MUNICH, GERMANY, SPRING 1997
The middle-aged Englishman checks his reflection in a glass window before entering a Munich apartment building located in the Schützenstrasse. William Veres, a professional numismatist and antiquarian, presses a few loose strands of hair gently back into place. His professional demeanor conflicts with his casual attire as he makes his way to the fifth floor and checks the time on his watch. He is there to meet Aydin Dikmen, the Turkish art dealer, a regular stop on Veres’s buying trips in Munich.
The two men have a ten-year history of working successful deals together; something Veres takes personal pride in. The fact that there has never been the slightest hiccup between the two has helped build an unspoken trust between them in an industry where certitude is nonexistent.
Sixtyish and slightly graying, Dikmen greets Veres with a few words in Turkish.
“Hoşgeldiniz.” (Welcome) Dikmen’s morose expression gives the impression that it may be painful for him to speak. Dikmen’s apartment is small and compact, very much like the man himself.
“Nasılsın?” (How are you?) Veres replies.
Dikmen’s wife appears moments later with Turkish coffee and a dish of baklava. Turkish coffee is traditionally prepared in a cezve, a coffeepot with a long handle made out of brass or copper large enough to hold two demitasse cups of coffee. Water mixed with coffee, and sugar if desired, is heated in the cezve and removed just before it is brought to a boil. A cream layer of froth called kaimaki is divided between the two demitasse cups, and the coffee is brought to a boil.
“Sağolun,” (Thank you) Veres replies, noting that her disposition is almost as cheerless as her husband’s.
The inside of Dikmen’s study is lined with bookshelves and cluttered with boxes filled to the brim with antiquities of various types and value. Some are fakes; others are original, and it takes an expert eye to discern between them. The only source of light in the room is from the sun filtering in through one large window. Objects, even those of significant beauty, tend to appear dull in these gloomy surroundings. Dikmen places several coins on the green, felt-covered oblong table resting up against the wall just beneath the window.
The mostly Greco-Roman coins are of little significance. Veres recalls his eye being drawn to one in particular. A Macedonian kingdom Philip II AV Stater, he thinks. Upon closer inspection, he finds an “A” engraved under the bust of Apollo on the face of the coin. He marvels at the details of the raised face. The “A” marking is what makes this specific coin a rare specimen of collectible value. Veres remembers it going to auction for an unusually high price.
Dikmen knows the value of the coin, and Veres knows how much cash he has in his pocket. Veres takes a shot at undervaluing it to give himself a better chance at negotiating a price he can afford. Speaking in German, their chosen tongue for negotiation, Veres organizes his thoughts into a kaleidoscope of information as he quotes little-known historical facts relating to the coin. The beginning of his conversation is always directly relevant to the subject at hand, but he has a tendency to stray. He leads Dikmen on an Alice in Wonderland verbal tour through anecdotal asides that leave Dikmen pondering the original point of his story.
Veres is engaging. He is extremely intelligent and always slightly on edge, as if he has inside information that the rest of us are not privy to. When his verbal gymnastics come to an end, one is usually left with more questions than answers.
According to Veres, Dikmen is also ardent about historic details, but his forte lies in the visual. As a restorer of ancient artifacts, Dikmen’s eye is drawn to the nuances of an object’s image and the materials used to form it. These complementary traits prevent competition from developing between them. Instead, they form a bond that makes their relationship as unique as the collectible coins they negotiate.
“I can pay ten thousand Deutsche marks ($5900.00),” says Veres. It is unlikely that his offer will be accepted. One can never really be too sure, because the price of an object always depends on whether or not the seller is in need of cash. When Dikmen declines, Veres offers to help find a buyer for the coin to leave things in good standing between them. The two men sip their coffees in silence without small talk as the spring rays of a fleeting afternoon sun bring their meeting to a close.
The landmark nineteenth-century Gray Building in London’s West End is the nexus of art and antique trading in the city. With more than two hundred different vendors to choose from, one can find anything from World War II shells made into candlestick holders to centuries-old antiquities. Veres sits in his small shop behind a glass counter reviewing his schedule.
The daily grind and uncertainty of walk-in customers is wearing on Veres, who sees himself as above his circumstances. His goal is to minimize the time he squanders negotiating with lower-level coin traders and build a base of elite clientele who will hire him as a curator to build their antiquities collections. All he needs is the proper introductions to the appropriate people.
A ringing telephone interrupts his thoughts. The voice on the other end of the line is that of Christian Schmidt, an old friend.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” says Veres.
“I need a favor, old man, nothing invasive. Are you up to the call?”
“Tell me,” says Veres.
“Michel Van Rijn, do you know the name?”
“Not familiar,” says Veres.
“He’s a dealer known for his expertise in Byzantine art. A bit of an operator, but he does have a flair for attracting deals. You two might be compatible. Okay if he stops by to meet you?”
“Sure,” says Veres, who would normally ask why Christian wants to make the introduction but chooses instead to focus on the possibility that good luck has befallen him. Just as he’s attempting to up the quality of his clientele, a potential link to the kind of wealthy customer he seeks presents itself to him on a silver platter—or so it seems.
When Van Rijn enters his shop a few hours later, Veres can sense his energy before they make visual contact. Van Rijn is examining a vase.
“How much for the replica?”
The man is a professional collector, thinks Veres. His sophisticated eye and desire to waste no time getting down to business are giveaways.
Van Rijn walks toward Veres, extending his hand. “William, I’m a friend of Christian’s. I’m Van Rijn.”
Veres remembers the intensity of Van Rijn’s eyes, thinking them capable of scanning his soul in the few seconds it takes to shake his hand.
“Mr. Van Rijn.”
“Schmidt says you are a master numismatist. I’m embarrassed to say I know very little about the subject but I understand you are an expert on currency.” He points to a group of coins inside a glass case. “What makes these valuable?”
Veres relaxes into doing what he lives for: demonstrating the unique wealth of knowledge he holds about coins and antiquities. Van Rijn listens with intensity.
“I’d like to propose a few different ways we might work together.”
In a café a few minutes’ walk from Veres’s shop, the two men sit drinking whiskey.
“The Cypriot government is going to pay me a huge amount of money to buy back their stolen artifacts,” says Van Rijn.
“Really? I’m impressed! How in the world did you manage to strike that deal?”
“One crucial ingredient is missing that you might be able to help me with.”
“Please, go on,” Veres says.
“It’s my understanding that you have a good working relationship with Aydin Dikmen?”
“What’s your interest in Aydin?” Veres asks.
“He was a major supplier of artifacts coming out of Cyprus after the ’74 war with a free pass in and out of the occupied area, which holds hundreds of ancient churches.”
“Sounds like a Byzantine gold mine.”
“You have no idea.” says Van Rijn.
“Why come to me?” asks Veres.
“Dikmen and I had a falling out over a client I introduced to him from America. Are you familiar with Peg Goldberg and the Kanakaria case?”
“I vaguely recall reading something about it in the papers,” says Veres.
“Dikmen and I sold Goldberg four rare mosaics considered to be among the oldest Byzantine Christian antiquities, depicting the archangel Michael, the upper part of the Christ child, and the Apostles Matthew and James.”
“What period?” asks Veres.
“Sixth-century mosaics originating from the Kanakaria church. Revered by collectors and worshiped by the Orthodox, they survived the iconoclasts.”
“So what happened?”
“Goldberg attempted to flip the mosaics to the Getty Museum for millions in profits and got busted. The trial between her and the Church of Cyprus became a huge headache for Dikmen and he holds me responsible.”1
“What do you propose?” asks Veres.
“If you know Dikmen, you know his temperament. He will take his anger for me to the grave.”
“So you’re not on speaking terms?” Veres asks.
“All you have to do is act as my conduit. If you purchase the artifacts for me, Dikmen will never know that I’m involved. It’s that simple. We’ll get rich, and the Cypriots will have their artifacts back.”
Veres asks, “What kind of fee are you talking about?” Van Rijn ignores the question as they continue sizing each other up.
“Veres, we do this deal, and if everything runs smoothly, we go to the next phase.”
Veres is elated. What could be better than a no-risk, quick-cash deal and access to clients with deep pockets?
“I appreciate the opportunity. And, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I will have to think about it,” says Veres. He is the perfect shield for Van Rijn, because of his long, trusted relationship with Dikmen.
“Of course. Take all the time you need, Veres, but let me be straight with you. I feel like you’re the guy. I’m willing to pay you good money. Let’s not waste each other’s time. You are replaceable, my good man. Don’t test me.”
Veres feels the bite. He wants to investigate Van Rijn beyond Christian’s recommendation. Why would the Cypriot government be buying back their stolen artifacts? Veres would have to reach out to a Cypriot, someone connected to the government who could verify Van Rijn’s story. The bartender pours another round.
“To all things old,” says Veres, raising his glass.
The next day Veres reaches for the phone and dials a number in Cyprus.
“My friend, a quick word. There is a rumor that Michel Van Rijn is working with the Cypriots?” The frown lines on Veres’s face relax as his source in Cyprus reveals the inside information he seeks.
“I see,” says Veres. “Honorary Consul in the Netherlands . . . a young woman, Tasoula Hadjitofi. Interesting.”