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“Most of the thefts were by officers,” de Haan pointed out. “Officers had access to places enlisted men could not go. They could move items without being questioned.”
That, unfortunately, was true.
“Not the MFAA,” Jason said. “These weren’t regular soldiers. They were art historians, museum curators, archivists, teachers, artists. A lot of them were too old to be drafted, so they enlisted. They voluntarily chose to go into battle zones, to risk their lives so that they could protect the art treasures of the world. And they stayed on after the war to oversee the return of something like five million cultural objects. There were Monuments Men in Europe all the way to 1951.”
De Haan shrugged. J.J. was still studying Jason. “What’s your theory?”
“I don’t have a theory yet. I just— We have to remember that if Thompson had an accomplice, it wasn’t necessarily someone in his squad. Or regiment. Or even division. And it needn’t have been a friend. Or maybe it was a friend but in another division. It could have been someone in, I don’t know… The shipping depot. When he started mailing all these parcels home, why did no one question it? Or, it could have been a Bavarian national.”
“A girl,” de Haan said. “Perhaps there was a romance—”
“Nah,” J.J. said. “I think Thompson was gay.”
Momentarily distracted, it was Jason’s turn to stare.
J.J. shrugged, explained to de Haan, “I always get partnered with gay agents. I have a sixth sense about this.”
Jason’s mouth dropped open.
“No, but seriously,” J.J. said.
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Seriously. I knew you were gay the minute I met you.”
“Wouldn’t that be a sexth sense?” Jason retorted, resisting the impulse to conk J.J. with the metal napkin holder.
De Haan just looked confused. He smiled uncertainly at Jason, who shook his head.
J.J. continued blithely on with his theory. “So yeah, I think maybe there was a boy in Bavaria.”
The Boy from Bavaria. It sounded like a schlocky spy movie from the 1970s.
“Anyway,” Jason said, “mystery accomplices aside, the other problem we’ve got is the Thompsons have lived here forever. They have roots in the community; they’re respected business owners and neighbors. We’re the feds, and you’re working for a foreign country. That’s how a local judge is liable to look at this if we can’t supply a hell of a lot more probable cause for a search warrant.”
“What are you saying?” de Haan demanded. “The fight is over?”
Jason said, “No. Of course not. We’re moving forward on recovering the items they put up for sale. And we’re going to continue to investigate what happened to the items still unaccounted for. If it looks like we have grounds, we’ll get a search warrant.”
“I will tell you what will happen to those items. The Thompsons will sell them quietly, secretly, through other channels.”
J.J. looked at Jason.
“I don’t think so,” Jason said. “Not immediately. They think—and rightly—that we’re watching them. If they do have the items and believe they’re successfully hiding them from us—and that’s a huge supposition right there—they’ll wait, let the heat die down before they try anything else.”
De Haan was not happy with this. “I don’t think the Thompsons are as clever as you are, Jason. I think they are prone to act quickly and foolishly.”
“Maybe, but for now
our hands are tied,” Jason said.
And with that de Haan had to be content. Or discontented. J.J. finished his late breakfast, they promised de Haan they would be in touch, and Jason and J.J. left the restaurant.
“Something wrong?” J.J. asked as they were driving back to the office.
Jason glanced at him. “No.”
“Because you seem off.”
