Book 3: 3rd World Products, Inc (9 page)

Stephie said, “That could work. That
would
work."

Elkor said, “I am designing a field generator strong enough to anchor the ship, Ed. It will be ready for use tomorrow morning. I am also making the flitter."

I shook my head and said, “Thanks, Elkor."

Steph asked, “How much of the treasure should we take, Ed?"

"Oh. Uh, good question, Steph. There'd have to be enough left to justify some divers and equipment later, I suppose."

"Since we'll publicize the later effort as an archaeological find, twenty percent seems a reasonable amount to leave behind. If we ferry the archaeological workers to the wreck, their lack of expenses would obviate the need to leave much of the gold aboard the ship."

"Good enough. Archaeological discovery. Museum displays. They don't need much of it for that."

"We could take it all and release a percentage of it later as barter for support when I apply for legal status, just as
you
suggested in the beginning."

"Agh. You got me, ma'am. Okay. We'll find room for it somewhere, even if I have to clean the garage."

"Oh, you're so accommodating, Ed. I'll make a hole in one of the coins and present it to you as a medal. You deserve an award for your selflessness."

"Why, thanks, ma'am. I always knew that my altruism would be rewarded someday."

The next day we returned to the wreck with Elkor's generator and a new, larger flitter and established a dome-shaped field over the site. Steph's probings of the sand and muck stirred the unmoving water within the dome to a murky consistency, which hindered her not at all but made it impossible for me to see what she was doing.

Some experimentation by Elkor produced holes in the dome field that allowed a limited amount of water to enter and exit the dome, which cleared things up nicely.

Getting all the gold out from under the ship without undermining the ship's structural integrity took the better part of four hours. Stephie simply redirected some of the ambient ocean current to blow sand and muck away from her work or to where it was needed to support the wreck.

On Stephie's deck sat a considerable pile of what appeared to me to mostly be bits and lumps of hardened ocean bottom detritus mixed with gold. The stuff was dry as a bone, having passed through her canopy field before arriving on board. I picked up a piece about the size of my hand and gave it a long, examining look as we completed the underwater part of our journey back toward Spring Hill.

A field popped into being just beyond the encrusted object in my hand. Displayed on the field was an exact replica of what I was holding. One end of the displayed object seemed to dissolve until several gold coins were exposed.

"Cool,” I said, tossing the wad of dried muck back on the pile. “Steph, I've reconsidered something. Keep this pile right here on your deck. You're the safest place to stash it and I'll be able to let the Florida and IRS tax guys into the house if they get wind of things and serve a warrant for an impromptu treasure hunt of their own."

"I'm unable to take part in illegal activities, Ed."

"Since I didn't find the gold and we won't be storing it at the house, all they'll be able to do is ask me where it is. For that reason, you'll pick another parking spot for the duration of this event. Don't tell me where the ship is or where you'll be when you aren't with me. I may have to take a polygraph if I tell them that I don't know such things. Find out how much similar stuff from the Atocha sold for and approximately what it would sell for today, then set up an email box at someplace like Yahoo to handle future correspondences."

"Correspondences?"

"Yeah. We'll need a lawyer for contracts and other details. See if the guys who handled legalese for the Atocha stuff are available for a rerun. We'll let the lawyers set up any press conferences once we determine whether we can announce the find in the US without risk of impoundment."

"Impoundment?"

"Yes, little Miss Echo. Impoundment of the gold and maybe an attempt to impound you. They'll think you're just a flying truck, you know. There's enough money involved to make the state and federal bureaucrats ignore your CW passport and most anything else that might stand between them and your treasure. When we get to the house, grab the stuff you've already brought home and keep it with this pile. I'm only going to need a few samples for show and tell, and if the ‘crats grab it, they won't get much."

"Are you sure we're going about this the right way, Ed?"

I laughed at that. “Hell, no. It's my first time being a treasure hunter, too, but I seem to remember the Atocha guys putting up with a lot of state and federal guff. They needed lawyers, so I figure we'll need a lawyer, too."

As we descended toward my driveway, Steph said, “I have a George Wilmot holding for you. He's an attorney in Tampa. The connection involves a computer and a digital camera at his end, so expect some choppiness in the display."

"Was he involved in the Atocha deal?"

"No, but he was referred by their law firm."

"Weren't they interested?"

"No. They don't wish to handle any more such matters."

I shrugged, tapped my datapad on, and said, “They must have their reasons for turning down the job. Put Wilmot through, Steph."

The chubby, smiling face of George Wilmot appeared on a pop-up field. Wilmot's eyes widened slightly as he saw the apparent pile of dried mud behind me. I picked up two fist-sized chunks of the stuff and banged them together, then showed him the gold coins within the chunk that broke open.

"Hi, there,” I said as we landed. “We found something, and we think we might want to hire a lawyer."

I was a little surprised when Wilmot's expression didn't change with the revelation that the mudpile contained a goldpile.

He said drily, “Well, that could explain why you called me, I suppose. I'm George Wilmot, and you are...?"

"Ed Howdershelt. My friend is Stephanie Montgomery. She found this stuff, and we'd like to see about selling it and turning the wreck site over to the right people for recovery. We want a lawyer who will work for a percentage of the net."

"The
'right people'
? Who might they be and how were you involved in the finding of the wreck?"

"The right people would be the ones who'd put what's left out there in museums, Mr. Wilmot. All we grabbed were the bars and coins. We left everything else, so there's still a lot of stuff for archaeologists to bring up."

"Since you seemed to have little or no trouble acquiring the gold, may I ask why you left anything behind?"

"Gold bars and coins are just gold. The rest of the stuff is art and history."

"I see. How much gold do you think you've recovered, Mr. Howdershelt?"

I gestured at the pile behind me and lowballed him with, “At least five hundred pounds of it. Even after we get all the muck off it, it should add up to that much."

Wilmot still seemed unimpressed.

"I know that seems like a lot,” he said, “But after a year or three and court costs while they hash out who gets what..."

He let the sentence hang unfinished.

"Mr. Wilmot, we'd like to keep court costs to a minimum. Stephanie isn't a US citizen or a US resident and she found the ship well offshore. We don't believe anyone else on Earth has any claim to the treasure."

"But you
are
a US citizen, apparently."

"I didn't find the treasure. She did."

"Then why aren't you approaching a lawyer in her home country?"

"She doesn't have one. She's never had one."

His gaze narrowed at that. “That's pretty close to impossible unless she's an Amaran, and Earthside Amarans have at least residency status somewhere. Is she some sort of refugee or political exile? Possibly someone with a criminal record?"

I shook my head. “None of the above. She's not an Amaran, nor is she or has she ever been a citizen or a resident of any Earth country, but she'd like to become one."

"I see. You were thinking of making her legal status on Earth a part of any arrangement we might make concerning the gold?"

"Yes."

Wilmot steepled his fingers and appeared to think for a moment.

"No, Mr. Howdershelt. That would have to be a separate issue entirely, even if presented as a point of barter concerning taxes. Is that what you had in mind?"

"Essentially. I figure that the state and feds will want a piece of this because I'm involved, even if only in a small way. If they're willing to grant her residency or even citizenship, there'd be no reason to take the gold to another country."

"The US doesn't normally work that way, sir. You can't just buy your way in."

"If I hadn't personally seen it done a few times, I might believe that. They've dressed it up and called it something else, but it
has
happened and it
can
happen again. At any rate, finding a country that will grant her legal status is part of the deal. If I have to pack up my cat and and move with her, I can do that."

"I see. May I have some time to think this over?"

"You mean to try to find out more about Stephanie Montgomery?"

He paused momentarily, then said, “That, too."

"I can bring her to meet you and explain her situation, but we'll have ourselves a lawyer by close of business today, Mr. Wilmot."

"Why the big hurry, Mr. Howdershelt?"

"Because the lawyer will be handling the situation before word gets out and the government tries to clamp things down."

"Do you really believe that they'd try to do that, sir?"

I laughed softly and said, “I remember the battles over the Atocha's stuff. The state and feds and a dozen others tried to freeze things in various courts until they could dig up some vague reason for making claims against the treasure. Do you want to meet Stephanie before you say yes or no, Mr. Wilmot?"

He again tried to give me the impression that he was considering matters, but his questions had pretty much assured his interest.

"Yes,” he said. “Bring her to my office and bring samples of the treasure. I'll need to have them verified. How soon can you be here?"

"Fifteen minutes."

"I was under the impression you were in Spring Hill. That's fifty miles from here."

"I have the use of a flitter."

Finally, something had impressed him. “You have a flitter?"

"The use of one, as I said. Do you need more time?"

"Ah ... No. No, fifteen minutes will be fine, Mr. Howdershelt."

We signed off and I hopped to the driveway to open the garage door for Steph, then I retrieved the mail and went into the house to make a coffee for the road while she added the stuff in the garage to the pile on her deck. Before we left, I grabbed a small cardboard box to carry some sample items and put Stephie's CW passport in my pocket.

The chubby little man who met me in his office looked over the gold coins and one of the gold bars for a few moments, then asked that I provide some ID for his secretary to copy and place on file. I handed her my driver's license and watched her zap a copy of it, then place the copy in a manila folder.

"One of these coins will suffice to cover my time for the moment,” said Wilmot, taking one of the smaller ones and placing the other stuff back in the cardboard box on his desk. “If that's all right with you..?"

I shrugged. “Sure, but it's all you get if you don't sign on."

He handed the coin to his secretary and said, “Mrs. Javitz, make us a receipt for this, please."

She said, “Right away, sir,” and closed the door as she left the office. Wilmot pulled a magnifying glass from his desk and examined one of the other coins in more detail.

After a moment, he said, “She'll take pictures of that coin to accompany the receipt. We'll worry about its dollar value and fill in the blank on the receipt later. Let's go over what you expect of me one more time. Summarize, please."

"Residency or citizenship for the lady and you'll handle the quiet disposition and sale of the gold. Also any correspondence and news media that may be involved. Maybe some other stuff, but I'm not sure what that would be yet."

He nodded and spoke as he studied the gold bar with the magnifying glass.

"Acceptable. If these samples prove to be authentic, that is."

He looked up at me as he said the word ‘authentic'. I met his gaze and asked how long it would be before we could start selling gold.

"Well, first these samples will have to be examined by experts..."

"Time, Mr.Wilmot. Not who will look at them. How long before we have a dollar value on the stuff and start selling it off?"

He continued as if I hadn't interrupted him. “...And, of course, I'll have to meet the lady in question before I can agree to represent her. Did she happen to accompany you to my office?"

"She can be here in a flash,” I said. “But first, I want to ask you something. Can you truly be objective about someone's differences, even if those differences are somewhat extreme?"

"I've always believed so. Half my family is German-Jewish, so we understand rather well about being different."

Putting Stephie's CW passport on Wilmot's desk, I asked, “How do you feel about the Amarans?"

Wilmot picked up the passport and studied it for a moment, then put it back on the desk.

He said, “From everything I've heard, they're apparently just people like the rest of us."

I nodded. “Okay, then. I'll tell you something before you meet your prospective client. Stephie isn't quite
'people like the rest of us'
. She's not quite human, either."

Wilmot sat staring at me thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “I've heard no mention of nonhuman Amarans. Please clarify."

I said, “Well, she's not exactly an Amaran, either. Stephie, pop in here, please."

Stephie materialized in the air beside me and smiled at us, then extended a field-generated “hand” to Wilmot. For all his prior calm about the gold, Stephie's appearance—both her materialization and her similarity to Ingrid Bergman—seemed to shock him and leave him in awe of her. Once he'd rather mechanically shaken hands with her, she took the other seat by the desk. I rapped lightly on Wilmot's desk to get his attention.