Before she gets out of the car, she leans over and kisses me right behind my left ear. "I'm sorry Pick. Call you tomorrow."
And she was gone.
"What's ya goin' to do, lad?" I'm heading back to my place on the East River Drive. Moe suddenly appears in the passenger seat.
"Don't know, Uncle." I assume that he's referring to me and Kelly. "I really don't."
"Far be it for me to tell you what to do, boyo."
"Why would you start now?" I long since learned that sarcasm is completely lost on an apparition.
Back at the house I sat down at the computer. There was a post on the anonymous site from Connor. 'Mission accomplished'. The post also included a link to an article in today's London's Times.
The article began as follows:
London, April 6, 2012 Hint of Previously Unknown Vermeer, Respected art historian, James Thomas Middleton has just published a paper at Oxford University indicating the existence of a previously unknown Vermeer. Middleton, a tenured professor and published author, unearthed documents hundreds of years old that point to an undocumented painting done at the hands of the famous 17th century Dutch artist, Johannes Vermeer.
Middleton is quoted as saying, "The evidence for an undiscovered Vermeer work is rock solid. I shall devote my time and energy in an effort to follow this trail and attempt to locate this missing work of art".
The article goes on to provide some background information on the great artist and speculates about what a newly turned-up masterpiece would fetch on the open market.
Personally, I am not familiar with all of the particulars on how Connor managed to accomplish this piece of legerdemain. I have managed to piece together the following from conversations with my brother. To the best of my knowledge this is what occurred:
Connor managed to be visiting me in the States about the same time that Doo Wop and I were planning his newly conceived retirement program. When the details of this enterprise were confided to my brother, he eagerly offered to supply any assistance that he could provide.
Initially, on his return to Europe, Connor made several visits to Holland. It was there that he frequented antique shops, junk stores, flea markets and auctions. His initial efforts were directed to finding canvases, paint brushes, frames and such that were roughly three hundred years old.
As time passed, he became intrigued with the idea of creating a rock solid provenance for this newly created work of art. We began to have a conversation across the Atlantic for several months until he mapped out a convincing history for the painting. Once accomplished, he contrived a series of events for the painting's documentation to unfold.
Step one of the plan was to enlist the aid of a noted art researcher and historian. After deep background checks on several notable prospects, he settled on James Middleton. Connor arranged a meeting at Middleton's University office, ostensibly to hire him for research for a wealthy art collector.
On the appointed afternoon, my brother shows up at the professor's office. Before presenting the particulars of our offer, Connor, being the con man that he is, starts out dangling a very attractive carrot.
"Professor Middleton, am I to understand that your youngest daughter suffers from a debilitating condition."
"Yes, but how did you know?"
"Well, sir, my client is prepared to invest a great deal of money for the research into his family's art collection. It's only natural to perform some background inquiries beforehand. Don't you agree?"
"Yes, yes, I suppose. I just never stopped to think about it. What is it exactly that you require?"
Connor ignored the last question. "And how is your daughter's health at the moment, if I may ask?" I can picture him with his hands folded, index fingers touching and poised under his lips. Looking sincere.
James Middleton sighs deeply. "If you must know, not very well. Up to this point, conventional treatments have not proven to be successful."
CJ: With a sad smile, "And…"
Middleton: "And it appears that there is an experimental treatment which could possibly work. The problem is that the health system refuses to pay for experimental treatments."
CJ: "How much money are we talking about?"
Middleton: "Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds."
CJ: "What if I told you that my client is prepared to pay you precisely that amount, per year, in monthly installments for a two year period."
Middleton lets out a low nervous laugh. "Who would I have to kill?"
Connor proceeds to lay out the plan. Keep in mind, Middleton only hears about the portion of the plan that involves him. I don't have to tell you that this established and respected Oxford professor was not a happy camper.
Time to sweeten the pot. "Professor, two quick things. Aside from this small favor that we're requesting, the research work that I mentioned is genuine. You will be employed for two years at the numbers quoted and you can work at your own pace. This work does not have to interfere with your present responsibilities.
Also, when the two years are up, you will receive an additional quarter of a million pounds, deposited in your name in any bank of your choosing, anywhere in the world. You will receive this bonus regardless of the success or failure of our plan, assuming of course that you part is carried off without a hitch."
At this point, like all good salesman, Connor probably shut his mouth. In reality, this deal was a fait accompli. But, as you already know, the Brits are sticklers for appearances.
Middleton: "I'll have to think it over."
CJ: "Take all the time that you want, Professor."
Early the next morning the professor called. He was in.
June 1976 London
"They're planning on killing you."
Jean Pierre had made the trip from Paris for this meeting.
"I'm not surprised."
They were sitting in the library of Simon's London townhouse. Outside was overcast with low clouds; a gentle rain was falling; the temperature 80 degrees.
"And the Italiano, l'artiste." JP's delivery of the news was calm; matter of fact. His tone never divulged the seriousness of the situation.
Connor was playing with wooden trains on the Persian carpet.
"That's unfortunate."
Simon understood that the operation was spiraling towards the finale. In the end, only one of the players could triumph.
"They broke into the studio." Jean Pierre removed a video tape from his attache. He stood up; placed it into the machine; pressed play.
The entire building on Antique Row was wired with state of the art security apparatus; including hidden surveillance cameras. On the screen two men methodically searched Anthony's studio unaware of being taped.
Simon offered the humidor to Jean Pierre. They lit their Cuban cigars; sat back in their wing chairs and watched the screen.
"I see that Mr. Brown managed to compromise the safe." The oversized jewelry safe contained the copy that Anthony was working on. Brown also discovered the museum's 8"x10" color photos of the original tucked in the safe drawer.
"Simon, where's Van Gogh's painting?"
"Watch." The camera followed the two intruders around the studio. "There. Under the table with all the other canvases."
"Mon ami, you left a hundred million dollar work of art out in the open?"
Simon cracked a smile. "Hidden in plain sight."
The two men on the screen recorded everything in the room with a camera. They took great pains to ensure that the contents of the room appear undisturbed.
"Brown n'est pas son nom reel."
"I figured as much. Does he do Engelond's dirty work?"
"Oui. Brown is the only one that he confiances completement."