Spoils of the Game

by Lee Lamond

  “It is very nice to meet you, Dieter,” said Austin, trying to be polite. This man had to become Austin’s ally if things were to go well.

  Dieter handed Austin his card. He wasn’t actually a bank employee; he was a contract consultant who worked for several financial institutions and traded independently. Austin turned the card over and saw a long list of certifications and memberships that suggested that Dieter was well respected in the industry.

  Joost said, “Mr. Reif says that you have a significant inventory of recently discovered coins. Before we get into an initial appraisal, let me ask you a few questions, if I might.”

  Austin studied Dieter Joost’s face, his collapsing posture, and his thick glasses and found him fascinating. Here was a small man that had gained stature by being one of the best in his field. Austin respected people like that, and Joost somehow reminded him of Feret. He might not be the one that you would play touch football with, but sometimes having strength in the mind was more significant than muscles.

  “Mr. Clay, I’ll fill out an appraisal form that does not contain your name,” said Joost. “It is just a reference I use to establish value. This document stays with the bank and has no connection to you as an individual. I am not yet familiar with any of the details of your inventory, and we may find a lot more than is obvious at first glance.”

  “Well, ask what you must. I am not sure I have as many answers as you may want,” said Austin.

  “Mr. Clay, how many coins do you have?’

  Austin suddenly knew his answer was going to sound pathetic.

  “I don’t know.”

  Dieter Joost tried to be polite, but this was perhaps the first time that someone did not know this simple answer. “Well, we can do a count and give you an accurate number.”

  “I can tell you that it is hundred of pounds.”

  Again Joost reacted politely.

  “I packaged the coins in plastic bags and put the bags in individual boxes, and the boxes are in the cases here on the end of the table,” said Austin, who was trying to suggest that he was not a complete idiot. “Mr. Joost, you must understand that some unexpected events happened in the recovery of these coins, and in my haste to protect the coins, I did not have the opportunity to make a count or even clean them. The number is what it is.”

  “Mr. Clay, I assume that these coins were not stolen.”

  “Mr. Joost, these coins were found after significant research. They were removed from a very old ruin. There may be some that believe that these coins should be turned over to a government agency to be put into storage. As I mentioned to Mr. Reif, it is our intention to use the proceeds of this venture to underwrite research into neurological conditions that affect children. I do not plan on benefiting by a dime from any value you define. So far I have spent a lot of time and money on this effort, and I only want to complete this project and move on.”

  Austin had stated his case, and Joost now understood enough, especially about Austin Clay, to at least review the coins. “Mr. Clay, may I see the coins now?”

  Austin stood and reached for one of the cases. He broke the seals, removed a single cardboard box, and placed it on the table. Joost opened the box and removed a plastic bag. Before handling the coins, he put gloves on his hands and placed a cloth on the table. Reaching into the bag, he pulled out several coins and placed them on the cloth. His initial reaction was not what Austin expected. Apparently Joost was not easily excited. Austin would have liked a little excitement, to match the butterflies in his gut.

  “Mr. Clay, when these coins were found, were they mixed with soil, or were they in containers such as clay pots or boxes?

  “Pots.”

  “If you would indulge me, what do you know about these coins?” asked Joost, who appeared to be shrinking into his chair.

  “I was told that they were part of a ransom for two children that were captured about five hundred years ago.”

  “Were these children from Venice?”

  Austin was shocked. How had Joost known that?

  “Mr. Clay, can I look at another box?”

  Austin took two more boxes from the case and placed them on the table.

  Without discussion Joost looked through the coins as Reif sat to the side, watching the process.

  “Mr. Clay, do you only have coins, or were there any gold bars or disks mixed with this collection?”

  “No, the only thing in the pots was coins.”

  “Mr. Clay, I am sitting in the middle of a paradox. These coins have significance because of their history, but unfortunately they are fake.”

  Austin’s mind was fractured with the news. “Fake!”

  “I can tell by your reaction that you did not expect to hear that. Let me explain. When the ransom was paid, Venice had been in decline, and the war was rapidly draining the fortunes of the city. The boys were the sons of Roberto Piccolo, who had suffered several misfortunes, and the demands of the ransom were beyond his resources. The ransom was a calculated play that may not have worked as well as hoped. As some records have indicated, just after the boys were exchanged, the French may have discovered the fraud. The private solders hired by Piccolo were aware of this possibility and may have gotten the jump on the French, and before the French could coordinate their reaction, the Venetian may have killed them. Being worthless, the fake coins were apparently left at the meeting place for locals to pick up. The king of France may not have been aware that the gold was fake, and he wanted his gold, which has led to a five-hundred-year search for nonexistent treasure.”

  “Mr. Joost, have you heard of an individual named Maetan?” asked Austin, knowing now that he looked like a fool.

  “Is he the artist?” replied Joost.

  “He is the reason we found what you see before you.”

  “My compliments for your research, but unfortunately these are, without question, fakes. Let me show why I know this. First, the coins are too light in weight. It is apparent that these coins are primarily lead with a coating of gold. The gold was applied by using gold leaf, or sometimes they were successful in dipping lead blanks into molten gold, but this could result in an uneven coating and required some skill to be successful. Once a blank was made, it was struck using a screw press. Because the gold leaf or covering was ductile, the surface of the coin would conform to the shape of the die. Not all coins were perfect, but in a big pile or in a chest with many other coins, they might have been good enough. With your permission, let me cut this coin using some scissors.”

  “Go ahead. There is little more that you can do to me now,” said Austin with a halfhearted smile.

  Joost cut the coin in half, exposing the lead interior, and handed the pieces to Austin along with a jeweler’s loupe. Austin studied the samples, and it was very clear that Joost was right—too right.

  “Mr. Clay, let me show you another clue I saw as soon as we opened the bag. Gold is a noble metal with extremely high chemical resistance. Lead is attacked by a variety of chemicals, especially acids, such as in a car battery. The white edges that can be seen on some of these coins are probably a lead sulfur compound or other salt, the result of water being in some of the pots, especially if the pots were not glazed and compounds in the clay leached out with time. The salts develop around the edges and wherever there might be a pinhole. Do you see these blisters? They all have salts behind them. It probably would not have been seen if the coins were in the pots for a short time, but a lot can happen in five hundred years.”

  “Mr. Reif, could I possibly get some water?” asked Austin, whose mouth had gone dry with nerves. In a moment Reif returned with both water and a small dish containing two aspirin.

  “The aspirin was a good idea, but some single-malt whisky would be a better idea,” said Austin with a laugh. “Gentlemen, let me sum this up. You are saying that these coins are worthless and I have been the victim of a five-hundred-year-old scam.”

  “The answer is yes, but you are being overly hard on yourself,” said
Reif. “Mr. Clay, I have seen men come to this bank with diamonds that they paid million of dollars for, only to find that the Russian source gave them glass. I have seen men come to this bank with large gold bars that had all of the correct stamps and identification marks, only to learn that the bars were tungsten covered with two millimeters of gold. This type of thing is becoming commonplace, and men who are much more knowledgeable in these topics than you have lost millions.”

  “Tungsten?” said Austin.

  Joost reached for a small book that was in his case. “Mr. Clay, I have here a list of the relative densities of gold, copper, lead, and tungsten, along with several other metals. Each has it own specific gravity or density, and tungsten is very, very close to the density of gold. Other metals, such as lead, are much lighter than gold, and that is why when I held your coins in my hand, I knew immediately that they were fakes. Tungsten costs about thirty US dollars per pound, and gold is about twenty thousand dollars a pound. The potential for fraud is immense, and one must be very careful.”

  Reif continued, “There is a fear in the banking community that many of the gold reserves or collateral inventories are, in fact, fakes. It is possible that even your famous Fort Knox has been a victim. Mr. Clay, building a simple machine or detector that would allow for the easy confirmation of gold bars would make you a fortune overnight.”

  Joost looked over his glasses. “Mr. Clay, do you remember the movie The Maltese Falcon? That was a classic case of fraud. Everyone believed that it was gold, but under the black coating, it turned out to be lead.”

  “So what do I do now?” asked Austin. “Are these things of any value as historical items? I mean, can we make key chains or something out of them?” he said with a smile.”

  Both Reif and Joost laughed.

  Joost was quick to speak up. “Mr. Clay, the numismatic community is working hard to prevent or eliminate fakes. So my first thought is that I hope you will not undertake any effort to distribute these coins. Even though those who would purchase them from you might know they were fakes, they might try to resell them, and that is just a bad idea. A good, knowledgeable coin dealer or collector would know, but someone just starting out might not know. It is just something that we would not like to see. If you would like to make your key chains out of the coins, perhaps you could, but there are not enough to matter. There might be some interest in these coins as historical items, and we can check that out, but the value would again be much lower than you had hoped.”

  Austin said, “For the record, gentlemen, I was only kidding about the key chains.” Everyone laughed.

  “Mr. Clay, let me make a proposal,” said Joost. “I would like to write an article for one of the leading numismatic journals about your find. We would, of course, keep any reference to you out of the article. In the article I would tell the story of the ransom and perhaps a little of the find. The article would contain numerous photos of the hoard of coins and whatever you could tell me about where you found the coins. I would leave out anything that might provide a connection to you, and I would give you editorial control. Although this adventure did not provide what you wanted, in the numismatic world this will be big news. After the article is complete, the best approach will be to turn over the inventory of coins to the Italian Ministry of Culture and get any threat from those crazy people to go away. I think that I can get Mr. Reif to wave any fees to date, and there will be no connection with the coins unless you want there to be. The best way to make the Italians happy is to mention them in the article, and perhaps we can include one of their pictures, giving the world the impression that they were always in control. As I said, we can also arrange to have the coins returned to Italy, and they will never know they were ever here. The decision is yours. Let me write the article, and we can discuss in more detail once you review it.”

  “Do it,” said Austin.

  Reif left the room for a minute and then returned. Within a minute or two, his assistant, Danielle, returned with a silver tray, ice, glasses, and a bottle of single-malt scotch. A couple of drinks later, and Austin was feeling better.

  “Mr. Clay,” said Joost, “when you and your associates found these coins, you are sure that there were no bars or other large pieces of gold?”

  “No, there were just twenty pots of coins, or whatever you call these things. I do not believe that there were any other items that could have been bars or containers that could have held bars. Why do you continue to ask this question?”

  “Mr. Clay, there is strong historical evidence that there was real gold in the containers that the Venetians delivered. The only reason that the fake coins were produced was that Piccolo did not have any more than perhaps thirty or forty bars to his name. Even then, that was still a lot of money, and it is possible that the people Piccolo sent to rescue the boys recovered the bars. History can only tell us so much.”

  About twenty minutes later, Austin left the bank. He had gone in with big dreams and left with nothing and everything. The problem would be how to tell this to Madeline. Austin checked his watch; it was ten-thirty. If he left now, he could be in Milan in time to get the flight to Nice that left at six. He went to the hotel, checked out, and hit the road.

  The loss of the money left one big hole in the plan for Madeline’s nephew. Austin was going to contact a friend. If he had been thinking, he could have exercised this new plan B weeks ago, but things and relationships were a little different now. At about three o’clock, Austin got on his cell phone.

  “Carol, this is Austin Clay. Is Dr. Bill in?”

  “Oh, hi, Austin. How have you been?”

  “Carol, if I told you, you would be in tears.”

  “Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad.”

  “Carol, the last few weeks have been amazing, and I am getting too old to handle some of the things that I have been doing. I am in Italy now driving down their version of an interstate and I know the time is like six or seven hours different. Was I able to catch him?”

  “I would love to go to Italy, and yes, he is here. He is in Dr. Kennedy’s office. Hang on, I will get him.”

  After about two minutes, Dr. Bill Pearson came on the phone. Dr. Bill, as Austin called him, was one of the leading neurologists in the country and a man on the cutting edge of related technology.

  “Hey, Austin, you old snake, how the hell are you? Carol says you are in Italy.”

  “I’m doing fine, but something has come up, and I might need your help.”

  “No problem. How can I help?”

  “Well, I will spare you the details, but I have been dating a woman I met in France, and in her family there is a little boy who has a nerve condition that causes him difficulty in walking. The French doctors claim that there may be some technology that could help, but the red tape in the French health system limits his access to any solution.”

  “Do you know what the condition is?” asked Dr. Bill.

  “I heard an explanation, but I never got a name. Apparently he had an injury, and with time, things have gotten worse, and now he is in a wheelchair most of the time. I am not sure the injury was handled well or fully understood at the time. What I want to do is fly the kid to the United States and make sure he is getting a decent chance. I was told that if some current research was funded, a cure or at least an improvement in his condition might be achieved.”

  “Okay, let’s start from the beginning,” said Dr. Bill. “Before you send him over here, I want a copy of his records or as much information as his parents can get. If it helps with the red tape, have it sent directly to me here at the Mayo Clinic. Make sure I have contact information for the doctor. In the end, I might bring him here, or I might send him to a friend of mine. A number of trials are being run, and the results of one we are doing here are absolutely amazing. But before I get your hopes up, I have to understand what the problem is. When are you going to be back in the States?”

  “Well, I was going to be over here for about one or two months working on a pr
oject that Caroline started, and it just seems to be going on and on and on. When I get back, we will go fishing like we did last year.”

  “That was a blast. Good idea. Now, you know what to do, right?”

  “I think so. I will start the procedure in a few days, and maybe in a week or two, you should have what you need.”

  “Great. I will talk to you then, my friend,” said Dr. Bill.

  “Hey, thank you. I owe you.”

  Austin continued down the highway, cleaning up a number of unfinished issues.

  “Could I please speak to Marie?”

  “One moment, please.”

  “Marie speaking.”

  “Marie, this is Austin Clay.”

  “Oh, hello, Mr. Clay. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Has everything been done as we discussed?”