairs were made of. The walls were accented with one marble panel, though the rest were painted white. There was a large and well-appointed bar that occupied a full corner of the room, and the walls behind the bar were painted in bright red. A large, U-shaped couch of blue-gray leather occupied the center of the room, facing a massive television that hung on a red-accented inset in the wall in front of one of the marble panels. Aleksander then went through a doorway behind the bar. This was the wine cellar, and it was just shy of astonishing.

  The room itself was a large rectangle, with an off-white marble floor with tan colored ripples and exposed wood beams in the ceiling, recessed light in-between. The walls on three sides held floor-to-ceiling wine storage, shielded by sliding glass doors and softly backlit. The fourth wall, shortened because of the doorway, had various liquor bottles on display—ones that were too precious to be trusted to the bar area. There was a long, reclaimed wood table in the center of the room with six chairs around it. Speakers were built into recessed pods in the ceiling, suggesting high quality, omni-directional sound.

  “Very impressive,” Jack said. “Do you mind if I look around?”

  “Of course not.”

  Jack went to the far end of the room, slid the door open, and pulled out several bottles, examining each before putting it back. Most were Italian and French, though he did notice more than a few from the Thracian Valley in Bulgaria.

  “There’s a numbering system, apparently,” Aleksander said. “But I never learned how to use it. I usually just hunt and peck for what I’m looking for.” He gave a short laugh. “Takes me two hours to pick a bottle.”

  Jack nodded. “I organized mine by varietal, and I’ve labeled that much, so at least I can tell the cabernet from the zin at a glance.” When Jack turned around, he saw Aleksander was moving to the table with a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers. As Jack got closer, he saw that it was The Glenrothes. Aleksander poured two glasses. He then pulled his phone out and keyed something that Jack didn’t see.

  Aleksander passed a glass to Jack and held his up. “To business?”

  “To business.”

  “You want to talk about history,” Aleksander said, “this was distilled in 1969.” It struck Jack as an odd thing to say. Jack had probably driven cars that cost less than what this bottle did.

  “So,” Aleksander said, again over his glass, “have you given any thought to my offer?”

  “Some,” Jack said. In truth, he hadn’t. There had not been much time to think it through. But one thing that was blisteringly clear was that what he was doing now wasn’t working. It wasn’t just Paris that was sloppy. It was Madrid and Milan, Berlin and Zurich before them. It was the last six years. He was taking risks, and stupid ones at that. Jack couldn’t manage his legitimate business and keep up this life. It was an impossible balancing act, and one that the physics of criminality would no longer hold up. Jack was forced to admit that he was doing both things badly—he was running his business off the rails and, in turn, taking risks as a thief that were too dangerous by half. Maybe what Aleksander was offering was worth considering, if just for a year or two.

  “Well, we can discuss that further in time,” he said. “I’ve got something more immediate that I want to talk to you about.” Aleksander set down his scotch and put his large hands on either side of the glass. “I’ve got a job, and I want you on it.”

  “So, all that talk earlier about wanting me to train your crews, that’s was just bullshit.”

  “No, no,” Aleksander said, “I still want that. We could own Europe, you and me. I have resources and a network that I haven’t even talk about yet. You won’t believe how far my arms reach. But to get there, we must do this other thing first. I require the capital it will generate, and if I’m honest, I need to see that you can still do it.”

  Jack nearly blurted, “I’m not interested,” out of sheer reflex alone but held it. He assumed this is what Aleksander had been building to all afternoon. Instead, he just said, “I think I need to let things cool down a while before working again.”

  Aleksander dismissed the comment with a cross look. “What do you know about the Al Thani Collection?”

  “One of the rarest private art and jewel collections in the world, as I understand it. Most of the jewelry pieces are from ancient India. The Qatari royal family has had it on display for some time.”

  “That’s right,” Aleksander said, nodding. “It’s currently in exhibition at the Doge’s Palace in Venice.”

  “Since I know that’s not what you’re asking about,” Jack said, setting his glass of scotch on the table, “why don’t you get to the point?”

  “That is the point, Jack,” he said, sounding annoyed, “sure, many of the jewels in the collection have been replaced over the years, so they’re not the original gems used, but that’s immaterial.”

  “But you can’t sell those things. Who’s going to buy a maharaja’s head piece or whatever? To do it, you’d need to separate the jewels from the actual pieces, like you do in a regular jewelry job, and then sell the stones off. But these are works of art. They’re priceless.”

  “Everything has a price.”

  “It still seems wrong.”

  Jack knew all about this collection, as any real jewel thief would. For years, the Qatari royal family had been assembling one of the world’s most impressive collections of rare art and jewelry, which they often put on display in traveling exhibitions. This one, the “Treasures of the Mughals and the Maharajas,” contained jewelry pieces owned by Indian royalty going back several hundred years. Its value was inestimable.

  “Why steal something that can’t be sold?”

  “It’s simple. You’re thinking like a thief.”

  “I have a tendency to do tha
t,” Jack said dryly. He was starting to become annoyed with the conversation. Jack couldn’t stand people that took too long to get to the point. The slow burn of revealing something irritated him, as did the buildup and the melodrama. It was unprofessional. As was this entire approach. Jack had been a “guest” of Andelić’s for nearly twenty-four hours. He’d been given a chef-prepared meal, expensive wines, and use of his host’s new Ferrari. All this to show Jack the wealth that was possible if he simply followed Aleksander’s plan for him.

  Jewelry stores were insured. Most stores, even the high-end ones, were chains that eventually rolled up to multinational conglomerates. A little theft and subsequent insurance payout didn’t hurt them in the slightest. To say nothing of the wholesalers, who had nearly as few scruples as the thieves themselves. Many purchased significant quantities of their product on the gray market, asking no questions about provenance, because they had an insatiable demand to satisfy and it was a way to acquire stones for a fraction of the cost.

  Jack was no Robin Hood, but he wasn’t exactly stealing from better angels either.

  This was different. These were historical treasures. Jack didn’t think the Qataris should have them in the first place, but at least they were in the possession of a collector and on display for the public. What Aleksander was proposing was to break up priceless works of art and sell off the components, and Jack wanted no part in that.

  “This isn’t what I do,” Jack said with finality.

  “Jack, you’re missing my intent. I’m not a vandal.”

  “Forgive me, but I’ve seen the way you people conduct business. A Panther crew drove an Audi into a mall to smash into a storefront and then held everyone up with machine pistols.”

  Aleksander waved his hand dismissively at this. “You would paint us all with the same brush.”

  Jack didn’t press the point and didn’t feel that he needed to. The Pink Panther’s resume was a matter of record, and his experience with individuals from that organization only reinforced his opinion.

  “I’m not going to give you a windy speech about works of art,” Aleksander said, “and frankly, I don’t care what happens to them. But that’s not necessarily true of my buyer. And while you are correct, these pieces themselves cannot be sold intact on the black market and breaking them up for just the gems would fractionalize their value, but what you’re not considering is that maybe someone would like to see the Al Thani family lose a little face and would pay good money to do it.”

  That was very true, and Jack had never considered that possibility. Maybe it was an unscrupulous Indian businessman who would like to see his cultural treasures repatriated, even if in his own private collection? That was a story more plausible than not. Not that it changed Jack’s calculus. This still violated two of his principles. He thought he’d been clear that he wanted things to cool off before he worked again. To say nothing of the responsibilities he was neglecting at his winery. Jack was anxious to get back to California and put this entire disaster behind him.

  It was clear now, as well, that everything Aleksander had done to this point had been leading up to this pitch. Jack knew now that they’d maneuvered Viktor into position to get onto Jack’s crew. And what about the job itself? Was the Ritz intentionally botched to put Jack in the position of owing Aleksander a favor?

  “Do you remember earlier today when I was talking about my rules?”

  “I do,” Aleksander said, taking another sip of his scotch. Jack hadn’t touched his in some time.

  “Then you’ll know that stealing from the Qatari royal family violates two of those principles. This collection is most definitely something that someone would notice missing, and they most definitely have the willpower and the resources to go get it back.”

  Aleksander nodded his head. He had a bemused look on his face.

  “All true. All true,” he said, finishing his scotch. “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.” He held up a staying hand. “I have my reasons. I wouldn’t normally do this, but this is the situation we find ourselves in. If I thought Viktor was capable of it, I’d use him, but he’s just not good enough. My buyer is not a patient man. The exhibition is getting ready to close and move on. I believe it’s going to New York next, which I think we both agree would be much harder to execute. I’m afraid it’s now or never.”

  “Aleksander, you’ve been a very gracious host, and I’m genuinely appreciative of the ride out of Paris,” Jack said, “but this is not a job I’m interested in. There are too many red flags for me. Even if there weren’t, I need to return home. There’s a matter that I need to attend to. Besides, you’d need two or three months to plan, someone on the inside—”

  “Jack,” Aleksander interrupted, “I think you misunderstand something here. I’m not asking for your cooperation. I’m informing you of it.”

  “Excuse me?” A cold, sour feeling formed in the pit of his stomach.

  “Law enforcement officials in Paris have no idea who you are. It would be a shame if they found out.”

  Six

  There it was.

  This whole thing was a setup to get Jack to do something that Aleksander knew he’d never do otherwise.

  “I didn’t want to have go to these lengths, Jack. I’m sorry.”

  “I always find it funny when people apologize for things they do without hesitation,” Jack told him evenly, but there was an edge in his voice now. “I’d wondered why you’d stolen my passport. I suppose you had Viktor do it while we were talking earlier. Guess that’s the one thing he could steal.”

  Jack set his glass down and stood.

  “And what happens if I press the point? I told you I wanted to lie low for a time. I also told you I have something that’s more important to me than your financial problems. What if I just tell you to go fuck yourself and leave?”

  “So far, you’ve been enjoying the reach of my organization. I have been protecting you. You’re a free man because of me. What do you think Rafael was doing in Paris? He wasn’t there to give you a pleasant flight, he was ensuring that you got away. If I say you’re no longer under my protection,” Aleksander waved his hand, “well, who is to say what happens?”

  Aleksander was quiet for a time, and Jack studied him, the other man seemingly unaware as his eyes were focused on some other point in the room. Either he was an exceptional actor, or he was very good at playing a victim.

  “The Brussels airport job was us,” he finally said.

  A few years before, a group of thieves held up a Zurich bound airplane at the Brussels airport just before takeoff. The aircraft was carrying a large load of finished diamonds in its cargo hold. According to the reports Jack read, the thieves dressed as ground crew and had held up the legitimate ground crew with automatic weapons. In fact, the flight crew and passengers didn’t even know something was wrong until after it had happened.

  The heist itself was successful. They’d gotten away with about fifty million dollars of stones, but the success was short-lived. The crew was arrested within days, and that was just the start. As the investigation unfolded, authorities uncovered a massive scheme that stretched to multiple countries. Three months later, nearly thirty people were arrested in conjunction with the theft. In fact, just a few weeks ago Jack read a story in the news that one of the perpetrators was finally convicted and sentenced.

  It was amazing how many jobs were actually pulled off, only to fall apart in the days or weeks following.

  That was one of the major reasons Jack had the rules he did. If a theft could easily be written off by insurers, it eventually faded away. But no one forgot sticking up an airplane on the runway or a hundred million dollars in a diamond exchange. No one forgot, and no one stopped looking.

  “Much of my organization was rolled up in that effort,” Aleksander said with some resignation.

  “That’s all very interesting,” Jack said, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone, “but I don’t see what that has to do with Venice. Or
me.”

  “The Venice job has a certain strategic importance, and I don’t have anyone in my organization who I trust to pull it off.” Aleksander took a drink and then set his glass down. “I need this job to make sure that those around me understand that I’m still a player in this game. I’m not looking to establish any kind of criminal empire. I just want to continue living as I am. Unfortunately, the reality of my world is that I cannot simply fade away.”

  “How terrible for you.”

  “You joke, but you’re not living looking over your shoulder.”

  If Aleksander had researched Jack as thoroughly as he said, he would know that statement was false. Jack had to fight to control his temper. Then he recognized that for what it was: intentional baiting to get him to lash out, lose control, and possibly expose something that Aleksander could use later. Jack lifted his glass and took a few deep breaths, pretending to sniff and contemplate the drink, but really it was just masking getting his temper in check.

  “So, you need to do this bold, audacious job to show that you’re still in the game, and you want me on it for the prestige. You want others to know I’m working with you. If I were to ask my contacts in Europe, I’d probably learn that the word was already put out that we’re teaming up. Is that right?”

  Aleksander said nothing, but a slight smile cracked the corner of his mouth.

  “Moreover, you need this to show them that you’re still relevant. Let’s say I buy your premise of wanting the space to live out a comfortable retirement. Not saying I do, but for the sake of discussion …Venice gets you that?”

  “Not exactly. I expect you to do what you do best and keep your name out of this. My buyer is paying a lot of money, which I need for operating capital to finance some other endeavors. As you say, the Al Thani family has the resources to get their property back. Among other things. I only want your name associated with training my crews.”