The Rescue Artist: A True Story of Art, Thieves, and the Hunt for a Missing Masterpieceby Edward Dolnick
In the predawn hours of a gloomy February day in 1994, two thieves entered the National Gallery in Oslo and made off with one of the world's most famous paintings, Edvard Munch's Scream. It was a brazen crime committed while the whole world was watching the opening ceremonies of the Winter Olympics in Lillehammer. Baffled and humiliated, the Norwegian/em>
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In the predawn hours of a gloomy February day in 1994, two thieves entered the National Gallery in Oslo and made off with one of the world's most famous paintings, Edvard Munch's Scream. It was a brazen crime committed while the whole world was watching the opening ceremonies of the Winter Olympics in Lillehammer. Baffled and humiliated, the Norwegian police turned to the one man they believed could help: a half English, half American undercover cop named Charley Hill, the world's greatest art detective.
The Rescue Artist is a rollicking narrative that carries readers deep inside the art underworld -- and introduces them to a large and colorful cast of titled aristocrats, intrepid investigators, and thick-necked thugs. But most compelling of all is Charley Hill himself, a complicated mix of brilliance, foolhardiness, and charm whose hunt for a purloined treasure would either cap an illustrious career or be the fiasco that would haunt him forever.
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The Rescue ArtistA True Story of Art, Thieves, and the Hunt for a Missing Masterpiece
By Edward Dolnick
HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.Copyright © 2005 Edward Dolnick
All right reserved.
February 12, 1994
In the predawn gloom of a Norwegian winter morning, two men in a stolen car pulled to a halt in front of the National Gallery, Norway's preeminent art museum. They left the engine running and raced across the snow. Behind the bushes along the museum's front wall they found the ladder they had stashed away earlier that night. Silently, they leaned the ladder against the wall.
A guard inside the museum, his rounds finished, basked in the warmth of the basement security room. He had paperwork to take care of, which was a bore, but at least he was done patrolling the museum, inside and out, on a night when the temperature had fallen to fifteen degrees. He had taken the job only seven weeks before.
The guard took up his stack of memos grudgingly, like a student turning to his homework. In front of his desk stood a bank of eighteen closedcircuit television monitors. One screen suddenly flickered with life. The black-and-white picture was shadowy -- the sun would not rise for another ninety minutes -- but the essentials were clear enough. A man bundled in a parka stood at the foot of a ladder, holding it steady in his gloved hands. His companion had already begun to climb. The guard struggled through his paperwork, oblivious to the television monitors.
The top of the ladder rested on a sill just beneath a tall window on the second floor of the museum. Behind that window was an exhibit celebrating the work of Norway's greatest artist, Edvard Munch. Fifty-six of Munch's paintings lined the walls. Fifty-five of them would be unfamiliar to anyone but an art student. One was known around the world, an icon as instantly recognizable as the Mona Lisa or van Gogh's Starry Night. In poster form, it hung in countless dorm rooms and office cubicles; it featured endlessly in cartoons and on T-shirts and greeting cards. This was The Scream.
The man on the ladder made it to within a rung or two of the top, lost his balance, and crashed to the ground. He staggered to his feet and stumbled back toward the ladder. The guard sat in his basement bunker unaware of the commotion outside. This time the intruder made it up the ladder. He smashed the window with a hammer, knocked a few stubborn shards of glass out of the way, and climbed into the museum. An alarm sounded. In his bunker, the guard cursed the false alarm. He walked past the array of television screens without noticing the lone monitor that showed the thieves, stepped over to the control panel, and set the alarm back to zero.
The thief turned to The Scream -- it hung only a yard from the window -- and snipped the wire that held it to the wall. The Scream, at roughly two feet by three feet, was big and bulky. With an ornate frame and sheets of protective glass both front and back, it was heavy, too -- a difficult load to carry out a window and down a slippery metal ladder. The thief leaned out the window as far as he could and placed the painting on the ladder. "Catch!" he whispered, and then, like a parent sending his toddler down a steep hill on a sled, he let go.
His companion on the ground, straining upward, caught the sliding painting. The two men ran to their car, tucked their precious cargo into the back seat, and roared off. Elapsed time inside the museum: fifty seconds. In less than a minute the thieves had gained possession of a painting valued at $72 million.
It had been absurdly easy. "Organized crime, Norwegian style," a Scotland Yard detective would later marvel. "Two men and a ladder!"
* * *
At 6:37 a.m. a gust of wind whipped into the dark museum and set the curtains at the broken window dancing. A motion detector triggered a second alarm. This time the guard, 24-year-old Geir Berntsen, decided that something was wrong. Panicky and befuddled, he thrashed about trying to sort out what to do. Check things out himself? Call the police? Berntsen still had not noticed the crucial television monitor, which now displayed a ladder standing unattended against the museum's front wall. Nor had he realized that the alarm had come from room 10, where The Scream hung.
Berntsen phoned his supervisor, who was at home in bed and halfasleep, and blurted out his incoherent story. In midtale, yet another alarm sounded. It was 6:46 a.m. Fully awake now, Berntsen's supervisor hollered at him to call the police and check the monitors. At almost precisely the same moment, a police car making a routine patrol through Oslo's empty streets happened to draw near the National Gallery. A glance told the tale: a dark night, a ladder, a shattered window.
The police car skidded to a stop. One cop radioed in the break-in, and two others ran toward the museum. The first man to the ladder scrambled his way to the top, and then, like his thief counterpart a few minutes before, slipped and fell off.
Back to the radio. The police needed another patrol car, to bring their colleague to the emergency room. Then they ran into the museum, this time by way of the stairs.
The policemen hurried to the room with the ladder on the sill. A frigid breeze flowed in through the broken window. The walls of the dark room were lined with paintings, but there was a blank spot next to the high window on University Street. The police ducked the billowing curtains and stepped over the broken glass. A pair of wire cutters lay on the floor. Someone had left a postcard.
Excerpted from The Rescue Artist by Edward Dolnick Copyright © 2005 by Edward Dolnick. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Meet the Author
Edward Dolnick is the author of Down the Great Unknown, The Forger’s Spell, and the Edgar Award-winning The Rescue Artist. A former chief science writer at the Boston Globe, he lives with his wife near Washington, D.C.
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At last, an exciting non-fiction book about the strange world of art theft. Edward Dolnick debunks the myth of the charismatic thief stealing masterpieces for his own collection or on order for a rich recluse. There are no Dr. Nos, Captain Nemos or Thomas Crowns in real life. Art thieves, usually working in gangs, are cruel, ignorant thugs who steal great works because it's easy, it's a thumb in the eye of the cultured elite and law enforcement, and it's a sure bet, they believe, to bring a handsome reward. Dolnick's sparkling narrative reveals the world of thieves, fences, cops, museum diretors and rich collectors. His careful research and interviews with a marvelous variety characters weaves a fabric of human greed, stupidity, humor and nobility. His greatest triumph is his portrait of the rescue artist, Charley Hill, with all his quirks and contradictions. Here is a real life good-guy who has a deep appreciation for the masterpieces of western art and has the brains and guts to search for those that are stolen. Without a gun and often without back-up, Hill has gone undercover to retrieve works by Vermeer, Goya, Metsu, Titian and Munch. It's a gripping story. And now the question is: Can Hollywood find an actor with the range and depth to portray Charley Hill?
This book opens with a scream, and held my interest throughout as the tangled web of the art theft world was made visible. The dedication of those who search for missing art and the ruthlessness of those who have stolen it are pivotal to the story, as the race to find the stolen treasures unfolds.
This was an enjoyable enough read, if a bit thin. It feel more like an overly-long vanity fair article. Had the author widened his scope or examined the art market/art crime with greater precision it would have been stronger.
As the title says, "The Rescue Artist." Much about the character, not much about the "rescue".
This is a very good book to read if you like detective stories. You don't have to know anything about art. Art theft is a topic which people like me really don't have any knowledge of. However, this book is written in such an entertaining way ... easy to follow and it takes you to this really exciting world of famour art pieces, artists and of course the art-theft 'underworld'. Honestly I was a bit disappointed when I finished it ... wished it'd be some more. :)
This book is great and easy to read with lots of infomation. I recomend this book to anyone specially if you enjoy Art.