Restitution (36 page)

He checked his watch. It was almost time for his rendezvous and he quickened his pace, finally arriving at a small café almost hidden from view down a narrow cobblestone laneway.

“Mr. Král! Why so long since your last visit?” The owner greeted him warmly as soon as he stepped through the front door.

Theo returned the welcome. “Is my usual table available? I'm meeting someone and want a bit of privacy.”

“Of course. This way,” the restaurateur replied, leading Theo to a small table in a back corner. Cigarette smoke darkened the room like a black cloud passing across the sun's face. Without asking, the waiter brought over an espresso and a slice of cake layered with chocolate butter cream and topped with thin caramel slices – a local specialty. Theo smiled gratefully and sat back to await the arrival of his colleague. Minutes later, a familiar figure burst through the door. He spied Theo at the back and made his way over to greet him.

“I see you've started without me,” the man exclaimed, indicating to the waiter that he would have the same as Theo.

“It's good to see you, Adolfo,” said Theo, standing and reaching out to grasp the hand of the man who faced him. “I see you haven't stopped enjoying the wonderful desserts that Prague has to offer.”

Theo's guest sat down and smiled, patting his rather ample middle. “These tortes will be the death of me,” he said. “But what a way to go.”

Adolfo Flores was as young as Theo, though one would not have guessed from his badly out of shape frame and thinning hair. He pulled out a package of cigarettes, offering one to Theo, who declined. It was one habit he was glad he had never taken up. Adolfo dragged deeply on the cigarette and coughed loudly into his jacket sleeve. “I thought our Spanish cigarettes were bad. But these Czech ones are truly disgusting. I vow everyday to give them up, but…” He shrugged, shaking the ash off the tip into an already overflowing ashtray. “At least they're cheap, whether you buy them on the black market or not.”

“How are things at the Peruvian embassy, my friend?” asked Theo after Adolfo's order had arrived and they had settled down to exchange pleasantries. Adolfo was a low-level diplomat whom Theo had met at a gathering during one of his earlier trips to Prague. The evening had been hosted by a friend of the family who had connections with embassy diplomats across the city. In making the rounds, Theo had been introduced to Adolfo, and had discovered that he had a curiosity about art that matched his own. He had also ascertained Adolfo's interest in making some extra money on the side, provided that it wasn't too risky. “I have some benefits as an embassy official,” he had told Theo. “And I'm happy to extend them to you for the right project.” Adolfo had been helping Theo move art since that initial meeting. Their association had been profitable for both.

“All of the embassies are up in the air about what will happen over the next months, or what our roles will be if and when the election takes place.”

“Amazing to think it's all changing,” interjected Theo. “It took forty years for Communism to take root in this country and ten days for it to fall.”

“Don't fool yourself into thinking it's over,” cautioned Adolfo. “Some people think it's all a conspiracy – that this so-called peaceful revolution was engineered by the secret police here and the KGB in Moscow.”

“Some people are just paranoid,” Theo replied, though his mind flashed to an image of the men in dark coats standing by at the airport to
welcome
visitors.

“Do you blame them for their mistrust?” Adolfo placed a forkful of torte into his mouth. Cake crumbs and flecks of cream flew as he brandished his fork in the air. “When we step out onto the street after our little social get-together here, look to your left. There's a car parked there with blackened windows. When I passed it earlier, I was certain that I saw the shadow of a camera on the inside pointed this way.”

Theo shrugged. “Luckily, they can't do anything to you. And I'm sure they're not interested in me.”

Adolfo stared. “Don't be so cocky, my friend,” he cautioned. “At any rate, I'm still here for a short while – a few more months at least. But after that, who knows?” He shrugged once more. “You mentioned a business proposition that might intrigue me. Well, let's hear it. It may be the last one we work on together.”

Theo smiled. “As usual, I need you to transport some cargo for me out of the city.” Instinctively, he lowered his voice and glanced around. The walls often had ears, and while he knew his way around the Communists and their police watch dogs, there was no point in being reckless.

“Have you found something of value?” asked Adolfo.

“I think so. Actually, I am doing a favor for a family,” Theo replied. “This time, the paintings aren't for me.” He briefly filled Adolfo in on the details of Karl's story and the resurfacing of the paintings. “I haven't seen them yet – only photographs – but I understand they are quite valuable –
and
rather large,” he added. This would be an important factor in determining how and when they might be transported. “This family in Canada is desperate to have them back.”

Adolfo frowned. “Doing a favor for a family? Don't tell me that you're going soft on me,” he joked.

Theo shrugged. “I like the man who has asked me to help,” he said. “And if I can assist his family, then why not?” he asked, turning his attention back to Adolfo. “Besides, you know I'm a sucker for some thrills, and this project offers plenty. But don't worry, my friend,” he added. “You and I will benefit from this business deal. I promise you that.”

“Now that's what I like to hear,” Adolfo replied.

The two men huddled together to discuss the details of the retrieval and transport of the paintings. “I'm hoping to return to Toronto by the middle of next week,” Theo said. This would give him six days to complete his work here. It would be tight and would depend in part on Adolfo's availability.

Adolfo nodded thoughtfully. “I can manage that. I'll arrange with my embassy to take a drive across the border into Germany. I'm assuming that's where you will want me to take these paintings?”

Theo nodded. One of the reasons that Adolfo Flores had become such an integral part of these operations was that, as a member of an embassy in Prague, he had access to a vehicle with diplomatic license plates. The plates would ensure that whoever was driving the car would be able to leave the country without being searched at the border. There was of course the possibility that if border officials suspected anything amiss, the car might be turned back and not allowed to cross into Germany. But the Peruvian embassy was fairly low-profile in Prague, and would not likely be considered a threat to the government. There were other embassies that were on the radar of the secret police, but not this one. Theo had known this when he had chosen to make Adolfo his accomplice. Besides, at this point, he couldn't think about the possibility that the car might be stopped at the border. First things first: he had to have the car with the right plates, and Adolfo was the one who could provide that.

“By the way,” Adolfo said, reaching for another cigarette. “Where is this valuable artwork right now?”

Theo hesitated, weighing his response. There were some things that even this accomplice might not need to know. Finally, he shrugged and replied, “They're at the Canadian embassy. There is a diplomat there who is helping out with all of this.”

Adolfo whistled softly under his breath. “Could be a problem for you, no? If you think they're watching everyday citizens, just imagine the surveillance on the embassies. If you move something out, they'll be on you like vultures on a carcass.”

“That's not your worry,” replied Theo. “I'll take care of getting the paintings to you. Your job will be to get them out of the country.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, extracting five hundred dollars in new American bills and sliding them across the table to his accomplice. Adolfo glanced around, and then reached for the money, pocketing it quickly.

“And the other half when I meet you on the other side, my friend,” continued Theo as Adolfo placed the last piece of cake into his mouth. “I'll call you when I have the artwork and we can arrange for its delivery to you. Here's to a successful transaction.”

The two men finished their coffees, shook hands, and went their separate ways.

The next day, Theo rose early to the sound of construction workers and traffic outside his hotel window. He gulped down a quick breakfast and left the hotel to find the car he had asked for waiting for him outside the front doors. He climbed in and headed out of the city center to meet with a contact in the area of Kubánské Square, a quiet residential part of Prague.

Parking his car close to the busy intersection, he quickly located the small dry goods store at one corner. Entry to the apartment was through the store and up some stairs at the back. Theo didn't know the proprietor of the store, though he had seen him in his previous visits here. The man was a gatekeeper to the apartments above, and Theo assumed that his contact upstairs paid him a kickback of some kind to let visitors through and not ask any questions.

Notwithstanding the early hour, there was already a long line-up of people waiting to get into the shop. Theo bypassed the line, ignoring the angry glares of would-be shoppers, and entered the dimly lit store. The owner was in a heated discussion with an elderly gentleman who held some worn wires in his hand, obviously desperate for some supplies that were not available. In fact, the shelves of this store were completely devoid of goods, a consequence of the Communist government and its regulated shopping. Not only was it empty of supplies, but even the shelves and display cabinets themselves looked as if they were leftovers from another era. Dust filled Theo's nose. The building was worn and dirty, as if it had been neglected for years.

He moved quickly through the store, catching the eye of the owner who was trying unsuccessfully to appease the disgruntled shopper. The man raised his head and stared suspiciously at Theo. Then, recognizing him, he nodded briefly and returned to his discussion with his customer. Theo entered a dark staircase at the rear. As he climbed the steps, he thought back to the telephone conversation he had had earlier that morning with Richard VandenBosch. He had been put through to VandenBosch's office immediately.

“Mr. VandenBosch, my name is Theofil Král. I am a friend of Karl Reeser in Toronto, Canada.” He had waited, half expecting to hear a click on the telephone indicating that the line was being monitored. “I am here at Mr. Reeser's request to pick up some things that I believe he left with you.” He chose his words thoughtfully, being careful not to mention the embassy by name.

There was a momentary pause and then the voice of a jubilant Richard VandenBosch had boomed back in Theo's ear. “It's good to hear from you,” he had exclaimed. “I've been waiting for this moment for some time.” He too was vague and prudent in his reply. “When can you come here? The sooner the better,” he added.

Theo had thought for a moment, weighing how much time he would need to gather the necessary materials to make the bundling and transport of the paintings possible. “I have a bit of business still to do here in the city,” he had finally replied. “I can come to meet you on Tuesday, March twentieth.” He knew this was cutting it close if he still wanted to leave that same night to be back in Toronto on the twenty-first. But it would be better not to hold on to the paintings for any longer than was necessary. Pick them up at the embassy, deliver them to Adolfo, and get out of the city. That was his plan, provided that there were no hitches.

“The twentieth it is,” VandenBosch had replied, and the two men had hung up.

There were four doors at the top of the staircase. Theo approached the second one on the left. He knocked lightly and, a moment later, the door opened and a wizened old man greeted him and ushered him into a small, sparsely furnished one-bedroom flat. Despite the cold outside, it was stifling in the room. An old floor fan whirred noisily from a corner, but it didn't help. The air was hot and stagnant. The man motioned for Theo to sit, and Theo perched himself on a wooden chair, nodding to his host's wife as she scurried past. She was a small, doughy woman, with an ample bosom and wide hips that wobbled as she walked across the floor of the room. She returned Theo's nod, and headed out the door.

“Is it busy downstairs?” the man asked. His ruddy face was as shriveled and dry as leather, but beneath the worn and faded clothing, there was a body hardened by years of labor. Theo gestured out the window at the growing horde of people lined up to get into the store below. “They line up every day, and for what?” the old man snarled. “A few screws, some laundry detergent, a light bulb if they're lucky. Maybe after the elections, when the country is finally able to privatize, things will be better and we'll actually have proper stores with a decent assortment of supplies.” He shook his head in frustration and then turned back to Theo. “But enough of that. It's been a while since I've seen you. What can I do for you?”

“I need the usual transport containers,” Theo replied, getting down to business. “Five of them.” He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and began to jot down the dimensions of the containers he needed, spelling them out as he wrote. “One will be two meters long and about a half a meter in diameter.”

“Bigger than usual,” the man interrupted.

Theo nodded, thinking again to the size of the paintings that Karl had described. “The four others are regular size, a meter and a half high and also a half a meter in diameter. Make sure the aluminum is strong.”

He handed the sheet over to the old man who reached out to take it with hands that were even more wrinkled and hardened than his face. Tiny beads of sweat lay on his forehead. He squinted at the scrap of paper, removed his glasses, and began to clean them with a worn handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. He rubbed the glasses methodically, holding them up to the light, and, finally satisfied, replaced them on his nose.