My jaw dropped. “What? You broke into a museum in a foreign country, armed and dressed as American soldiers, took antiquities to sell… and you don’t consider that looting?”
“Yeah, and how about the sex you used to pass around to get deals on antiquities? You don’t consider that whoring and pimping?”
“I’m not proud of what I did, but at least it didn’t get people killed. What did Lipton have to do with all this?”
“Your pal Lipton, and I emphasize the fact he was your pal, came to us with a museum deal. But he didn’t come to us and say, ‘Hey, fellas, let’s go and rob a museum.’ He was one of the group of Anglo-American art experts who went to the White House and Whitehall to plead for protection of the Baghdad museum and library when the U.S. and its allies were gearing up for war. He saw that the politicians and generals were more interested in oil and military engagements where they could test their latest high-tech weapons than they were in antiquities.
“So he came to us with a plan to remove the most valuable pieces so they wouldn’t be looted or damaged by a mob. Which is what happened to ninety-nine percent of the missing fifteen thousand artifacts.”
I rubbed my head with my hands. “I… you must think I’m very stupid or very naïve. Do you think me or anyone else will believe that you robbed the museum to save the antiquities for the world? Do I look like I just fell off a lettuce truck?”
“Turnips. People fall off of turnip trucks. I’m not telling you our motivation was to save the antiquities for Iraq. I told you we didn’t simply set out to rob the museum. Taking abandoned treasure off the ocean floor is our thing. We consider it open season because it really belongs to no one. And we’re not into robbing museums. Lipton told us that if we didn’t get the antiquities out, they would be taken by mobs and Iraqi criminal elements. Hell, Saddam’s government was one big criminal element.”
“Did he also tell you that this humanitarian deed would bring you tens of millions of dollars when the artifacts were sold?”
“We were too low on the food chain for those tens of millions.” He grinned. “But we were in the single-digit category. The deal was money up front for expenses and ten percent of what the artifacts brought when they were sold.”
“So there was never an intent by Lipton or you and your gang of forty thieves to preserve the antiquities for the Iraqi people. Right from the beginning they were to be sold to rich collectors and museums.”
“You’re beginning to sound more like a prosecuting attorney than an accomplice.”
“A what?”
“Keep your pants on and listen up. Let’s go back to motivation. I keep telling you, I never said the idea was to preserve the pieces for the Iraqi people. For every guy like the Iraqi curator who got murdered trying to protect his country’s cultural heritage there were a dozen Saddam cronies who were waiting for law and order to break down to grab treasure. We saved the antiquities for the world—”
“I have a hard time buying your high moral position—”
“I didn’t say I had a high moral position. You keep making me a merciless devil and saying I’m trying to act like I’m a saint. What we did we did for money… but we didn’t do it to harm the antiquities. Lipton was a big-time art dealer; I imagine he cut a few corners—and probably wasn’t the only one in the business who did….” He gave me a penetrating stare.
“Why don’t you just call me a pimp and whore again? A good offense is always a good defense, isn’t it?”
“Look, Maddy, I’m no angel and neither was Lipton. I like to think that most of what I do is for adventure, but maybe I do have a little larceny in my heart, a little Blackbeard the Pirate. But I don’t destroy antiquities. Not even when I use an old coin on a watch.”
He waved his wrist at me.
“Lipton was the same way. Regardless of his profit motives or the corners he cut to get pieces, he was a lover of art. He really wanted to save the antiquities from looters. And if he made a buck doing it, that was all the better. So he hired us to grab some of the best pieces before the doors got knocked down and the mob burst in. We would have taken the whole museum if we’d had transportation for it. As it was, we took forty good items. The Semiramis was the cream of the lot. It wasn’t even on public display out of fear Saddam or one of his cronies would grab it.”
“You took the best and left the rest for looters. What happened to Abdullah?”
“Like I told you, he was a real romantic in a cold-ass world, too idealistic.” He grinned again. “He wasn’t willing to compromise his ideals like you and me, eh?”
Bastard. “What did you mean when you said you saved his life?”
“We were in the museum, protecting the antiquities of Mesopotamia from common looters. Arrangements had been made with an Iraqi general, one of Saddam’s elite guard, to give us access. A money arrangement, of course. He even provided an honor guard—included in the price, but I think they were also there to grab what they could as soon as we drove away.
“Abdullah came barging in when we were loading stuff. Suddenly came in from nowhere, shouting like a maniac that we were thieves.”
“Which you were.”
“I hit him over the head and knocked him out to keep him from taking a bullet from someone else.”
“You should be very proud of yourself.”
He leaned forward, staring at me. “Did you hear what I said? He came stumbling in when we were loading up, raising a stink. He was about to get wasted when I hit him. Hey—I saved the guy’s life.”
“He was about to get wasted, as you put it, because he walked into a criminal scheme you helped create.”
“And what would’ve happened to him if he had walked in a few minutes later when the mob was looting the place? You never seem to get the big picture.”
“Oh, I get it. You saved him in Baghdad. And killed him in New York.”
LEAVING THE GHOSTS OF THE SEA IN DAVY JONES’S LOCKER
In a landmark case, salvagers who spent enormous amounts of time and money finding the lost wrecks of two Spanish ships, La Galga (sunk in 1802) and Juno (lost in 1750), off the coast of Virginia, were barred from recovering the contents of the vessels. Despite the fact that the ships went down nearly 200 and 250 years ago, respectively, a federal court decided that the ships still belonged to Spain.
In supporting Spain, the United States seeks to insure that its sunken vessels and lost crews are treated as sovereign ships and honored graves, and are not subject to exploration, or exploitation, by private parties seeking treasures of the sea.
—Sea Hunt, Inc., v. Unidentified Shipwrecked Vessels, Kingdom of Spain, et al, U. S. Court of Appeals, Fourth Circuit (June 21, 2000)
Chapter 43
I couldn’t believe I was accusing him of murder again.
He threw his hands up at the sky and beseeched the heavens, “Lord, keep me from cutting this woman up for fish bait and throwing the pieces to the sharks.”
We were still a hundred yards from the fishing boat. He cut the engine. We sat basking in the sun while I digested what he’d said.
“Why are you telling me all this?” I finally asked.
“My associates aren’t going to be very happy if I bring you aboard babbling like a harpy how you’re going to put all of us in prison. And I’m doing it to help you get your thinking straight. You are on the run from the police because you’re part of the same daisy chain as Lipton, me, and—”
“That’s nonsense; I had nothing to do with the robbery.”
“If there wasn’t a market for the loot, we wouldn’t have stolen it. It’s called receiving stolen property. Lipton told us that he already had a person who would buy the pieces.”
The statement hit home so hard that I was speechless. “It wasn’t me. The robbery took place years before I became curator.”
“He didn’t give a name; maybe you were just handy when it came time to start pushing the stuff. We all agreed that he’d hold back several years before a single pie
ce even hit the market. But you’re the one who he unloaded on finally.”
“That wasn’t my fault. I knew nothing about the looting.”
My defense came out as a whisper and sounded false even to me. True, I didn’t know for sure that the pieces were from the museum. But I didn’t look too hard, either.
Coby leaned over and patted me on the knee. “Look, I told you, me and my buddies figure that what’s been under the sea for hundreds or thousand of years is up for grabs for the people who have the guts and know-how to recover it. We made an exception for the Iraqi museum heist because we figured it wasn’t just stealing. It would keep the stuff out of the hands of people worse than us. I’m not telling you we’re angels, but we aren’t into murder.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Not yet, anyway.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that we aren’t ready to spend the rest of our lives in prison because someone rolled over on us.”
I thought about the call I had made to Agent Nunes, but I kept a straight face. “I can be trusted—”
He held up his hand. “Please. Nobody can be trusted when the cops put the squeeze on. But that’s a bridge we can cross later. Right now we have to make sure we’re all operating on the same page. Let’s go meet the rest of the team.”
“Must I?”
He goosed the engine and directed us toward the larger boat. I was still in the dark as to what he had in mind—and why he was telling me so much. At least I hadn’t been murdered… yet.
“Tell me about the ship you’re salvaging.”
“The Ronda was a galleon that sailed from the New World with a bellyful of Inca gold back in the 1600s. It was headed for Cadiz, but the port was under attack by the British when it got there. It kept going, through the Straits, on a course for Malaga. It sank in a storm before it reached the port.”
He nodded down at the water. “It’s a grave of sailors and passengers besides being a treasure trove. We do honor to the bodies, holding a service before we start opening up the galleon to look for treasure. Nothing is removed from a skeleton. If there’s a valuable ring on a bony finger, it stays there. We’re sailors, too.”
“That should get you some leniency when the Spanish send you to prison for looting the ship.”
He sighed and shook his head. “You know, Madison, you’re really a good fuck, but you have a sharp tongue.”
A sharp tongue that can get me in trouble.
Chapter 44
We finally reached the larger boat and I went aboard to meet the band of pirates, smugglers, and thieves.
Three men, former SEALs who served with Coby, and the woman he said was half fish, Gwyn, a former Navy officer, made up the gang. The men were all chips off the old block of Coby… short hair, big pecks, firm abs, tight butts. Gwyn was an all-American tall, farm-fed blonde, with a butt that was going south. She had a wide smile, impish blue eyes, and a bottle of cold beer in her hand.
“Wow, underwater looting really has gone high-tech, hasn’t it,” I said, as I stared at the computers and monitors that served as tools of their nefarious trade.
“Let’s feed her to the sharks,” Gwyn said.
“I’m considering it,” Coby said. “Meet Moby Dick.”
He pointed at a monitor showing a remote operating vehicle inside the hole of the sunken ship. The ROV looked like it had been made with an Erector set. The steel creature’s electronic eyes—cameras—and arms and hands were the only humanoid features.
“Moby has a gentle touch. We use it because we don’t want to destroy what we recover.”
“I can understand that. You won’t be able to sell loot that’s broken.”
He gave me a thin smile. “We are concerned with preserving what we recover. Moby can pick up an egg.”
“Scrambled?” I asked.
From the looks on their faces, I wasn’t making any friends, but I was too disgusted—and too stupid—to stroke these people. Frankly, none of them looked ready to murder me. Yet.
“Here,” Coby said, “try it yourself. Then tell me that Moby isn’t gentle enough to pick up a baby.”
I sat down and he showed me how to work the controls. It really was harder than it looked… like rubbing your tummy and patting your head at the same time. Gwyn took a picture of me working the controls. She either was softening toward me or wanted a souvenir to keep after I was eaten by denizens of the deep.
Next they showed me some pieces of eight—Spanish silver coins—that had been brought up. I examined them closely. They were corroded from their centuries on the seafloor but could be easily cleaned. Gwyn snapped more pictures. I grinned and held up a coin so she would get a good shot.
“This is all very interesting, but what does this prove other than the fact that you people are really good at stealing antiquities off the bottom of the sea? And that you’re probably going to spend your best years in a small, low-tech prison cell. Why exactly did you want to put on a dog and pony show for me? Do you think I’d be a character witness at your trials?”
Coby smiled and gestured at his co-conspirators. “We wanted you to see that we’re human. And pretty nice people.”
“Wonderful. And what’s to keep me from going to the police and telling them what I saw today?”
“That’s easy. We work for you.”
“You what?”
“You and Lipton and your pal Viktor Milan hired us. That will be our story. What’s yours?
I chortled. “That’s stupid. Who would believe that?”
“Everyone who sees the pictures.”
“What pictures?”
“You using the robot to pick up contraband treasure off the bottom. You handling pieces of eight.”
Gwyn held up the camera and gave me a grin as she pretended to snap my picture.
“You dirty bastards. That’s blackmail.”
Coby failed to smother a grin. “I prefer to think of it as a negotiating point. The other alternative is that corpus delicti scenario you mentioned.”
If he knew I’d already called the FBI, I’d be fish bait.
***
I said good-bye to my new co-conspirators and got back into the speedboat for the trip back to the villa. Pissed.
“Don’t look so angry,” Coby said. “You could do worse for partners in crime.”
“Oh, I’m beyond that. I’m not angry at you; you’re only protecting yourself. I’m mad at myself. You were right when you said I was part of the looting of the Iraqi museum all along. I was. Not in body but soul. Without people like me who turn their heads at suspicious provenances, there wouldn’t be a market in contraband antiquities.”
“And most of the antiquities would be destroyed by the indigenous people who should be preserving them.”
I shook my head. “No, the fact that there are bad people willing to sell their cultural heritage to foreigners doesn’t justify what we do. If there weren’t willing buyers for the stolen artifacts, you wouldn’t have tomb robbers and museum looters even at the local level.”
“We can go on and on. Like so much in life, it’s a circle, a chicken or the egg scenario. You’re being too introspective and intellectual. This is the real world. Don’t forget that 99.9 percent of the items looted from the museum were taken by Iraqis themselves. And it was Iraqis hiding the atrocities of Saddam’s regime that destroyed the Iraqi library. These people have to take some responsibility for their own lawless society. We turned Iraq into chaos only because we removed Saddam and the big gun he held that kept everyone in line.”
We drove for a moment before I asked, “What do you think I should do now?” I almost broke out in a laugh. Was I really asking a modern-day pirate for advice?
“There are two things you have to deal with. The police are the easiest. They have zero against you. The provenance on the Semiramis is suspicious—but it takes more than suspicion to convict you of receiving stolen property. It takes proof. And that will be impo
ssible for the police to obtain. Even if Lebanon turned into a haven for the FBI tomorrow, they wouldn’t be able to find evidence that rebuts what the provenance says was a handshake deal in a marketplace over a century ago. If you keep your mouth shut, the police will make a lot of noise but will eventually go away because they don’t have the evidence to charge you.”
“I hate to burst your bubble.” I told him about the document examiner’s report. I told him about the Times New Roman font, about the proportional spacing between letters.
“Who has the report?”
“Neal destroyed my copy. I suppose he destroyed his.”
“Lipton would have destroyed his. If not, it went up with the gallery.”
“That leaves Bensky.”
“Bensky’s dead. Gwyn saw it on the Internet. Pulled out of the river.”
“Jesus. The poor man.”
“Before you have too much sympathy for him, you should know he was in on framing you.”
“What do you mean?”
“It wasn’t any accident that the report got into your file without you knowing it. Lipton and your pal Neal needed someone to take a fall if everything went to hell. They paid Bensky to give you an all clear with a phone call, and then your pal had your assistant bury the report.” He grinned. “I got that heads-up from Lipton. I actually wrote the provenance and prepared the backup documents. They were intended to be good, but it would take more talent and time than I had to make them perfect enough to pass the world’s greatest experts. It had to get by only one expert—and he was getting paid to look the other way.”
Nothing surprised me any longer. But it didn’t quite jive. “But Neal destroyed the copy I had.”
“By that time, Bensky was probably murdered and his copies burned. There was too much coming down to put it all at your door. It was one thing to set you up to take a fall on buying the mask if they needed a fall guy for the police to go after, but when bodies started showing up… well, I talked to Lipton before his place got hit. He was in a panic. He said the police were outside. I’m sure he had the shredder going full blast.”
The Looters Page 22