Chapter 2: Glimpses into the Past
Burke townhouse. Wednesday, October 8, 2008.
"Now pay attention," Mozzie said with a flourish of his chopsticks.
An unnecessary request. Mozzie had texted Peter, along with Neal and Sara, during their bus ride home with instructions to stop for Chinese takeout and then meet him at the townhouse. When Peter checked, El confirmed that she liked the idea of an evening off from cooking.
Danny joined them in his high chair for the informal meal. After they'd polished off the dumpling appetizers, Mozzie stood up to retrieve a manila folder from the sideboard. He held up a copy of an old photo depicting a man with gray hair and a beard. "This is Isaak Mosconi. He immigrated to the States from Italy and was a professor at Columbia from 1919 to his death in 1929. He taught Italian and Russian at Columbia. The archives have little additional information about him except that he claimed his mother was a Russian Jew. Mosconi didn't marry and fortunately for us has no known descendants."
"Why should we be happy about that?" Sara asked.
"Because Danny and I invented a biography that is undoubtedly much more sensational than what his real one would have been." Mozzie beamed at his co-conspirator, and the toddler gurgled back at him. Danny had El's eyes, but a sense of humor that sometimes seemed uncannily like Mozzie's.
"Isaak Mosconi was an eccentric, a true Renaissance man who dabbled in many endeavors—cryptography, abstruse mathematics, art, puzzles—"
"In other words, he's much like you," Neal interjected.
Mozzie nodded complacently. "That's given me rare insights into his personality."
"How much of this is true?" El asked.
"What is truth?" Mozzie mused, gazing up at the ceiling.
"Which parts did you invent?" Peter said forcefully. "Remember we're all on the same crew."
"Oh, very well. After painstaking research, I'm pleased to report that Mosconi is a blank slate except for the bits about teaching at Columbia, his immigration from Italy, and his date of death. In other words, he's a storyteller's dream. Danny and I decided that he changed his surname before he immigrated. You see, Mosconi was actually Russian, not Italian, a plausible scenario since his mother was Russian. Danny and I also decided that he is Jacob Winston's younger brother, making him Harry Winston's uncle."
Peter controlled his groan. When Mozzie started blending fact with fiction, separating the two often became a frustrating challenge.
"Yes!" Sara exclaimed happily. She'd probably grown so used to Mozzie's tall tales, that she easily skipped down the yellow-brick road with him. "Harry Winston's parents immigrated from Russia. Jacob could certainly have had a younger brother. Perhaps there will be information about Mosconi in the Winston vault."
Neal smiled at her. "I'd say the odds are astronomically in our favor."
"The brothers had a falling out in Russia," El suggested. "Perhaps some personal scandal. That's when Isaak changed his name. It explains why Jacob never discussed him with Harry."
Neal turned to look out the French doors leading onto the patio with a faraway look in his eyes. "Like Jacob, Isaak was a jeweler in Imperial Russia. But Isaak was the more skilled of the pair. He worked for Carl Fabergé on the imperial eggs and remained employed at the imperial workshops till he was swept up in the revolution."
"Diamonds and Fabergé eggs?" El exclaimed. "Oh my, the Red Diamonds may need to branch out."
"Perhaps eventually," Mozzie said. "But currently they have their eyes on the Mosconi Diamond."
"Tell me more!" Sara pleaded. "Is it pink, green, or blue?"
"Blue as in the Hope Diamond. Harry Winston owned the Hope Diamond for a while, but Mosconi had an equal prize—its twin."
"Hang on," Peter objected. "The history of the Hope Diamond is well-known. Won't Tulane suspect a fabrication?"
"Not if our gem is firmly rooted in history," Mozzie insisted. "The Hope Diamond is believed to have been cut from a French crown jewel known as the Tavernier Blue. It was stolen during the French Revolution. That gem never resurfaced. The Hope Diamond's history began in 1839 when it was listed in a gem catalog. Analysis later revealed that it was almost certainly cut from the Tavernier Blue. That gem was over double the size of the Hope Diamond. Many have speculated that one or more other blue diamonds were cut from the Tavernier Blue at the same time the Hope Diamond was made. The most intriguing rumor for our purposes concerns Queen Charlotte, the wife of George III. References suggest she procured the Tavernier Blue for her son, the future George IV. Some of his jewels were later sold to help pay off his gambling debts, including what would later be known as the Hope Diamond, but other gems were retained, including what I call the Charlotte Blue.
"Sara smiled appreciatively. "I've read biographies of George IV and Charlotte, and what you describe is very plausible. George was known for being casual about royal property. He often mixed up the crown jewels with his personal belongings. The Charlotte Blue could have been one of them."
"The attribution could have been lost during the succeeding decades," Neal speculated. "Our old friend provenance wasn't as highly valued back then, especially for gemstones."
"Exactly," Mozzie said, helping himself to a fortune cookie even though they hadn't started on the entrées. "Oh, look!" He waved the piece of paper in front of them. "The cookie tells me to 'follow what is calling me.'"
"If the fortune cookie is with us, who am I to stand in your way?" Peter joked.
"I'm glad you agree," Mozzie said, taking him far too seriously.
"But how did Mosconi acquire the Charlotte Blue?" El asked.
"That's where our story becomes even more dramatic," Mozzie said. "Queen Victoria inherited George's jewels. She gave the Charlotte Blue to her favorite granddaughter Alix who is better known as ..."
"Queen Alexandra," Neal said, a smile breaking out. "No less than the wife of Tsar Nicholas II."
Peter couldn't resist tossing in a couple of embellishments. "Since Mosconi was a Fabergé jeweler, he could have become friends with the daughters of the royal family. When he fled Russia, he may have smuggled out the Charlotte Blue, intending to return it."
"But when the Romanovs were murdered, he decided to keep the gem," Sara finished. "He renamed it the Mosconi Diamond, a common practice among collectors. Although we've been calling the diamond the Charlotte Blue, it wasn't named by the royal families possessing it. That way it could skate unnoticed through history."
Mozzie beamed at them. "You see. It's so logical, you're filling in the details without my help. Tulane will undoubtedly believe the account as well."
"But I sense a difficulty," El said. "How will Tulane find out about the gem's history? I don't think a few rumors will suffice to lead him on the path you've chosen."
"The details will be worked out later," Mozzie dismissed airily. "I'm meeting with Henry tomorrow. I'm sure he'll provide creative options."
"I'm sorry I won't be there," Neal said.
"You're still planning to leave for Cannes tomorrow?" Peter asked. Klaus was hot on the trail of a lost Rembrandt that had been looted by the Nazis.
"Yes, but I hope to be gone for only a few days."
#
When Neal boarded the plane, he shoved thoughts of the Charlotte Blue to a shelf. The prospect of recovering a Rembrandt was much more pressing. A few hours after his arrival in Cannes, he and Klaus were once more strolling along the Boulevard de la Croisette.
They were staying at a small hotel Klaus liked on a side street, but for people-watching, nothing compared with the Croisette. The broad thoroughfare of hotels, shops, and restaurants stretched along the shoreline.
Klaus paused to scan the high rises in front of them. Their target had an apartment in one of them, but at the moment Neal had a hard time pulling his eyes off the Carlton Hotel. Several years ago, he and Klaus had pulled off a jewel heist there.
Those had been heady days when Neal was sure he'd hitched his wagon to the high-flying star that Klaus symbolized. From the absent look in Klaus's eyes, Neal bet he was thinking about the same period. They'd already developed their strategy for breaking into the target's apartment. Initially, they'd intended to discuss refinements to the plan during their stroll, but incidents from the past were hard to dislodge.
Klaus turned to him. "We should have lunch at the Riviera in the Carlton. Both of us have ghosts we need to dispel. For me, it was the time I stayed here with Rolf." He dragged a hand across his chin. "Did I ever tell you he brought me here after I graduated from university?"
"No, was this before you ..." Neal shrugged to finish the thought.
Klaus gave a brief chuckle and nodded. "Looking back, I suppose I should have labeled it a recruitment trip." He nodded to the hotel entrance. "Let's go inside. We'll need a bottle of wine for this exorcism."
They asked for a table on the terrace overlooking the Croisette. The ambiance was a bit like a sidewalk cafe but on a much more elevated level. Klaus ordered a Sauvignon Blanc to pair with their lobster salad, but the most important item on the menu was Rolf.
"Did Rolf discuss 'To Catch a Thief' with you like you did with me?" Neal asked. Scenes from the classic Cary Grant movie had been filmed at the hotel.
"Of course, but not what part I would play. I'd just gotten my master's in finance. My parents were eager for me to join the family firm." Klaus winced. "Rolf encouraged me to accept but I hoped to work at a gallery. Siegfried and I dreamed of combining our love for art with a financial twist."
Siegfried Fuchs went on to establish Fuchspartners, one of the world's top corporate art firms. Siegfried and Klaus had been friends since college. Klaus was now working for him part-time at the branch office in Paris.
"Rolf talked me out of it, eventually introducing the idea of a different art specialization. Sometimes, I think about how my life would have been different if I'd turned him down." Klaus hesitated, his face softening. "But then I never would have met Chantal. That goes to show that something good can come out of anything."
"And we never would have become Monuments Men," Neal pointed out.
Klaus laughed. "Very true. Have you told Sara about our activities in Cannes?"
"Not in any detail," Neal admitted. "We agreed that some secrets are better left in the closet unless there's a compelling need to out them. Although ... I have joked about what happened in Cannes when I worked for Keller. That was before we met."
"The time you were stuck on the balcony of the Carlton?"
"How do you know about that? I never told you."
Klaus looked surprised. "You didn't? Are you sure?"
"Positive," Neal said firmly. That escapade with the princess was one of the wildest stunts he'd ever pulled. Sara only knew a few of the details.
Klaus absently watched the passersby. "Rolf must have told me," he said after a few moments of reflection. "He knew Keller when I was in university. Although Rolf never discussed the jobs he did before I started, I suspected Keller assisted him on many of them. Rolf was no thief. His brilliance lay elsewhere."
"So Keller spoke about me to Rolf?" Neal asked, growing queasy at the thought even though it shouldn't have any current repercussions
Klaus nodded. "I didn't have direct dealings with Keller. I'd met him a couple of times and disliked him profoundly. Rolf insisted he was useful. I don't think I ever mentioned that I first learned about you through Rolf."
Neal shook his head, stunned. "Then that time you stopped to talk with me at the museum in Parma was planned?"
"Yes," Klaus confirmed, watching him carefully. "Keller bragged about your talent. Rolf felt you sounded too good to be true, but if half what Keller claimed was accurate, you were worth cultivating. When Rolf heard you were in Parma, he suggested I check you out."
Neal had been sent there to steal a Correggio from the museum. Klaus spotted him sketching and struck up a conversation. "I'd always assumed that was a chance meeting."
"Sorry, it wasn't. I expected to find a brash, reckless kid, and that was right. But I didn't dream you would be so talented. I assumed anyone Keller liked wouldn't be worth my time. Instead, I found someone who I came to love as a brother."
Neal sat back, his unease growing. He didn't know why it bothered him so much to hear about Rolf and Keller. He should have realized it was a possibility.
"Neal?" Klaus grimaced. "Honesty can be brutal. I should have phrased it better."
"No, it's not that. You threw me a life preserver when you invited me to join your crew. But Keller never mentioned Rolf to me ... Hearing that the two of them discussed me isn't the best feeling. You realize you were undoubtedly a subject too?"
Klaus looked at him startled and exhaled. "Believe it or not, I didn't." He grimaced. "I'm still coming to terms with a brother I didn't begin to understand. I should go over this with Jacob next time we talk."
Doc Jacob had helped Neal recover from Rolf's manipulations. He was now performing the same service for Klaus. The therapy sessions started when Klaus was in prison, and they still held regular phone calls.
Keller was in prison with no parole in sight. But the con to capture him continued to leave a bad taste in Neal's mouth even though it was three years ago. Every once in a while when he walked through the quad at Columbia University, he had an uneasy feeling that Keller was there, watching him. Klaus consulted with Doc Jacob. Neal should consider it as well.
Klaus seldom mentioned Rolf, but Neal suspected he often dreamed about him. How could he avoid it?
"Tell me about this Rembrandt we're rescuing," Neal suggested.
The tension in Klaus's face noticeably eased at the change in topic, and as it did, the knot that was Keller relaxed in Neal's stomach. Just in time too. He refused to let Keller sour the Carlton's cuisine.
"The portrait makes a fitting companion to the man we rescued last summer," Klaus said.
"Do I sense a happy ending for him?" Neal teased. "Perhaps the reason he looks so pensive in the painting is because he's pining for his true love."
Klaus snorted a laugh. "You're as much a romantic as ever! And I grant you, the portrait is deserving of love. Authorities are convinced Rembrandt used his son Titus as a model for the angel. The study has been dated to 1661 when Titus was twenty. The Nazis confiscated it from a chateau in France and took it to Paris in 1943. The last documented report for it was when it was set aside to be installed in Hitler's museum. I discovered its connection to the Nazi soldier by chance when descendants of the family let me review his diary. He wrote in veiled terms about the painting and mentioned selling it to a collector in Monte Carlo." He shrugged. "Possibly I picked the wrong target."
Neal shook his head. "Your instincts haven't led us astray yet. I'm confident they're steering us correctly this time."
Four days later at the Ellington mansion.
"Here's to the Monuments Men!" Sara said, raising her cognac snifter to Neal.
His plane had been delayed, and it was after midnight by the time he arrived home. But that didn't matter. Sara didn't have any early morning appointments and neither did he.
"I gather there weren't any hitches?" she added. "You didn't get trapped on a balcony?"
Neal laughed. "No, but I told Klaus he should copy the classic maneuver just for the thrill of it. He turned me down, claiming Chantal and their baby daughter Mireille wouldn't approve. You see, that's what happens when you have kids."
Sara nodded with all the respect the remark deserved. "In other words, we're not responsible enough yet. I see your point."
Klaus's analysis had proved accurate. The Rembrandt was now being processed by French authorities. Sara glanced at Neal's copy of the Rembrandt's Bust of a Man with Beard. They'd hung it on the wall of their workroom, the loft's former living room. "Is that a faint twinkle in the man's eyes over Titus being back where he belongs?"
"I like to think so," Neal said. "As to whether his ghost will ever hook up with Titus, I'll leave the tale up to the romance novelists." He eyed the bodice ripper Sara had left on the cocktail table. "I told Klaus about your reading tastes when he teased me about my romantic notions. He declared that was proof positive we were destined to be soulmates."
Sara smiled. "That and our love for beautiful objects."
"Speaking of which, what's the latest on the Mosconi front?"
"Henry has elaborated on the con in directions that reportedly left Mozzie speechless. The Red Diamonds will meet tomorrow to discuss it."
"Aren't Henry and Eric leaving for El Salvador in the evening?"
"They are, and I'm glad your plane didn't experience any other delays. I'm bursting with curiosity to know what Henry came up with but he wanted you to be present to sign off on it."
Henry and Eric made an annual trip to Central America to help build housing in an impoverished village. Eric had made it a birthday tradition since graduating from college. Henry said the trip dates were laid in stone. Would he have made them wait for the details if Neal had needed more time in France? Surely he wouldn't have been that cruel.
Mozzie wouldn't attend the meeting, but he already knew the details. He left the previous day to attend a scriptwriters' session on future directions for Doctor Who. Sara had assured him she'd keep him informed on any changes Neal requested.
Neal was studying the Rembrandt thoughtfully.
"Did anything else happen?" she asked. She suspected Klaus and Neal had reminisced about their jobs in Cannes—a subject that she longed to know more about but realized she probably never would.
He turned to smile at her. "Just a few old ghosts and someone I wish was a ghost ... I learned that Rolf and Keller knew each other. Not only that, Rolf learned about me from Keller and then had Klaus go to Parma to meet me." He waved a hand as if to dispel the thought. "All ancient history now. Tell me about your week."
Sara obliged with the deflection, but the news about Keller continued to churn in the back of her mind. The con Neal had run on him had some similarities to the Anastasia con. In both of them, he was forced to play a callous thief who thought nothing of double-crossing his friends. If Adrian Tulane was tied to Diamond Lil, Neal might have to resume that con—something neither one of them wanted.