In the back of a car provided by the Germans, I take a deep breath, probably my first since I started this venture eleven years ago. I telephone the attorney general on his mobile phone to tell him personally that the sting was a success. Having the top man of the church and law enforcement behind me places this work above any politics, which is exactly where I believe it should be.
Herman, my bodyguard, and I are already in the car when Van Rijn enters, wanting to join us on the ride to the airport to meet the Cypriot police who have just landed.
“Ah, yes, the Cypriot police arrive just in time to collect the credit for a job they didn’t do,” says Van Rijn.
“Be nice. It’s not their fault they couldn’t get a flight here earlier,” I say.
“Tazulaah, if it were you in that position, you would have walked here!”
“Everyone is safe and in one piece and Dikmen is behind bars. What could be better?” I say.
Taking Van Rijn’s directions, the police enter Aydin Dikmen’s prison cell and find a key in his pocket. It leads to a cellar door in his apartment house, and they recover several more cartons of artifacts hidden throughout the three rooms in the basement. Back at Dikmen’s apartment, they find another set of keys that lead them to a shed. All told, they gather up more than five thousand artifacts from Cyprus as well as other countries like Greece, Peru, Germany, and Russia, to name a few. Aydin Dikmen invokes his right to remain silent and says nothing while in prison.
Both Tassos and his partner Marios appear weary from the long journey.
“Nice of you to finally arrive,” says Van Rijn. “Just in time for the celebration!”
The police are ecstatic, slapping each other and giving Van Rijn high-fives as they hear of Dikmen’s capture. This is a moment for me, for them, for all of Cyprus. Once we are in the car, Tassos wastes no time in calling the chief of police in Cyprus.
“We did it,” he says in Greek and rattles off the details that we gave to him as if he witnessed them firsthand. Van Rijn, understanding a little Greek, smiles.
HILTON HOTEL, MUNICH
It feels like a dream. Two feet away stands Arnold Schwarzenegger and to my left is Cindy Crawford, the supermodel, and she’s talking to another celebrity. Hollywood has coincidentally descended upon our Munich celebration as they attend a party for Planet Hollywood. In my mind we are the true stars tonight.
Van Rijn, Tassos, Marios, and I are sipping champagne, celebrating Dikmen’s arrest among all of the celebrities. Today is the most surreal day I’ve ever known.
Van Rijn makes a toast. “None of this would have happened without you, Tazulaah.”
I smile and say, “Listen, you and I had the help of many to pull this off, but the bottom line is, you would make James Bond proud.”
“We should call your father,” I continue.
Van Rijn looks at his watch. “Tomorrow, too late now,” he says.
With that, he smiles and toasts my glass. “To Cyprus,” he says.
Van Rijn’s phone rings.
“Jan Fred,” he says. “We did it and we are celebrating with Cindy Crawford and Arnold Schwarzenegger.”
“You’re drunk,” says Jan Fred. “Give me to Tasoula.” He passes the phone.
“He’s seeing stars, Van Rijn, he must be wasted,” Jan Fred says.
“He’s actually telling the truth this time.”
“Are you both high?” asks Jan Fred.
“High on the way things turned out, yes!” I say. “You can run your story in next week’s edition,” and I bid Jan Fred a good night.
Van Rijn turns to me and says, “That’s good for Jan Fred.”
“Channel Four is airing their program Monday night,” I remind him.
With the media about to descend, I feel exposed in Munich. I don’t want my face or name to be known until I’m safe at home.
“Listen, woman,” Van Rijn says, in a very drunken state, “one day you will become the president of Cyprus, and I will be so proud because I know I was the builder. It was me who made you.”
“This drunken talk means it’s time for me to go to bed. Good night, gentlemen.”
“Hey, when you are president, will you give me a casino license?”
“Sure,” I say in jest. I retire to my hotel room to end the longest day of my life, not realizing at the time just how dangerous one word can be.
Arriving at police headquarters later the next morning, Peter Kitschler escorts Van Rijn, the Cypriot police, and me into a room where the recovered artifacts are held. Tassos and Marios are all smiles as photographs are taken for the Munich press release. Frescoes, icons, mosaics, bibles, coins, chalices, and other sacred works are stacked almost to the ceiling. It is awe-inspiring.
The sixth-century mosaic of Saint Thomas from the church of Panagia Kanakaria stands out among all these other treasures. Many of the frescoes, a few from “The Tree of Jesse” and “The Last Judgment,” were part of a major work that once hung on the north and south walls of the monastery of Antiphonitis, built between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries. Like anything that has survived war and captivity, some of the artifacts are in great need of care and repair. Among the findings are a handful of ancient coins and urns. It’s like walking back in time. There are breathtaking pieces everywhere.
From the Agios Ioannis Chrysostomos monastery in Koutsovendis, an icon of the Virgin Mary lies alone on a table looking like a mutilated corpse. Her eyes are brutally dug out, probably with a sharp instrument. I try to imagine what kind of person could be so full of hate and fear that they would vandalize such a sacred piece of art.1
“Peter, is this everything?” He nods in agreement.
I turn to Van Rijn. “Where is the Andreas you promised?”
“Don’t worry about it. I told you if it is not found in Dikmen’s inventory, you can get him to tell you where it is,” he says, trying to squirm out of his responsibility.
“How fast can you get an expert to come to Germany to identify what belongs to Cyprus?” asks Kitschler.
“Mr. Papageorgiou. We will be able to get him here within the week.”
“Great,” says Kitschler. “Once we know what belongs to Cyprus we can start negotiating with Aydin Dikmen to get him to agree to waive his rights to the Cypriot art. I will offer that if he returns the art to you he will receive a lesser sentence. It’s the least I can do for you and Cyprus after all you did for us.”
“You have Dikmen right where you want him,” says Van Rijn. I choose to lay back about Andreas for now and see what develops.
Kitschler continues, “Tasoula, we found guilders on Dikmen.”
“It must be the money we gave Van Rijn to buy the first lot. I’ll put a claim on them.”
The German police are doing everything in their power to make the process as simple as they can in order for the Church to retrieve its artifacts. The ideal situation would be to get Dikmen to sign over his hypothetical rights to the Cypriot artifacts in favor of a reduced sentence. Many artifacts belonging to other countries have also been recovered. Because the Church had orchestrated the sting, the Germans are giving us first opportunity to claim our goods.
“Time is of the essence,” Kitschler points out.
He knew from his experience with German law that all kinds of variables can come into play that could make it difficult for us to claim the artifacts.
“I noticed that Dikmen’s passport is Turkish and that he has no residence permit, so I can’t figure out how he is staying in Germany.” This makes me wonder who his connections are and if his name is even really Dikmen. Kitschler moves to prepare a release for a press conference scheduled for Monday afternoon.
“Under which capacity, Church or consul, do you wish to be called in the press release?” Kitschler asks me.
Tassos interrupts, “You don’t want to be mentioned in this at all. If you care about your safety, it’s better to keep your name out of the papers,” he adds. “Besides, this is a police-to-police matter now. Y
our work is done.”
“Well, if I’m not working with the police, whom am I working with?” I ask.
Peter Kitschler interjects his opinion. “Tasoula initiated and orchestrated the sting and for our procedures, Tasoula is the key witness. Van Rijn and his men have anonymity. Tasoula needs maximum media coverage to ensure her safety.”
“Or she can be ‘an informer for the Cypriot police,’” Tassos says, shrugging his shoulders as if to intimate that my role and responsibilities in the operation were equivalent to the women who volunteer to replace old candles with new ones in church.
“Let’s call her ‘the lady of the Church’ for right now,” says Kitschler.
I’m confused by the Cypriot police and the discussion about my role in all of this, and too exhausted to deal with it right now. It seems there is a lot of jockeying for position on the part of Tassos. My concern now is not about receiving credit but returning safely to my family. I do not want to be alone in Munich when the documentary on what we are calling “The Munich Sting” airs on Channel Four Monday night.
Turning to Kitschler, I say, “Once I appoint a lawyer to seize the artifacts on Monday, I will return to Holland. The Cypriot police will attend the press conference.”
Arriving back at the hotel, Van Rijn says, “Now that our business is finished, I need an evening to myself,” and he sheepishly returns to his room. It dawns on me that we have not called his father, but he seems more interested in his new plans now.
Tassos invites Lazlo to join us for dinner at the restaurant in the hotel and starts to interrogate him. Knowing firsthand how Lazlo reacts to outsiders, I make an attempt to get the attention of Tassos, who is trying to determine if he can split Lazlo from Van Rijn. Tassos wants information about Dikmen, which he will never retrieve from Lazlo, Van Rijn’s loyal puppet. At the first opportunity, I pull him aside and say in Greek, “It’s not wise to get in between these two, Tassos. Lazlo will not speak against Van Rijn and vice versa. What are you looking for?”
“This is my job. I need to know who did what.”
At this point I wish to avoid making a scene in front of Lazlo, and refrain from making additional comments. After dinner, in private, I engage Tassos again.
“May I speak to you in confidence?” I ask. He nods in agreement.
“Tassos, I think it will be best if we can speak freely to each other as it is important for us to work in unison,” I say.
“Fine,” he replies.
“You are compromising the trust that I established with Van Rijn. I know how he operates and all about his relationship with Lazlo. I want to turn the case over to the police, and secure the same trust between you and Van Rijn but there are details that must be executed first. For you to interfere like this without discussing it with me is not helpful.”
“I don’t understand what the hell you are talking about,” Tassos responds. “Maybe you misinterpret the way I interrogate as a policeman. You’ve done a spectacular job. It’s time for law enforcement to take the lead.” Tassos is a tall man whose eyes seem to see everyone as a suspected criminal until they are proven innocent. When he speaks, he talks slowly and guardedly.
“I take my orders from Stella Joannides, who is under the command of Attorney General Markides,” he says.
Tassos doesn’t understand how to deal with the Dutchman. Once Van Rijn realizes that the government and the Church are not in unison, he will drive a wedge between us. He will promise Tassos the world, then he will compromise both Tassos and the attorney general’s office. Van Rijn’s sights are always set on getting as much money as he can out of every situation. If the police do not take my warning seriously, it can spell disaster for the outcome of the Munich operation. I can feel something is brewing.
At this point, Van Rijn returns to the hotel drunk and jolly, with an attractive woman he introduces as the mother of his son. I assume he is speaking about the woman with whom he currently lives.
“My ex and I have a son together, and she came here to celebrate with me.”
I think about reminding him to call his father, but I realize it’s not the right moment. I retire to my room, looking forward to my escape from Munich.
A new sunrise brings the sad news that Van Rijn’s father passed away in the middle of the night. I find Van Rijn in the lobby in terrible pain, emotionally distraught and completely broken. He is crying, and I feel helpless.
“I told you to call him. You really let me down,” says Van Rijn, to my horror.
“I promise you that I wanted to,” I say with all sincerity.
“Get me a private plane out of here. I want to see my dad,” he says, the smell of alcohol dominating the atmosphere.
Lazlo pleads, “He needs your help.”
Despite my sympathy for Van Rijn, my conscience cannot permit me to spend the Church’s money to fly him home on a private plane. The Cypriot police appear, but they remain in the background, unclear about how to handle the situation. Kitschler gives me flight information, and I purchase him a ticket for the early evening flight.
“I sacrificed being at his deathbed to be here for you, woman, to give you and Cyprus your artifacts. Why didn’t you call him a few days ago, Tazulaah?” he says, unable to hide his resentment. “You are just like the rest.”
Van Rijn continues drinking scotch, to numb his pain. He blames me.
“I’m so sorry. I’m sure he is looking down on you with great pride.”
As I watch Van Rijn get into the car, I feel terrible. He longed for his father to hear from the honorary consul and representative of the Church how his son was helping the Cypriots recover their stolen treasures. No one could predict that his death would preempt that. What I don’t see in this moment, because I am exhausted as well as preoccupied with overseeing all of the details that need to be attended to before I can leave Munich, is that in Van Rijn’s eyes I am no longer the revered Madonna figure he has held me up to be. I am now just another woman who failed him.
Herman, my bodyguard, drives me to meet David Hole, the German attorney recommended by Stella Joannides to handle the Munich case for Cyprus. I submit the power of attorney letter from the archbishop and instruct him to confiscate all artifacts in Dikmen’s possession on behalf of the Church as well as any cash found on Dikmen.2
I land at Schiphol with a sense of foreboding, which began that evening after the sting operation when I first saw Tassos questioning Lazlo. I should be free of worry now that I have accomplished what I set out to do, yet I cannot let go of the visual evidence that keeps mounting. I’m not feeling confident about the way the Cypriot police are managing Van Rijn and Lazlo. My mission is to bring the artifacts home to Cyprus by Christmas and their interest is to prosecute Dikmen. I hope our priorities do not conflict.
Michael, my children, and Bishop Vasilios (sent by the archbishop to be with my family during the Munich operation) greet me with a hero’s welcome. I allow myself to be in the moment to savor them and their loving support. After we turn in, I watch Michael sleep, until my racing heart sends me to the kitchen, where I make myself a cup of tea and continue on to the basement, feeling a need to be close to the recovered artifacts.
As I sit in a chair facing the artifacts, I realize that I have not crossed the finish line. Munich is far from over. The Saint Andreas mosaic I have been searching for is not among the sacred treasures recovered in Munich, which Van Rijn guaranteed as part of our deal. My work is not done until I find the Andreas and the artifacts recovered in Munich are returned to Cyprus. My mind swings into full gear, planning the next courses of action that will be required to complete this job. When the first morning light appears, my exhausted mind and body finally surrender. I return to bed, hoping to get a few hours’ sleep in before I begin the next leg of this race.
Professor Dr. Willy Bruggeman, the deputy director of Europol, phones me with his concerns after reading articles about Munich in the Dutch papers. I invite him to dinner. Prof. Dr. Bruggeman is a serious man wi
th a quiet demeanor who was shocked to read my name in the paper alongside Dikmen’s.
“From a police point of view, Dikmen is a very dangerous man. Sometimes he works for himself, and if the money is right he will work with law enforcement, but when it suits him, he will work against the police.”
“I want to meet him face to face to understand how he can sell my religious artifacts so freely. I respect his faith and I demand he respect mine,” I say.
“Stay as far away from him as you possibly can. Here’s my mobile number. Be sure to go to the Dutch police and tell them you need security.”
Prof. Dr. Bruggeman has taken me under his wing over the past several years. He gave me crash courses on everything from international extraditions to complex criminal matters. This is where fate has played its hand in my life. Every person I meet, either personally or professionally, plays a role that furthers my cause. Because I go out of my way to provide the best customer service for my clients, I develop lifelong friendships and tend to draw a similar quality from others. It gives me access to legal experts, international crime specialists, and justices, who become voluntary resources.
On October 10, the Bavarian police, led by Peter Kitschler, discover an additional forty boxes, a utility bill, and another key belonging to Dikmen. On October 16 Peter Kitschler phones me with the news that the police discovered a rented apartment under another name, which held twenty-five additional frescoes along with an assortment of crosses, bibles, and other objects worth millions of dollars.3 Hopefully, the Germans prosecuting Aydin Dikmen, or whatever his real name is, will expedite the artifacts’ return to Cyprus.4
Twenty-Three
LESSONS LEARNED
OCTOBER 19, 1997
Hospitality holds a prominent place in Greek mythology and culture. Despite my active life, my home is always open to people, especially those who travel from afar.
The Icon Hunter Page 28