It's autumn 1940 in northern France, and World War II is underway.

A convoy of German army trucks rumbles down the treeline driveway of a country estate.

In the passenger seat in the front of the lead vehicle,

a German officer stares out the window at the beautiful countryside. This officer reports to

the E.R, the Nazi organization dedicated to looting the property of Jews in occupied Europe.

Soon, the truck jolts to a halt.

Looking up at the looming chateau, a towering monument to the wealth of its owner,

the officer orders his men to file out of the truck, and he approaches the entrance to the chateau and hammers on the front door.

There's silence, but just when he thinks he'll have to break the door down, he hears the twisting

of metal and the slide of locks. When the door opens, the officer and his men push inside

past the startled housekeeper. The officer roars and broke in French. The paintings. Where are

the paintings? But the housekeeper says nothing. Frustrated, the officer barks out orders to his men.

Search the house.

The Germans tear apart every room of the chateau.

The bedrooms and ballrooms, the attic, the library, the kitchens and stables.

And soon, a young soldier searches the servants' quarters where he finds a locked door.

He kicks it down.

And as light floods the room, the small, gilt-framed painting is illuminated, leaning against the wall.

The soldier picks it up, staring, transfixed.

The painting almost seems to glow.

It shows a robed scientist scientist bathed in a golden light

sitting at a desk, lost in thought. It's exquisite. The young soldier rushes from the room

...