The Icon Hunter

by Tasoula Georgiou Hadjitofi

“Tasoula, Kyriacos, the news presenter, and I were outraged when we heard them take credit for your work. We stood up separately and publicly declared that we had the inside story about Munich because you phoned us just hours prior to leaving for the sting. We asked why he didn’t mention your participation in the events.”

  I feel slightly embarrassed by the news Marina is sharing with me.

  “You should have seen their expressions when they realized we knew the facts of the case,” Marina continues.

  “It’s not what you do, it’s what you claim you do, in Cyprus,” says Bishop Vasilios, to the amusement of all. “When you are a civil servant or an attorney, your job is for life and you have nothing to lose,” Vasilios adds.

  The scent of savory roasted lamb is everywhere as I set the table for our dinner with Van Rijn. He leaves for Cyprus in a week, so my focus is to finalize arrangements for his one-month stay. Bishop Vasilios, the archbishop’s right hand, joins us.

  Van Rijn arrives with flowers in hand and humility in heart.

  “I’m so honored to be here having dinner with the bishop and Michael. It means the world to me,” says Van Rijn.

  He is highly intelligent and cultured, and his in-depth knowledge of Byzantine art is impressive, making him a charming dinner guest. Conversation and dinner go on for about an hour or so. Coffee is served.

  “How did you manage to secure the mosaic of Thaddeus?” the bishop inquires.

  “Veres set up the buy with Dikmen and agreed to act as an intermediary for a fictitious character we made up, which, of course, was me. Veres and another Hungarian by the name of Andrash purchased it and met me outside a casino in Wiesbaden to make the exchange.”

  “Fascinating,” says the bishop. “And Andreas?”

  I pull the key he gave me out of my pocket and hold it up for him to see.

  “Where is the safe?” I ask Van Rijn.

  “I thought you didn’t need me anymore?” he says, laughing. I’ve never seen Van Rijn’s soft side, which he uses expertly to work the room tonight.

  “Tazulaah, not to change the subject, but Patricia my girlfriend and I have resolved our issues. Do you think the archbishop will mind if she and my two boys join me in Cyprus?”

  I look at the bishop, who says, in Greek, “I think the archbishop will be pleased to hear that Munich did not cause a divorce for him.”

  “I think we will be able to arrange it,” says Bishop Vasilios.

  “I want to feel like a normal citizen in Cyprus. I don’t want to fear the police.”

  “The police will not bother you,” I say.

  “Tassos wants me to work with the attorney general’s office to recover more artifacts.”

  “Maybe you should work with them.”

  “Only if you’re in charge. You know I don’t trust the police. Since the Munich case, they are constantly calling me. I just want to have a rest with my family.”

  Van Rijn hands me an A4 envelope. “These are photographs of artifacts that Dikmen had in his possession at one time. There is one of Andreas.”

  The images are ones that he has presented before. I put the envelope away, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he truly believed the real Andreas was in Dikmen’s inventory; maybe not.1

  “One month stay in Cyprus with your family. No more, no less,” I say to reiterate the new change in our agreement.

  Bishop Vasilios extends his hand to Van Rijn, who bows his head.

  “Thank you for your contribution, and may God bless you and your family. I hope you enjoy your stay in our country,” says the bishop.

  “The fake Andreas is my gift to you when this is all over.”

  “The fake Andreas might be a gift; it’s the real one I’m after.”

  “Please, Tazulaah, this has been a perfect evening.”

  “Van Rijn, we are almost at the finish line. Where is the fake Andreas?”

  “In due time,” he says.

  As Van Rijn disappears into the night, I turn to Bishop Vasilios to say, “He’s up to something.”

  Bishop Vasilios responds, “Make sure the police are informed not to pressure him when he arrives. The last thing we need is for him to create chaos in Cyprus.”

  With the Munich case now in the hands of German law enforcement and under the aegis of Germany’s judiciary system, the Office of the Attorney General in Cyprus takes the lead in the prosecution of Aydin Dikmen.

  There is more chill inside my office at Octagon the following day than there is outside in the brisk October air as Stella and the Church’s lawyers, Polak and Hole, join me in a meeting to discuss the best way to move the Munich case forward. The German police see me as their key witness, and up until this point they have had direct access to me.

  “We have a criminal case that involves the prosecution of Dikmen under German law. Stella, I understand your office is in communication with the attorney’s office in Germany.”

  She nods and Hole continues. “The German police are willing to reduce Dikmen’s sentence if he doesn’t object to the artifacts being returned to Cyprus. The German police warn that if we don’t negotiate quickly, we can become caught in civil litigation, which, as we all know, is a costly and lengthy process.”

  Polak says, “If Dikmen refuses to cooperate and there are no applicable international treaties to force his hand, then a civil case is our only option. We should avoid this at all costs. Has Germany ratified the Hague Convention of 1954 and its protocols?”

  “I know we signed it, but I don’t believe we ratified it. I’ll check into it,” Hole replies.

  “The German police want my statement, urgently,” I say. “We also have to put in a claim on the cash found in Dikmen’s possession so that I can tie it to the money that the Church paid to Van Rijn for the artifacts purchased during the first part of the sting. The Germans also asked for Papageorgiou’s preliminary list of which artifacts belong to Cyprus.”

  “What is the maximum sentence Dikmen can get under German law?” asks Polak.

  “Up to fifteen years. If he cooperates, the Germans will reduce the sentence considerably,” Hole says.

  Up until this point Stella has not engaged in the conversation.

  “The attorney general is keeping his options open and is investigating extradition of Dikmen for prosecution in Cyprus,” Stella says.

  “He’s being tried in Germany for dealing in looted art. What crime can you tie him to in Cyprus?” Hole asks.

  “Stealing, of course.”

  “Can you prove it?” asks Polak, knowing full well that I am the person holding the most information on Dikmen, and that it would be difficult to substantiate.

  “What would the sentence be if he were convicted by Cyprus?” asks Mr. Polak.

  “Two years,” says Stella. “Van Rijn will be our witness.”

  “He’s an unreliable witness. You’ll need more than Van Rijn to extradite Dikmen,” Polak replies.

  At this point the lawyers and I are baffled. We share the belief that it may be best to separate the criminal case from the return of the artifacts. There are only forty days to present evidence that Aydin Dikmen took the artifacts from the occupied area, which is still militarily controlled by the Turkish army. Why would the attorney general’s office risk losing time and delaying the return of the artifacts?

  “The attorney general supersedes the president and the archbishop in international legal matters. He decides the direction of this case,” says Stella.

  “As long as your strategy does not conflict with our aim to repatriate the artifacts at minimal cost. Keep in mind that we three represent the Church, which is the legal owner of the artifacts,” Polak adds.

  Thinking about the larger picture and how extradition will play to the international market, it will surely politicize the issue because of Dikmens, Turkish origin. If prosecuted in Germany, he will get fifteen years as opposed to two in Cyprus.

  Behind the floor-to-ceiling windows of my conservatory I sit in a ra
re moment of silence, reflecting on how to tie up the loose ends of my repatriation duties. The phone rings. It’s Van Rijn, and he is severely agitated.

  “The police were waiting for me at the airport in Cyprus! You promised me the dogs would not be a problem, Tazulaah! Are your people trying to arrest me?”

  Placing a call to Tassos, I plead with him to wait for my arrival to Cyprus to secure Van Rijn’s cooperation. Van Rijn faxes me newspaper articles from Cyprus regarding the current controversy over the opening of casinos. He writes of his interest in getting a license along with his desire to develop real estate.2

  I reach out to the attorney general, emphasizing the importance of working together with one strategy for the best of Cyprus. The Church takes the lead in the repatriation efforts with the government assisting; in the criminal case the government takes the lead with support from the Church’s attorneys and me. I suggest I continue to coordinate until the end of the year to ensure the quickest return of the artifacts. It will enable me to tie up loose ends of the repatriation efforts to the government, I hope.

  Twenty-Five

  TACTICAL WARFARE

  Polak advises the archbishop and me that Turkey can try to confiscate Cyprus’s artifacts if they are exhibited in the Netherlands. He recommends that we take preventive measures by submitting an application to the Hague District Court that will guarantee the Church a hearing before any potential seizure can take place.1 In the final week before the opening of the exhibition, Michael and I are editing the press clippings from the press conference that we are using in lieu of original text and organizing photographs that will go into a catalogue that we designed for the exhibition.

  Wall-to-wall posters and banners are plastered everywhere the eye can see in The Hague, advertising “The Lost Treasures of Cyprus” exhibit. Being able to produce this event with our Dutch and Cypriot friends is particularly meaningful. From the day I left Cyprus, I carried guilt about having dual citizenship. Although a luxury for some people, it places me in constant inner turmoil over where my loyalties lie. Watching my Dutch and Cypriot friends blend together seamlessly as we work as volunteers on the exhibition allows me to realize that I can live in both worlds without losing my identity.

  Outside my kitchen window I watch the bird feeder attract the abundant wildlife in my yard. Sophia and I witness a red squirrel battle a blackbird for the food mixture. As I prepare for a speech that I will deliver to the Organization For Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) in Warsaw tomorrow, Ralph van Hessen calls with the first of many challenges I will face this day.

  “The Turkish ambassador is demanding that we shut down the exhibit,” he says.

  “What is the ambassador’s problem?” I ask, trying not to panic.

  “He says that Cyprus is shamelessly using the exhibition as a political ploy, which is a big problem for the Gemeentemuseum, since it’s state run and can’t be used for political propaganda.”

  “I don’t understand; the museum is city run, so that’s not true. We wrote no text for the exhibition. We are only using existing press clippings,” I say.

  My other line is ringing so I place Ralph on hold and pick up a phone call from an agitated director general of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Cyprus.

  “Ambassador Zenon says you are causing an international incident with the exhibition! What is going on there, Tasoula?” the director general asks in a worried tone.

  “The Turks are trying to politicize the exhibition. I will turn it into an incident between the Dutch and the Turks and remove Cyprus from the equation,” I say.2 “The best option for our government is to stay out of it, so please trust me to handle this.” I add, trying to secure his confidence.

  His tone softens. “You don’t have Ambassador Zenon’s support, so you’d better be right about this,” says the director. “I’m counting on you.”

  My call with Ralph van Hessen has been disconnected, so I get him back on the line only to hear the panic in his voice escalating.

  “Ralph, there is no rule prohibiting the museum from exhibiting political propaganda—not that our exhibit is about that, it is anything else!” I say.

  “The Dutch can’t risk damaging relations with Turkey. The Turkish ambassador knows it, and he’s pushing to shut the exhibition down. He wants us to pull the press clippings off the wall,” says van Hessen.

  The international newspaper articles we display on the walls are either about the Munich Operation or about the press conference we held.

  “What exactly in the text of the articles is he objecting to?” I ask.

  “The words ‘refugee,’ ‘invasion,’ and ‘occupation,’” says van Hessen.

  “The Turks have not been reprimanded for what they did to Cyprus but Cyprus must be chastised for speaking up about it? So, in other words, he wants to censor us.”

  “If you take the articles down and just display the artifacts, that will be enough to satisfy him,” says van Hessen.

  “Ask the Turkish ambassador if he will accept us leaving the articles up but placing red tape over the words that offend him. If he agrees, our problem is solved.”3

  The ambassador from Turkey accepts the compromise and the director of the museum instructs the staff to place the red tape over the offending words in all text, including the posters and programs. The visual effect of this censorship becomes an exhibit in and of itself.

  At Schiphol airport, as I wait for my plane to depart for Warsaw, I telephone Dutch journalist Jan Fred van Wijnen to share details about my recent experience with the Turkish ambassador.

  “The Turkish ambassador threatened to shut the exhibition down unless we cooperated. This is out of my hands. I’m leaving the country for a day to deliver a speech. I have to tell you, this says more about the power that Turkey holds over your government than it does mine,” I say as I board the plane.

  The reporter is outraged over the fact that freedom of speech is being suppressed. There is a history between the two nations. During a labor shortage in the Netherlands in the 1960s, the Dutch entered into a “recruitment agreement” with Turkey. The Dutch accelerated the migration of Turkish immigrants into the Netherlands, which lessened the Dutch labor shortage while improving Turkey’s unemployment issues. The fact that the ambassador was able to impose the kind of pressure he did speaks volumes about the voting power of the Turkish population in Holland.

  Jan Fred van Wijnen from the Vrij Nederland writes an article that inspires the rest of the Dutch media to campaign against the Turkish ambassador’s censorship. The story picks up momentum in the international press and draws publicity for the event.4

  The OSCE offices in Warsaw are located near the old town, badly damaged in World War II but now restored to its original character. This event marks my debut as a speaker on the international stage. I learn that there is global interest regarding the repatriation of stolen artifacts and understand how it links to security issues. Despite all the good work of organizations like UNESCO and other similar cultural institutions, there is no non-governmental organization to engage the public. The Cyprus issue has only been told via politicians and religious leaders, but my speech sheds light on what the artifacts mean to ordinary people as told through the journey of a refugee. Relating the impact that war has had on my cultural identity enables me to engage further in cultural diplomacy. Speaking as an activist about the importance of protecting cultural heritage feels like a natural next step for me. I want to take the lessons learned from Cyprus and share them so no country will have to go through what Cyprus did.

  When I return to The Hague, I discover that I averted what could have been an international incident for Cyprus. By merely exposing the situation, the act of censorship backfired on the Turkish ambassador’s attempt to suppress our freedom of speech.5 I pray that the press and notoriety of the exhibition and the events surrounding it will encourage the Lans couple to have a change of heart and drop the litigation.6 Our best hope is that they will voluntarily ret
urn the icons to Cyprus in time for Christmas.

  The hallway leading to “The Lost Treasures of Cyprus” exhibition is lined with people waiting to gain entry. Some people come with flowers, others bring letters of encouragement. I am not alone in this fight as dignitaries, press, invited guests, and the public crowd the room.7 Bishop Vasilios, dressed in his formal robe, opens the exhibition with a ceremonial blessing of the artifacts.

  The Bishop dips his hand into the chalice and delicately sprinkles the Holy Water around the area where the artifacts are displayed. My attention is drawn to the mixture of cultures, races, and religions in the room as they demonstrate perfectly what is possible when we respectfully honor each other’s differences.

  Bishop Vasilios finishes the blessing, makes the sign of the cross: “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen.” The Orthodox faithful in the room bless themselves from right to left three times; the Catholics make the sign of the cross from left to right. Other religious faiths in the room bow their heads and worship in their own ways. We witness a moment of unification and diversity as the ceremony states that the value of these ancient pieces of art runs far deeper than their appearance. Their significance and the spiritual importance they carry is felt by all.

  My Andreas, dressed in a suit, looks adorable while waiting in line to examine the frescoes. He taps the woman standing next to him.8

  “My mommy found these,” he says, quite happy to sing my praises.

  I step in between the two and take my son’s hand.

  “Mommy, I am going to find the Andreas mosaic for you when I’m a detective,” he says, as he stretches to make his seven-year-old body appear taller than it is.

  Hearing the words spoken by my young son reminds me of how my mission preoccupies the entire family. The last thing I want to do is drag my precious son into my unfinished business. The stories printed in the Bible about Saint Andreas are manifold, and some are passed orally from generation to generation. These stories were a part of our early development, which helped to build our cultural identity along with the rituals we perform in the Orthodox faith. And looking at my son and saying his name, I know there is one piece of the puzzle still waiting to fall into place.