The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum Heist

The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum Heist

Episode Transcript

(00:00):
This is the Gardener Job, astory inspired by FBI files on the Isabella
Stuart Gardner Museum. Heist. Itugged at the stiff collar of my uniform,
the brass buttons digging into my neck. My partner Ralph, shot me
an apprehensive look. You ready forthis, kid, I swallowed hard and
nodded. We stepped up to theside entrance of the museum. An imposing

(00:22):
Gothic structure perched on the fenway,like a venerable dowager watching over her domain.
I rapped sharply on the door.After a moment, a sleepy eyed
guard peered out Boston PD. Iannounced, in my most authoritative voice,
So we got a call about somekind of disturbance. The guard frowned.
I didn't hear anything, even sowe need to take a look around,

(00:43):
Ralph said, gruffly, Why don'tyou let us in? The guard hesitated.
I held my breath, praying hewouldn't ask to see our badges.
We'd lifted the uniforms, but ourfakes wouldn't hold up to close scrutiny.
After an agonizing moment, the guardshrugged and unlocked the door. As we
stepped into the darkened four. LawyerRalph turned to the guard with a congenial
smile. Why don't you give yourpartner a shout let him know we're going

(01:07):
to take a quick sweep. Seventh. As soon as the young guard disappeared
down the corridor, Ralph whipped outhis pistol against the wall. He barked,
this is a robbery. And soit began the heist that would make
history, the job that would changeall our lives forever, though not at
all in the way i'd expected.Chapter one, Rio de Janeio, present

(01:30):
day. I signaled the bartender foranother Cayperina and check my watch again.
She's late. The summer heat isstifling, even on the open air veranda
overlooking Copacabana Beach. Around me,tan bodies gyrate to the pulsing samba beat.
I should be enjoying myself. Afterthirty years on the run, I'm
finally a free man. The gardenerheist is long past the statute of limitations,

(01:53):
and even if the Feds had anythingon me, which they don't,
they'd never be able to make acase stick. After all this time,
I'm retired with a nice nest eggtucked away in a Swiss bank account gotten
from fencing, a few trinkets liberatedfrom Boston's upper crust over the years.
By all rights, I should beliving the good life. So why do
I feel this not in the pitof my stomach whenever I think of Boston.

(02:15):
Why does that night at the gardenerstill haunt me? And why,
after swearing to myself that I wasdone with the past, did I agree
to meet this woman? Before Ican mull any further, an exotic,
dark eyed beauty sidles onto the barstoolnext to mine, Victor, She asks
in accent at English. Her gazesweeps over me like a searchlight. I
nod warily. She smiles. Ihave a business proposal for you. My

(02:38):
gut clenches. I came here fora drink, not a job. But
something about this woman's smile tells meit might be unwise to refuse. Reluctantly,
I gesture for her to continue.It concerns a certain museum in Boston,
she says, lowering her voice,I believe you are familiar with the
institution. A chill runs down myspine despite the oppressive heat. That part

(03:01):
of my life is over, Iremind myself, But the past has a
way of catching up, whether youwant it to or not. And so
I sit back and listen as themysterious woman unfurls a fantastic tale, a
story three decades in the making,a story I know all too well,
since I was there at the verybeginning, the night we rob Boston's Crown

(03:23):
Jewel in the name of Love andProphet, the night that set in motion
the end of everything. Chapter two, Boston, March nineteen ninety. We
hit the Gardener. Louis announced,ten days from now, Saint Patrick's day,
we'll walk right in and take whateverwe want. I stared at him
in disbelief. Rob the Isabella StuartGardner Museum. Was he insane? Apparently

(03:46):
so, since he'd somehow convinced Ralphand the others to go along with this
lunatic scheme. They filled me inon the plan, a smash and grab
job in and out in less thanan hour and a half, with over
five hundred don dollar mill in rareart. It was audacious, bold,
completely nuts. So what do youthink, kid, Louie leaned back in
his chair, regarding me with anexpectant look. I glanced uncertainly at the

(04:10):
others, Big Polly licking his lipsin anticipation of the big score, Eddie
scowling as he poured over floor plansof the museum, Manny fidgeting with his
lighter, all coiled energy like aspring about to burst. And Ralph,
Uh, come on, what doyou say? Ralph grinned at me,
his blue eyes lighting up with thatreckless fire I'd fallen in love with.

(04:30):
And just like that, I knewI was in Not because I cared about
the money or stealing centuries old art. I couldn't give a damn about any
of that. No, I wasin it for him, Ralph, who
dreamed so big it scared me sometimes, who swept me off my feet and
promised me a golden future. Let'sdo it, I said. The others
cheered and broke out the beers.Louie clapped me on the back, knew

(04:55):
we could count on you. Asthe celebration unfolded around me, Ralph squeezed
my hand and whispered, partners incrime and life, this is our big
chance, baby, I can feelit. I smiled back, nervously,
buoyed by his optimism, yet unableto shake the dread coiling in my gut,
the dread that whispers All jobs,even meticulously planned ones, can and

(05:16):
do go spectacularly wrong. But Iswallowed my doubts and threw myself into preparing
for the heist with the others.If Ralph said this would set us up
for good, I trusted him.After casing the museum over the next week,
the tension among the crew reached feverpitch. At last, the fateful
night arrived. Clad in stolen guarduniforms, Ralph and I approached the side

(05:40):
employee entrance. Our secret weapon,strong chloroform to knock out the guards before
relieving the museum of its most pricelesstreasures. You ready for this, Ralph
murmured. I nodded, my mouthdry. Ralph gave my hand a quick
squeeze. Showtime chapter three. Wewatched from the shadows as the young guard
stumbled down the hall towards his partnersstation. As soon as he turned the

(06:03):
corner, Ralph slapped chloroform soaked ragsover the guard's faces. Eddie quickly secured
their limp forms while Manny disabled thealarm system. Lewis turned to us,
eyes blazing with fervor, and said, the clock starts. Now, let's
go. Fanned out across the darkenedgalleries, we descended upon our targets like
wolves among sheep. My hands trembledslightly as I unhooked an exquisite bronze Chinese

(06:28):
beaker from its display. Meanwhile,Ralph carefully extracted an ancient Greek sculpture from
its pedestal. Easy does it,he murmured with a grin, as we
laid the antiquities into padding lined rollingbins. Eddie emerged from the Dutch room,
clutching a small painting from the glintof gold frame peeking out. I
knew it must be the rare vermire. Big Paulie followed shortly after, gingerly

(06:51):
cradling a small self portrait etched inoil and shadow. Rembrandt priceless master works
reduced to mere lutevaluable only for thefortune they would bring on the black market.
It felt strangely sad, even criminal, in a way I had never
felt during previous jobs. I shovedthe discomfort aside, focusing only on the

(07:12):
task at hand. In less thanthirty minutes, we stripped the Dutch room
in short gallery of their most prizedpossessions as Louis did one final sweep.
I peered down at my stolen treasures. My unease swelled again, like waves
roiling in a gathering storm. Weneed to get out of here, I
urged Ralph in an undertone, beforesomeone notices the guards missing from their post.

(07:36):
Before he could reply, Louis hissedus to stop talking and keep moving.
I quickly hefted up two loaded bins, my nerves jangling louder with each
passing second. At last, weemerged into the cold spring night. I
took one last look at the slumberinggrand dam of a building, innocently unaware
that she'd been ruthlessly violated. Briskly, I turned my back on the gardener,

(07:58):
as though I could just as easilywalk away away from the ruinous choice
I'd made tonight, if only Ididn't look back. But I felt the
museum's ominous presence the whole drive back, like crumbling grandeur overtaken by creeping ivy
that strangles all in its path.Chapter four Federal Bureau of Investigation, Boston
Division, Present day. Special AgentJeff Kelly sank back in his worn leather

(08:20):
chair, scrubbing a hand over hisface. The Gardener case file lay open
on his desk, spilling out notes, evidence, logs, photos. Twenty
two years of hard investigative work,now yellowing with age, twenty two years
of chasing ghosts, running down leadsthat faded like mist under the harsh glare
of scrutiny. Twenty two years ofdead end since that daring heist shattered the

(08:45):
sanctity of Boston's iconic art institution.His superiors gently suggested focusing his energy on
more recent cases. The museum trusteesgrumbled that the FBI were chasing their tails
on this cold case. Even thepublic had moved on by in law charge,
the spotlight shifting away to shinier subjectseveryone had forgotten. But Jeff stubbornly

(09:07):
persisted, unwilling or perhaps unable tolet go. After all, the Gardener
theft wasn't just his longest running case. In many ways, it defined his
entire career. Just then, hiscell buzzed with an incoming call. Jeff
glanced at it idly. His breathcaught when he saw the caller id it
was a name he hadn't heard intwenty years. Ralph Donahue, his confidential

(09:31):
informant on the Gardener case back intwo thousand and two, and according to
later intel, one of the likelysuspects, Ralph, had disappeared without a
trace before Jeff could bring him infor questioning until now. Heart pounding,
Jeff answered briskly. Hello, silencegreeted him. Then hey there, old
buddy, surprised to hear from me. Ralph's voice held an unfamiliar rasp,

(09:54):
but still echoed with his old cavaliercharm. Ralph, Jeff tried to sound,
despite adrenaline spiking through his system.Been a while. I'm assuming you
have something I might find interesting.You could say that Ralph made an odd,
choking noise, almost like a suppressedsob I know what happened that night
at the gardener and everything that cameafter. He took a ragged breath.

(10:18):
All former bravado gone. It's hauntedme, my whole damn life, Jeff,
I gotta make this right before it'stoo late. As Ralph unspooled his
incredible story, the case that hadtormented Jeff for over two decades finally began
falling into place. Chapter five,Boston. The night of the heist,

(10:39):
we regrouped at a safe house inLynnfield to divvy up the loote. The
adrenaline and giddy excitement that had fueledour midnight escapade rapidly deteriorated into acrimony.
Eddie accused Louis of hogging the mostvaluable pieces. Manny grumbled that his cut
should be bigger, since he wasthe one who designed the chloroform mixture that
took down the guards. Paully threatenedto smash the finial he was eyeballing unless

(11:03):
Lewis agreed to a fifty to fiftysplit. Blows were exchanged, followed by
shouted threats. Ralph and I exchangeddismayed looks as the scene devolved into chaos.
This wasn't how we imagined the gloriousafterglow of our criminal triumph. I
pressed close to him, seeking reassuranceeverything would still work out as we dreamed.
Instead, he peeled himself out ofmy embrace. I need some air,

(11:26):
he muttered, not meeting my eyesas he slipped outside. My heart
sank at his cold rebuff. Isuddenly couldn't breathe. In the stuffy safe
house, thick with rage and resentmentnow crackling among the crew, I stumbled
out the back door, hoping tofind solace with Ralph, only to overhear
heated voices arguing. I quickly hidin the shadows as Lewis storm passed.

(11:48):
Ralph trailed behind, scuffing his shoeagainst the crumbling stoop with a conflicted expression,
heart pounding, I started to callout to him. Then a sleek
black car with tinted windows glided downthe in the alley and pulled up beside
the house. The back door silentlyswung open an invitation. Ralph stared at
the car for one long beat.Without warning, he straightened his shoulders,

(12:09):
grabbed both duffel bags laden with ourprecious haul, and slipped into the waiting
vehicle. It sank in with dreadfulcertainty. Ralph was escaping with the goods
and abandoning me to take the fall. A perfect double cross. The car
slid back into the night as darknessswallowed Ralph whole. I staggered upstairs in
a daze. The blowout was stillraging. No one noticed when I quietly

(12:33):
collected my things. For years,I'd ignored my doubts and gut feelings.
No longer, survival instinct kicked in. I had to disappear fast by sunrise.
I was tearing down the interstate,never imagining it would be decades until
I'd returned to this damned city.And just like that, Ralph vanished from
Boston without a trace, taking mybroken heart along with him. Chapter six,

(12:58):
Rio de janire paro present day andI sit in stunned silence for several
minutes after the woman who finally introducedherself as Eva, finishes her incredible story.
Let me get this straight, Isay, slowly. Your associates recently
recovered two paintings stolen from the Gardnerheist, a Manet and a Daga.
Eva smiles smugly. Well, mylate husband liberated such treasures from Jewish families

(13:22):
during the war, including these Impressionistgems. As it turns out, I
fight to keep my expression neutral,though inwardly I'm reeling. I never knew
what happened to those stolen artworks,assumed they'd been sold on the sly over
the years, with Ralph absconding withmost of the prophets. You want me
to help repatriate the paintings, Iasked cautiously. Eva shakes her head.

(13:46):
I only wish to return them forone reason amnesty. You must convince the
museum and FBI to grant me immunityfrom prosecution for keeping the art not returning
it sooner, all of it.She fixes me with an expectant stare.
My thoughts race feverishly. This couldbe my chance to set things right,

(14:07):
restore missing treasures to their rightful place, to make amends somehow before time runs
out. Still, I can't shakea creeping sense of unease about Eva's motives.
Ralph's double cross seared in me abone deep weariness. When it comes
to trusting too easily, I takea slow breath, weighing my decision.
Carefully. Tell me one thing first, the manet and Dega. You have

(14:28):
authenticated proof they belong to the gardener. Eva smiles like a lioness. Circling
wounded prey. From her handbag,She slides over a transparent protective sleeve.
Inside lies a yellowed piece of papercovered in elegant cursive writing. My eyes
widen as I scan the old fashionedletter. It's signed by Isabella Stuart Gardner
herself, Chapter seven, Boston Winternineteen sixty five. My dearest Isabella,

(14:54):
thank you for your lovely letter andthe charming photograph of the degad now hanging
in your magnificent museum. The letterwent on another full paragraphic stolen the dazzling
Impressionist work the famously unconventional heiress hadrecently acquired for her peerless art collection.
This casually familiar post made clear twovaluable points. One it placed the digas

(15:16):
unequivocally within the Isabella Stuart Gardner's possessionpreheist, and two, it validated Eva's
claims she now held at least twoof the still missing masterpieces stolen over thirty
years ago. My hands trembled everso slightly as I carefully replaced Isabella's letter
in its protective sleeve. I drainedmy cocktail in one long swallow, centering

(15:37):
my scattered nerves before addressing Eva,Well, it appears you have some very
interesting leverage to bargain with. Avatilted her head indeed, so shall we
discuss the terms of our arrangement.I met her calculating stare equally determined to
secure the best deal possible. Ihave certain contacts within the bureau and museum,

(15:58):
but my assistance negotiating foot immunity won'tcome cheap. We eventually settled on
my standard twenty percent finder's fee.Of course, additional discretion fees would still
need to be negotiated with the actualauthorities and museum trustees. But securing buyers
motivated by guilt and prestige over financials, I was confident that cost would be
covered, and then some we toastedour new partnership with a toast of champagne.

(16:23):
I still didn't fully trust EVAs motivesin this eleventh hour deal. One
thing life had taught me, however, sometimes you had to take a gamble,
and the prospect of finally making thingsright after thirty years of disquiet was
a risk worth taking. Even theMona Lisa is rumored to have sold for

(16:44):
a staggeringly modest sum before becoming themost famous stolen portrait in history. I
mused, who was to say whatfortune awaited the right broker willing to gamble
on masterpieces whose value only appreciated overtime. For now the game was back
on. I lifted my champagne withgrowing conviction this twist of fate might shift

(17:06):
luck to my side once more,to new friends and profitable ventures. Chapter
eight, Boston, Present Day.Jeff hung up the call with Ralph and
stared at his phone. In stunneddisbelief, Ralph admitted planning the museum heist
in hazy detail, the stolen guarduniforms, insider intel from a crooked janitor
on the security system, strong chloroformto quickly subdue the night watchmen as they

(17:29):
robbed the Dutch room blind. Buteven more shocking was the revelation of Ralph's
ultimate betrayal, escaping alone right afterthe heist with two ransacked Duffel bags filled
with not only priceless This has beenanother episode of the FBI Files. Stories
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