Chasing Mona Lisa (21 page)

They had driven into the border city at dusk, arriving as lights illuminated the Jet d’Eau, a water fountain shooting a plume of lake water high above the majestic buildings along the southeastern bank. They were running right on schedule, thanks to their German resilience in overcoming the travel setbacks.

A dinner break in Geneva would give them time to regroup and go over their plans again. Schaffner told his partner that he was actually expecting more trouble finding the chateau than snatching the
Mona Lisa
.

“The good news is that the moon will be bright, so you’d think a big place like that will stick out like a sore thumb,” Schaffner said. “Let’s take a look at that map again.”

The Chateau de Dampierre was on the way into Annecy, a small city and Alpine pearl he had visited before the war. No more than thirty-five kilometers, less than an hour from the border.

“Seven kilometers before Annecy, we take this turnoff . . . looks straightforward to me.”

The borders between Switzerland and France and Germany had been sealed since 1939, but Schaffner had done some checking and found a country road in Thônex, a small town outside of Geneva, where patrols were sparse and the customs booth on both sides of the border closed at 6 p.m. Once they slipped into France, they would have a clear shot toward Annecy.

“Have you ever seen the
Mona Lisa
?” Schaffner asked.

His partner shook his head. “Only pictures.”

“I don’t understand what the fuss is all about. She looks like she has constipation, you know?”

Kaufman grinned and unloaded his fork. “Do you think we’ll find any resistance?” He half mumbled his words past the food.

“Heller doesn’t think so. The Count is apparently out of town, checking on one of his wineries in the Bourgogne. There should only be the Countess, their young daughter, and a few farmhands on the estate. Maybe we’ll see a
paysan
with a pitchfork. I don’t know. But I can tell you this: nothing is going to keep me from collecting the second half of our fee.”

 22

“This is the first beef I’ve had in a year, and it was worth the wait.”

Colette savored the rich and tender bite of beef bourguignonne. It was a heavenly preparation made by the Countess herself. She was a great
cuisinère
and an elegant hostess, so when seconds were offered, she and the others could hardly refuse.

Yet even as Colette enjoyed the meal, tension was building again. Every little noise drew her attention, and when Kristina dropped a piece of silverware, she thought she’d jump out of her skin. This dinner was taking too long.

Countess Ariane set her silver fork on her plate. “We read of your deprivations in Paris, and I’m pleased the braised beef is raising your spirits.”

“May I raise my spirits a third time?” Bernard held up his plate, which elicited light laughs around the long table set in the formal dining room. If he had been seated closer, Colette would have elbowed his ribs. Didn’t he understand that they’d come to Chateau de Dampierre on a serious mission . . . and not to indulge?

The Countess’s eyes lit up. “Hand over that plate, young man. You have a long night ahead.” The Countess scooped another generous helping from the enameled casserole dish.

Every minute that passed, the Germans were potentially that much closer. Colette set her fork down harder than intended and saw that all eyes had moved to her. “As much as we’d like to stay, we must get back on the road to Paris—as soon as possible.”

Colette turned to Kristina, who sat next to her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but we have to pack up
La Joconde
. I hope this news doesn’t upset you.”

Kristina made a brave face but was near tears. “Does she really have to go?”

“Yes, dear.” Colette wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“I would imagine that you have to be very careful when transporting a priceless painting,” Gabi interjected, attempting to change the subject.

“You should have been here when she arrived,” the Countess said, warming to the memory. “The
Mona Lisa
was in her protective crate, and when the truck pulled up to the front door, four men carried her in like Cleopatra on the Nile. It was quite a production.”

“Where have you stored the crate they used to transport her?” Colette asked the Countess.

“You’ll find it under Kristina’s bed.”

While Bernard finished mopping up the last drops of brown sauce from his plate, Colette forced a smile and worked the napkin in her hands.

She rose, unable to contain herself any longer. She needed to begin packing the
Mona Lisa
in the protective transportation crate—now.

“We really have to get moving. Countess, is there any way Kristina can give you a hand in the kitchen while we get started?”

The Countess smiled in understanding. “She can help me clean up the dishes, but I know Kristina will be heartbroken if she doesn’t say goodbye.”

“Very well. When you’re done, come on up. But this should only take us fifteen or twenty minutes to get her ready.”

Colette, followed by Bernard, mounted the limestone staircase to Kristina’s bedroom, where her eyes were again drawn to that hypnotic smile. Taking a deep breath, she cleared her mind and ran through the packing process. She was thankful that the
Mona Lisa
was not set behind glass since that would have posed special challenges during transportation. Slivers of broken glass with razor-sharp edges and fragile centuries-old oils . . . not a good mix.

“Bernard, can you offer your handyman’s opinion?” She motioned toward the floor under the bed. “I want to insure the integrity of the original box used to transport the
Mona Lisa
. One can’t be too careful.”

She’d heard stories about things going wrong when moving a work of art—scratches, chipped paint, even tears in the canvas. That would not happen on her watch. The Florentine lady had to be fully protected at all times.

Bernard dropped to his knees and lifted the heavy floor-length bedspread and folded the lightweight comforter back atop the four-poster bed. He reached underneath and pulled out a rectangular wooden box that was covered with white linen. A light layer of dust coated the sheet, but the box looked like new.

The Frenchman looked up when Eric entered the room, holding the handle of a small gray toolbox. Gabi was right behind him.

“Where would you like this?” Eric asked.

“Set it over there.” Colette pointed to the window overlooking the circular driveway. She turned her attention back to the wooden box set before her. Six cross-slotted flat head screws around the perimeter secured the lid.

“Here, allow me.” Bernard reached for the metal tool box. After finding the Phillips head screwdriver, he began loosening the screws.

“Careful.” Colette knew she was hovering like a mother hen, but she didn’t want Bernard to damage the crate.

Within a few minutes, the six screws lay in a neat pile, allowing Bernard to lift off the top section.

Inside the custom-made box was a precisely fitted cavity lined with royal purple velvet. The recessed interior matched the exact proportions of the framed
Mona Lisa
. Lying at the bottom of the box was a folded purple slipcover with a drawstring, to place over the painting. There were also two wooden braces wrapped with velvet to secure the painting inside the crate.

“Everything looks in order to me,” Colette said. “What do you think?”

Bernard ran his fingers over the velvet lining and inspected the crate for cracks. “I don’t see any problems.”

“Excellent.” Colette clapped her hands together. “Bernard, Eric—would you bring the
Mona Lisa
over here? You’ll need to lift straight up to release her from the four supporting hooks.”

The two eyed each other, and Colette saw looks of resolve.

“We better move the bed first,” Eric said.

“Good idea, but be careful not to bump the frame.”

Bernard nodded his agreement as he and Eric positioned themselves midway on either side of the bed. They lifted simultaneously. Then with controlled steps, they moved the heavy bed away from the wall, giving them ample room.

Colette held her concerned expression. “You gents think you can handle her?”

“She’s not heavy, is she?” Bernard asked.

“My notes say that the painting and frame weigh ten kilos because she was painted on a wood panel. That’s not very heavy but perhaps more than you’d expect from a traditional painting on canvas.”

“We’ll be very careful,” Eric reassured.

Colette placed her hand over her heart as they carefully lifted the
Mona Lisa
up several centimeters so she was no longer tethered to the wall.

“Got it?” Bernard asked.

“Got it.”

They took mincing steps as they carried the painting toward the wooden crate.

“Ready to turn?”

“Ready.”

The two men turned the
Mona Lisa
on her back and slowly descended to the floor, where they carefully set the painting into the wooden crate.

“So far, so good.” Colette snapped the purple slipcover to get rid of any dust. She then reached down into the velvet pouch to ensure that nothing abrasive could come in contact with the delicate paint.

At that moment, the Countess and Kristina appeared in the doorway, holding hands. “Are we too soon?” the Countess asked.

“Perfect timing.” Colette waved the girl over. “Ready to tell your friend goodbye?” she asked.

Kristina knelt at the base of the crate next to Colette. She ran her fingers across the polished frame and then blew a kiss. “I’ll come visit you soon,” she whispered.

The young girl then stood next to her mother, wrapped her arms around her waist, and watched as the men tilted up the base of the painting while Colette gently eased the slipcover over the frame. Halfway up, they placed the base back in the crate and tilted the top up. The cover slipped into place like a satin glove. After the silk-braided drawstring was cinched down, the painting was placed in the recessed velvet cradle. Kristina inched forward for a closer look as Bernard secured the two wooden crossbars horizontally across the velvet covering.

Eric sidled up next to the Countess. “As you now know, there’s an imminent threat by German operatives to steal the
Mona Lisa
, so Bernard and I will have a look around before we leave.”

The Countess nodded. “I wondered if there would be such a threat during the Occupation. Frankly, I’m not surprised, other than it’s coming now, after Libération.”

“Do you have someplace that you can go tonight? I think it would be safer . . .” Eric’s voice trailed off.

“We can stay with my sister, who has a villa less than five kilometers from here. I’ll let her know we’re coming. I wouldn’t want Kristina to be in any danger. Thank you for suggesting this.”

Colette saw Eric and the Countess step closer just as Bernard sealed the lid with six screws. “That should do it,” she said, showing some signs of relief.

“Come, darling.” The Countess took hold of Kristina’s hand. “Let’s make some sandwiches, and then I have a surprise.”

“Sandwiches? But we just had dinner.”

“Not for us, dear. For our new friends. Remember, they’re leaving for Paris right away, and they need food for the long drive back. Then we’re going to spend the night at Aunt Louise’s. You’ll be able to play with your cousins.”

Kristina beamed with approval, then looked back to the wooden box lying next to her bed. “Au revoir,
La Joconde
.” Then the two disappeared down the hall.

Seconds later, the Countess reappeared. “I nearly forgot. There are several cans of petrol in the garage. If you need them, please help yourself.”

Then with a brief smile, she hurried down the hall.

“Give me a hand with the bed.” Eric bent down to move the queen-sized bed back into position.

“Colette and I will get that,” Gabi said. “Why don’t you take care of the petrol? Take Bernard with you. Those Germans could be out there.”

“You’re right. Let’s get moving.”

For Eric, a sense of urgency returned as uncertainty of the Germans’ whereabouts underscored the fact that they could be close. Until they were back on the road, there was real danger in being a stationary target.

The pair departed through the front door and jumped into the waiting Mercedes. Eric pulled around to the large four-car garage on the north side of the chateau. They found the cans of petrol neatly placed against an empty wall in a garage that housed a black Rolls Royce with silver trim and a polished red Mercedes coupe. They took turns ferrying the full cans and emptying them into their gas tank. After topping off, they filled an empty jerry can as their reserve supply.

“Nice to be royalty,” Bernard quipped.

“So it would seem,” Eric replied. “But you know, the Countess was so down-to-earth and hospitable, I almost forgot about it.”

“She was nice. I’ll have to give her that. And she even cleaned up in the kitchen.”

Eric closed the garage door, glad to breathe fresh evening air after inhaling gasoline fumes for the last ten minutes. He took a deep breath and hopped into the filthy Mercedes sedan for the short drive back to the chateau’s front entrance.

After cutting the engine, he turned to Bernard. “I think we should look around before we go back in. Make sure everything is buttoned up.”

The two walked around the chateau. Not finding anything amiss, they returned to the gravel driveway and headed toward the wrought iron gated entrance. Illuminated by a nearly full moon, a stone wall two meters in height outlined the estate.

“Too bad we don’t have a key to open the gate,” Bernard said.

“I saw the hired hand reach here.” Eric approached the guardhouse next to the stone pillars framing the entrance. He reached above the doorjamb and found the key.

They stepped out onto a deserted dirt road. Eric looked right, then left—when he spotted a car parked fifty meters away.

“See it?” he asked Bernard.

The Frenchman strained his eyes in the moonlight. “Let’s go check it out.”

Within ten steps, Eric recognized the model of the car—a BMW 320, probably five or six years old. Alarm bells went off in his head, and he broke into a sprint.