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  THE ICON HUNTER

  A Refugee’s Quest to Reclaim Her Nation’s Stolen Heritage

  TASOULA HADJITOFI

  with Kathy Barrett

  Inspired by the words written on the tomb of the celebrated Greek writer Nikos Kazantzakis

  I fear nothing

  As I expect nothing

  I am a free woman

  And, free I shall remain

  as that is my strength

  Those who place

  their personal interests

  above justice & human rights

  should fear me

  as those, I shall expose

  Tasoula Hadjitofi, October 2015

  This is a true story and, as a memoir, it is told to the best of the author’s recollection. Much of this work—including dialogue—is reconstructed from the author’s archives or available in written or recorded records. Certain names have been changed for the sake of privacy.

  I dedicate this book to the more than sixty five million displaced and refugee people who have been forced by violence to leave their homelands and who long to return before they leave this world, but especially to my parents, Leonidas and Andriani, who have been waiting to go home since the 1974 Turkish invasion of Cyprus made my family refugees.

  CONTENTS

  FOREWORD

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  INTRODUCTION: RESURRECTION

  One

  THE SET-UP

  Two

  HERE WE GO AGAIN

  Three

  THE SURPRISE

  Four

  DATE WITH A DEVIL

  Five

  REFUGEE

  Six

  THE DANCE

  Seven

  A SIGN

  Eight

  CHASING TRUTH

  Nine

  HAPPY NEW YEAR!

  Ten

  BAPTISM BY FIRE

  Eleven

  LIFE AND DEATH

  Twelve

  WHAT LIES BENEATH

  Thirteen

  THE BIRTH OF AN ICON HUNTER

  Fourteen

  ON MY OWN

  Fifteen

  NO JUSTICE

  Sixteen

  NO PEACE

  Seventeen

  THE ROAD TO MUNICH

  Eighteen

  NOT SO FUNNY BUSINESS

  Nineteen

  IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER

  Twenty

  THE RETURN

  Twenty-One

  TESTING . . . ONE, TWO

  Twenty-Two

  CAPTURING THE GOLD

  Twenty-Three

  LESSONS LEARNED

  Twenty-Four

  POWER STRUGGLE

  Twenty-Five

  TACTICAL WARFARE

  Twenty-Six

  THE DEVIL IS IN THE DETAILS

  Twenty-Seven

  RETURN OF THE REFUGEES

  Twenty-Eight

  IT’S CRIMINAL

  Twenty-Nine

  CIVIL UNREST

  Thirty

  MAKING PEACE

  Thirty-One

  DEALERS OF GOD

  Thirty-Two

  WALK OF TRUTH

  Thirty-Three

  IT AIN’T OVER

  EPILOGUE

  ENDNOTES

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  FOREWORD

  Love may have been the impetus for me to relocate to the Netherlands, but it was destiny that led me, as a refugee from Cyprus, to settle in The Hague, the International City of Peace and Justice. I found my voice, once silenced by the consequences of war, as Honorary Consul to Cyprus in the Netherlands and as a representative of the Church of Cyprus, repatriating looted sacred artifacts.

  War took my identity as a Greek Cypriot child and forced my family and me to flee for our lives during the Turkish invasion of Cyprus in 1974. We lost our home, security, and material possessions that took a lifetime to accumulate. All that remained after everything was stripped away were the remnants of our faith. But the Turkish army took those, too, destroying and looting our churches, desecrating our graveyards, and taking action to erase all traces of our culture’s existence.

  An opportunity to see those responsible for the cultural cleansing of Cyprus brought to justice took me on a forty-year odyssey in search of stolen sacred artifacts, which led me around the world and often placed me at the brink of ruin. As I am drawn deeper into the shadowy underworld of art traffickers, I learn that dealers of God are everywhere.

  Gaining the cooperation of a Dutch art dealer, I successfully orchestrate a sting operation (the Munich case) in conjunction with the Cypriot and Bavarian police, leading to the arrest of Aydin Dikmen, the Turkish art dealer linked to the sacred artifacts looted from the occupied north of Cyprus, and the international trade. More than five thousand artifacts stolen from Cyprus and around the world were discovered.

  The systematic destruction and looting of cultural heritage in areas of conflict threatens our religious freedoms and eliminates precious clues left behind by past civilizations. Our collective human achievement is now more than ever under direct attack as extremist groups value the looting of artifacts and antiquities as sources of revenue to fund their terrorist organizations.

  My story speaks to the plight of every refugee in search of their lost identity and warns society about the dangers of leaving our religious freedoms and cultural heritage unprotected.

  Culture is key to promoting understanding between different cultures and religions and connecting societies. Our heritage is an archive of the values and traditions we establish over time; it connects us to our past while building a bridge to our future. It is our most valuable inheritance, and my life’s work is dedicated to raising awareness about the importance of protecting it.

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  In September 2015, I was able to speak in depth with one of three intermediaries, working directly with Dutch art dealer turned informant, Michel Van Rijn, during the 1997 Munich operation described in the foreword. Our talks covered the months leading up to the Munich operation as well as what took place inside Aydin Dikmen’s apartment in Munich during the actual sting itself. These never before revealed details are now included in my memoir to give the reader a multifaceted view of how the trade operates.

  Introduction

  RESURRECTION

  MORNING, HOLY WEEK, APRIL 26TH, JERUSALEM, 1997

  Driven by their devotion to the Passion of Christ, thousands upon thousands of faithful Orthodox Christians pour into Jerusalem during Holy Week. On Saturday they stand shoulder to shoulder in a single perilously overcrowded place of worship to witness the miracle of the Holy Fire. A sea of Greek, Armenian, Coptic, and Syrian Orthodox Christians wave their unlit candles, while Christian youth from the Old City bang their drums and shout in Arabic, “The light is ours, glory to the Orthodox.” Devout people from every corner of the globe gather in breathless anticipation, waiting for the spectacle to begin.

  A vast complex of interconnected sacred structures encompasses the sites of Christ’s torture, crucifixion, and burial, making the Church of the Holy Sepulchre the holiest pilgrimage site in Christendom. The excitement escalates as the arrival of the Greek Patriarch of Jerusalem draws near. Believers jockey for position closest to the mausoleum that contains Jesus’s tomb. The evocative sound of ancient tongues including Aramaic, the language of Jesus, builds to a crescendo that begins to quiet as security men lead the Greek prelate to the entrance of the church. Stepping inside, the Patriarch enters and passes the stone where Christ’s body lay in preparation for his burial, and the ten-meter-long mosaic that hangs above it depicting three scenes from his resurrection. The Patriarch then walks directly to the sepulchre, where representatives of th
e Armenian, Coptic, and Syrian Orthodox churches are waiting. Greek Orthodox clerics wearing their ceremonial vestments also join the entourage. The robed men move in procession holding poles with icons. They make two circles around the rotunda, a ring of arches that surrounds the tomb. After they have completed a third round, the Patriarch stands in front of the mausoleum, known as the edicule, and removes his vestments. He is handed four bundles of thirty-three candles, a number that represents the length in years of Christ’s life. He and the Armenian priest enter a small vestibule at the entrance of the edicule. Once the door is closed behind them, the Armenian cleric remains in the chapel as the Patriarch bends down to enter the chamber of the tomb holding his bundles of unlit candles. Around the tomb, a simple marble slab, are Greek Orthodox icons, also depicting the resurrection. To the right and left are moveable wooden icons belonging to the Armenian and Latin churches. Alone in the tomb now, the Greek Orthodox Patriarch kneels in front of Christ’s Holy Sepulchre and prays.

  Minutes—although it can feel like hours—later he rejoins the Armenian cleric in the Chapel of Angels, holding freshly lit candles, and invites him to partake of the light from the Holy Fire. They briefly open the door to invite the Coptic and Syrian Orthodox clerics into the chapel, and the Patriarch shares the Holy Fire with them. When the doors open again, the Patriarch emerges into the rotunda holding his blazing candles. This sends an electrifying charge through the crowds, like a surging wildfire. The sound of “Christ is Risen!” shouted out in every language imaginable is heard as the light is passed from person to person with unbridled enthusiasm, setting Jerusalem aglow with the spirit of the resurrection.

  In the eyewitness accounts of pilgrims down the ages, the light that emerges from the tomb of Christ is often described as mysterious, tinged with blue and unlike any other flame. People say they can pass their hands through the flame without being burned.

  Bishop Vasilios, from Cyprus, moves his torch toward the light and catches the flame. “Christos Anesti,” (Christ has risen) says the Patriarch. The bishop bows his head, embraces the Patriarch and says, “Alithos Anesti,” (He has truly risen). Vasilios and many other senior Orthodox clergy rush to their waiting chartered planes to return to their homelands in time to pass the light of resurrection to the faithful who are waiting at Saturday evening services.

  As a young Greek Orthodox girl, I would listen with fascination to my mother sharing this story, imagining one day that I would be among the thousands of believers and pilgrims in Jerusalem to witness the miracle of the Holy Fire firsthand. I was secretly curious and a bit skeptical as to how this mysterious phenomenon could occur. I would never dare put the question to my elders, as to inquire about such things was frowned upon and was considered rude and sinful by my devoutly religious mother. Questioning is what makes me who I am and makes me feel separate from other people.

  EASTER EVE, CYPRUS

  Touching down in Cyprus in that evening, Bishop Vasilios is met by clergy from every church on the island. They are waiting to bring the Holy Light to their parishes. As soon as they have captured a piece of the flame, they speed back to their respective communities. In each church, the same drama unfolds. As midnight approaches, most lights are extinguished and the faithful wait in darkness, anticipating the news that their Savior has risen and conquered the power of death.

  The mood among the worshippers holding their unlit candles is similar to that in Jerusalem, full of nervous excitement. By this stage, only one tiny flame is burning in each church, on the altar hidden from the people’s view: a flame whose ultimate source is Jerusalem. At last the priest comes out into the body of the church, bearing a single candle, and intones the ancient words: “Defte, Lavete Phos! (Come, receive the Light, from the Light without evening, and glorify Christ Who is risen from the dead!) The light is passed around the church as one dripping candle illumines another. The faithful joyfully embrace each other and say, “Christos Anesti,” before sharing the Holy Light of Jerusalem with the next person. The darkened interior is now a luminous glow and reveals a kind of parallel heavenly universe.

  Frescoes, mosaics, icons, and paintings with the images of saints and apostles and passages from the Bible glow in all their magnificence. At this moment more than any other these sacred images are inscribed on the inner mental map of every Greek Orthodox Cypriot. Even the image of Christ appears to be smiling at the news that he has risen. As the Orthodox world rejoices, church bells ring out all over the island in celebration of his resurrection, and the faithful march in celebratory candlelit processions throughout Cyprus. Christos Anesti!

  THE ICON HUNTER

  One

  THE SET-UP

  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 o
f 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.