The Omega Factor(53)
They found a perfect spot and waited until midnight had passed before venturing back up to the nave. All of the maintenance personnel were gone. The coin boxes empty and hidden away beneath the votive candles. The doors were locked, the lights dimmed. The two women were dressed in black, their heads and faces covered with hoods for no one to see. The last thing they needed was to be recognized. The idea was to accomplish their task and leave quickly.
They walked through the nave to the Joos Vijd Chapel, named for the fifteenth-century first alderman of Ghent who, along with his wife, endowed the creation of the famed altarpiece. A padlock sealed its doors, but they’d brought tools and easily freed the lock. Everything about this seemed easy. No security. No guards. Not even barriers to keep visitors from actually touching the painting.
They entered the chapel.
The altarpiece stood about a meter off the ground, closed, its side panels folded inward shielding the main panel depicting the Lamb of God. A cloth draped over it aided with dust control.
Everything had been planned for weeks. Every detail accounted for.
One of the women removed the dust cover and opened the two side wings, which squealed on their hinges. The object of their visit hung at the bottom left of the open altarpiece. It had been carefully studied thanks to photographs taken by other women who’d visited the chapel, with the rest of the public, in recent weeks. Fifty years earlier, when some of the panels were on display in Berlin, they had been sewn through and cradled so that all of the painted surfaces could be shown simultaneously. Repairs had occurred, which made it easy for them to free the hinges and separate the two sides of the panel. There was no need to take the frame itself, so both paintings were pried loose, slightly damaging the olden frames but otherwise not affecting the other images.
They were not here to destroy.
Only to protect.
Both women wore gloves and were slow and methodical in their efforts. The idea was to leave not a shred of evidence that could be used to locate the thieves. Once free, they slid the two panels into burlap sacks, then reclosed the two wings of the altarpiece and re-draped the dust cloth. With the twelfth panel gone a portion of the main panel was now visible. Usually, that could only be seen when the wings were swung open. They each crossed themselves and muttered a quick prayer. Then they left a handwritten note, one designed to misdirect the authorities. Taken from Germany by the Treaty of Versailles. The idea being that this was some sort of act of revenge for the indignities suffered by Germany at the end of World War I.
Then they left the chapel.
“Those two women,” the prioress said, “were Maidens of Saint-Michael, pledged to a sacred duty.”
She was shocked. “Nuns stole the Just Judges?”
The older woman nodded. “That is correct. But something unexpected happened afterward.”
She listened as the prioress explained how the two maidens left the cathedral through a side door. No way had existed to relock it, so their exit route would be easy to determine. Once outside they each cradled one of the large sacks and headed off in separate directions. The late hour helped. Few people were out in the cool night. Though by differing routes, their destination was the same. The convent of the maidens on the city’s north side.
“They had planned it all so carefully,” the prioress said. “Intentionally, they took the front and back of the twelfth panel so as not to draw attention to one side over the other. Unfortunately, once away from the cathedral, the two maidens were attacked and robbed of their panels. Neither was ever seen again. The maidens had received help in planning the theft from people they thought allies. Those men had other plans. They took both panels, then engaged in months of negotiations with the authorities, trying to garner a ransom. At one point, they even returned the panel of St. John the Baptist, as a supposed show of good faith.”
Kelsey knew the story.
No ransom was ever paid. Police zeroed in on a Belgian, Arsène Goedertier, who claimed on his deathbed that he had stolen Just Judges. But his admission was met with skepticism. He had no real motive, no need for money as he was well off, and he lacked the physical capability to have even executed the theft. Then Goedertier died suddenly in late 1934.
“Copies of the twelve ransom letters were found in Goedertier’s home,” the prioress said. “The maidens investigated everything thoroughly, but they were never able to locate their lost sisters, find the Just Judges, or identify any of Goedertier’s accomplices.”
“Why did they steal it in the first place?”
“It contains a secret.”
“About what?”
“To know that you will have to speak to others.”
She was puzzled. “Who?”
“Sister Deal, since our formation, the Congregation of Saint-Luke has maintained a close relationship with the Maidens of Saint-Michael. Our prioress has always come from them. I am but one of a long line to make the transition. Until now, that relationship has been private. But what’s happened here over the past few days has changed things significantly. The abbess of the maidens has been in contact with me. It is why I am here. I now know that the laptop you gave me contained no images. You and your acquaintance Nicholas Lee were clever in tricking me. But what you recorded on those images is threatening something that the maidens have guarded for nearly two thousand years.”
Chapter 35