Montezuma’s Revenge

“The lost left panel of the Cellini triptych. Also destroyed in the bombing of the Monte d’Capitello Museum.” He should recognize it; before coming to Mexico he had had a good read through Lost Masterpieces of Europe, a beautiful and depressing volume of the art destroyed during the war.

“It is indeed.”

“Beautiful ... priceless ...”

“All of that. So you will understand the quality of my good will when I entrust it to you and your government, Mr. Hawkin. Today is Wednesday morning and the airplanes fly with great regularity. You will return the painting to me on Friday evening and our interrupted negotiations will be resumed. It is agreed?"

“Of course, yes. But you are leaving this with me?”

“It is my bona fide. This and the Da Vinci are the only remaining paintings from the destroyed museum.”

“Do you think you could tell me the entire story of this operation?”

“Your government is being overly secretive even with their secret agents? It is the evil of all governments. Well then, you must turn your mind back to the year 1945. The war is almost over, the Germans are on the run, the victorious Allied armies closing in for the death blow. Yet, like cornered rats, the Germans fight on. In order to break their hold a diversionary landing is to be made at Salerno, I am sure you have heard of it. Tons of bombs were dropped on the German gun positions to soften them up for the landings and undoubtedly innocent people were killed who were nearby when the American bombs fell short or over. Not only people. Inland, but still close to the sea, stood the Monte d’Capitello Museum, a pilgrimage spot for the art-minded tourists between the wars. Here, in the midst of an indifferent collection of broken swords, rusting armor and other medieval junk, there rested the two masterpieces we have discussed. National treasures indeed, and they should have been put some place out of harm’s way, but who thought that the war would come to this secluded corner of Italy? Boom. The great American bombs land on the Germans and one bomb flies too far and utterly destroys the wing of the museum where these two paintings hang. The gods are laughing, a few feet more and the Renaissance trash would have been blown up instead of these two priceless objects. That is the story that is in the books and it is a nice one indeed. The Americans have felt great chagrin about doing this and much money has been subscribed by public-spirited individuals to rebuild the museum. But the paintings, ahh, they could never be restored. But can they? You hold in your hand half of the answer to that.”

“They never were blown up at all?”

“Not at all. A little German trick, some insurance in case the war was lost. The guard was killed, the paintings removed, a large amount of dynamite planted under the building. Regular as clockwork the American planes appeared that night, the third evening in a row and the bombs fell. Boom, boom. A tragedy of war. Then, by a secret route, through Germany to France and Spain and across the ocean to Mexico to a bank vault, these and other valuable objects were smuggled by a trusted officer, a man I think you have met.”

“Kurt Robl?”

“None other. Loyal and true he did as he was bid and has been the guardian ever since, for his master, for obvious reasons, could not dispose of the paintings, so his faithful servant guards them year after year.”

“Not so faithful if he is trying to sell them now.”

“There are limits to everyone’s patience. And, since the master can no longer profit from these works of art, the servant must still live so he therefore, reluctantly, puts a small Matisse landscape on the market, trees with bathers in the foreground ...”

“Hold on, D’Isernia, do you know what you are saying? That Matisse appeared in Argentina a few years back, part of Hitler’s own collection that was never recovered. You aren’t trying to tell me that the master of this faithful servant Robl is really—”

“I am.”

“But Hitler has been dead for more than twenty-five years. You expect me to believe that Robl had these paintings all this time and did nothing?”

“I expect you to believe only facts. The Matisse was sold. You hold the Cellini in your hand. Although Robl engineered the coup at the Capitello Museum it was done for another’s benefit. The other, as you have just said, is long dead. The servant still must eat so, with great reluctance, he parts with one of the treasures. Unacquainted with the world of art he bungles the sale, is cheated of the money and is almost killed. He does not wish this to happen again. This time he contacts an expert who will arrange the sale to everyone’s mutual advantage.”

“Yourself?”

“I have that honor.” D’Isernia bowed slightly even though he was seated. Tony blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear his muddled thoughts, feeling very much out of his depth.

“You wouldn’t like a drink, would you? Sorry, should have offered sooner.”