Second Lieutenant -- and former museum curator -- Jim Rorimer knew practically every inch of the Louvre, one of the largest and most frequently visited art museums in the world. The paintings and sculpture that covered the walls and filled its rooms were as recognizable to him as his oldest friends. But that was a different time. War had a way of making familiar ground feel unfamiliar. An unsettling silence had replaced the hustle and bustle of tourists. As Rorimer ascended the grand entry stairwell, he was shocked by the absence of one of the Louvre's signature pieces, a work that for decades had towered over all who climbed the steps: The Winged Victory of Samothrace , a second-century BCE Greek sculpture. At the top of the staircase he turned right, then right again into the main gallery. The paintings were also gone.

In their place, someone had handwritten in chalk the names of artists and inventory numbers of their work. The Louvre was empty: no visitors, no works of art, just a lone Monuments Man armed with dozens of questions, striding with purpose -- Rorimer always walked with purpose -- down the Grande Galerie of the museum on his way to an appointment.