CHAPTER ONE
The great man’s bodyguard stood with his mouth agape, as the photographer darted across the room and plucked the cigar from Winston Churchill’s mouth. It was 1941, and the British Prime Minister had visited Washington and was now in Ottawa to address the Canadian House of Commons on Parliament Hill.
Moments earlier, after delivering an electrifying speech, Churchill had been proceeding through the Speaker’s Chamber arm-in-arm with Canadian Prime Minister Mackenzie King when photographer Yousuf Karsh switched on his floodlights. A surprised Churchill growled, “What’s this? No one in his entourage had the courage to explain, so Karsh timorously stepped forward. “Sir, I hope I will be fortunate enough to make a portrait worthy of this historic occasion.”
Churchill glanced around and demanded, “Why wasn’t I told?” He lit a fresh cigar, grinned mischievously and then magnanimously relented. “You may take one picture.” Karsh checked his camera and then held out an ashtray for the cigar. Churchill just glowered at him through a cloud of smoke.
Karsh paused as his subject continued to puff on the cigar, with no inclination to give it up. Then he stepped forward and respectfully said, “Forgive me, sir,” and snatched the cigar from Churchill’s mouth. By the time Karsh reached his camera, Churchill had an angry scowl on his face. It was at that precise instant that he snapped the picture.
The iconic image became known as The Roaring Lion, and came to symbolize the British people’s wartime spirit and resolution. Yousuf Karsh knew that it was an important portrait the moment he took the picture. But he had no idea of the extent to which it would change his life. It was later printed on the cover of Life Magazine, and became one of the most famous and reproduced images of the 20th century.
The double-signed version was autographed by Winston Churchill and signed by Karsh on the bottom corner of the original print. Eventually Karsh gifted the portrait to the prestigious Chateau Laurier Hotel in Ottawa, where he had made his home for many years, and operated a gallery on the 6th floor. This virtually priceless photographic memento was hung in the hotel’s reading room, where countless visitors came to admire it.
The portrait was on display there for many decades, before one day it inexplicably disappeared.
CHAPTER TWO
Baron Freidrich von Galen placed his eye up to the iris recognition scanner and deactivated the lock to his private gallery cum-männerhöhle. As the door swung open, it revealed a room filled with rare pieces of art. The Baron issued a voice command and the subtle sounds of Strauss’s Blue Danube began to play in the background. Focused pin point lighting illuminated many of the particularly exquisite works. He glanced at a Monet and a Picasso in passing, as he seated himself in a Herman Miller lounge chair. After pouring a small glass of cognac, von Galen gazed covetously at his latest acquisition.
Von Galen had attained the venerable age of 89, but was still extremely vigorous and sharp-witted for a man in the twilight of his years. He was the scion of noble ancestry - the last of his line – and he enjoyed all the privileges and influence of the aristocracy. Germany had abolished the Monarchy in 1918, and noble titles were removed soon thereafter. However, many descendants of these families still existed and they typically used their exalted former titles as part of their surnames. Baron von Galen’s predecessors had been industrialists and military officers, but their fortunes had been much diminished by Germany’s crushing defeats in two world wars.
Freidrich von Galen had received his title through hereditary succession from his late father Ludwig. During WWII the elder von Galen had been a Standartenführer (Colonel) in the Waffen-SS, and had been seconded to Hermann Göring’s Devisenschutz kommando. This was Göring’s personal organization dedicated to enriching the powerful Reichsmarschall (he was Hitler’s de facto second in command) by obtaining precious artworks looted from the property of Jews, who had been sent to the Nazi death camps.
By nefarious means, Göring acquired thousands of paintings, sculptures, manuscripts and other valuable works by distinguished artists including Rembrandt, Raphael, Vermeer, Van Gogh and Da Vinci.
Baron Ludwig von Galen had been detained by elements of the British 7th Armored Division in 1945, when they captured the submarine base at Kiel on the Baltic Sea. At that time, he had been supervising the loading of art works onto a U-boat for shipment to Argentina. He subsequently faced trial at the military court in Nuremberg for various crimes, and was sentenced to 10 years in prison.
The sentence however, was never executed and the Baron was able to establish a profitable art business in Munich during the immediate post war period. His son Freidrich, who was 10 years of age at the end of the war, would eventually join him. Their family fortune was much enhanced by the considerable amount of plundered art that the Baron had appropriated and secreted away, while ostensively working on behalf of Hermann Göring.
The artwork was stored in a chamber that had been excavated beneath the von Galen ancestral castle. This well-founded citadel was a typical Bavarian castle – perhaps not on the scale of Neuschwanstein or Hohenzollern – but it made a stunning first impression, perched on a high bluff overlooking the Isar River. The architectural style was a mix of medieval and 19th century Neo-Gothic featuring high towers, turrets, an elaborate courtyard, and a gallery which offered breathtaking views of the distant Tyrolian Alps.
The castle was near the Upper Bavarian town of Bad Tölz, and just a 45-minute drive from Baron Freidrich von Galen’s art gallery in Munich. From there, the Baron brokered rare masterpieces and objects d’art to wealthy collectors in London, New York and the Far East.
Ludwig von Galen had been an early convert to National Socialism and a dedicated member of the Nazi Party. A friend of the Führer, he had been encouraged to join the Schutzstaffel (the SS), the black-uniformed elite military corps that sported the Death Head cap badge on their headgear. There he had developed a reputation of being efficient and utterly ruthless; an officer who could get the job done without the burden of strong moral convictions. His guiding principle was ‘the end justifies the means.’
With this in mind, he had been personally recruited by a rapacious Hermann Göring to help orchestrate the grand theft of European art. This effort was hugely successful, and in the fog of war no one noticed the occasional military truck that passed through Bad Tölz on the road to the von Galen castle.
After years of working along-side his father, Freidrich had become a disciple of Ludwig’s philosophy. There were still several hundred stolen paintings and other rare art works in the (now temperature controlled) chamber deep beneath the castle. He sold the occasional piece through his Munich gallery, but the more exceptional artwork he kept for his own viewing pleasure.
He had recently moved Raphael’s Portrait of a Young Man into his private gallery. The masterpiece was positioned on an easel and displayed with the most complimentary lighting. Just inside the gallery entrance, Michelangelo’s sculpture of Sleeping Cupid stood upon a marble pedestal. The value of this long-lost treasure was incalculable. But today, the Baron was admiring his latest acquisition. He lit a cigar and smiled at the image before him. From within the frame, Winston Churchill glared back at him.
CHAPTER THREE
Charles Burton was sipping a Guinness at the bar of his club in Montreal on a rainy October afternoon. The Mont Royal Club was his usual lunchtime haunt, and today he had extended his mid-day break due to gloomy weather conditions, and the fact that he had nothing better to do. He had walked there from his office on Rue Peale, and wasn’t enthused about returning in the current downpour. Burton was contemplating whether to borrow an umbrella from the desk porter, or perhaps call for an Uber… when his cellphone vibrated.
Ordinarily he wouldn’t have answered the call. Like most members, he turned his phone off when he entered the club. It was an unspoken rule. But when he glanced at the screen, he was pleasantly surprised to see the call was from the office of Michel Cote’. Burton swiped the phone and whispered, “Please hold,” as he hurried towards the privacy of the cloak room.
When he resumed contact, he was greeted by Cote’s secretary Madam Poirier. She spoke to him in French and asked if he could attend the office at ten o’clock the following morning. Apparently, her boss had a possible commission that he wished to discuss. She said the potential client would also be in attendance. After Burton confirmed his availability, the woman said, “Jusque-là, Monsieur and abruptly ended the call.
Burton slipped the cellphone back into his pocket, and reflected on his relationship with Michel Cote’. The man was a highly respected lawyer, with connections extending to the highest levels of Canadian business and government. He was also a Francophone, with offices in both Montreal and Toronto. Burton considered him to be a brilliant renaissance man with a foot in each linguistic camp.
Charles Burton was the principal of Burton Investigations. In truth, it was just himself and his secretary Maggie. He didn’t think of himself as a private investigator or detective, but more a purveyor of discreet inquiries. As such he had worked with Michel Cote’ on a number of interesting cases. Most recently they had come to the aid of Burton’s former military comrade Wade Daniels. Daniels had been wrongly accused of murder and was ultimately proven innocent. The two men had served together in the Canadian Airborne Regiment, where Captain Burton was battalion intelligence officer. When the regiment was dissolved under politically charged circumstances, he resigned his commission in protest, and left the forces to apply his skills in the private sector.
Business had been a little slow for the last month, so Burton was pleased to receive the summons from Cote’s office. The next morning at the appointed hour, he got off the elevator on the 42nd floor at 1000 Rue De la Gauchetiere. He walked along the well-appointed hallway until reaching an oak door with polished brass letters proclaiming M. Cote’ – Avocat. Burton entered and was greeted by a bespectacled woman.
“Bonjour, Monsieur.”
Moments later he was ushered into the inner office. Michel Cote’ smiled and came around the desk to shake his hand. He was an urbane, handsome Parisien with flawless English. “Captain Burton, so good of you to come.” Then he turned to introduce the woman who was seated across the room.
“Permit me to introduce Mme. Vivienne Dumont, a representative of Larco Investments. They are owners of the Fairmont Hotel Group.”
The attractive lady looked towards Burton, but remained seated. Burton bowed slightly and offered a perfunctory, “How do you do.” He thought, She’s a bit of a cool customer. I wonder what this is all about?
Cote’ invited them to join him at a small conference table by the window. It featured a panoramic view of old Montreal, including the Notre Dame Basilica and the St Lawrence River. As Burton politely pulled out her chair, he towered over the elegantly dressed woman from a height of 6-foot 3-inches. Today he was dressed in his usual attire of a dark suit, blue dress shirt, no tie. On his left lapel he wore a small silver pin with parachute wings over the inscription, ‘Airborne’. When they were seated, the Avocat took charge of the meeting.
“Mme. Dumont has an interesting story to tell, perhaps I should let her explain.” The Woman nodded her head. “Thank you, Monsieur Cote’.”
She told them about the disappearance of the Churchill portrait from the Chateau Laurier Hotel in Ottawa, and how incensed the chairman of Larco was over the loss of such a priceless historical showpiece. She said they had no clue as to how the theft occurred… nor exactly when. Apparently, a duplicate of the portrait had been substituted for the original. The exchange was overlooked until a sharp-eyed staff member noticed a slight difference in the color of the picture frame, compared to others in the room.
Hotel security had mounted an investigation, but had uncovered no useful information. The company chairman was desperate to recover the missing portrait. He had read in the media about Burton and Cote’s recent success in recovering some misappropriated artwork for the famous painter Sebastian Cox, and wondered if Larco could engage their services to help solve this mystery.
Cote’ and Burton glanced at each other. Burton frowned and thought, this minor drama isn’t exactly my cup of tea. Vivienne Dumont sensed their hesitation.
“I know this matter may not seem very compelling to you, but for my boss it is of paramount importance. We are willing to allocate whatever financial resources are necessary to recover the portrait.”
Burton asked, “Are there any leads or information that might assist in an investigation?”
“We have determined by following up with hotel guests, and reviewing their photos taken in the reading room, that the Churchill portrait was switched out sometime during a three-week period about two months ago. We feel that the theft was planned well in advance, that it was not a spontaneous act. The bigger question is, did the thief keep the portrait or sell it to a dealer or private collector?”
She continued, “We are prepared to advance to you a non-consumable retainer of $50,000 dollars. The full amount will be retained by your firm in the event of a successful recovery. We will also pay Mr. Burton’s usual per diem rate, and authorize all expenses necessary to pursue the matter.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Finally, it was agreed that Cote’ and Burton would take on the assignment. As per their usual business arrangement, the retainer would be shared equally. Burton would begin immediately and devote his full attention to the matter. They exchanged personal contact information with Vivienne Dumont, who insisted that she be kept in the loop.
After he left, Burton went to the Mont Royal Club for lunch. Later, he returned to his office and began to sketch out an action plan to kick-start the investigation. At five o’clock he said goodnight to Maggie and walked over to a martial arts dojo on Sherbrooke Street. Burton was a 6th-degree black belt in Brazilian Jui Jitsu, and he worked out regularly to maintain his skills and stay in shape.
He was walking home along Rue Peel when he received a call from Mme. Dumont. She said that hotel security at the Chateau Laurier had been appraised of his special assignment with the company and that closed-circuit video surveillance tapes would be made available any time at his request.
The next morning Charles Burton drove his Range Rover out of the underground parking at Le Cartier on Rue Peel. The luxury apartment building was located in the bustling ‘Golden Square Mile’ of Montreal, and was conveniently within walking distance of his office, the Mont Royal Club and the dojo on Sherbrooke.
Burton was a 54-year-old bachelor who had invested well, and was able to enjoy a lifestyle well beyond what his sporadic business income would support. He had traveled extensively, mostly on challenging adventure trips to remote parts of the world. Aside from travel, his other major hobby was flying a vintage Fieseler Fi 156 Storch aircraft. Today though, his thoughts were focused exclusively on the case of the stolen Churchill photograph. He left Montreal, and turned onto autoroute 40 towards Ottawa.
Burton pulled up to valet parking at the Chateau Laurier Hotel and handed his keys to the attendant. He then entered the historic hotel – designed in the French renaissance style and sometimes referred to as Ottawa’s castle – and walked across the lobby to the front desk. A room had already been reserved for him and the clerk gave him a welcome package which included a digitized door key, and also an envelope with his name on it. He tore it open and read a short note from Vivienne Dumont. It said…
Please meet me in Zoe’s at 12 o’clock for lunch.
Burton hadn’t expected to see her here today, and was a little surprised by the invitation. It was still early, so he decided to go to his room and make a few calls. He entered the junior suite, tossed his overnight bag on the bed, then sat at the desk and tapped a number on his cellphone. After a few rings Robert Muncy answered and said, “Charlie Burton, it’s been a long time!”
Muncy was the head of security at the nearby Metcalfe Hotel, and was a retired Ottawa Police Lieutenant who still had his finger on the pulse of the city’s criminal underworld. Burton explained his current assignment and made him a lucrative proposal, which he readily accepted.
Just before noon, Burton descended five flights to Zoe’s on the main level. He entered the restaurant and saw Vivienne sitting in a quiet alcove, at a table for two. She was dressed in a blue business suit with an open collared white silk blouse. Her blonde hair was gathered in a tight bun, and her overall appearance projected both radiance and confidence.
She smiled as he approached and extended her hand. Burton though, this is a warmer welcome than the first time we met.
He figured she was mid-thirties and noted there was no wedding ring on her finger.
“Welcome to the Chateau Laurier,” she said.
They ordered Perriers and began a tentative exchange. Burton asked her how she came to work for Larco Investments. Vivienne explained that she had been recruited by the company after she graduated first in her class at the University of Toronto’s Faculty of Law.
After the drinks arrived, she asked Burton how he planned to begin the investigation. He told her about his friend Robert Muncy and how he had already engaged him to review the CCTV surveillance tapes. He also wanted to get the word out on the street - through a few local snitches - that a reward was being offered for any information about the theft or subsequent acquisition of the portrait. Burton had also been in touch with a computer geek who was surfing the dark web looking for clues.
As they finished their luncheon, the conversation had turned more personal. By they were both quite taken with one another.
Finally, Vivienne said, “Come with me and I’ll introduce you to the head of hotel security. He has already reviewed the CCTV footage, and didn’t find anything useful. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”
The man explained that there were no cameras in the reading room, and that CCTV coverage was mostly of the front lobby. They had identified a particular three-week period of interest, during which hundreds of people had entered the hotel.
When Muncy arrived, the two security men agreed to review the tapes together. It would be a tedious task, with over 500 hours of coverage. Muncy would be looking for any known criminals, or guests or trades people arriving with unusually shaped packages or luggage. The missing portrait was a fairly substantial size, measuring 40 x 36 inches, including the matting and frame. It was not the sort of thing you could just tuck under your arm and casually walk off with.
Burton returned to his room to make a few more calls. He was still puzzling over Vivienne’s unexpected appearance today.
She’s a very attractive woman.
Burton extracted a bottle of Gibson’s Finest Whiskey from his overnight bag and poured a two-finger shot. After taking a sip, he decided that it would be better with ice, so he picked up the ice bucket and slipped out of the room. When he returned along the corridor, he found Vivienne standing in front of his door. She was now dressed in something more casual, and was holding a chilled bottle and two champagne flutes. Startled by his sudden appearance, she blushed in uncharacteristic fashion. Burton rescued her with a gracious smile.
“Vivienne, what a pleasant surprise!”
CHAPTER FIVE
The mademoiselle smiled seductively and beckoned with a finger for the captain to approach. She was sitting naked on a wing chair sipping Champagne. Over the past few hours Burton had found that the woman liked to call the shots, and had played a dominant role in their sexual encounter. He loved every minute of it. Just then, the ringtone on his cellphone announced an incoming call.
“Just ignore it,” Vivienne ordered.
Burton glanced at the screen and noticed that the call was from Muncy. He swiped and said, “Speak to me.” Muncy replied excitedly, “Charlie, we’ve got a hit!”
“Standby, I’ll be right there.”
He put the phone aside.
“I’m afraid I have to go.”
Vivienne purred, “Stay just a few more minutes… please.”
The two security men were waiting impatiently when Burton joined them in the back room. They had already spent two hours reviewing the CCTV coverage when Muncy observed a man entering the hotel carrying a large artist’s portfolio case.
“Look at this,” he had said, as alarm bells went off in his head.
Without pausing, the man in the film walked directly towards the reading room located off the main lobby. He was wearing a baseball cap and the camera angle didn’t provide a clear image of his face. Thirty minutes later the man re-emerged, and walked briskly towards the front entrance. Muncy froze the image, and then reversed the tape one frame at a time until he had a clear shot of the man’s face. He expanded the image.
“Sweet Jesus!”
He recognized the man – a known criminal figure – and was certain that he had just identified the thief.
Burton asked, “Who is this guy?”
“His name is Sean Murphy. He’s a well-known local thug, with a rap sheet as long as your arm. He recently did two years less a day in the Ottawa-Carlton Detention Center on a B&E conviction. He’s been back on the street for a few months, and hangs out at the Dominion Tavern. But this doesn’t seem like Murphy’s type of gig. It’s too well planned. Too complicated. I figure someone else is the brains behind it. They probably hired Murphy for peanuts, and had him swap the Churchill portrait with the fake.”
“That someone is who you want to talk to.”
Burton replied, “Yes, but I can only find out who it is by squeezing Murphy. Can you dig up an address?” Muncy said, “I’ll call his parole officer and see what I can find out. Give me an hour Charlie, and I should have something for you.”
It was dark by the time Burton pulled up to the address located in a rundown Vanier neighborhood. He parked the Range Rover under a dim streetlight, hoping it would still be there when he returned. Sean Murphy lived in a second story walk-up, and the loud music playing suggested that he was currently at home. Burton rapped on the door with the blunt end of a hanbo, a 3-foot ratan stick used in martial arts.
A moment later the door swung open and he recognized Murphy from the picture he had seen. The man snarled, “Who the hell are you?” Burton smacked him across the nose with his stick and sent him tumbling back into the room. Then he walked in and slammed the door shut. Sean Murphy was sprawled on the floor, with blood pouring from his shattered nose. He looked up at Burton, with fear in his eyes.
Burton said, “I’m here for information, and if you give it to me, you’ll come to no further harm.” Murphy gasped, “Who the fuck are you?” Burton replied, “I’m your worst nightmare if you don’t give me what I want. So, tell me, where is the portrait of Churchill that you smuggled out of the Chateau Laurier?” Murphy replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about; you’ve got the wrong guy.”
Burton cracked him on the right kneecap with his stick, and Murphy screamed in pain. “Wrong answer,” Burton said. I’ll ask you again, where’s the portrait?” Murphy shouted, “I don’t know, man!” Burton wacked him on the left kneecap this time, and Murphy rolled into the fetal position howling in agony. “Please stop,” he begged. “I’ll tell you what you want to know!”
As Burton drove away, he mulled over what Murphy had disclosed to him. Apparently, he had been approached by a well-connected man by the name of Guido Fallinni, who had offered him $1,000 cash to walk into the Chateau and swap the pictures. A piece of cake. At least it was until Burton showed up. Murphy had met Fallinni at the Dominion Tavern and they had struck up a friendship. Both of the men were ex-cons. Beyond that, he knew nothing useful.
Before leaving, Burton had smashed the man’s cellphone and dropped it in the toilet. Then he gave Murphy two bits of advice. One was to seek medical attention as soon as possible. The other was to refrain from contacting Fallinni and telling him about Burton’s visit. The captain told him, “If you tip this guy off, I’ll come back here and kill you!”
Sean Murphy had no reason to doubt his sincerity.
CHAPTER SIX
Rudolf Steiner was the Baron’s fixer and facilitator and had been in his service for several years. In carrying out his duties, there was no limit on what he was prepared to do to achieve his master’s wishes. Steiner also acted as von Galen’s bodyguard and chauffeur, frequently driving him from the castle near Bad Tölz to the gallery in Munich.
Previously, Steiner had served for a number of years as a Hauptmann in the German Army - Rapid Forces Division - eventually graduating to become an operator in the Kommando Spezialkräfte. There he had participated in numerous hazardous deployments, but since leaving the military he had applied his specialized skills exclusively on the Baron’s behalf. The Baron had eclectic tastes in artwork and collectibles, and certain unique pieces had required appropriation by illicit means.
Since the end of WWII, Ludwig von Galen and later his son Freidrich had been the focus of numerous investigations by the authorities attempting to recover stolen art works. Ludwig’s association with Hermann Göring was an established fact; he had first been interrogated by the Allied Forces Monuments Men and subsequently by the Bundespolizei and Interpol.
More recently, the Monuments Men and Women Foundation (MMWF) of Dallas, Texas had attempted to arrange an interview with Baron von Galen. Regrettably, he had been unavailable.
Both father and son had been discrete when selling artworks from their hidden inventory. Their clients were mostly wealthy foreign collectors, and all payments had been made through numbered offshore accounts. There was no paper trail to document any of the transactions.
In spite of this, a dogged investigator from MMWF had somehow connected the reappearance of a long-lost painting to the von Galen gallery in Munich.
The inquisitive sleuth had actually managed to invade the sanctity of the von Galen castle, and was close to finding the hidden chamber when she was apprehended. Steiner had interred her body in a niche in the castle’s foundation and walled it up with rocks and cement.
~ ~ ~
Burton followed Guido Fallinni home from the Dominion Tavern, and they had a nice chat about the Churchill portrait. Guido had been reluctant at first, and had actually attempted to draw a pistol. Burton quickly disarmed him, and then applied a jiu-jitsu small-joint manipulation to his hand and fingers until the man screamed in agony. Guido disclosed that he had been approached by an anonymous source through the internet and offered a large sum of money if he would swap-out the Churchill portrait from the Chateau Laurier Hotel.
He met a German dude named Rudy in an underground parking garage, and was given an envelope full of money and a duplicate copy of the portrait. To insulate himself from actually committing the crime, he then recruited fellow ex-con Sean Murphy to make the exchange. Later, he delivered the original portrait to the German and collected the balance of his fee.
Fallinni had glowered at Burton after he was released from the jiu-jitsu finger hold. One of his digits was pointing in an unnatural direction and was clearly broken. Enraged, he charged his antagonist and threw a roundhouse punch with his uninjured fist. Burton blocked the blow with his forearm, stepped into the man’s body, spun and slammed him to the floor. Fallinni was stunned and briefly disorientated. He rolled on his side and muttered, “What the fuck!”
Burton responded, “We can do this all night, Guido. But look, I’m not a cop and I have no intention of reporting you or your pal Murphy to the police. All I want to do is track down the stolen portrait.” Burton told the man that he was taking his laptop with him, and would return it in a few days. He warned, “If you’re thinking of sending your mafia buddies to look for me, think again. You’ll just create a shit storm and probably end up back in prison.”
Burton returned to Ottawa the next morning and stopped by the home of a computer geek who had assisted him in previous investigations. He was a basement dwelling Gen-Z technophile, who may well have been born with a cellphone clutched in his hand. The young man – he looked about 15 years old – was an expert hacker and very adept at taking deep dives into the dark web.
This murky area consisted of material not indexed by conventional search engines and was accessible only by travelling through several levels of specialized networks. The dark web provided security and anonymity to its users who sometimes crossed moral and ethical boundaries in their pursuits.
The geek had been surfing the web looking for anything relating to the Churchill portrait. He found a few references by way of word association, but no trail of breadcrumbs leading to a particular source. Burton handed him Fillinni’s laptop and said, “You might find something in here.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The ringtone on Burton’s cellphone pulled him from a deep sleep. He switched on the bedside lamp and glanced at his wristwatch. It was 4:20 in the morning. This better be good, he thought as he swiped his phone. Before he could speak the caller said, “I’ve found what you’re looking for!” The geek then described how he had cracked the Wi-Fi password for Fallinni’s laptop, and then accessed some encrypted emails which had originated on the dark web.
Long story short, he used the onion routing technique with a Tor browser to unravel a network of random relays to identify the host website. The sender was one Rudolf Steiner, domiciled in Munich, Germany. It happened that Steiner was an employee of Baron Freidrich von Galen, the owner of a prominent art gallery. The geek had assembled a comprehensive file on each of the men, from information available on the World Wide Web.
Burton put on a pot of coffee and started reading the material the geek had emailed to him. It appeared certain that this Steiner fellow (ex-special forces) had orchestrated the theft of the Churchill portrait, possibly on behalf of the von Galen gallery. The current location of the portrait was anybody’s guess, but the trail seemed to lead directly to Munich.
He read the biography on the Baron and his family history. His father had been a key player in the Nazi’s massive looting of European art. The man was portrayed as a “Sieg Heiling” martinet, like some kind of evil Bond villain. Burton wondered, what kind of a swamp am I wading into by pursuing this inquiry any further?
The geek had also discovered that the Monuments Men and Woman’s Foundation had an interest in Friedrich von Galen. Apparently, one of their people had gone missing recently, while investigating the Baron.
At the earliest respectable hour, Burton called the MMWF in Dallas and asked to speak with the president, Anna Botticelli. When he was put through, he explained who he was and what his interest was in the von Galen art gallery. She stated that her foundation was investigating the gallery as a possible clearing house for stolen WWII era artwork.
They had sent their top investigator to Munich to follow up, but she dropped off the grid a few weeks ago and hadn’t been heard from since. They were very worried that something untoward may have happened to her. The local police hadn’t been very helpful. They almost seemed deferential towards Baron von Galen. In desperation, the MMWF had contacted Interpol, but so far there had been no progress in locating the missing woman.
Ms. Botticelli also told Burton that they had sent another investigator to Munich to follow-up. The man was staying at the Novotel Muenchen Hotel and had been on the ground for just two days. He had begun to make inquiries, but so far had hit a brick wall. The police didn’t seem cooperative, and Baron von Galen refused to be interviewed. Burton took down the man’s name and contact-information, in the event there was an opportunity to reach out.
His next call was to Michel Cote’. After reviewing everything he had learned, Burton said, “Michel, we might be getting in over our heads with this investigation. The risk reward ratio for us is not favorable. To pursue it further would require me traveling to Munich, and it sounds like I would be entering a hostile environment. What are your thoughts?”
Cote’ said that he would contact Vivienne Dumont to review Burton’s progress and discuss any further steps that should be taken. At the very least, Larco Investments would have to substantially increase the retainer to reflect the possible risks. He called back a few hours later and told Burton to stand down. Vivienne had spoken with her boss, and he had decided that it was a no-win situation. Even if the portrait was located, there was no means of recovering it – legal or otherwise – without incurring great expense. He had told her to pay the current statement of account and thank Monsieur Cote’ and Captain Burton for their service.
~ ~ ~
Two weeks later, Burton was walking home from the dojo on Sherbrooke Street when his cellphone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and was surprised to see Vivienne’s name. When he answered, the transmission was garbled and he could barely hear the voice at the other end. It was Vivienne, and she sounded frantic. She implored, “Captain you’ve got to help me! I’m inside the castle. I think they’re going to…”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Lufthansa Airbus A320 was in the final stages of the flight from London Heathrow to its destination in Munich. Burton was exhausted as he hadn’t slept much on the transatlantic crossing, nor on this final 1 hour and 50 minutes hop from London. He was still thinking about Vivienne and how her call had ended in mid-sentence. She had come across as panicked and scared to death. His further attempts to reach her had prompted a recorded message saying the number you have called is ‘out of service ‘at this time.
For about the hundredth time he thought, why didn’t she just leave the investigation to the professionals?
Burton passed through immigration and customs and then hailed a cab for the 30-minute ride to the Novotel Muenchen Hotel in the city center. It was now mid-morning and he had a noontime luncheon appointment with Wilhelm Müller, the investigator with the Monuments Foundation.
Burton checked into the hotel and went up to his room. He dropped his carry-on bag on the bed and sat at the desk to enter the hotel’s internet password into his cellphone. There were Gmail messages from Michel Cote’, as well as from his friend Wade Daniels; also, from the computer geek who was now working for Burton on the captain’s own dime.
Burton called Cote’ on WhatsApp and was pleasantly surprised when he was immediately connected. Cote’ had been in touch with the chairman of Larco Investments, who was very concerned about the whereabouts of Vivienne Dumont. He said that he foolishly let her continue with the investigation on her own, and she had traveled to Munich to follow up. Two days ago, she had called to report that she had met with a Monuments man at the Novotel Hotel, and he had shared his suspicions about a Baron von Galen.
The chairman hadn’t heard from her since, and now her cellphone was inexplicably out of service. The hotel claimed that she was still a registered guest, but hadn’t been in her room for the past few nights.
Cote’ said, “Captain, there is something very disturbing happening there. You must proceed very cautiously”.
Burton’s next call was to Wade Daniels, but he didn’t pick up. He figured that he must still be in the air. When Burton had called his friend and asked for help, Daniels had said, “Count me in.” The two men graduated together from the Royal Military College, and had served as fellow officers in the Canadian Airborne Regiment. Daniels was later seconded to Joint Task Force 2, the elite special-forces unit of the Canadian military. As part of a training exchange, he was posted to Britain’s Special Air Service. During his time with the SAS, he had also worked cooperatively with the German Kommando Spezialkräfte.
He was flying into Stuttgart today, where he planned to visit a friend at the nearby Special Operations base in Baden-Württemberg. He would rent a car there and drive to Munich later in the evening.
Meantime, the geek had done a deeper dive into all things relating to Baron von Galen. The web contained everything from his medical and financial records to his preferred brand of coffee. Documents showed that the Baron was quite wealthy and held a vast portfolio of investments. His political orientation was far right and he was a financial supporter of the ADF, the largest opposition party in the German Bundestag. The man’s influence was considerable, and he had been able to emerge untouched from numerous investigations into missing works of art.
The local police had a hands-off policy concerning the Baron, and were slow to investigate anything relating to his affairs. The computer whiz had also downloaded detailed architectural drawings of the von Galen castle, including the extensive work done on a subterranean chamber.
Burton was wading through all of this material when he realized it was time to meet the Monuments man for lunch. When they met at the main floor restaurant, he was surprised to find the man was a German national from a MMWF affiliate, the Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. His name was Wilhelm Müller and he was a former detective with the Federal Police. He looked a little bit like Inspector Clouseau – even with the fussy mustache – but his handshake was firm, and Burton quickly determined that his commitment to law enforcement was unwavering.
Müller said that he had spoken with Vivienne Dumont and shared with her his suspicions about Baron von Galen. His investigation revealed there was a long history of unsolved murders and the disappearance of those trying to bring the Baron to account. Vivienne may well be the latest victim.
CHAPTER NINE
The three men had gathered in Burton’s room to share information and discuss an action plan. The captain maintained his usual calm, but inside he was terribly unsettled by the uncertainty of Vivienne’s fate. When he thought of the worst-case scenario, his heart raced and it required deep breathing to control his anxiety. This made it difficult to think clearly and concentrate on the task at hand. Burton fought mightily to suppress these feelings; to ban them, at least temporarily, into the far corners of his mind. He knew that carrying emotional baggage into a dangerous mission was a recipe for disaster.
Wade Daniels had arrived carrying a heavy duffel bag. Müller’s eyes widened when Wade unveiled two Heckler & Koch MP7 machine pistols, as well as two Walther pistols and an assortment of explosive devices. When Müller asked where he had obtained this weaponry, Daniels responded grimly, “You don’t want to know.”
Müller then asked him, “Do you really think all this firepower will be necessary?” Daniels said, “It’s better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it. Besides, I have been informed that Rudolf Steiner is an ex-special forces operator who has killed more people than you have fingers and toes. Someone who knows of his reputation told me, “If you give Steiner any sort of an edge, he’ll kill you in a heartbeat.”
The computer geek had become the gift that keeps on giving. Amazingly, he had managed to tap into the castle’s security system, and had taken a virtual tour via the live feed CCTV cameras. He had observed that there was a staff of eight men and women, mostly kitchen and service workers, as well as two-or-three-armed security personnel. The Baron’s living quarters were on the upper level, but he seemed to spend much of his time in a subterranean chamber that was a den and art gallery. This was accessed by a short staircase off the main floor great room.
Below the den, several rooms had been excavated within the bedrock of the escarpment which the castle stood upon. The architectural drawings showed that entry to this area was by an elevator which was concealed behind a bookcase in the Baron’s den.
~ ~ ~
Rudolph Steiner had shackled Vivienne to a ring in the wall of a room beneath the Baron’s männerhöhl. The foolish woman had driven up to the castle’s main entrance alone, and had engaged the intercom to request entry. From his perch in the guardroom, Steiner had raised the portcullis and allowed her to bring her car into the inner courtyard. When he went out to greet her, he was immediately struck by her superior attitude.
She had demanded to see the Baron and became quite annoyed when he told her that his master was not receiving visitors. Then she asked if he was the same Rudy who had recently visited Canada… and what did he know about the Winston Churchill portrait? Had she not posed these questions, there was a good chance she would have been permitted to leave.
Steiner punched Vivienne on the side of the head and then carried the unconscious women inside the castle. He knocked on the door of the männerhöhle and waited for the Baron to open up. His master expressed concern that yet another investigator had come snooping around, and wondered what forces were now aligned against him. Steiner said that he would question the woman and report what she had to say. He also had other ideas on how to amuse himself with the attraktive Frau.
Steiner took her down the elevator to a subterranean room and chained her to the wall. He left her for a brief moment, and when he returned, he found her attempting to call someone on her cellphone. He grabbed the phone and smacked her again. When she regained consciousness, he began to question her. At first, she would tell him nothing. But soon she was singing chapter and verse. She told him all about the captain, and the Monuments man back at the Novotel Muenchen. Later, she begged for her life.
Baron von Galen heard the faint screams that filtered up the elevator shaft and smiled with amusement. The sounds distracted him from viewing his latest acquisition. The Churchill portrait had been set aside, and would soon go into storage down below. It had been replaced as the novelty du jour, by the polished scull of the Grand Duchess Anastasia Romanov. The scull had been acquired at great expense from a Russian oligarch, who provided convincing proof of its provenance. The Baron lit a Montecristo cigar and smiled again, as he vicariously enjoyed the drama that was playing out below him.
CHAPTER TEN
Captain Burton’s first instinct was to drive out to the castle and confront Baron von Galen. Müller stated, “I tried that, but the security guards blocked entry. They told me that the Baron was not receiving any visitors.” Wade Daniels interjected, “So if we get the same reception, and then try to force the issue, we’d be at a serious tactical disadvantage. No, we must have a plan, one that will require some reconnaissance.”
Burton then insisted, “But, time is…” Daniels held up his hand, “Charlie, I know where you’re coming from. But getting us killed is not going to help rescue your friend. And, I hate to say it, but she might already be dead. We have to thoroughly scope this place out.”
Burton paused for a moment, and then reluctantly nodded his head.
In the pre-dawn two days later, a Land Rover Defender turned off the main road and sped up the steep grade leading to the von Galen castle. When the vehicle was 500 meters from the main gate, roadside sensors triggered alarms in the guardhouse and on Rudolf Steiner’s cellphone. The Defender gained speed as it approached, and then it crashed into the lowered portcullis. This ancient lattice grill was constructed of wooden strips, reinforced with metal. It buckled under the pressure of the impact, but didn’t completely give way.
Burton, who was at the wheel, threw the Defender into reverse and backed away… then he floored the accelerator to take another run at the badly damaged gate. By then, two security guards had leveled their rifles and were preparing to fire.
Suddenly, there was a burst of gunfire from the top of a parapet overlooking the inner courtyard. The two security guards were struck and danced like marionettes, before one of them fell into the path of the Defender that had rammed through the portcullis. Burton and Müller exited the vehicle and ran towards the entrance hall. They stepped inside and confronted a half-dressed Steiner who fired wildly at them with a handgun.
Burton fired a long burst from his machine pistol, as he and Müller dived for cover. Suddenly the Baron appeared, and he and Steiner darted down a nearby staircase. Burton advanced with his weapon at the ready, as he followed a trail of blood.
He descended the staircase and came upon a narrow passage terminating at a closed door. The door was locked so Burton attempted to kick it in. That wasn’t happening, so he attached a small Semtex charge to the locking mechanism. He activated the delayed timer and then moved aside while covering his ears. In seconds there was an explosive whoosh and the door burst open.
Burton cautiously entered the room, with Müller now following closely behind. They found Baron von Galen standing in his bath robe, arms akimbo with an arrogant look on his face. He said something in German, to which Müller responded in kind. Burton ignored the exchange as he scanned the room looking for Rudolf Steiner. The man had disappeared.
Burton followed droplets of blood which led to a bookshelf on the opposite side of the room. Remembering the architectural drawings, he attempted to move the shelving aside. It seemed to be stuck in place. Frustrated, he felt around until he found a lever which released a catching mechanism. He pulled it and the bookcase easily swung open. It revealed an elevator door with a light that indicated the cab was at a lower level. Burton turned to Müller and demanded, “Ask this prick where they are holding Vivienne.”
The Baron smiled smugly and pointed to the elevator. Burton pushed a button and the device whirred to life. Seconds later the door opened and he stepped inside. As the cab descended, he thought, I’ll be a sitting duck when this bloody door opens.
He led with the barrel of his machine pistol as he cautiously entered a brightly lighted subterranean chamber. It was crammed with literally hundreds of pieces of artwork; some were displayed on easels, with the majority consigned to vertical storage racks. There were also sculptures, ancient manuscripts, scrolls and tapestries.
Burton carefully surveyed the room looking for Steiner, but he was nowhere in evidence. There were two smaller annexes off to one side. He entered one and found that it was filled with more art. The second was a bedroom, and laying there was the body of Vivianne Dumont. Burton momentarily choked up, appalled by the obvious trauma that had been afflicted upon his friend. He gathered up her body, and carried it towards the elevator.
When he emerged on the upper floor, he found Baron von Galen standing there pointing a small nickel-plated handgun. The body of Wilhelm Müller lay dead on the floor. The Baron fired, and the bullet lodged in Vivianne’s already lifeless corpse. Burton immediately dropped her and swung his machine pistol towards the Baron. He fired a long burst that stitched a line of 9mm bullets up the length of the baron’s torso.
~ ~ ~
Three months later, Burton was sipping a Guinness at the bar of the Mont Royal Club in Montreal. He was musing over the stolen Churchill portrait, and how the unknowing public still visited the Chateau Laurier to see the substitute. The original had been destroyed when he had emptied a full magazine in the general direction of Baron von Galen. Talk about irony!
Michel Cote’ had called earlier to inform him that he had brokered the small Picasso that Burton had appropriated from the Baron’s inventory. He had first checked with the Lost Art Database to insure there were no outstanding claims on the work. The amount the art dealer had paid for the small painting was astronomical; it was to be divided equally between Burton, Cote’ and Wade Daniels.
Cote’ also reported that Interpol had discovered an egress tunnel leading from the castle’s subterranean art chamber down to the river. Rudolf Steiner, although presumably wounded, had probably slipped through the tunnel and had never been apprehended.
By Michael Barlett