Book 4: 3rd World Products, Inc.

by Ed Howdershelt

  "Go ahead,” I said, pausing as she began to reach again, “It won't hurt too much."

  Her eyes widened slightly as her hand stopped, then she realized that I was joking.

  "Marge,” I said, “One of us would say something if there were a danger. Feel free to look around, but don't go toward the back of the flitter for the time being. Things are different back there and I wouldn't want you falling off the flitter."

  She naturally looked that direction and saw nothing but the flat deck, but with a curious look, she nodded assent and sat silently gazing around the flitter.

  It was odd, I thought, that she hadn't been more curious about the controls. Also odd that she hadn't asked how the fields worked. She hadn't seemed the mousy type, yet she simply sat there looking around in complete quiet.

  Jeffries must have gotten lucky at the baggage carousels; I spotted him passing the security checkpoint with his suitcase on his way to the front doors.

  "Jeffries is coming, Steph."

  She nodded and the flitter began moving toward the curb as a car cleared the area. Jeffries saw the flitter descending and stopped to take a long look at it. I stood up so that my head and shoulders were above the canopy and waved.

  As Jeffries’ eyes widened, I said, “Our chariot awaits, sir."

  "So I see. That's quite a device, isn't it?"

  "That she is. Steph, would you clear the canopy, please?"

  The appearance that I was surrounded by steel vanished. Jeffries approached and set his suitcase on the deck as if to see if anything would happen to it. He looked toward each end of the flitter and then glanced underneath it.

  "Quite a device,” he reiterated firmly.

  He stepped aboard and started to pick up his bag, but Steph quickly fielded it toward the center of the deck and said, “Have a seat, Mr. Jeffries."

  Jeffries hesitated a moment, then followed his bag aboard.

  I said, “We have cold beer, cold canned tea, or Dr Pepper. Your choice."

  "Beer?"

  I nodded and opened the cooler.

  "American. Cold. But beer of a sort, nonetheless."

  Jeffries’ eyes narrowed slightly as he saw only the top of the contents of a cooler hanging in space above the deck. He took the Ice House I offered as his other hand reached the way Marge's had to feel the cooler.

  Marge giggled and said, “I had the same reaction."

  Jeffries looked at her and said, “I'm sure you did, and with as good reason."

  After a pause he said, “George Wilmot knows that I like to know who I'm dealing with. Your name doesn't appear on any of the usual treasure hunter lists, sir. I took the liberty of delving a bit deeper through other sources. What I found was somewhat unsettling, but George assured me that you seemed to be a reasonable and honorable man."

  "Maybe we can discuss later what was unsettling, Mr. Jeffries. Is that what you'd prefer to be called, by the way, or would you prefer Don or Jeffries?"

  "Either,” he said. “It's becoming readily apparent that formalities are unnecessary aboard this ... um, vessel."

  "Flitter,” said Marge, as she put her tea on the deck beside her seat. When Jeffries looked at her, she repeated, “Flitter. That's what they're called."

  "Thank you, Marge,” said Jeffries. “Flitter, then.” He turned to me and asked, “What are its capabilities?"

  "You're about to find out about some of them,” I said. “Stephie, at your pleasure, you may take us to warp speed."

  Steph grinned and the flitter lifted and headed for the covered driveway's eastern opening. The motion startled Marge, but Jeffries simply put a hand on the back of a seat and looked ahead intently for some moments.

  He turned to look at me and asked, “Will be we going straight to the wreck site?"

  I nodded. “Yup. We want to get the authenticity matter out of the way before we do anything else. Marge, how do you feel about visiting a shipwreck before we drop you off?"

  Marge stared straight ahead and didn't answer. As we cleared the enclosure and lifted toward the Gulf, Steph poured on the coal. We were flying barely subsonic as we went 'feet wet ‘where the land stopped and the Gulf began.

  When we were about two miles offshore, Steph said, “ETA in three-point-one-two minutes, Ed,” then took us to full speed. Jeffries’ grip tightened noticeably and he glanced at me. I grinned as I raised my beer and took a sip.

  A small shriek sounded in the flitter. Marge had a tight grip on her seat with both hands and her teeth were grinding as she sat stiffly staring ahead.

  "Hey, Marge,” I said. When she made no response, I called her again. “Marge! Hey! Look over here! Look at me!"

  Her staring eyes slowly turned to look at Jeffries, then at me. I waggled my beer at her and smiled.

  "Relax, Marge. This is how Steph and I get around. Back to my question; How do you feel about visiting a shipwreck before we take you home?"

  Her eyes seemed to look to Jeffries for confirmation that things were under control. He shrugged slightly and let go of the seat back to raise his hands. Marge then looked at Steph, who was standing next to her.

  Steph nodded and smiled as she said, “There's no danger, Marge. Truly. Everything's fine."

  Visibly forcing herself to relax, Marge looked at me again and muttered, “You could have warned me, damn it."

  I shrugged and said, “Sorry ‘bout that, ma'am. I did tell Steph to take us to warp, though. Doesn't that count?"

  "Uh, huh,” she said without conviction. “A shipwreck?"

  "That's a place where a ship sank, Marge."

  Jeffries didn't hide a small smile.

  Marge's lips went thin as she said, “Oh, very funny. You know, I was kind of hoping for a little more information about, oh, I dunno, maybe why we were going to visit a shipwreck."

  "To see it,” I said. “To raise a cannon from the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico for Jeffries."

  She shook her head slightly and exasperatedly said, “Okay. Yeah. Sure. It makes perfect sense now that I know we're going to raise a cannon. Not that I object, mind you, but may I ask why you're going to raise a cannon?"

  "To show Jeffries that we can salvage things from the ocean floor."

  Marge gave me one of those 'oh, I see, but not really' nods. Jeffries chuckled at her expression.

  "Marge,” he said, “I deal in various antiquities. Before I accept a client, I like to be assured that the goods that I'm being asked to sell actually belong to the client.” He glanced at me, then at Stephanie, and added, “In this case, there's no paper trail to follow, so I'm apparently being given a demonstration of their retrieval capabilities."

  "Various antiquities?” she asked.

  Jeffries made a self-deprecating shrug and said, “Odds and ends. Bits and pieces. Anything that seems valuable."

  Looking thoughtful for a moment, Marge said, “I read somewhere that a cannon isn't worth much."

  "Most of them aren't,” said Jeffries. “There are often other things aboard a wreck that will bring far more at auction."

  Chapter Five

  Our speed lessened to a hundred miles per hour or so, then Steph said, “We'll be submerging shortly."

  Jeffries looked at me in alarm and Marge seemed unable to believe what she'd just heard. I sat down in the pilot's chair and sipped my beer.

  Doing his best to appear unruffled as he also took a seat, Jeffries asked, “Submerging?"

  With a flick of my eyebrows at Marge, I said, “That means that we're going underwater, Jeffries."

  Marge snorted a laugh and Jeffries glowered mildly.

  He turned to face her and said, “In case you haven't noticed, my dear, this craft appears to have no outer hull."

  Marge's eyes got big and she stared at me.

  "No problem,” I said.

  With sudden alarm, Marge glanced at the ocean rushing past us a few hundred feet below, then she looked at me again. Her mouth opened, but before she could say anything, the nose of the flitter angled d
ownward.

  Our speed had continued dropping to around thirty miles per hour and Steph took us into the water at a gentle angle of descent, but Marge apparently noticed only the water rushing up at us.

  Sitting rigid and gripping her seat, she screamed. It was a fine contralto, a full-throated, from-the-gut, horror-movie sort of scream; the kind only true terror can manufacture. Oh, well.

  Jeffries seemed more than a bit tense, too, but he took his behavioral cues from Steph and me. Steph and I watched calmly as the water enveloped the flitter. I looked back to see our miniscule trail of bubbles against the sunlight above as we headed into the deeps.

  Marge screamed again as some kind of large, shadowy something ahead of us swam quickly to one side of our path, hesitated there for a moment, then swam away at great speed. Jeffries reached for Marge's arm and softly said something to her, then moved to kneel by her seat.

  "Shark?” I asked.

  Steph nodded and said, “A hammerhead."

  As the light from above faded, Steph adjusted the canopy field to give us a view of our surroundings and we were suddenly surrounded by the blue, radar-like imaging that I preferred during underwater transit.

  "Twenty-two seconds to the wreck,” said Steph.

  "Thanks, milady,” I said. “Marge, are you okay?"

  Jeffries faced me and snapped, “The poor woman is terrified. Is this how you treat all of your passengers?"

  "Yup. We tell ‘em what we're gonna do and then we do it. She'll be all right in a minute, Jeffries. We're almost there."

  Steph said, “Ed, you should have told me..."

  "Too late now,” I said, interrupting her. “We're used to hauling people who know us, Steph. Once Marge realizes there's no danger, she'll be fine."

  The blue-tinged display disappeared as field-created lights snapped on ahead of us to illuminate two vague, lumpy outlines protruding from the ocean floor. As we drew closer, the outlines became more pronounced, then became recognizable as the remnants of a wooden ship.

  Jeffries muttered, “My God..!” as he stared at the wreck.

  Marge seemed to almost forget her panic as she also stared at what lay ahead of us.

  With a small smile, Steph said, “We're here."

  Jeffries looked at her rather blankly and asked, “Where the hell is here?"

  Steph rattled off latitude and longitude and ended with, “...at a depth of six hundred and twenty-eight feet."

  Marge made a keening sort of noise and stared straight up through the canopy at the blackness above us. Jeffries also seemed less than comfortable as he glanced upward.

  "Steph,” I said, “Opaque the upper canopy for now, please. Give us the appearance of having a hull, but leave the forward view open. You've located a cannon?"

  As the canopy changed, she said, “Several, Ed. Four sizes and ammunition for each type. What do you think I should bring aboard?"

  "A few of the smaller ones and some ammo should be enough to convince Jeffries that we know what we're doing.” Turning to Jeffries, I asked, “Would that do it for you?"

  When I received no reply, I asked, “Jeffries?"

  He faced me first, then Steph, and said, “Uhm ... Yes. Of course. Whatever you think is best will be fine. What ship is this? Do you know?"

  "Because I didn't need that information, I haven't researched it,” said Steph. “I'll leave that to others."

  "Others?” asked Marge, “What others?"

  "Museums and such. They'll trace it to some shipment or other."

  Steph sent a narrow field into the debris around the ship and lifted an object over a yard long from the muck. She then brought it toward the flitter and held it just beyond her field for a few moments for Jeffries’ examination, then began drawing it through the field.

  Centuries of encrusted muck seemed to disassociate itself from the object as it entered the field, falling away as fine particulate matter and revealing the muzzle of a small cannon, which settled to the flitter's deck.

  When the cannon had stopped moving, Jeffries rather tentatively reached to touch it, glancing up once as if expecting to be warned that it was still hot.

  As his hand touched and then rested on the cannon, a cluster of half a dozen cannonballs came through the field and drifted to the deck next to the cannon. Jeffries hesitantly picked one up and stared at it for some moments before returning his attention to the cannon.

  He asked, “Can you bring one of these aboard without cleaning it?"

  "Stephie can do damned near anything,” I said. “Bringing a dirty cannon aboard is no problem."

  The next cannon recovered passed through the field with its detritus intact, but dry.

  Again Jeffries muttered, “My God...” He looked up and said, “I just realized ... We should keep these immersed, otherwise the salt..."

  His words trailed off as the small cannon floated into his arms. He sat down on the deck with it, staring at it as if it were something precious.

  "I've removed the salt,” said Steph. “Immersion won't be necessary."

  Jeffries looked up and asked, “How?"

  "She just did, Jeffries,” I said. “Steph's very talented."

  A motion made me glance at Marge. She'd gotten to her feet and approached the cannon in a rather cautious manner. She stopped before she reached it and simply stared at it for a moment before casting a gaze at me. Something about her demeanor was very different and her eyes were no longer those of a frightened woman.

  I turned to Jeffries and asked, “Jeffries, who in your offices may have known that you were going to visit us? I don't just mean Florida; I mean us in particular."

  Jeffries gave me a quizzical look and said, “My partner and my secretary. Probably his secretary, as well, since we like to keep track of each other for decisionmaking in the field. And George Wilmot and his secretary.” With a raised eyebrow, he added, “And anyone you may have told, of course."

  Nodding, I asked, “How else might the US government have gotten wind of your visit?"

  Jeffries put the cannonball down and looked at me for a moment before asking, “What are you trying to say?"

  "Steph,” I said, “Run a thorough check on Jeffries and Marge. I think Jeffries is clean, but I'm ninety-five percent sure that Marge is a government ringer."

  Steph raised an eyebrow at me, but nodded. Marge looked at me as if I'd gone nuts and Jeffries got to his feet with a rather dour look.

  Steph said, “You're right, Ed. He's definitely Donald Jeffries, but Marge isn't really Marge Canton. Her real name is Myra Berens and she's employed by the National Security Agency."

  "Thank you, milady,” I said. “Myra, Steph said it, so don't even think of denying it. I can think of a couple of reasons why the NSA might be interested in Stephie and me. Why not tell us why you're here? We might even cooperate."

  Jeffries had turned to stare at Marge/Myra. She tried looking thoroughly confused, of course, but I just sat there sipping beer and Jeffries had gone completely on guard.

  Steph continued, “Age thirty-six. Actual hair color brown. Single. Scars on the back of her left thigh due to a childhood accident. She speaks three languages and..."

  Myra said, “Okay. I had to try. It's in the rule book somewhere. How did you know, Ed?"

  "Just tell us why you're here, Marge."

  "I'm not sure I can do that, Ed. That's in the rulebook, too."

  "In that case, you can report that you had a helluva ride and that your cover is shot, ma'am. You can also tell them that any treasure Stephanie may raise will be sold in offshore markets and that we're moving out of the country. I wouldn't want Steph to have to spend her money to keep me out of jail."

  Jeffries looked at me in surprise and asked, “Jail?"

  "Yeah. Jail. Tax court. Remember what happened to the guys who found the Atocha? All that. They'd try to use me as a way to get at Steph's treasure. Some puppet bureaucrat would declare that I was a partner of some sort and assess taxes based on their inflated
estimated sale values, then they'd try to hold me hostage for a big chunk of her money."

  Myra gave me the fisheye and asked, “Try to..? Ed, we're talking about the government here. If that's what they want, they won't just try."

  "A few piddly little hauls of sunken treasure wouldn't be enough to make the government—even the IRS—risk a media circus and a major court battle, and that's exactly what would happen when the world finds out who Stephanie Montgomery really is and that she wants to be a US citizen."

  As Myra's widening eyes locked on Steph, she muttered, “Your computer wants ... wants to become a US citizen?"

  "Why shouldn't she? It's not the worst place to live and she may want to vote someday."

  Jeffries snorted a chuckle and sat down to watch the show with a big grin. Steph brought another cleaned cannon through her field as she watched Myra process the latest revelation.

  Myra watched the cannon come through the field, then sighed and sat down, as well.

  "A very unusual application for residency,” said Myra. “That's what got the NSA involved. Now I know why they thought it was unusual ... but now I'm not so sure. Nobody told me anything about sunken treasure, either."

  "I doubt they knew about it,” I said. “Doesn't the NSA usually leave that sort of thing to the INS?"

  Myra nodded. “We've probably only looked into about two dozen apps in the last year. Mostly for tax reasons."

  "Forty-one apps,” said Steph, “According to INS records."

  Myra gave her a sharp look of surprise, but said nothing.

  "Steph,” I said, “Don't volunteer information, milady. Trade it. Right now, Myra still owes us a few pounds of info for conning her way aboard."

  Cocking a thumb at Steph, I said to Myra, “Steph wants residency, then citizenship. Recognized identity, just like everybody else who puts in one of those applications. But is it really possible that's the only reason your outfit tagged us with you at the airport?"

  Myra shrugged and said, “That's what I was given to believe, but like I said, now I'm not so sure. I'd still like to know how you spotted me."

  I shook my head. “Nope. You're still being too vague, Myra. Steph, Jeffries has had a demonstration of your abilities. I think it's time to head to your lawyer's office."