“What do we know about Albrecht Danner?” Mary Alice asks.
“He was a wealthy industrialist from Mainz. He made his money in dog food. But Danner was keen to downplay his origins and promote his role as an art collector and amateur archaeologist. He donated several pieces to Hitler for the Führermuseum.”
Marilyn clicks on another slide, this one showing a model of a massive, sprawling complex, building after building rendered in ghostly white. “The Führermuseum was Hitler’s pet project, a plan to establish a sort of German national museum in Linz. It was expected to hold the greatest artworks from all of western Europe—paintings, sculpture, weapons, jewelry.”
She flicks back to the group shot of the previous slide and points towards the robust figure standing next to Hitler. “To that end, he tasked this man, Hermann Göring, with acquiring the art to fill it. Göring assembled the art from a variety of sources. Some was taken from other museums, national collections seized by the Germans when they invaded. Some was looted as Germans passed through towns which held particular items of interest. That’s how they got the Ghent Altarpiece,” she adds with a frown. “And some was taken from Jewish families who were forced to abandon their possessions when they fled or were forced into camps.”
She changes to a slide showing an enormous warehousestacked with paintings, clothes, beds, even shoes. They are all silent at this, but Natalie’s silence is heavier than the others’. She stares at the piles of household goods, each representing hundreds, thousands of people displaced. Destroyed.
“Let’s move on,” Helen tells Marilyn gently.
Marilyn is momentarily confused until she remembers what she has learned about these killers from each of their files, facts clicking into place like tumblers in a lock. Natalie’s grandmother. Dutch Resistance. Missing in the war.
“I’m sorry, Miss Schuyler,” she stammers.
Natalie doesn’t respond, and Helen repeats herself. “Let’s move on.” Her voice is a little firmer this time, and Marilyn presses the button on the remote.
It is a studio portrait of Albrecht Danner. The photographer who took the picture has captured the image of a prosperous man who looks pleased with himself. “Because of their mutual interest in art and Danner’s generosity in donating paintings to the planned museum, he and Hitler became friendly. Besides collecting paintings, Danner had traveled extensively in Egypt and funded numerous archaeological expeditions, most of them complete failures. When Hitler needed a discreet envoy to send to Egypt in 1941, Danner was the obvious choice.”
“Why did Hitler need an envoy to Egypt?” Billie asks.
“He wanted secret talks opened with King Farouk. At the time, Egypt was under British control, but Hitler believed the British would eventually be driven out. When that happened, he wanted Germany to step in to form an alliance with Egypt. The goal was to eventually control the Suez Canal.”
“How did things go with Farouk?” Mary Alice asks.
“Slowly,” Marilyn replies. “The negotiations were top secret, of course. Farouk couldn’t afford to alienate the British since they were still in charge, and he made no official promises. In the end, he was forced to declare war on Germany, but only at the very last minutes of the war—1945 to be exact.”
“Better late to the party than never get to dance, I suppose,” Mary Alice remarks.
“It was nothing more than a way of saving official face, but it meant that Danner couldn’t easily return to Egypt. In fact, he was forced to flee Germany ahead of the Allied invasion. He landed in Argentina where he took the name Bosque.”
“I suppose he thought that was clever,” Billie puts in.
“Why?” Helen asks.
“Danner and Bosque are both words related to trees,” Billie explains. She turns back to Marilyn. “So why would this little Nazi even want to go back to Egypt?”
“Because he left something behind.” Marilyn puts the remote down and gestures towards the files in front of them. “Each of these folders is full of photographs and notes regarding the cache of art Albrecht Danner stashed in Egypt in 1941. He may have been on a diplomatic mission for Hitler, but he also used that trip to purchase an enormous load of Egyptian antiquities—all of them incredibly cheap because, after all, there was a war on. Papyri, jewels, statues, grave goods, sarcophagi. He bought them all and left them in Egypt to be collected when the war was over. He anticipated a German victory and presumed it would be safe to retrieve them.”
“Only Germany doesn’t win and he’s left with a load of Egyptian antiquities he can’t retrieve,” Billie adds. “But after a few years, the heat would have died down. He could have slipped back into the country. Why didn’t he?”
“By 1950, Albrecht Danner was dead. Stomach cancer.”
“Oh no. So sad,” Mary Alice says in a deadpan voice.
“He left a family behind,” Marilyn carries on. “A son, Maximilian, who was seven when they left Germany and whose name was changed to Maximiliano. According to our research, this son had no interest in Egypt at all. He never left Argentina. He lived quietly and did not appear to share his father’s political leanings. He taught mathematics at a university in Buenos Aires and died two years ago. That brings us to his son, Albrecht Danner’s grandson and your mark—Fermín Bosque.”
She returns to the slide of the smiling man with the ushabti. “Fermín appears to have inherited his grandfather’s interest in antiquities and has made many trips to Egypt. He runs a small business dealing in the sale of artifacts. To all appearances, he is legitimate. But we know that he has been selling authentic pieces after smuggling them out of Egypt and occasionally faking provenances when necessary.”
“Since when does the Museum care about a little smuggling?” Billie asks.
“Since we discovered what else his grandfather stashed in Egypt.” Marilyn gestures towards the folders. “More artwork, but these pieces are not Egyptian. They are European—paintings looted from Jewish families in Austria and Germany at the start of the war.”
She skims through the next slides, each featuring a dozen images. They flick past like a carousel of extraordinary works, every piece more exquisite than the last.
“Danner was tasked with assessing the various collections seized from prominent Jewish collectors. The most famous paintings—those on Göring’s personal shopping list—were immediately pulled and sent to Göring to hang in his country house at Carinhall. Others were crated up and delivered to various storage facilities in Germany and Austria. In the course of our research, we have discovered that Danner kept two sets of books. One was a meticulous record of the transactions I’ve just described—art procured for members of the Third Reich.”
“And the other?” Mary Alice asks.