The Missing Panel

It’s 2:13 AM and I’ve been glaring at my cracked computer screen for the past ten minutes. After hours of stabbing out paragraphs on my keyboard, I am desperately trying to proofread the second chapter of my senior thesis about one of the most coveted works of art in history: The Adoration of the Mystic Lamb, or the Ghent Altarpiece. It’s the Thursday before winter break, and I need to submit this draft to my thesis advisor first thing tomorrow.

I hit save and open a tab on my internet browser. I tap out the web address that I know by heart for the Royal Institute of Cultural Heritage in Belgium. A few clicks later, a high-resolution image of the masterpiece pops up. With my amateur art historian eye, I assess the twelve beautifully painted wooden panels. It was designed and executed by the brothers Jan and Hubert van Eyck in the early fourteenth century in the small town of Ghent. Jan has been given the most credit for the altarpiece because Hubert died before it was complete. There is no record of how Hubert died, but in my humble opinion, there are one too many references to Cain and Abel in Jan’s repertoire. But I digress.

I hover over the panel that depicts a stern man kneeling in crimson robes, hands clasped in prayer, eyes glancing heavenward. Joos Vijd, a wealthy politician and the man in red, commissioned the altarpiece for his private family chapel in Saint Bavo Cathedral. Though the work had rather mundane beginnings, it has an extraordinary and intriguing history: It was nearly destroyed by Calvinists in 1566, it was stolen by the French during the French Revolution, and it was looted by the Nazis during World War II. I switch to another panel depicting a man in jeweled garments riding a pale horse – the most notorious panel in the entire piece.

Hitler was a superstitious despot that wanted the Ghent Altarpiece not only because it was famous and valuable, but because it supposedly contained a map to the location of the Ark of the Covenant. According to legend, possessing the Ark would bestow god-like power on its owner. The Just Judges panel, the panel that contained the hidden map and the wealthy horseman, was stolen in 1934, right before the first rumbles of war. When Hitler stole the altarpiece in 1942, the Just Judges panel was a mere reproduction of the original work, so clearly, someone else was also treasure hunting. To this day, the original panel is still missing. What I would give to find it. I would never have to write a thesis again.

I have been pinching my pennies for months, but I still don’t have enough savings to cross the Atlantic and visit my muse. I click on my favorite panel, an image of the Virgin Enthroned, and attempt to channel the serenity in her expression. I gently close my laptop, rubbing the sting out of my eyes. Sleep is calling and my draft is as finished as it’s going to be. As I stand to turn off the lights, there is a soft knock on the door that leads to my backyard. My very large and dark backyard that should be empty at 2:30 in the morning. I lunge towards the door to make sure it’s locked and flip on the porch light. I peak outside the window searching for any misplaced shadows. Next to my finally thriving orchid is a small black box that was not there when I trudged home from work. I wait a few more minutes, scanning the backyard to check for any movement. I grab my pepper spray, take a breath, and quickly pull open the door and grab my mysterious present. I slam the door shut and lock it, peeking out the window again. Nothing. I turn off the light and crouch down next to the door, moonlight softly illuminating my room.

I frown down at the box clutched in my slightly trembling hands. It’s light and smells like old books even though it looks perfectly new. I slowly remove the lid and nestled inside is a slim black volume with an ivory envelope tucked behind the front cover. I open the envelope and unfold a letter, a small slip of paper fluttering to the ground. I grab the paper and read the neatly typed sentence, “You have the guide, and you have the means”. What? I look down at the other piece of paper and catch my breath, addressed to me is a check for $20,000 from a Mr. John Oak. Who? I grab the book and quickly flip through the pages. In carefully written notes is an account of the disappearance of the missing panel and a list of places where the panel could be hidden. A majority of the entries have been crossed out, but for the last few at the bottom of the page. I shut the book, adrenaline pumping through my bloodstream. I guess I have the guide. I look at the iridescent watermark on the check, and I now have the means.