by Dave Gerard
Schnizzel and I had worked madly for two days straight trying to confirm the insane theory we had come up with. I alternated between feeling delusional and feeling that I had finally found the answer we had been searching for all this time. I had stayed up all night thinking about how to convince Remington and the others to buy into it. I was running on adrenaline and Red Bull and nothing else. Even now, I wasn’t certain whether this was a dream. I had the coin briefcase with me. Its heavy handle felt reassuringly solid in my hand.
“Looks like we’ve got the whole gang here,” remarked Kruckemeyer. “I hope this is billable.”
Ashley was the last to arrive. “Sorry I’m late,” she said hurriedly as she sat down.
“Not at all,” said Remington. He stood up to greet her. A big silver belt buckle flashed as he moved. I realized this was the first time they had met. Remington introduced himself courteously, turning on the charm he usually reserved for juries and no one else.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ashley. I’m John Remington. Jack’s told me a lot about you. We’re very fortunate to have you as a client.” Ashley responded in kind, clearly taken by his cowboy charm. I could swear she even blushed.
“Okay, Jack,” said Remington, sitting back down in his chair. “You called us all here for a reason. What’s so important?”
I waited for everyone to quiet down and give me their full attention. Then I spoke. “We think we know what Rockweiller found,” I said simply.
“Really?” said Remington. There was an edge to his voice.
“Really,” I said.
I stood up slowly and opened the briefcase for all to see. Then I deliberately upended it, scattering the coins across the floor. They sank into the heavy carpet like so many overripe golden leeches. Everyone stared, captivated. I could be a showman too.
“Let’s go over what we know about these coins,” I said, putting on the most confident expression I could muster. “From the beginning, we’ve known these coins have something to do with David Marcum’s death.” This much was fair, and I saw agreement around the room.
“We know the coins originated in Southeast Asia, around the sixteenth century. We know this from dating techniques, and from the markings on the coins.” Schnizzel nodded, confirming this. “From the flight records we obtained,” I continued, “we also know that David Marcum was in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia when he disappeared. With this information, Professor Schnizzel began to research where the coins might have come from.”
I had to step cautiously for this next part. I was conscious of how my theories had been received in the past. “One possibility that Professor Schnizzel considered,” I said carefully, “was that the coins came from a shipwreck. Lloyd Gunthum and Excel Resources are in the salvage business, after all.” I saw the skepticism on Remington and Kruckemeyer’s faces, but I bulled forward.
“Now. Here’s the inflection point,” I said. I opened my laptop, and pulled up the video of Jason Dubino’s deposition. My heart was beating faster. “Last week, Richard deposed the crew of the Excelsior. One of the crew members, Jason Dubino, let slip that they had found something with the coins. What he was saying, we believe, was ‘cannon.’”
I played the video of Dubino saying “can—” at the deposition. I saw Remington and Kruckemeyer consider it. It was plausible.
“As Professor Schnizzel will tell you,” I said, “cannon are the primary means by which archaeologists identify old shipwrecks. If Rockweiller really found a cannon at the site, then there’s a good chance that’s what it is.”
Remington regarded me dubiously. “Okay,” he said finally, folding his arms across his chest. “Fine. I get that the coins are significant. And I know that Excel Resources is in the salvage business. So let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that Dubino really said cannon. That this theory is true, and not just some lark. How do you figure out what wreck it is?”
“Well that’s the thing,” I said. “We think we already know.”
Now I had their full attention. I nodded to Schnizzel, who unrolled one of the maps he had brought. He spread it across the floor. Everyone leaned over to look.
“Professor Schnizzel was able to identify a number of wrecks within a few hundred miles of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia,” I explained. “If that’s where David Marcum flew, we reasoned that the site must be close by. We also limited our search to high-value wrecks, the kind that would interest Rockweiller Industries. These are the targets that we found.” I placed a gold coin on each of a half-dozen places on the map.
“From the documents, I gleaned a few other pieces of the puzzle.” Cindy and Harder frowned at this. I hadn’t told them about the contracts. “Excel Resources entered into two consulting contracts, for services to be performed in Malaysia. One was with a company called Southeast Asia Salvage. The other was with a foundation that belonged to Suharto, the former President of Indonesia.”
I passed out copies of the contracts. Cindy and Harder flipped through them. I saw Remington and Kruckemeyer wondering what the hell the former President of Indonesia had to do with this.
“These two companies had something in common,” I said. “They both searched extensively for a certain shipwreck located in Southeast Asia. A shipwreck within striking distance of Kuala Lumpur. Both of these companies spent many years, and many millions of dollars, in pursuit of this wreck. Both failed, like all those that came before them. And there were many.”
Everyone was spellbound now. Whether they believed me or not, I had their attention.
“The ship they sought was one of the most famous that was ever lost,” I said. “In fact, many would say that it was the most famous treasure ship that sank anywhere, at any time, in history.” I saw them draw in a collective breath.
“This ship had a few distinctive pieces of cargo,” I continued. “These were described many centuries ago, when the ship was lost. There was a jeweled bracelet, which was said to protect its wearer from harm. There was a table of pure gold, made to serve a queen.”
I paused and looked at Harder. “The last notable objects were a set of lions, cast in bronze.”
“Bronze lions?” Harder repeated uncertainly. “You mean…you’re talking about what Dubino said. At the deposition.”
“Exactly.”
“And you think this ship…the one with the bronze lions…that’s what they found?”
“We do.”
“So?” Cindy interjected, bursting with anticipation. “What ship was it? Tell us already!”
“The ship,” I said, “was called the Flor de la Mar.”
The Flor de la Mar was a Portuguese carrack that sank approximately five hundred years ago. It went down in a place called the Strait of Malacca, which was a waterway off the northern coast of Sumatra. The Flor de la Mar was the flagship of a famed Portuguese conqueror named Alfonso de Albuquerque.
In 1511, Albuquerque had sacked a city-state called Malacca, which was then the richest city in all Asia. It was the crown jewel of the Malaccan Sultanate, and the port of call for many trading vessels in the region. Albuquerque had spent ten years plundering Southeast Asia, and the conquest of Malacca was the capstone of his voyage.
Albuquerque was a ruthless man, and the sack of Malacca was terrible. Thousands perished, and from then on, the city was ruled by the Portuguese for the next several hundred years. After he conquered Malacca, Albuquerque loaded his fleet with the fabled wealth of the Sultan’s palace and the richest merchants of the city. Albuquerque’s ships carried a fabulous sum of gold and jewels and other plunder, and the Flor de la Mar held the cream of the crop. It was said to have been the richest treasure ever gathered in the history of the empire.
Albuquerque set sail from Malacca, intending to return to Portugal. During his long sojourn in Asia, Albuquerque had fallen out of favor with King Don Manuel. Albuquerque’s enemies at court had poisoned the King again
st him. The fortune and fame he had amassed in Asia had fast eclipsed that of anyone else, and they were jealous.
These enemies whispered that Albuquerque plotted to usurp the King’s rule and declare himself a sovereign in Asia. This was not an unusual charge against admirals and viceroys of the time, all of them ambitious men who held great power at long distance from the Crown. From half a world away, Albuquerque could do little to assuage the King’s fears. But by bringing him the unsurpassed treasures of Malacca, Albuquerque hoped to silence his enemies and win himself back into the King’s good graces.
Flor de la Mar meant “Flower of the Sea” in Portuguese. The ship was worthy of the name, and its great white sails bloomed like a flower of the ocean. But although the ship was grand, it was also old, and had sustained damage over the long voyages.
Soon after Albuquerque set sail, a terrible storm hit his fleet. The storm caught the ships in the Strait of Malacca, between Malaysia and Indonesia. The fleet scattered, and the Flor de la Mar foundered on some treacherous shoals and sank. Albuquerque himself made a harrowing escape from the Flor de la Mar on a makeshift raft, and managed to make it to one of the other ships, the Trinidad. But Flor de la Mar, along with its cargo and everyone aboard, was irrevocably lost.
Everyone sat in silence for a long while after I relayed this tale. Remington and Kruckemeyer exchanged a long look. But there was no laughter this time.
Schnizzel stood up and addressed the room with unaccustomed seriousness. “Gentlemen and ladies,” he said. “If—and I do say if—we are right, the magnitude of this find cannot be overstated. The Flor de la Mar is widely considered to be the greatest treasure ship that sank. Ever.” He emphasized it to make sure we understood. “There has never been another like it. It can only be compared with fortunes that border on fable, like El Dorado, or Montezuma. The Borgias. This ship would instantly make its finder one of the richest persons in the world.”
There was silence for a while. I waited to see who would speak first. Finally, Remington did. “Show us where this ship went down,” he said.
Schnizzel crouched down by the map on the floor. “According to historical sources,” Schnizzel explained, “the Flor de la Mar sank off the coast of Sumatra. The exact location is a matter of some dispute. But it is believed to be somewhere in this general area.” He pointed to the northern part of the Strait of Malacca, bordered by Malaysia to the north and the island of Sumatra, a part of Indonesia, to the south.
“Who owns the Strait of Malacca?” Cindy asked curiously. It was a good question.
“Unclear,” said Schnizzel. “The Strait is bordered by Malaysia, Indonesia, and Singapore. Each of them have claimed jurisdiction over it at various times.”
“That’s why all the secrecy in this case,” I explained. “If anyone knew Rockweiller had found this, they’d have about five countries after them in a heartbeat.”
Kruckemeyer grunted. “That’s one hell of a rodeo.”
“Indeed,” said Schnizzel. “The Strait of Malacca is also one of the world’s busiest shipping lanes. It has been since ancient times. More than a quarter of the entire world’s oil and trade passes through there annually.”
“Holy…smokes,” said Harder, with a glance at Ashley.
“Yes. A hundred thousand ships sail through the Strait every year. It’s fraught with geopolitical tension. There are accidents, stand-offs, piracy, you name it. Quite the hotspot.”
There was silence for a while as we all contemplated this. Kruckemeyer looked thoughtful. Remington pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“What do you think, John?” Kruckemeyer asked him.
“I don’t know what to think,” he admitted.
Kruckemeyer nodded. “I know what you mean. I’m not sure whether Jack’s crazy, or whether this is crazy enough to be true.”
“Maybe if we show this to Judge Graves, he’ll reconsider his ruling on ultrasensitive information,” I suggested. “Then we could find out for sure.”
Remington shook his head. “No. If we show him this, Judge Graves will throw us in the loony bin. Maybe we can tease it out in discovery given enough time. I don’t know. But there’s a quicker way to skin this cat. It just depends how sure we are that Jack’s cockamamie theory is right.”
He sat for a while longer, meditating on it. Finally, he turned to Ashley. “Well, Ms. Marcum,” he said with a smile. “You’ve heard the theory, and you’ve heard the evidence. What do you think? Are you willing to bet that Jack and Professor Schnizzel are right? That Rockweiller Industries has found the wreck of the famous Flor de la Mar, and that’s what your brother got mixed up with?”
“Yes,” Ashley said without hesitation. “I trust Jack and Professor Schnizzel. I believe them.”
Remington nodded. He seemed to come to a resolution. “Then we’re decided,” he said.
Remington turned to me. “I want you to call Badden & Bock tomorrow and set up a settlement conference. Tell them to bring someone with authority to resolve the case. We’ll do the same.” Kruckemeyer nodded slowly, seeming to understand.
“A settlement meeting?” I asked, confused. “Why?” Remington ignored my question.
“You think it’s true, then?” Schnizzel asked him.
Remington regarded him skeptically. “Let me ask you something, Professor.”
“Sure.”
“You’re telling me that Rockweiller found an ancient Portuguese galleon. One of the richest vessels of all time.”
“Carrack, actually,” Schnizzel corrected. “But yes.”
“Whatever. And people have been looking for this ship for five hundred years.”
“Right. Since it sank in 1511.”
“And you’re sure that it sank here, in the Strait of Malacca.” He pointed at the map.
“Of that, I’m quite sure.”
“Okay. Assuming I buy all that, answer me this: how exactly does the Flor de la Mar, one of the greatest treasure ships of all time, stay hidden for five hundred years, in one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world? And how did Rockweiller find it now?”
“How, indeed?” said Schnizzel.
EIGHTEEN
At high noon exactly one week later, we walked into Badden & Bock’s lair in downtown Houston.
I didn’t know why Remington wanted a settlement meeting. The conventional wisdom was that it was better to let the other side ask for a settlement. That put you in a stronger negotiating position. Basically, whoever asked first was saying “uncle.” But I didn’t know if Remington held by the conventional wisdom.
The assistant up front was all smiles this time as she led us to a private room with a beautiful sandalwood conference table. It was festooned with food and drink. There were finger sandwiches, pastries, fruit, and Fiji water bottles piled high on a side table. I poured coffee and mixed it with cream and sugar. I took a sip. It was excellent. Cindy loaded up a plate with sandwiches and pastries while Schnizzel and Ashley chatted amiably about the university in San Marcos. Ashley was considering going back to school there. Remington just sat quietly, waiting, as if carved out of wood.
Presently, Bock & Co. filed into the conference room. Bock, Quinto, and Loudamire were all there. With them was a bland-looking man in his early fifties with gray hair and a tired expression. I recognized him as John Cartwright, general counsel for Rockweiller Industries. There was also a younger blonde woman. Assistant general counsel Stephanie Rivera. Finally, there were a pair of men with golf tans and confident expressions. They wore blazers with their shirts open at the neck. Rockweiller executives, I guessed.
Introductions were made. Then Bock waited for us to begin. But Remington just sat there calmly. He didn’t look as if he would say anything in a thousand years.
Bock cleared his throat and assumed his typically adversarial expression. He nodded to Loudamire, who handed out copies of a glos
sy folder entitled “Settlement Discussions – Privileged & Confidential.” I opened it and flipped through the contents. There was a lengthy typewritten part describing possible outcomes, risks, and acceptable negotiating parameters, followed by a bunch of graphs and charts. I didn’t see a number anywhere.
Bock clasped his hands together and addressed Remington. “I appreciate you reaching out to discuss settlement,” he began. “This document is intended to suggest a framework for negotiations. By engaging in such negotiations, we do not intend to imply an admission of liability. However, we believe this will aid in setting out the ways and means by which a settlement might be reached.”
The others nodded sagely. I doubted that any of them had read it, with the possible exception of whatever poor associate had put it together. Probably Loudamire, judging by her wrinkled suit and lethargic expression.
“As you can see,” Bock continued, “we’ve considered the nature of the unfortunate accident that befell Mr. Marcum. We’ve also considered the risks associated with litigation in this jurisdiction. We have taken into account the insurance coverage available. Further, we have estimated the size and probability of an adverse jury verdict, as well as the probability of likely outcomes on appeal. This is based on all available data. Page five contains a detailed itemization of—”
“Cut the shit, Bock,” Remington said evenly.
Their whole side of the table took a shocked step back.
“Excuse me?” said Bock, flabbergasted.
Remington paused to let the moment settle. “I know what this is about,” he said quietly. I felt the tension rise. I caught myself holding my breath.
“I don’t follow,” said Bock.
“I know what your client found,” said Remington. “That caused this whole mess.”