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

"The maneuver was easily within my operational capabilities."

"Oh, obviously so, ma'am. Yes, indeed. But at that time, it wasn't within mine. Remember how I reacted to that ride? Isn't that what you wanted earlier?"

"I suppose it was."

"Does it make you feel better at this moment to remember that moment?"

A very small smile had formed on her floating face.

"You can admit it,” I said. “Go ahead."

"Yes,” she said. “I suppose it does."

I stood up and said, “Well, cherish it, lady, because I'll do my best never again to be that startled by something you do. Can you live with that?"

Her smile grew somewhat larger as she said, “I think I'll manage."

"Good. I'm going inside now. You're lucky that Tiger didn't water your upholstery, you know. He's a tough, smart little guy, but that was a helluva trick, Steph."

She looked sheepish enough as she said, “I won't do that again, Ed."

"You can uncross your fingers, Stephie. Just don't do those things while Tiger's aboard, okay?"

Her slightly smiling, disembodied face nodded. “Okay."

The phone rang as I entered the house. It was Lynn Harper, calling on her cell phone for directions to the house. Hearing her voice brought an image of her to mind; a short, energetic brunette in her forties who seemed never to stop moving or talking. I doubted that she needed directions and suspected that the call was nothing more than verification that I was home before she detoured for a visit.

She'd insisted that I call her back before the end of February so that she'd know whether she'd have to use standard methods of looking for a couple of sunken Spanish ships. When I hadn't called her back by February 21st, she called me and made her pitch again, insisting that she should drop by the house to discuss matters, since she'd be going through Spring Hill on her way back to Tampa, anyway.

She had been very persistent, and I had finally acceded and told her to drop by in the afternoon. I was putting some tools in the garage when a car horn beeped from the street. The short brunette who showed up in a white ‘99 Lexus had a big smile and an image problem. Her
'just us folks'
persona wasn't a side of her that had been evident at the party and it seemed rather forced when compared to her moderately exorbitant wardrobe and jewelry.

"Hello,” she said, getting out of the car. “You don't keep your flitter in your garage?"

"There's no room in the garage."

After shaking hands with her, I walked around the car as if admiring it and noted that the license plate was not that of a rental. Lynn tucked her briefcase under her arm rather than carrying it by the handle.

She glad-handed me again on the way to the front door and she was a little too effusive with compliments about my ‘lovely, lovely house’ and ‘my lovely, lovely neighborhood'. When she spotted Tiger in the kitchen window, he was immediately labeled a ‘lovely, lovely cat'. Everything was just a little too ‘lovely’ to suit me.

I took her mannerisms as a sign of nervousness or excitement at the prospect of getting a project underway until Tiger came to meet her. He endured her touch and presence only briefly before he excused himself to the back porch. Tiger normally spent a bit more time in coming to his decisions about people and I couldn't remember a time that he hadn't at least stuck around nearby to observe or annoy a visitor, but he seemed to want nothing to do with Lynn Harper.

Lynn again presented me with her plans to look for treasure in the waters around Florida in only slightly more detail than she had at the party without divulging anything of significance, including the names of the ships. She played a videotape that contained only footage that I'd already seen on the Discover channel and then handed me an expensive-looking prospectus from her self-owned company. When she really began to grate on me, I excused myself to go to the bathroom and called Steph.

"Treasure hunters can delude themselves, Steph. I was hoping that this woman would be able to guide you toward a better chance of finding something, but she doesn't really strike me as being good partner material. Check salvage records for that area she mentioned and check her out, too. Does her story track?"

"Checking now, Ed. Why are you so suspicious of her?"

"To me, she rings like a cracked bell, Steph. She comes on like a hustler. Tiger didn't like her, either, and he's usually ready to soak up any attention he can pry out of anyone. I'll bet that the maps she showed me aren't even of the same part of the ocean that she says she wants to search."

"Would you happen to have any"—Stephie cleared her artificial throat—"perhaps more
substantial
reasons for distrusting her?"

"No. She just reminds me of an overdressed TV evangelist. I think she's all hype."

"Well, she checks out as having been involved in several search efforts, Ed. Until recently she's been engaged in raising funds for other peoples’ treasure hunts and marketing the results."

"Only the money ends of things? No actual experience searching for treasure?"

"There's no record of her being involved in the actual search efforts, just the planning stages, fundraisings, and marketing of treasures. Regarding the areas she's mentioned, I can't find any record of anyone searching or finding anything in any of them. That may only mean that logistical difficulties have ruled out those regions."

"Doubtful. On a couple of the charts, the water was only nine to twelve fathoms. I guess it's time for her to meet you in person, Steph. I'm going to turn her down for now, but a ride will impress her enough to keep her on tap in case we happen to need her later for anything. One thing, though. I'll pretend to be issuing orders. You pretend to be just a simple computer around Lynn. If she thinks that you're even close to being sentient, she'll try to con you into something."

When I returned to the living room, I told Lynn that we'd meet Stephanie outside and raised my watch near my face as I said, “Stephanie, come to the house."

Steph's voice came from my watch. “Yes, sir."

With a quizzical glance at my watch, Lynn asked, “Is that how you control your flitter? Voice commands through a wristwatch?"

"Pretty neat, huh?"

I led the way to the front door with no further explanation. Stephie landed in her usual manner, which is to say that she dropped into view and stopped so quickly that it almost appeared as if she'd materialized a foot or so above my driveway.

"Lynn, Stephanie. Stephanie, Lynn. Let's get aboard and go for a ride."

Once we were seated, I raised my watch and said, “Up to ten thousand feet, Stephanie."

"Yes, sir."

Steph announced our arrival at that altitude as if she'd been fresh off the assembly line, saying, “We are now at an altitude of ten thousand feet, sir."

"Forward, Stephanie. Speed one hundred miles per hour."

"Yes, sir."

Lynn said, “That's all you have to do? Tell it how fast, how high, and how long? It looks as if just about anyone could fly one of these."

"Just about anyone could, but not this one."

"Why not this one?"

I handed her my watch. “Try it."

Lynn examined at the watch as if looking for a way to turn it on. I leaned toward her and said, “You don't have to press any buttons or turn it on. Stephanie, stop."

As our forward motion ceased, she said, “Yes, sir."

Lynn stared in big-eyed nervousness around the flitter. Everyone did that, it seemed. They all expected to fall from the sky when the flitter stopped.

Sitting straight again, I said, “Now you try it."

Lynn collected herself enough to raise the watch to her lips and said, “Stephanie, go forward. Uh, like before. One hundred miles per hour."

Stephanie neither answered her nor moved. Lynn glanced at me, then repeated her command less hesitantly with no better results.

I leaned toward the watch again and said, “Stephanie, reverse course and return us to the house, same speed and flight path."

"Yes, sir."

Stephie instantly turned us around and we headed back. Lynn handed me the watch and I put it back on my wrist.

"Why didn't it work for me?"

I said rather flatly, “Because you aren't me. All personal flitters are like that."

That was truthful enough. Fresh off the factory line, they were like that. After the ride Lynn again pitched her proposal, which basically amounted to her supplying research data and me using Stephie to search the seabed.

Lynn said, “Look, I know it sounds as if you'll be doing all the real work, but that's why I only want thirty percent of whatever we may find. I'd want a full fifty percent of any royalties from sale of the video footage and such, and I may write a book later, in which case we'll share those proceeds, as well. Are you ready to go to work?"

"I don't think so,” I said. “A lot of people have wasted a lot of time looking for treasure. I'd hate to become one of them and I do have other commitments."

She redoubled her efforts to convince me with intense and circuitous reasoning, which only made her more closely resemble one of those televised religious hucksters. After a few minutes of that, I sighed and stood up.

"I'm afraid that the answer is ‘no'. Thanks for stopping by, Ms. Harper."

She kept pitching all the way to the door, but when it finally occurred to her that I truly had no interest in working with her, she turned into a verbal viper, castigating me for having wasted her time. I reminded her that she'd badgered me for the visit, but she was making enough noise on her way to the car that I doubt that she heard me.

As Lynn turned to head toward US-19, Steph asked, “Have you come up with any valid reasons for distrusting her?"

"I just don't like something about her, Steph."

"Could it simply have been a personality clash? I've read about those."

"Sure it could, Steph. In fact, I'd damned near guarantee it in her case. But we don't need her to look for sunken ships."

Steph materialized her holoimage between me and the kitchen sink.

"
We?
You're going to help me?"

"If you wouldn't mind, yes. I don't know what I'll actually be able to contribute to your effort, but if you'd like a cheerleader..?"

Steph grinned and said, “Sure! But is excluding her really fair? Wasn't looking for those ships her idea?"

"Treasure hunting isn't
her
idea, Steph. It isn't even a new idea. If you want to search for sunken treasure, you can soak up all known info and go looking for it on your own. That ol’ girl just wants you for your body, ma'am. You'd dive, search, retrieve, and do all the scut work while Lynn sat in an office and took thirty percent of the find and a fat commission from selling the results. She's absolutely unnecessary."

"But she mentioned a team of divers using archaeological techniques."

"She doesn't know that you can use your field to pick up a dime on the sidewalk as easily as you could lift a small car, Steph. She thinks you're just a flying submersible pickup truck, and I didn't buy her spiel about archaeologists on the dive team. She said that wreck sites would be reported to appropriate agencies, but only after she's through with them. Her concern is finding treasure and turning it into money. She doesn't give a rat's ass about preserving wreck sites while there's gold in them."

Elkor asked through my implant, “Are you particularly concerned about preserving wreck sites, Ed?"

"Not the Spanish plunder ships. According to documentaries I've seen, the wood of the ships is usually beyond salvage for even archaeological interests, and things like cannons aren't worth enough to justify bringing them up by usual methods. I'd probably grab everything of saleable or historical value, sell some of the stuff and donate the rest to museums, then report the wreck site locations."

After a moment, Elkor said, “Confirmed. At many such wreck sites, no efforts have been made to retrieve cannons and similar large fixtures."

"Steph,” I said, “We have a couple of things to do this weekend, so you can start looking for treasure on Monday, if that's all right. In the meantime, you'll need to pick a last name so you can get some ID to open a Swiss bank account."

"Monday's fine with me. May I use your last name, Ed?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea. You're likely to be too successful and drive my taxes through the roof."

"Well, then, how about
'Montgomery'
, after the actress who played a witch?"

"You like those old shows, don't you? Okay, that one would work. You'll need a private, numbered account, and for that, you'll need some ID, like a passport. Tonight we'll contact the
'Citizens of the World'
people in London. They supplied their passports to the Ugandan refugees in the seventies and eighties, and if Andrew Franks is still with them, he owes me a favor for saving his ass in Angola in 1978."

"That isn't the way such things are usually done, Ed. This sounds somewhat devious and evasive."

"Shortcuts usually are. On the other hand, the CW passports are instantly available and were considered valid enough to help a UN delegation get several political refugees out of a Ugandan prison some years ago. London's about four thousand miles from here and five hours different, so we'll make the trip last three hours and I'll catch a nap on the way."

I packed a few things for the trip, including Tiger in his Elkor-carrier, an Army-issue field jacket and liner, my cowboy boots and backpack, and a sleeping bag, and we boarded Steph. We arrived at nine in the morning, London time, and parked in the street outside the CW office. When I stepped off the flitter, the early morning chill of late-February London reached me quickly despite my field jacket and boots.

Ignoring the gawkers on the sidewalk, I left Tiger and Elkor aboard Stephie and went inside, where a cute—but rather skinny—secretary invited me to a seat near her desk. When I asked about Andrew, she informed me that Andrew had been retired for a few years and that his daughter was now running the office.