We agreed to meet again on the next day.
ON THURSDAY, CARNEIRO opened with an offer.
“Three hundred thousand,” he said. “And you promise not to arrest me.”
In Europe, it is not uncommon for governments to pay ransom and offer amnesty to recover kidnapped paintings. It’s a game the thieves, the insurance companies, and the governments play. No one publicly advertises this, because they don’t want to encourage more thefts. But the bottom line is that the museums get their paintings back, the insurance companies save millions on the true value, the thieves get their money, and the police get to close the case. The United States doesn’t play this game.
The $300,000 figure set Hall off. “That’s crazy,” he said. “We’re talking about stolen art.” The U.S. government would not pay a cent for the Rockwells, he said. Carneiro needed to know he was not negotiating with the deep pockets of the U.S. treasury. “Bob and I are here to help, to be the go-between for you and Brown & Bigelow. You make an offer and we’ll run it by them.”
While Carneiro considered that, I stepped out to call my contact at Brown & Bigelow in Minneapolis. The call was quick. The $300,000 offer was rejected out of hand and I returned to the negotiating table. We haggled for the bulk of the afternoon—pushing Carneiro lower and lower, ducking out to make calls to Minneapolis. When the price reached $100,000, I began to try to convince both sides that this was a good deal. I told the folks in Minnesota they’d be getting $1 million worth of paintings for $100,000. I told Carneiro he’d be getting enough to wipe out his debt and tax bill and walk away. I gave them both the same advice: “You’re not going to get a better deal. At $100,000, you’re going to walk away a winner.”
Carneiro wanted a letter from Hall promising he wouldn’t be prosecuted. “Done,” Hall said.
Carneiro stood. “I let you know tomorrow. I call you in the morning.”
Late that evening, Hall and I wandered out to the water’s edge on Ipanema. We lit Cuban cigars. The stars of the Southern constellations crowded the night sky. We puffed in silence for a few moments.
Hall turned to me. “Well?”
“He’s looking for a way out,” I said. “Gotta save face, get the tax man off his back, not get killed financially.”
“Right, so what do you think?”
I lifted my cigar. “We’re playing a hot hand.”
ON FRIDAY MORNING, Carneiro called Gary Zaugg, the Brazil-based FBI agent, and accepted the deal. He invited us to pick up the paintings at his school in Teresopolis, sixty miles to the north.
On the two-hour ride out of Rio, we passed mile after mile of shantytowns—open sewers, barefoot children in ragged clothes, corrugated huts that stretched to the horizon—poverty only intensified by its proximity to the opulence of Ipanema. Beyond the city limits, the road wound up into the beauty and mountains of Serra dos Orgaos National Park, a lush land of peaks, rivers, and waterfalls three thousand feet above sea level. We arrived at Carneiro’s school, a stucco storefront on the main street in Teresopolis, shortly before noon.
We confirmed Brown & Bigelow’s $100,000 wire transfer and Carneiro’s assistants brought out the paintings. He shook our hands vigorously, clearly pleased. He insisted that we pose with him for pictures with the paintings. In the photo, Hall and Zaugg stood in front of
Carneiro urged us to examine the paintings closely before we left. “I have kept them in excellent condition, you see.” We saw that he had.
To consummate the deal, we appeared before a local magistrate for a quick hearing conducted in Portuguese. Zaugg translated. Hall and I had trouble following the proceedings. We smiled and nodded a lot. Ten minutes later, we were out the door with the paintings, headed back to Rio.
“Let’s make our own hasty retreat,” Zaugg said as we moved to the car. “Let’s grab your gear at the hotel and find the first flight out.” On the ride back, he called colleagues at the embassy and made the arrangements.
At Galeao International Airport, Zaugg used his diplomatic credentials to whisk us through security and customs with our three oversized packages. At the Jetway, I discreetly approached a Delta stewardess, careful not to spook anyone. Three months after 9/11 most American passengers and crews were still jittery, especially on long-haul flights.
I showed her my FBI badge and explained the situation. “We have to carry these onboard. They can’t go in the hold, and we can’t stuff them in the overhead racks.”
“No problem. We’ve got a closet between first class and the cockpit. You put them there. They’ll be safe.”
“Great, thanks. Really appreciate it. But, um, it’s a ten-hour flight, and I’ve got to keep the paintings in sight at all times. Our seats are in coach.”
The stewardess looked down at her folded passenger manifest. I could see from her list that first class was only half full. “Official FBI business, right?”
“Official business.”
“Well, then I’ll guess we’ll have to find you seats in first class.”
A FEW DAYS later, the new U.S. attorney in Philadelphia, the ambitious Patrick L. Meehan, convened his press conference. I watched from the back of the room as Meehan stood in front of the paintings before a bank of television cameras and a room jammed with reporters.
“Norman Rockwell was that most American of artists,” Meehan said. “Here is a guy who has really caught the character of the United States, especially in times of crisis. This is an important case for the American psyche at this time.”
The next morning, a photograph of the U.S. attorney pointing to the twin towers in the background of
We’d proved we could take our art crime show overseas. Now it was time to raise the stakes and try it undercover.
Chapter 14
THE PROPERTY OF A LADY
THE BRIEFING WAS SCHEDULED FOR 7 P.M., A CONCESSION to the broiling June sun.
We filed into a sterile, windowless conference room inside the American embassy—four FBI agents and four
On my first undercover mission overseas, I’d traveled to Spain to try to solve the nation’s greatest art crime—the theft of eighteen paintings worth $50 million, stolen from the home of a Madrid billionaire, a construction tycoon with close ties to King Juan Carlos. The case also carried geopolitical ramifications. It was one year after 9/11 and the FBI was aggressively courting allies against al-Qaeda. With this in mind, FBI director Robert Mueller III had personally reviewed and approved our op plan.
At the embassy, the
“On 8 August 2001, three unknown men broke a window at the private residence of Esther Koplowitz located at Paseo de la Habana 71, Madrid. This lured the lone security guard outside and they overpowered him. The suspects used his passkey to gain entrance to the second floor. The victim was away and because the residence
