The Art of Robbery

Prelude

December 31

Oxford, England

The Ashmolean Museum of Art and Arqueology on Beaumont Street was a magnificent building that demanded the attention of passer byes, tall and elegant in its classic Victorian majesty, it was like a giant protecting its charge. The entrance was copied from the Temple of Apollo in Bassae, and while the Greek demeanor collided with that of the rest, one couldn't help but to gape at all the architecture, or at least, people who loved art, as was the case with the blond haired young woman at its steps.

While the building stood tall and proud there was a significant crack in its defence, there was a contruction site just outside the gallery that was supposed to become a new library extension. The scaffolds were big enough to reach the windows and the ceiling, the impermeables and clother covering just enough for a person to go unoticed.

Smiling in satisfaction she decided it was time to prepare for the party tonight, after all it was New Year's Eve, the streets were going to be filled to the brim with students wanting to celebrate, and the city would be too chaotic to even think of doing much without plans or reservations, even the traffic would be problematic. But well, the messier the city, the better for her.

Returining to her hotel room at Victoria House in George Street, she kept thinking with a mix of childish excitment and teeth chattering anxiety about tonights adventure, everything was in place as there was no room for mistakes. The smoke canister, the clothes, the rope ladder, the watch, the lamp, the wig. Now all that was left was to wait and relax, there was still a debate going on in her mind, between a warm bath or going into a pub for a plate of fish and chips and a warm coup of tea sounded nice at the moment, even though it sounded awfully cliched.

Ashmolean Museum 23: 45

Fist was the contruction site, easy enough, she almost felt like Spider Man climbing the scaffolds to the rooftop and the hopping from building to building to the glass ceiling atop the museum. One would think that there would be more security in the developing buildings since the last attempted robbery three years prior, but its seemed they had wanted to help her in her job, so no complaints on her part.

Now the tricky part began. Taking out her diamond-chip-coated cutter she started scratching the glass panel with just the right amount of pressure on the cutting Wheel, smooth lines in an even speed, not to slow or it will cut to deeply, and not to fast for it will be useless, and add some kerosene for it to be smoother. She just needed to cut a small space for her to go through. Once done the next thing was the rope ledder, lamp and container in hand, and she was in.

As soon as her feet hit the ground she made a bee line for the French Impressionist exhibition, passing through a Monet, a Van Gogh and even a Picasso, this was why she loved her job, the art, the rush, the giddy feeling in her stomach and the clear static in her brain. Regretfully she ignored all these master peaces worth a handfull (more like millions) of dollars and mourned the fact that she was here for a concrete job, sotlen to order, and went for her prize, nineteenth century 16in by 22in Paul Cezanne's Auvers-sur-Oise.

Now the quick part, cute the edges and remove the glass, separate the painting, roll it up without tearing it or doing any damage whatsoever, pack it, run out of the exibition and spread the smoke canister to turn on the fire alarms and cover her traces, giving her more time and a smoke curtain to hide from camaras, climb the rope leader, jump and run through the buildings, go out of the contruction site, mix with the throngs of people in the streets, change and go back to Victoria House.

Easier said than done, so with all the steal she had she started as fast as she could, counting down in her head, trying not too take too long, to be careful, calm, collected, she was like a surgeon, and she would perfom a perfect execution. No fucking up, no getting caugh, no damage, no errors. If everything went well they would even know the painting was missing till the dust settled and she would be long gone by then.

The glass shattered and the race began, slashed the painting, smoke canister set off, and the physical part was done and over with quicker than she expected. She did it all in less than 10 minutes. Amid the rushing mob of drunk students she started walking, with a 15 million dollar canvas in hand and a satisfied smile on her lips.

When the robbery was known the news were comparing the robbary to movies like Mission Imposible with the roof entering and The Thomas Crown Affair with the break-in. The investigation was given to the Thamed Valley Police, an even though they have a high rate success in murder cases they are not even class to figure this one out.

Days later the Thamed Valley Police had found the missing Cezanne in a Conventry pub, but as later proved, it wasn't but a poor forgery, Meanwhile the peretrator was already safe in Berlin, standing in front of a mirror taking pleasure in her reflection, her natural pink hair was finally free from the confines of a wig, her green eyes gazing with mirth, her mouth set in a cinical smile, she was all glitter and deception.

February 11

Oslo, Norway

The National Art Gallery was an old building, it stood among the snow, the picture perfect of a postcard or Christmas photograph. And the city, full of lights and snow was blinding. It had that kind of weather where one can be on the streets for a little while and the heat of food and company made you think of long forgotten fairy tales and rendezvous. The thought of warm soup and a drink or two was completely appealing tonight. It was supposed to be mid-February but it appeared that this town liked to be in the Ice Age, well most of Europe, now that he thought about it, but yet he didn't seem to mind, as much as he loved the sun- as proven by his tan skin and blond hair- it was nice living outside the clock sometimes.

The Norwegian Cultural Festival was going to be in full swing by tomorrow, and the Winter Olympics in Lillehammer were well on their way, all in all the town was shaking with a contageous excitment. Apparently it was going to be an all-nighter to some people, but not him, he was here for bussiness and pleasure- mostly pleasure- and while his task wasn't an easy one it sure as hell was a fast one. He would be snoring in his bed before anyone knew what was happening. It was a damn shame he would be leaving so soon, a week wasn't enough to glimpse the city, all those slides and bars, and norwegian chicks and clubs, and so much to do, so little time, he was always a sucker for foreign coutries. He would be leaving tomorrow night, board a plane at the Sandefjord Airport.

But as much as he wanted to enjoy the nightlife he decided that a little nap could hurt, and went back to the Scandic Hotel Edderkoppen- just a Nancy unpronounsable name- tomorrow would be a long day, god how he hated airports.

National Art Gallery 6:00

Wire cutter, check. Ladder, check. Stolen car keys, check. Hammer, check. Adrenaline, by the tons. This was going to be fun. His target was supposed to be in the first floor for the exhibition, in the room by the window infront of him. He positioned the ladder, and started climbing, anticipation building, the first steps went by and he noticed that for some weird reason it was slippery, too slippery, and as soon as his mind registered it he lost his footing, like a blind man his hand made the pitiful attempt at groping for any leverage, and while equilibrium eluded him he hitted his head against the wall and promtly fell on his ass with an undignified yelp, cursing cursing under his breath all deities known to men. Glad no one was around to notices his slip up he tried again to climb and conquer this new monster now known to him as The Ladder From Hell- that thing was a slippery bugger- took the hammer and with a triumphant grin unceremoniously smashed it against the window of Room 10 and without wasting a seconds went to cut the wired holding Edgard Munch's The Scream, took the iconic painting and left.

It just took 50 seconds to steal a painting valued at $72 million.

The police guard called the police seconds after the window was smashed and the alarm went off. The police took minutes and when it finally arrived it met an empty space, a broken mirror and a postcard that read "Thanks for the poor security" a mocking line than even attracted Scotland Yard.

The lack of security in the first floor, and the overall building, with the added arrogance of the staff made this possible, as no one though anyone would dare to steal such a well-known masterpiece, traceable and while priceless, pretty much recognisible all around the World, and for such, it couldn't be sold.

While the police was looking for any evidence, the museum was being bombarded by accusations of lack of security, the Winter Olympics athletes were suspected, art lovers where mourning the lost iconic painting, and even protest groups were planning on claiming the art theft, the robber was laughing in a Mercedes, thinking about his next stop: Berlin, Germany.

March 18

Massachussets, USA

The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum looked like an old church to him, although it was modeled as an Italian Palazzo, while the incide was impresibe, with a long green garden, and its rooms were rich in color and decor, it lacked impression on the ouside, the only thing noticeable about the brown structure from outside were its windows, and not by much. Every room had its own personality, the masterpieces hanging on the walls breathed something akin to life and beauty in its purest form. He always preferred interior design over arquitecture, he just thought that what the exterior hid and protected was so much better.

As he walked in like he owned the place he went to his favorite room, the Dutch Room, with green silk wallpaper lining the walls and framed by a terracotta cobbled floor and an oak timbered ceiling. A Van Dyck was hanging besides a Rubens, which was near a Rembrandt and by the window a Vermeer all encaged in gold frames, all worth millions. He has always loved art, since he was a kid he liked reading, and from then on all kinds of art appealed to him, especially Visual Art.

Regretfully he tored his gaze away from the paintings and went to a restaurant near by, he had a lunch with his brother, and he had a feeling it was going to take a while.

Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum 19:30

They entered the restaurant though the front door wearing casual clothes and glasses, the left through the back door as Boston police officers. With a full constume on, badge and attitude to match they went back to the Gardner Museum after hours. There were supposed to be two security guards, no further security system outside the main one that could be desactivated.

The fist step was going in. They climbed the steps and alerted the guard on duty of their presence. The story was simple and believable enough to be passed as truthful.

When the guard inquired what was the problem, the two false officers claimed having been called to the Museum, when the guard denied such action they simple asked to look around and see if everything was alright, the guard broke protocol after being easily persuaded and let them in.

The second step was overpowering the security guards. After a superficial inspection of the near rooms, one of the officers asked the guard to aproach him, luring him away from any panic bottons and communication devices, then told him he recognized him, as there was a warrant out for his arrest and poptly asked him to call the other guard on duty. Once the missing guard arrived the thieves handcuffed them and duct taped, leading them to the basement to be found the next day by the morning shift.

The third step was collecting the art work. Going back to the Dutch Room the younger of the two started collecting, taking Rembrandt's only seascape, Storm on the Sea of Galilee, with its neighbore, Vermeer's Concert, along with two other Rembrandts, A Lady and a Gentleman in Black and Self Portrait, while the eldest went for five sketches of Degas, Cortege aus Environs de Florence, Three Mounted Jockeys, La Sortie du Pelage and Program for an Artistic Soiree 1 y 2, Manet's Chez Tortoni and a Landscape with an Obelisk by Finck. All this process went leisurly and with care, selecting the paintings to be taken, they even went as far as to take a bronze finial from a Napoleonic battle flag as a souvenir. All this in over 80 minutes.

It was easy, by far one of the most lucrative jobs they had ever done, and all with barely any effort. The estimated value: $300 million.

Now everytime someone goes into the Dutch Room, with green silk wallpaper lining the walls and framed by a terracotta cobbled floor and an oak timbered ceiling, they will see a Van Dyck was hanging besides a Rubens, with the focus of the room in the empty gold frame at its side and another missing peace by the window.

Once the FBI got involved along with a $5 million reward, the two thieves were already in Europe, on their way to the land of the long gone Third Reich.

Everyone should know by know who robbed what and whats going on. Next chapter they meet in the country that inherited looting and Art robbery from Rome and Napoleon in WWII... and was later stripped by the Soviet Union... so yeah Willkommen in Deutschland! Sometime... soon... I'm studying for my Med exams so don't expect much... Med School is a bitch... more accurately I'm its bitch... FML.

I tried to make this as accurate as possible, I messed up the years for them to fit here but the actual days and months, timing, places facts and paintings are non-fictional and should be pretty close to the real deal. Crimes against Art has become one of my obsessions, and I'm impressed by it, it's really interesting, so inspiration hit.