genuine shipwrecks and the like, well, there’re a lot of people out there doing that these days—actual companies, in fact.”
George suddenly realized exactly where Meier was going. “I think I can narrow it down for you, Hank,” he said. “What ‘lost treasure’ is out there that there’s a well-known sample of? Like Doctor Meier’s gold coin, for instance?”
“Ah, right… Well, I’d have to look through the database for an accurate number, but I’d say it’s in the hundreds just for the NYMM. But all this stuff has been tracked numerous times without success. I seriously doubt that…”
As Hank droned on, Dr. Meier and George shared a look.
“Hundreds?”
Dr. Meier knew that Matthew was ignoring his calls. He decided to have Tuni call him from her cell phone to increase the odds of his answering. It worked.
“This is Matt,” he answered after two rings.
“Hello, Mr. Turner, this is Tuni St. James.”
Where did he know that name from? Interesting accent.
“What can I do for you, Tuni?”
The ambient noise told her he was driving. She sat in the leather chair in the corner of the office, with Dr. Meier, George, and Hank hovering over her. Their script, with explicit notes, sat on her lap as she twirled her long hair with a lazy finger.
“I have a proposal for you. I understand you have a talent for tracing lost gold.”
Matt let off the gas a little and held the phone tight to his ear. “Okay…”
“My employers have access to a piece of silver that washed up on a beach a long time ago.” She paused but heard only the soft hum of the moving car. “It’s from a well-documented vessel that sank with chests of silver destined for the Confederate army in 1864. Would you be interested in recovering it?”
“Tuni, is Doctor Meier standing near you?”
She looked up at the director and mouthed, “He knows.”
Meier shrugged. If Matthew wasn’t hooked at this point, there was nothing else they could do. He nodded for her to continue.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, he’s standing over me right now, wearing a green and charcoalpatterned sweater vest.”
“Please put him on the phone,” Matt said evenly.
She handed Meier the phone.
“Matthew?”
“Why are you playing games, Doctor?”
“Well, my friend, I realized that I needed a bit more of an incentive for you to help out with this very important situation. It just so happens that the doubloon to which you helped yourself is not unique in its potential. The silver coin Tuni spoke of is very real, sitting in the safe in my office, and would very likely lead you to an estimated twenty-seven million dollars’ worth of its brothers at the bottom of the Atlantic.”
A long silence followed. Meier could hear that Matt had stopped driving. At last, he spoke.
Matt finally said, “You told her about me?”
Meier glanced at Tuni, “Your techniques are safe, Matthew. I thought I made that clear.”
“I hope so, Doctor. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
Meier hung up, handed the phone back to Tuni, and smiled.
“He’s coming tomorrow.”
As George and Hank high-fived, Tuni stood up. “Are you done with me, Jon?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” he beamed. “And well done, Tuni. I’ll need you here early tomorrow, though—I’d like you to escort him when he arrives.”
“Very well,” she replied, and turned on her heel to leave.
“Oh, and I’ll need you to accompany him to Kenya.”
She turned and looked at him coolly. “You’re out of your mind, Jon. How many millions would I get for such a trip?”
To George and Hank, he said, “Please excuse us, gentlemen.”
Matt despised everything about flying. For one thing, he had to remove his gloves and shoes to go through security. And his bags would be intermingled with other people’s luggage. This was no risk to him, as imprints could not be passed, but it was gross. He had to sit in seats previously occupied by hundreds, perhaps thousands, of utter strangers. He also
George suddenly realized exactly where Meier was going. “I think I can narrow it down for you, Hank,” he said. “What ‘lost treasure’ is out there that there’s a well-known sample of? Like Doctor Meier’s gold coin, for instance?”
“Ah, right… Well, I’d have to look through the database for an accurate number, but I’d say it’s in the hundreds just for the NYMM. But all this stuff has been tracked numerous times without success. I seriously doubt that…”
As Hank droned on, Dr. Meier and George shared a look.
“Hundreds?”
Dr. Meier knew that Matthew was ignoring his calls. He decided to have Tuni call him from her cell phone to increase the odds of his answering. It worked.
“This is Matt,” he answered after two rings.
“Hello, Mr. Turner, this is Tuni St. James.”
Where did he know that name from? Interesting accent.
“What can I do for you, Tuni?”
The ambient noise told her he was driving. She sat in the leather chair in the corner of the office, with Dr. Meier, George, and Hank hovering over her. Their script, with explicit notes, sat on her lap as she twirled her long hair with a lazy finger.
“I have a proposal for you. I understand you have a talent for tracing lost gold.”
Matt let off the gas a little and held the phone tight to his ear. “Okay…”
“My employers have access to a piece of silver that washed up on a beach a long time ago.” She paused but heard only the soft hum of the moving car. “It’s from a well-documented vessel that sank with chests of silver destined for the Confederate army in 1864. Would you be interested in recovering it?”
“Tuni, is Doctor Meier standing near you?”
She looked up at the director and mouthed, “He knows.”
Meier shrugged. If Matthew wasn’t hooked at this point, there was nothing else they could do. He nodded for her to continue.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, he’s standing over me right now, wearing a green and charcoalpatterned sweater vest.”
“Please put him on the phone,” Matt said evenly.
She handed Meier the phone.
“Matthew?”
“Why are you playing games, Doctor?”
“Well, my friend, I realized that I needed a bit more of an incentive for you to help out with this very important situation. It just so happens that the doubloon to which you helped yourself is not unique in its potential. The silver coin Tuni spoke of is very real, sitting in the safe in my office, and would very likely lead you to an estimated twenty-seven million dollars’ worth of its brothers at the bottom of the Atlantic.”
A long silence followed. Meier could hear that Matt had stopped driving. At last, he spoke.
Matt finally said, “You told her about me?”
Meier glanced at Tuni, “Your techniques are safe, Matthew. I thought I made that clear.”
“I hope so, Doctor. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
Meier hung up, handed the phone back to Tuni, and smiled.
“He’s coming tomorrow.”
As George and Hank high-fived, Tuni stood up. “Are you done with me, Jon?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” he beamed. “And well done, Tuni. I’ll need you here early tomorrow, though—I’d like you to escort him when he arrives.”
“Very well,” she replied, and turned on her heel to leave.
“Oh, and I’ll need you to accompany him to Kenya.”
She turned and looked at him coolly. “You’re out of your mind, Jon. How many millions would I get for such a trip?”
To George and Hank, he said, “Please excuse us, gentlemen.”
Matt despised everything about flying. For one thing, he had to remove his gloves and shoes to go through security. And his bags would be intermingled with other people’s luggage. This was no risk to him, as imprints could not be passed, but it was gross. He had to sit in seats previously occupied by hundreds, perhaps thousands, of utter strangers. He also
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