Goddess of Death (10 page)

Arnold raised his eyebrows in surprise.

McMurtaghy smiled coldly. ‘In the zoo a tower had been built. Bit of a misnomer, really, referring to it as the zoo tower. It was actually a sort of flak tower that occupied an entire city block. It was highly secure. It contained air-raid shelters big enough to accommodate 15,000 people, two operating theatres, kitchens and a broadcasting station. It was there that the Nazis stored a vast collection of Greek, Roman and Egyptian antiquities, Gobelin tapestries, paintings, coin collections, and even the famous Priam gold and treasures – actually donated to Germany by Henrik Schliemann on his death. Only when the flak tower was full did the Nazis organize a stream of barges and lorries
and trams and railways to move stuff elsewhere. Consignments of art in particular were shifted to other storehouses, notably the salt mines.’ He paused, frowning. ‘But, of course, Woolley and his small group were way behind at that stage. And then
everything
was thrown into further chaos in 1945 with the launch of the major Russian offensive.’ He returned to his chair, sat down, placed his hands on the table in front of him and stared at them. ‘Berlin was left a ruin by May 9th, the day of the surrender of Germany.’

There was a short silence. ‘What happened to the contents of the tower?’ Arnold asked.

‘The zoo, the tower, and all its contents were turned over to the Russians.’

There was a short silence. The rain had increased, drumming on the windowpane. Carmela sat with her arms still folded, her eyes fixed on her colleague. McMurtaghy sighed. ‘You know, Woolley and his group did good work. Even so, perhaps the most effective recovery team was that of the American Seventh Army: it was they who captured Goering’s art train, and found the treasures that had been hidden away in the Altaussee salt mine in the mountains near Salzberg.’ He grimaced. He was not at ease with what he had to say. ‘I have to admit there were a few instances of … shall we say … personal acquisitions on the part of some officers and troops, but these were effectively recovery operations, with a view to returning treasures to their original owners.’ There was a certain defensiveness in his tone. ‘Of course, we know of the group of senior American officers who launched their own Westward Ho programme – over two hundred paintings by Rubens, Rembrandt and Van Eyck were “liberated for safekeeping” as they later claimed. But those
treasures
– then worth twenty-eight million – were eventually returned to their owners.’

‘After considerable international pressure,’ Carmela commented coldly. McMurtaghy glared at her.

‘The flak tower,’ Arnold murmured. ‘I would guess that the Russians would hold a somewhat different view from the British and American searchers.’

‘The Russians certainly saw things differently,’ McMurtaghy agreed. ‘They were more interested in
reparations
.’

Carmela leaned forward, arms crossed across her ample breasts. Her tone was soft, almost musing. ‘Precisely. In a way, one can almost understand their point of view. It was they who had probably suffered most; they felt morally superior; they wanted revenge.’

McMurtaghy grunted agreement. ‘On the other hand, we know that the Russian soldiery behaved like savages, smashing anything they could not carry away. But also, before the final push into Germany, Stalin took a policy decision. He set up a number of Trophy Brigades.’

His dark eyes turned to Arnold. ‘The Russian Trophy Brigades were, like the British and US groups, small groups of art experts. Each member of a brigade carried the rank of major. But they were ordered to behave not in the manner laid down for Woolley and the US groups. The task of the Trophy Brigades was to scour the countryside for desirable art objects and bring them back to the Soviet Union. There was no intention of returning the loot to their original owners.’ McMurtaghy glanced at his watch. ‘I’m starving. Have you arranged something for this evening, Miss Cacciatore?’

She nodded. ‘I’ve reserved a table at a restaurant in Rue Jacques Coeur. They’ll be expecting us in about half an hour.’

‘OK. I need fuel! Anyway, the Trophy Brigades … One of the more prominent of these experts in the Stalin brigades was a certain Major Druzhin. In his former, civilian life, he had been curator of the Tretyakov Museum in Moscow. He was efficient. And he knew what he was doing. He entered the flak tower. He did some kind of deal with Rosenberg, it’s believed. Nothing was destroyed. Rosenberg handed over everything. But by the
time Major Druzhin had finished with Berlin’s Department of Greek Antiquity he had made off, it is estimated, with truckloads of loot, including seventy thousand Greek vases, eight hundred statues, six thousand five hundred terracotta and Tanagra figurines. In effect, he emptied the zoo tower storeroom.’

‘This all went back into the Soviet Union?’ Arnold asked.

‘Of recent years there’s been a flurry of diplomatic initiatives,’ Carmela interrupted. ‘Major Druzhin was interviewed several times by international experts in the last two decades. He confirmed that he had supervised the transport by military plane of many treasures, including those from Schliemann’s Troy, sixth-century
BC
Eberwald fifth-century
AD
Corbus and eleventh-century
AD
Corbus. He had kept notes. He was able to identify the actual flights that were used to transport these
treasures
.’

‘That’s right,’ McMurtaghy agreed. ‘The flight he referred to in particular, the one that interests us right now, was that of the 5th April 1945.’

‘Interests us in what way?’ Arnold asked.

McMurtaghy stared at him almost owlishly, then glanced at Carmela as though wishing her to make the statement. She straightened, unfolded her arms. ‘Included in the manifest for that flight was a list of items from the so-called Treasure of King Priam, discovered by Schliemann. It also was the last recorded sighting of the original Greek statuette of Artemis, believed to be the model for the later Roman copies. The artefact which I believe was photographed by Peter Steiner and sent to me days ago.’

‘Last recorded sighting?’ Arnold queried. ‘You mean that the manifest—’

‘The statuette appeared in the manifest: with their customary efficiency the Nazis had recorded in detail all that was handed over to the Russians under Major Druzhin. But at some point, during the flight to Moscow the Artemis statue, along with
certain other items, disappeared.’ She paused, sighed, glanced at McMurtaghy then consulted her watch. ‘Like you, I am hungry. Perhaps we should continue this discussion over dinner?’

The American needed no further suggestion. He lurched to his feet, nodding, but before he was able to say more his mobile phone could be heard ringing. He turned aside, took it from his jacket pocket and moved towards the window, listening. Arnold and Carmela remained silent, waiting, until he turned back to them, snapping shut the phone. He stood in front of them, staring almost blankly. His jaw was set firmly; his hands clenched. ‘Forget dinner, as far as I’m concerned.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘My contact in Interpol has just confirmed the likely identity of the assassin of Peter Steiner. I’ve arranged to meet my contact. You can finish the story, Carmela. I’ll be in touch again soon.’

‘But why do you need—’

‘If the information is correct, I may need to go back Stateside.’

There was a short silence. Carmela’s lips tightened. ‘Your previous existence—’

‘Is about to pay off,’ McMurtaghy cut in gruffly.

He nodded abruptly to Arnold and left the room ahead of them.

T
HE RESTAURANT WAS
quiet and they were offered a table near the wide window which gave them a view of the lights of the town and the black, glistening sweep of the river. They suffered the exposition of the waiter as he proudly explained what was special on the menu, and patiently listened to his discourse on the use of purple garlic from Lautrec. Carmela demonstrated her hearty appetite by ordering a
cassoulet
, a thick soup of haricot beans, sausage, pork, mutton and preserved goose. ‘The white haricot beans,’ the waiter explained proudly, ‘derive from Lavelanet,
naturellement
. We use only the best ingredients, traditional products of the region.’

Arnold settled for some river trout, stuffed with almonds.

As they ate, Carmela suggested in a slightly mischievous tone, ‘I retain the impression that your colleague Miss Stannard is less than pleased with your secondment to my committee. And it is more than mere concern at losing a valuable worker in her team.’

‘I am easily replaced,’ Arnold replied, evading the inference. Or perhaps he felt she was getting too close to his own confused feelings to be comfortable. He changed the subject rapidly. ‘Your colleague, McMurtaghy,’ Arnold ventured as they sipped their wine, waiting for the dessert, ‘he seems to have a lot of contacts.’

Carmela paused, frowned slightly. ‘I have come to know you these last two years, Arnold. I have seen the … reserve with which you treat McMurtaghy.’

‘I get the impression you also don’t care too much for him,’ Arnold observed.

Carmela giggled. ‘You English, you have a manner of
understatement
… but is my attitude so obvious?’ She shrugged expressively. ‘The American, well, he is not like the others in the ISAC group. He is … driven by other forces, I believe. And his background is … how do you say it? Obscure? Dark?’

‘Murky?’ Arnold offered.

She laughed. ‘Not exactly
that
dark! But he has a background in the intelligence services of the American Army. And I suspect he has also served as an agent in the Federal Bureau of Investigation, or even the Central Intelligence Agency, I am not certain. But he knows the world of antiquities so I am in no position to argue about his credentials and I am naturally grateful for assistance from the United States Government. We have many problems with museums there, as you well know from our previous experiences. But this business of Steiner’s assassin … I feel McMurtaghy feels more at home in running down that road, than in the more patient sifting we have to do to discover the artefacts which have been lost to view, or have appeared in the clandestine market. And the information he seems to have access to, it has clearly motivated him even further.’

‘His skills can be useful,’ Arnold admitted, ‘as well as his contacts.’

‘That is so, but … I do not know how to put this, Arnold. His position on the committee was not negotiated. I had to fight for you, against your Whitehall recommendations, but as for the Americans … there was no discussion. It was McMurtaghy, or no one.’ She sighed, smiled at the waiter as he approached with an
île flottante
for her, and a
crème caramel
for Arnold. ‘Perhaps the Americans had a presentiment that our investigations could get involved in violence, dealing as we are with criminal elements. However, I can say only that I am relieved that we can leave the hunt for Steiner’s killer to McMurtaghy. Hopefully, it
will give us some leads in our own investigations.’ She sighed. ‘Meanwhile, it was the flight of April 5th 1945 that we were discussing….’

‘That’s right.’

Carmela nodded, frowned in thought. ‘The flight had not been personally monitored by Major Druzhin. Although he held overall responsibility, it would seem that he handed over much of the work to a certain Major Kopas who was representing the Military Council of the Fifth Army. The flight landed safely but was subject to an eight-day delay on arrival at Moscow, while customs officers attempted to match the crated items to the lists included in the catalogues or other documents provided by Rosenberg. It soon became apparent that there was a number of discrepancies. For instance, one missing artefact was identified on the list as a looted Botticelli but was not found: it seemed to have disappeared at some point during transit from Berlin to Moscow. When the customs officers investigated further, it would seem also missing was a gold diadem believed to have once formed part of the Schliemann collection, usually described as Priam’s Treasure.’

‘They were never traced?’ Arnold asked incredulously. ‘What action was taken?’

Carmela shrugged. ‘The Trophy Brigades had done their work well enough, but in the transmission of items back to Russia it would seem a great deal of corruption took place: intermediaries had to be paid, transactions occurred, paperwork went missing … it was a chaotic time. You can imagine how difficult it has been during the last sixty years to discover precisely what went on during that time, when the war was still being waged in Europe and Russian soldiers were rampaging through Germany.’

Arnold nodded. ‘Even so, these people were dealing with major works of art, and there must have been some system for handling them….’

‘That’s not the only irony of it all,’ Carmela scoffed. ‘After Stalin sent out his Trophy Brigades, they scoured the countries they passed through, they acquired the zoo collection, and they arranged for transport of the hoard back to Russia as so-called reparations. But after that, well, once they got their hands on the treasures, it was as though they didn’t really know what to do with the tremendous mass of artefacts they had obtained. Stalin had other preoccupations; it was left to various officials to decide what to do with the vast amount of treasure that had been accumulated. To begin with, a good deal was held in the Pushkin Museum. But then storage became more haphazard and masses of artworks were handed over to local curators who had few means at their disposal, and much was consigned to shoddy buildings, local museums, basement vaults. In local hands, they became an embarrassment: there were more important things to deal with during this period of austerity.’

‘And once again, I suppose records were lost, or never kept,’ Arnold mused.

‘Correct. Then things got even worse. While Stalin was playing his political games with the West and establishing his hold on Eastern Europe, there were the usual pogroms in Russia itself, mass transportation of ethnic minorities such as the Crimean Tatars. Beria as head of the NKVD was having a field day: every time he suggested mass murder, Stalin signed the orders with a massive indifference. It was a time of paranoia, suspicion and fear. But as far as matters that interest us are concerned, things came to a head when a former minister of state was arrested. Among the various charges laid against him in his show trial, he was charged with corruption and much of the evidence of this was detailed in the lifestyle he had enjoyed. Much was made of the lavish furniture and carpets with which he had surrounded himself in his personal
dacha
. It was shown that most of his
holdings
had been looted from Germany by the actions of the Trophy Brigades. He had acquired them for his personal use.’

‘He was charged with theft?’

‘And executed. The items identified at the trial were
confiscated
.’ Carmela snorted, sipped her brandy. ‘But the important thing is the effect his execution had on other pigs who had placed their snouts in the trough. You can imagine that the execution of a senior minister led to a general panic: the minister of state had not been alone in … how do you say…?’

‘Feathering his nest,’ Arnold supplied.

‘It is the appropriate phrase. Better than pigs and troughs. So in the panic, many former looters who had profited from the looting in 1945 were in a scrambling rush to get rid of treasures they had acquired from the war. There was a general unloading of suspicious items. Many came onto the western markets. We have been tracing some of these over the years.’

Arnold frowned. ‘I was aware this had been going on. But I understood that much of this activity has now been
documented
. Originally, Stalin refused co-operation in repatriation of looted artefacts. Was there not a policy change after Stalin died in 1953?’

‘That is correct. The Soviet Government put out an edict: Soviet institutions were instructed to draw up a list of their
holdings
.’

‘I believe I’d read about that.’

‘And this was done. Major holdings were documented from the Academy of Science, Ministry of Defence, the Ministry of Finance and by the Ministry of the Interior. A formal
announcement
was made: these documented items, and the treasures in the Hermitage in Leningrad were stated to be held in temporary keeping in the USSR. That was fifty years ago. Since then, of course, pieces of art have kept dribbling back into auction houses and museums.’ Carmela pursed her lips in thought. ‘You may be familiar with the work of the researchers Akinsha and Koglov, who have squirreled through the documents in state archives and discovered the location of a host of important artefacts.
Items the state cannot deny having in their possession … All this is history. After the Cold War ended, more success in repatriation of looted items was obtained. But to return to the gentleman I mentioned, Major Kopas….’

She paused, aware that a newcomer had entered the
restaurant
and was looking around, talking to a waiter. It was McMurtaghy. When the American caught sight of them he raised a beefy hand and marched towards them, speaking quickly to the waiter as he passed. McMurtaghy stood before their table, and then dragged a seat from beside the empty table on their right and slid his bulk into it. ‘You’ve eaten, I see. I managed a sandwich, and a couple of drinks. It’ll do for the moment.’ He glanced around as the waiter approached with a large glass of whisky. It was placed in front of him and he took an immediate swallow with every sign of satisfaction. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

‘You have news?’ Carmela asked quietly.

McMurtaghy nodded. ‘Confirmation. My sources at Interpol and in the States have come up trumps. The DNA and the print taken from the villa tell us that the killer of Steiner is certainly the man we suspect. It’s a bit of a surprise: it was generally thought he had slipped out of the business a few years back. He’s been quiet for some time. But now, it seems, he’s been let off the leash again. It’ll be costing someone a lot of money.’

‘You’ve managed to identify this man?’ Arnold asked.

McMurtaghy bared his teeth in a satisfied snarl. ‘We think so. Trick now is to find him, before he does any more damage. His name’s Byrne, ex-SAS Major Sam Byrne. Served in the Guards prior to taking up a post in the SAS. When he left the service, under a bit of a cloud, he took up his tools again to act as a mercenary in Angola. Then faded away, disappeared, until he
re-emerged
later into what we might call private practice. Professional hitman. Byrne is also known in the trade as the Iceman. Stone-cold killer.’

‘Trained by the army,’ Arnold observed.

‘And well trained, but he had a reputation there: his record includes criticism of his behaviour, torture of prisoners, that sort of thing, and once he was out he decided to use the assassination skills he had developed for the state into going into business on his own account. We’ve not been able to lay hands on him, but I’m reliably informed that he’s been involved in various
assassinations
over the years at centres in Europe and the Middle East. But Interpol now have information on his movements. They’ve got a trace out on the Porsche that was seen at the location where Steiner was killed.’ He frowned, grimaced, shook his head. ‘Like I said, Sam Byrne is someone we’ve been looking for these last few years.’

‘We?’ Carmela asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

McMurtaghy hesitated. He glanced at Arnold, then shrugged. ‘I don’t mean the committee, Carmela. My … my previous employers.’

There was a short silence. Arnold glanced at Carmela; he guessed she already knew what McMurtaghy was talking about. Arnold cleared his throat. ‘Your previous employers …’

McMurtaghy scratched at his chin. For a moment Arnold thought the man was about to say no more, but finally the American drained his whisky glass and signalled to the hovering waiter for a refill. ‘I guess there’s no reason why I shouldn’t tell you. I spent a number of years working on internal intelligence in the US.’

‘The FBI?’ Arnold queried. It seemed that Carmela’s guess had been correct.

McMurtaghy nodded. ‘Almost twenty years in the business. Organized crime. But it was time for a change. I’d been working for some years on art sales, money laundering, that sort of thing, so when I heard of the setting up of Carmela’s committee I took the opportunity to request the secondment. No one else seemed keen to work in Europe: my appointment was approved. At the
time I thought it would be better than chasing the usual scum back in the rackets in the States. Now I see that life’s not that simple.’

‘How do you mean?’ Carmela asked.

‘Killers – and racketeers – they don’t stick to national
boundaries
, do they? The man who killed Steiner was active in the States for a while, which is how he surfaced on Federal computer files. Interpol has a lot of European intelligence on him as well. But … well, he’s been quiet for a long time and we all thought he’d retired from the game. But he’s come out again. The offer must have been a good one. Or retirement bored him.’ McMurtaghy pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘But it looks like he’s got a bit rusty, careless since his last outings. There was the print at the villa, the cigarette butt, and the Porsche. Too flashy;
traceabale
. He used to be a lot more … efficient.’

The waiter approached with a fresh whisky glass. McMurtaghy leaned back in his seat. He glanced at Arnold. ‘So you’re now up to speed with the Trophy Brigades stuff?’

‘More or less. Carmela was about to tell me about Major Kopas.’