In December 2018 Alejandro Corral, president of the Realejo neighbourhood association alerted the Environmental Prosecutor's Office of Madrid of a new attempt to sell stolen religious works of art from the church of convent Nuestra Señora de Los Ángeles in the Realejo neighborhood of Granada.  In making his denouncement, Corral told the authorities that a17th century religious statue depicting Santa Rosa di Viterbo, by Baroque sculptor José de Mora, had been spotted in circulation on the religious art market, intentionally or unintentionally, labelled as Saint Margaret of Cortona in a catalogue titled "Seven Centuries of Spanish Art".  

This notice, in turn, triggered an investigation by Spain's Ministry of Culture and the Heritage Brigade of the Policía Nacional, code named Operación Granada.   Shortly thereafter, a social media outcry lead to researchers publicly naming the seller as Madrid-based art dealer Nicolás Cortés, who had included the statue in his gallery's Maastricht and New York sales offerings at TEFAF for €350,000.  

During the Spanish investigation, the National Police seized the 17th-century religious statue while still in the possession of Cortés, which effectively barred its sale onward, giving investigators time to clarify the statue's ownership and exportation details.

Interviewed by El Pais shortly after the news broke, dealer Nicolás Cortés told news services that he had bought the sculpture at the end of 2017 from an antique dealer for €100,000, stating he was told it came from a private collector.  These details were later determined to contain discrepancies.   Cortés is also quoted as saying “I wouldn’t think of going to a convent to buy because it’s illegal,”  and turned over the purchase invoice and the relevant export permit to the Spanish authorities conducting their investigation. 

Sister Josefa, the mother superior of the convent Nuestra Señora de Los Ángeles, initially claimed that the statue listed for sale by Cortés was different from the one in her order's church, citing the positioning of the left hand.  She also insisted that the convent still possessed its statue,  though admittedly, she initially declined to reveal its location. "There was never an image with that title in the convent," she told El País, suggesting the one for sale with the Madrid dealer as Saint Margaret of Cortona had simply been mistaken for the statue of Santa Rosa di Viterbo. 

Despite this, it was quickly determined that the statue in the religious order's possession was a crudely made modern fake, as can be seen in the image below.

Professor of history at the University of Granada, Lázaro Gila, who has also documented all the convents of Granada, told El País that he had no doubt that the figure for sale with Cortés' gallery was the Santa Rosa di Viterbo stolen from the church, adding that the artist de Mora did not produce the same sculpture twice.

Likewise, conservation experts were also convinced that the object for sale by the gallery was the stolen sculpture, given that the folds and design details of the mantle are quite specific and could not have been altered without risk of damage to the original polychromy.  The conservators also noted that the positioning of the hands could have been easily altered and that the Cortés’s gallery itself confirmed that the statue's left hand had been readjusted.

In December 2019, Spanish investigators determined that Alagón antique dealer Santos Boy Jimenez Borja had taken the 1.5 meters high, 17th century statue depicting Santa Rosa di Viterbo, which had been displayed above the church's altar, shortly after the convent's closure and around the same time other religious art objects from the closed convent began to appear on the Spanish market.  The object was purportedly removed, according to the religious order, on the pretext of obtaining an estimate for restoring it, only to have a replacement returned in its stead, commissioned to vaguely represent the polychrome saint. 

Jimenez Borja then sold the statuette to Cortés for an agreed value of 90,000 euros in June 2018,  not in 2017 and not for the 100,000 euros as stated by the Madrid art dealer.  Equally unusual, to conclude thir sales transaction Jimenez Borja is purported to have received "45,000 euros through a transfer and a BMW X5 valued at the same price, although there were doubts about whether it was possible to export the piece given its religious origin."  So not exactly your routine sales transaction. 

This week, the Court of Granada sentenced Jimenez Borja to four years in prison and handed him a fine of 3,650 euros for misappropriation of the eighteenth-century sculpture.   Despite his conviction, he still insists on his innocence, claiming he purchased the statuette directly from the religious order and reminding the Spanish news that he is not a restorer which makes the statements about removing the statue for a conservation estimate somewhat clouded. 

One we do know, is that cases like this one highlight the importance of precise record keeping and how a slight name change can allow stolen material to circulate.  A Spanish export license was issued for this religious object despite the fact that the statue had been clearly listed in the registry of the Andalusian Institute of Historical Heritage, in charge of the protection and research on the historical heritage of Andalusia.   

Unfortunately, there the religious statuette is listed under the name Santa Rosa de Viterbo, not the name given on the export request, and registered as being in Sevilla, in the Municipality of Estepa at the Monasterio de Santa Clara de Jesús / Convento de Santa Clara.  Luckily the eyes of citizen activists played an important part in this artworks eventual recovery. 

For several years ARCA has followed the escapades of Raffaele Imperiale, one of Italy's most important (and violent) drug dealers, who admitted to purchasing two Van Gogh paintings stolen from the Van Gogh Museum.  This month, a new book, aptly titled Il Narcos, by Daniela De Crescenzo, a journalist for Il Mattino from 1981 to 2016 and part of the scientific committee of the magazine Narcomafie and Tommaso Montanino, an inspector with the Guardia di Finanza serving at the GICO in Naples explore in great detail, the life on the run of this once-fugitive Camorra affiliated boss.                                                                                                          In Il Narcos, the writers deliver an in-depth and riveting account of the rise and fall of Raffaele Imperiale, one of Italy’s most notorious drug traffickers. This true crime story takes readers from the rough streets of Castellammare di Stabia, where Imperiale was born, through a Naples dominated by feuding clans of the Camorra, and on to the glitzy excess of Dubai, where the drug kingpin evaded capture for years.

De Crescenzo skillfully traces Imperiale's path from his early years in organised crime to his eventual role as an international drug lord who dominated cocaine trafficking between Europe and South America for thirty years. And who, in order to obtain a reduction in his Italian sentence, handed over two Van Gogh paintings to the State in 2016 as well as the island of Taiwan, off the coast of Dubai, in 2023. 

Imperiale’s story is both a portrait of ambition and a chilling reflection of the global reach of the criminal underworld and this book’s strengths lies in its meticulous research.  Drawing on legal documents, police reports, and interviews the writers  construct a narrative that is comprehensive, yet still accessible to readers, vividly portraying not just Imperiale himself, but the entire ecosystem of crime and corruption that allowed him to thrive. 

The book also introduces readers to the intricate ties between Italian transnational organised crime groups, drug cartels, and political complicity, while never losing sight of the brutality and violence that Imperiale's operations left in their wake.  Throughout the book, the authors explore not only Imperiale's rise to power but also the societal conditions that enabled his success, providing insight into how economic disparity and the lawlessness of certain regions in Italy actively fuel the rise of figures like Raffaele, leaving us with an unsettling truth.  That sometimes crime does pay, if only for a time. And when it crumbles, it does so with devastating consequences—for the criminals, their families, and the societies that allowed them to flourish. 

Lastly, the book also covers the little talked about negotiations with agencies in the United States, citing that for six years, the FBI and the DEA negotiated conditions of collaboration, where, in exchange for help in framing the other leaders of the global drug cartel, the US would have guaranteed Imperiale a plea bargain for a lenient sentence for money laundering and, after a short period of detention, a new life in the United States, with his family and loved ones. 

This plan however was stalled when prosecutor of Naples Giovanni Melillo (now head of the National Anti-Mafia Directorate), removed the 'Imperial meatball' from the plate of the Americans.  All said, Il Narcos is more than just a biography of a single drug lord and the empires he built on violence and deception.  It is a stark meditation on the human cost of greed, corruption, and power.

By:  Lynda Albertson

Map from Oplontis: Villa A (“of Poppaea”) at Torre Annunziata, Italy. Volume 1. The Ancient Setting and Modern Rediscovery by John R. Clarke and Nayla K. Muntasser

Acting on a tip-off, the Carabinieri officers raided a cellar on Corso Garibaldi, number 106, just one minute's walk from the historic villa.  There the investigators  found three partially collapsed but still accessible tunnels, all leading in the direction of the Villa of Poppea, with its striking wall paintings  The officers also found a striking number of tools used for the illicit excavation, as seen in the video below.  These included aerators, shoring materials used in the tunnels' development, and containers already filled with volcanic lapilli removed during the advancement of the digging operation.

The owner of the cellar, a 53-year-old local carpenter with no prior criminal record, has been charged with conducting illicit works under Article 169 of Italy’s cultural heritage code. 

Investigators believe the tunnels were dug with the intent of reaching and stealing artefacts from the archaeological site, a UNESCO World Heritage Site known for its exceptionally preserved frescoes and structures dating back to ancient Rome.

The Villa of Poppea is a significant part of the Oplontis site and has long been a target for tomb raiders due to its rich archaeological significance. Authorities are continuing their investigation, focusing on whether the carpenter was working alone or, given the abitious nature of materials found, as part of a larger network of artefact thieves.

Earlier this month, a similarly ambitious illicit excavation was uncovered in the heart of Naples.  There officers discovered the remains of an 11th century medieval church eight meters below street level, 2 km away from Naples central train station near Piazza Bovio. 

The raider in this instance is a local entrepreneur, digging directly under an existing palazzo.  Recovered at the scene, officers seized some 10,000 archaeological fragments from the Roman and medieval eras, believed to be from the suburban sector of the ancient Magna Graecia city of Neapolis, as well as 453 intact archaeological finds from the Roman era , including: red-figure craters, amphorae, terracotta lamps and pipes, as well as Roman and medieval coins.

The previously undiscovered church is said to be a rare example of medieval art of the 11th century, whose decoration are similar t the nearby Sacello di Sant'Aspreno. 

Both incidences highlight the significant challenges posed by urban illicit excavations for both law enforcement and cultural heritage protection.  These unauthorised digs, often conducted covertly beneath residential or commercial properties, not only pose safety hazards due to unstable tunnels and potential structural damage, but they also risk irreparable harm to the archaeological context of the site. 

In cities with rich histories like Cairo, Rome or Naples, contemporary city expansion has often built over ancient treasures, making it difficult to monitor such hidden operations.   Looters seeking valuable artefacts frequently destroy layers of history, removing items from their context and severing crucial links to the past.  This not only deprives the public of valuable cultural knowledge but also fuels the black market for antiquities, undermining legitimate efforts to preserve and study historical sites. 

The challenge for authorities is compounded by the difficulty of detecting these operations in densely populated areas, where excavations can go undetected for years, beneath seemingly ordinary locations.