Restitution (34 page)

Theo nodded slowly. It's true that he was a businessman first and foremost, and he lived a life of calculation and risk, exploring new financial opportunities and determining what was in it for himself. This was something quite different. Here he was being asked to take on a project that centered on a personal quest, a mission of family reunification. He would have to put himself aside for this venture, and putting the needs of others above his own was by no means second nature to Theo. And yet, beneath the armor of finance and conquest, there was a humane and even selfless heartbeat. Righting the wrongs that had beset this family would require a magnanimous and noble gesture from Theo. And that, too, was somehow appealing. Besides, this chance to go to Prague and rescue this family's treasures was an exciting prospect, filled with the kind of adventure and danger that Theo frequently sought. Excitement and family restitution – an intoxicating combination.

“Can you help us?” asked Karl. He had reached the end of his rope. If this man were unable to offer assistance, Karl did not know what else he would do. He feared that the paintings would remain trapped inside Czechoslovakia, lost to his family forever.

Theo exhaled slowly and sat forward in his seat to face Karl. “It seems to me that there are two ways to get the paintings out of Prague. There's the legal way, of course. As you've described, it appears that you have exhausted that avenue. Then there is my way.” Theo paused and looked around the room, his gaze taking in the members of the family one by one. “For that, you will have to trust that I am capable of doing this. I have a way to get your property out. I have the resources and I have the connections. I will bypass the legal channels and I will smuggle the paintings out for you.”

There it was – the solution that Karl was looking for. For a moment no one spoke. Finally Karl broke the silence. “Is that really a possibility? How will you ever be able to do such a thing?”

“Let's just say that I have had experience with similar situations,” Theo answered. “But that's all I can say. Better not to know too many details. Here is what I'm prepared to offer.” Theo went on to explain that he had a trip planned to Czechoslovakia in a few weeks' time. “Some other business that I must attend to. I am prepared to combine my trip there with an excursion to rescue your paintings. It will cost you three thousand, five hundred dollars up front and thirty-five hundred more when I successfully deliver the paintings to you.”

“And what if you fail?” Hana spoke up. Her eyes were narrow, and her voice had an unmistakable note of accusation and mistrust.

“The deposit is nonrefundable, if that's what you're asking,” Theo replied evenly. “But I'm quite confident that I will be successful and you will have your paintings.”

Again no one spoke. Karl turned eagerly to look at the faces of Phyllis, Hana, and Paul. Finally, someone was offering a solution – the only solution thus far to getting the paintings out of the country. He was ready to extend a handshake to Theo and seal the deal. Yet there was something in Hana's face that stopped him. Karl stared intently at his sister.

“Perhaps we should talk about this,” she finally said.

Before Karl could utter another word, Theo jumped in. “Yes, by all means, discuss this as a family and let me know your verdict. I'm not leaving until mid-March. So you still have a few weeks to decide what you want to do. As soon as you've reached a decision one way or the other, you can be in touch with me. You have my contact information.” He stood, signaling the end of the meeting and turned once more to Phyllis, bowing formally and reaching out to take her hand. “I thank you again for your hospitality,” he said warmly as he left.

“I don't trust him!” Hana blurted as soon as the door closed and they were once again alone in the living room. “Who is this man, after all? And why would he be willing to take this risk for us? What's in it for him – besides the money?”

“He's a card-carrying Communist,” added Paul. “You heard it from his own lips.”

“And he's proud of it,” Hana continued. “This is the man we're going to trust to bring out our belongings?” There were many things about Theo that put Hana off, including his sense of privilege and entitlement. “I don't find him charming at all,” she added in response to Karl's appraisal. “I find him arrogant. And who knows what might happen to Pekárek or even to VandenBosch if we involve this smuggler. We don't want to jeopardize either of them, do we?” To Hana, Theofil Král came across as overly confident – too charismatic, in fact, from his obsequious handshake, to his phony deference and his smooth, flattering demeanor.

Her husband was equally hesitant. “I also don't know if we should put our faith in his hands,” Paul said. “For all we know, he could take the money and the paintings. You might never see either of them again.”

“But what other choice do we have?” Karl asked in a hollow voice. He looked and felt worn out, exhausted from the emotional strain of having searched for a way out of this predicament for months now. Time was running out, and with it, all chances of being reunited with the art. Marie's dream of family restitution was slipping away. Theo Král was offering a solution, even if it was fraught with uncertainty. Karl knew it was a leap of faith to trust him. But Karl was willing to take the chance.

“Why can't you simply continue to pursue finding a legal avenue to retrieve the paintings?” Paul asked. “Perhaps we haven't exhausted every channel. With the fall of the Iron Curtain, it will only be a matter of time before the rules are relaxed. Why don't we just wait until that happens?” The cautious side of Paul emerged once more. But this time Karl would have none of it. He sprang from his chair and paced the living room.

“And how much time will that take?” he asked, fighting to control his growing agitation. “Another year? Two? Five? And what assurance do we have that things will change enough for us to be able to retrieve the paintings even if the border restrictions are loosened? I'm not getting younger – none of us are. Besides, who knows what will happen to the embassy in the next year, or where the paintings will end up if things are restructured there, as VandenBosch is suggesting.” He paused and faced the others, reaching up to rub his eyes, weary from walking the tightrope he had been on since discovering that the paintings were there in Prague, waiting for him. “I have explored every conceivable alternative with no success. We have no more options. I say we go with this one.” No one answered and, in the end, Hana and Paul left without the family having reached a resolution. Karl was beside himself. He paced in the living room like a caged tiger long after Phyllis had gone to bed. Even Quinta tired of watching her master, and lay curled up on a corner of the sofa. But Karl could not be still. The conversation with Theo looped over and over in his mind like a movie reel replaying itself. It would certainly have been his first choice to find a legal way to retrieve the paintings from Czechoslovakia. But that was not an option. Theo's offer was the only viable solution, and Karl was ready and willing to put his trust into this stranger's hands. He had no basis for this faith. Why should he trust a man with whom he had no relationship? The fact that Theo was arrogant didn't matter to Karl the way it did to Hana. In fact, arrogance was probably a virtue in this case. It would take a fearless man to do the kind of work that Theo was clearly accustomed to doing. He knew nothing of Theo's background, and he had no idea if Theo was honest or deceitful. He was a self-proclaimed spy and a smuggler! That should have been warning enough. And yet Karl believed that this was the only path left to him, and Theo was the only man for the job.

This belief wasn't rational, he knew, and Karl was a logical man. His intuition here was spontaneous, and perhaps even reckless. But had his mother not been spontaneous when she hustled the family out of Czechoslovakia at the start of the war? If she had waited, if she had moved more cautiously, where would the family be now? Probably in the piles of ashes left from the death camps of Europe. Marie had acted on gut instinct. And Karl's gut was telling him that this was what he needed to do to fulfill his mother's mission. Yes, he was putting his trust in the hands of a total stranger. Yes, he was taking a big chance. But this simply felt right. By the time Karl went to bed, light was beginning to cast a soft glow on the horizon. He knew what he had to do.

After only snatches of restless sleep, Karl arose, being careful not to wake Phyllis. He dressed quickly and walked downstairs to his study where he sat down at the desk to compose a letter to Richard VandenBosch.

Dear Mr. VandenBosch:
The bearer of this letter is [Theofil Král], with whom I have entered into an agreement to arrange for the shipment of the four paintings, which I left in your custody last May.

Please accept this letter as your good and sufficient authorization to hand the items over to [him].

Sincerely yours,
K. Reeser

Karl sealed the letter in an envelope and then left the house, locking the door quietly behind him. He headed for the bank, where he withdrew three thousand, five hundred dollars in cash. With the money and the letter of authorization burning a hole in his pocket, Karl walked over to Theo's apartment and knocked on the door.

“Mr. Reeser!” Theo greeted Karl warmly and invited him in.

Karl entered and stepped carefully over piles of books and clothing before taking a seat in the living room. “I have your money and will pay you the balance when you've brought me my paintings,” he said.

Theo smiled and leaned forward. “Are you certain about this?” he asked. “Not everyone in your family seemed eager to engage my services.”

Karl nodded. “My sister is cautious. So am I, usually. But with respect to reclaiming these paintings, I have never been more certain of anything in my life. The answer is yes. I'm ready to go ahead with this and ready to hire you for the job.” He held Theo in a cool and confident stare and then proceeded with the business at hand. “Let me explain again where the paintings are and who you must meet with.” He handed Theo the letter of authorization and gave him the information regarding Richard VandenBosch and his position at the embassy. Theo listened carefully, noting the information and adding it to the growing list of details and contacts that he was already beginning to amass for the journey. Suddenly, he stopped and looked up at Karl.

“The Canadian diplomat – what did you say his name was again?”

“Richard VandenBosch.” Karl spelled the name for Theo. “He's the vice consul at the embassy. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to him already for everything he's done to help me. He's become quite a hero to me.”

Theo paused again, staring off in a moment of reflection. Then a smile slowly crossed his face as he turned his gaze to meet Karl's. “VandenBosch,” he repeated. “I assume he's Dutch.”

Karl nodded. “His family is. Why? Do you know him?”

“Not exactly,” Theo replied, slowly and deliberately. “But there's a connection here that is quite simply wonderful. You see, I happen to be a huge fan of the work of the Dutch painter, Hieronymus Bosch. He's a hero of mine, in fact. Don't you see?” he asked in the face of Karl's quizzical look. “Vanden
Bosch
and Hieronymus
Bosch
– our two heroes. These men share a common last name – Bosch! Perhaps this is an omen,” he added jubilantly. “A sign that I was destined to take on this project.”

Karl thought about this for a moment, and then smiled, nodding his head. “I believe in omens as well,” he finally replied. “Let's hope it also means that you are destined to succeed.”

There was only one last thing to do. Karl reached into his pocket once more and withdrew the envelope of cash. With no hesitation, he extended his arm and placed the money in Theo's hands. “These paintings became the focus of my mother's attempts to regain our property when everything else was unattainable,” Karl said. “She did everything she could to achieve that goal and she was unsuccessful. Please don't fail us now.” Theo accepted the payment and laid it on the coffee table between them, waiting for any further instructions.

“You understand what this means to me and to my family?” asked Karl.

Theo nodded.

“When will you be back?”

“March 21,” Theo replied. “I will call you then.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Toronto, February 15, 1990

THEO CLOSED THE DOOR behind Karl, picked up the money from the coffee table, and walked into his bedroom in the back of the apartment. He counted the cash that Karl had given him, replaced it in the white envelope, and then deposited it into his bedside table, closing the drawer with a soft thump while his mind mulled over the job ahead of him. Thirty-five hundred dollars was a decent advance for the kind of assignment that he was about to undertake, although, in truth, most of it would be used to fund this venture. The thirty-five hundred waiting for him at the end of the job would be even sweeter, though he couldn't think about that just yet. There was too much to do, too many details to work out before he could imagine enjoying the final reward. Yes, he had taken valuable artwork out of Czechoslovakia for some time, under the noses of State Security and the National Gallery. But the paintings that this family was trusting him to retrieve sounded bigger and certainly more valuable than any he had smuggled to date. He would have to make sure that all of the elements for this project were perfectly lined up, all of his trusted contacts in place, all of the equipment ready for the transport.

There was a lot to do and not much time before he was due to leave for Prague. How convenient, he thought, that this business trip was already in place. His passport was up to date, and he had already secured a visa. No one would suspect his other motive for this particular venture. He was already a familiar face in the Czech art scene. It had become an effective cover for adding those extra pieces of artwork to his shipments – those that would not pass the scrutiny of the National Gallery. The paintings that the Reeser family had talked about certainly fell into that category.