Fallen Pride (Jesse McDermitt Series) (4 page)

“You have a lot of them,” she said stepping closer to read the names. “This one on top, PX Kelley, who’s he?”

“Means I drink free anywhere. He was the Commandant of the Marine Corps, when I was in Beirut.”

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she appraised me with those bright green eyes. Then she walked around the bunk, her eyes not missing anything.

“We got company,” came Deuce’s voice over the intercom.

I took one of the bars out and placed it on the shelf. “Mind lifting the bunk for me?”

I put the chest back under the bunk, closed it, and took the single gold bar into the salon and placed it on the middle of the settee. Jackie and I stepped down into the cockpit, as two men in suits got out of near identical blue sedans, probably rentals. Both men were carrying briefcases. The shorter of the two reached into the back seat and took out a larger, square case. The two men looked around and then started walking toward Rusty’s house.

In my experience
, landlubbers are very predictable. To them, people can only live where roads go to and you can only find people inside of houses. A loud whistle came from the bridge, stopping the two men. When they looked our way, I motioned for them to come over.

Rusty and Deuce climbed down from the bridge
and the four of us waited in the cockpit for the suits. “Are you Mister McDermitt?” the taller man asked.

“Yeah,” I replied and nodding to the others I added, “This is Doctor Jackie Burdick, Deuce Livingston and Rusty Thurman. Come aboard, we can talk in the salon.”

“I’m Chase Conner Mister McDermitt,” the tall man said. “I’m with the Florida Department of Revenue and will also be representing the IRS.” Even at 0800 the temperature was already above 85 degrees and quite humid, but he was impeccably dressed in a dark blue three piece suit.

“I’m Owen Bradbury,” the other man said
, “of the Florida Historical Society. Thank you for inviting me. I’m surprised the federal government isn’t here to challenge ownership.” He too was wearing a business suit, but it was probably a couple of years old and off the rack. Both men were wearing the bane of my existence, hard soled black oxfords.

“Challenge ownership of gold that belonged to a foreign country that no longer exists?” Rusty asked. “It’d be
too expensive a court battle.”

“Take your shoes off before boarding. Hard black soles damage the deck.” Before either man could protest, I opened the hatch and stepped up into the salon, followed by my friends.

The two men entered the salon in bare, white feet, choosing to remove their socks, also. They stopped suddenly when their eyes found the gold bar, gleaming in the sun coming through the portholes.

Rusty and Deuce sat down on the couch to port and Jackie went behind the counter in the galley. “Mind if I get a bottle of water, Jesse?”

“Help yourself, Doc. Would you guys like a cup of coffee, or anything?”

Bradbury
ignored the question and went to the far side of the settee. He set his large case on the deck, sat down, and opened his briefcase. Conner still stood at the hatch, staring at the gold bar. His fixation was broken when Bradbury picked it up and began studying it, with a magnifying glass he’d pulled from his case.

“I thought it’d be bigger,” Conner said. “You said it was 110 pounds.”

“There’s another ten just like it,” Deuce said.

Conner looked at Deuce, then quickly crossed the salon, set his briefcase on the settee and slid over next to Bradbury. “Ten more like this?”

“We’re guessing the weight at ten pounds each,” I said. “Maybe Mister Bradbury could tell us better.”

Bradbury looked up, set his magnifying glass aside, pulled out a small, electronic scale and set it on the table. He turned it on, waited a few seconds and pushed a button on the front of it, holding it for a moment. When he released it, the numbers flashed all zeroes three times and he gently placed the gold bar on it. “
It’s precisely 150 troy ounces. That’s a little under 10.3 pounds. It certainly looks genuine and that’s the precise weight of the lost Confederate gold. I’ll have to run tests on all eleven to be sure.” Then he looked up at me. “There were reported to be twelve in the lost shipment. Did you not find them all?”

“My father found one,” Deuce said. “He was killed for it and the murderer sold it to a pawn broker who probably had it melted.”

“That’s a shame.” He reached down and picked up his larger case and opened it. Inside was an electronic device with small windows on two sides and a hinged top. “Do you have electricity?”

I took the offered cord and plugged it into a receptacle inside the cabinet behind him. He turned the device on and explained, “This is the latest in portable precious metal analyzers.
It can tell us within 1/1000
th
percentage point the purity of the gold. Stories about Confederate gold go back to the end of the war. Most finds are found to be forgeries. This one has the correct stamp and a date of 1864. Most of the bogus finds are convincing enough, in that they have the correct markings. Most, however, are gold plated lead. One case I read about was indeed real gold, but the incorrect purity. The forger used highly refined gold, like what is struck today. In 1864, the purity of Confederate bullion was .9985, that is 99.85% pure gold. Today, bullion has a purity of .9999, something no smelter of the 19
th
century could produce.”

He opened the hinged top, which revealed a small round window and some kind of electronics in the lid. He placed the gold bar over the little window and closed it. Then he removed a small laptop computer and pugged it into the device and turned both of them on.
After taping a few keys, he looked up. “Are you ready?”

We all nodded and he tapped a few more keys and looked at the laptop display. When he looked up, he was grinning. “Congratulations,
gentlemen. This bar is indeed 99.85% pure gold, not plated. More important are the trace elements.” Looking down at the laptop display he continued, “We’re showing .03% zinc, .04% copper, and .08% silver. These are the exact trace elements found in gold coins and bullion struck by mints in France in the 1860’s. You have most certainly found a shipment of lost Confederate gold.”

Deuce and Rusty high fived each other and Rusty exclaimed, “Hot damn!”

“What would you appraise its worth, Mister Bradbury?” Conner asked.

Pulling a calculator from his briefcase he said,
“This bar, at 150 troy ounces is worth $105,318. Assuming the other ten are the exact same weight, the total value would be $1,158,502.”

“That’d be the melt value, right?” Rusty asked.

“Yes, the historical value would be quite a bit more. Although not as much as if the entire shipment had been found together. I think I can say without equivocation, that the Museum of Florida History would be willing to pay $1.5 million to have these on display.”

“Two million,” I said, which caused Conner to smile.

“No, I don’t think the museum would go that high. I could probably talk them into going as high as $1.8 million.”

“Seems to me,
” Deuce said, “the Civil War Museum in New Orleans might be willing to pay a lot more. Seeing as how the bars were struck there.”

This brought a frown to both men’s faces. Conner, because he knew if the sale were in Louisiana, Florida would
have a court battle to prove the location of the find was in Florida waters. Bradbury, because he really wanted them at his museum.

“You know anyone in New Orleans, Deuce?” I asked.

“I do,” Jackie said. “It just so happens that my college roommate from my undergrad years is the curator of that museum. I have her number on my rolodex in the office. Want me to call my Chief?”

“No need for that,” Bradbury said, taking out his cell phone. “Is there somewhere I can make a call?”

“Down that ladder well,” I said, pointing forward. “First hatch to port is the crew cabin.”

Bradbury stepped down into the small companionway, looked left and right and then turned right into the head. A moment later he stepped out and crossed the companionway into the crew cabin.

It only took two or three minutes and he rejoined us. “Yes, Mister McDermitt, the Museum will be glad to offer you $2 million. I’ll have the necessary documents overnighted to me and we can settle the transaction tomorrow. I’ll arrange for an armed security detail until then and they will transport the bars to Tallahassee.”

“Transport any way you like, but
no armed security detail is going to be aboard my boat, unless I know them.”

“I wish you’d reconsider, Mister McDermitt. If word gets out about this, there could be trouble.”

“Captain McDermitt is no stranger to trouble, gentlemen,” Jackie said. “I removed a bullet from his spine just a few months ago. My guess is the man that did it is no longer among the living.”

“If you insist,” Bradbury said.

I knew Conner was waiting for his turn to speak and he did. “Since the find was inside the state’s three mile limit and the sale of this gold is going to take place in the State of Florida, the state will receive 25% of the proceeds. I will also have the requisite paperwork drawn up and overnighted if you have agreed on the price.”

“Two million is a good price,” I said. “You have a deal, Mister Bradbury.” I extended my hand and he took it, sealing the bargain.

“I’ll have a cashier’s check drawn up. Who shall I make it payable to?”

“Better make it to Rusty,” I said. “He holds the salvage license.
”

The two men left and I put the gold bar back with the others, under the bunk.
Coming back into the salon, Jackie asked, “Who’s up for breakfast? My treat.”

“Not me,” Deuce replied. “I
had a bite to eat a couple of hours ago.”

“I have to go to the bank and set up an account,”
Rusty said with a sly grin.

Jackie turned to me and smiled. “That just leaves you and
me and I don’t see any dirty dishes in your sink.”

“Wooden Spoon?” I asked.

“Good choice, we can take my car.”

“I don’t fit into those sporty cars very well, Doc. Mind if we take mine?”

My car isn’t really a car. It’s called
The Beast
. It’s a beat up 1973 International Travelall 4x4. Not long ago, my friends did some work on it for me while I was in the hospital, swapping the worn out gas engine for a big, powerful, brand new diesel engine, transmission, transfer case, axles, interior, and a host of electronics. They presented it to me the day I was discharged. That was when Jackie stepped in front of a bullet meant for me.

“Do you have a ladder so I can get in it?” she asked.

We said goodbye to Deuce and Rusty on the dock and I couldn’t help feeling the two of them were dodging breakfast on purpose to try to get Jackie and me together. The two of us walked around to the far side of the property where
The Beast
was parked. She didn’t need a ladder, though it was a bit of a climb.

After a late breakfast,
we talked over coffee for an hour and then I drove Jackie back to the
Anchor.
She had some patients she needed to check on and headed back down to Boca Chica Naval Hospital. I walked down to the
Revenge
and saw that Pescador was in his usual spot in a corner of the cockpit. He lifted his head and looked at me expectantly. I pulled a bag from my pocket and tossed him half a T-bone. He caught it in the air and held it, while he looked at me, waiting.

“Go ahead,” I said. He sat down and started tearing big chunks off the bone and swallowing them whole. “Stay here, I’ll be back in a little while.”
I walked to the bar and went inside. Deuce and Rusty were eating an early lunch.

“Not hungry, eh, Deuce?”

“Well, it was real early when I had breakfast.”

“How’d it go with the Doc?” Rusty asked.

I straddled a chair at the table. “We’re friends. That’s all.”

“Hey, it was her idea, man,” Rusty said. “You need to move on that, she ain’t gonna wait forever.”

“How’d it go at the bank?”

Rusty swallowed a bite of his fish sandwich before answering. “Everything’s all set. As soon as the deposit’s made, Pam’ll send a cashier’s check to Mister McCormick by courier and make the transfers to yours and Rusty’s accounts.”

“I still don’t like it, me getting a double share,” Deuce said. “It’s not right.”

“Sure it is. Look,
me and Jesse knew your old man when you were just a kid. I can’t count how many times he said he wanted you, and every Livingston after you, to get a college education. You got no say here, son.”

So, w
e agreed to split it five ways, $300,000 each to me, Jackson McCormick, Rusty, Deuce, and the last share to Russ. His share would go into a trust fund for the education of his future grandchildren. Deuce tried to protest again, but neither Rusty, nor I would have it any other way.

Deuce rolled his eyes and said, “Damn stubborn Jarheads.
What are you guys going to do with the money?”