Book 4: 3rd World Products, Inc.

by Ed Howdershelt

  "That was rather entertaining,” he said. “I saw her reaction as you appeared and came in, then I saw her turn around and follow you."

  He mimicked my 'Kann Ich sie hilfen?' and chuckled as he extended a hand.

  Shrugging, I took his hand. “Hey, it worked, didn't it?"

  Jeffries laughed outright. “Don't be too sure. Some old friends of yours have an office in this building, Ed. She's one of them."

  I scanned the signboard that I'd pretended to read earlier. In the seventh row of names I saw one I recognized. 'Solutions, Ltd., suite 700'.

  "Huh. Be damned. She works for Solutions?"

  He nodded. The elevator chimed and the doors opened. As we entered, rapid footsteps sounded in the hallway. The woman appeared in the elevator doorway.

  "Mr. Jeffries,” she said crisply, “Do you know this man?"

  Jeffries smiled and said, “As it happens, I do. He's here to see me, Miss Hodge."

  Looking at me, she asked Jeffries, “Do you know his nationality?"

  "Yes, Miss Hodge."

  When he said nothing else, she glanced at him and asked, “Well?"

  "Well, what, Miss Hodge? Is there some reason in particular that you're interested in this man?” He nodded at the door and said, “We'd really like to get underway."

  She hesitated for a moment, then said, “I see. Sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Jeffries,” and backed out of the doorway, never taking her eyes off me.

  After the doors closed, I grinningly sighed as if in relief. Jeffries laughed and pointed at the camera in the top corner of the elevator.

  "By now the security people are trying to match your face,” he said. “Since they're very good at such things, we can probably expect company soon."

  "Is your office secure?"

  "Against a determined use of today's devices? Hardly likely.” He poked the 'seven' button and said, “So let's introduce you before we go to lunch."

  The doors opened on the second floor but we didn't exit the elevator. On the seventh floor Jeffries led the way out of the elevator and down the hall to suite 700, where he said hello to the receptionist through an intercom by the door.

  She told him to please wait a moment, then the latch buzzed and Jeffries pushed the door open to proceed. We found ourselves facing two large men and two solid-looking women, one of whom politely asked for my passport, which was in my briefcase and therefore not publicly accessible. None of them were openly armed.

  "Sorry,” I said, “A driver's license will have to do. Mind if I reach for it?"

  "Do so carefully, please,” said the woman.

  I opened my wallet and handed my license to her. She studied it for a moment, then said, “Florida. You're American. Where's your passport?"

  "In my briefcase. Why don't you run an in-house check on my name and see what you find? 1973 through 1981. Africa, mostly."

  "You're saying you were with Solutions back then?"

  "Yup. Before it was called Solutions. Check it out."

  "We will. Why are you here now?"

  Thumbing at Jeffries, I said, “To see him. You guys just happened to be in the same building. It's a real, live coincidence."

  All she said was, “Hm,” which made me think she probably shared my own dim view of coincidences in general. She used the photocopier by one wall to copy my license, then handed it back to me and said, “Please make yourselves comfortable out here for a few moments. Would you like some tea?"

  "Yes, please,” said Jeffries.

  "Coffee for me if you have it,” I said. “Black is fine."

  She nodded and signaled the other woman to go with her as she entered the inner offices. The two big guys took chairs some distance from us, their hands in their laps—and therefore close to their shoulder holsters—and looked casually alert.

  I turned to Jeffries and said, “I have a new driver these days. Steph turned the reins over to a lady named Susanne."

  Jeffries cocked an eyebrow and asked, “The same, um ... kind of woman?"

  "Yup. Just as talented, too, and stunningly beautiful. Jealous yet?"

  Grinning, he said, “Oh, of course. I look forward to meeting her. Stephanie did come with you, didn't she?"

  Nodding, I said, “They're both here. Be real nice to us or I'll ask you which one is more beautiful while they're both in the room."

  Trying to look alarmed, Jeffries laughed and said, “Oh, no, we couldn't have that. Either of those ladies would be entirely too formidable."

  Maybe five minutes passed until one of the women returned. We stood up as she entered the room and she politely invited us to accompany her to the Colonel's office.

  Through the door, past several desks, and down a short hall later we stood in front of a door labeled “Col. Adair, Commanding". The woman opened the door and ushered us into the room, then closed the door behind us. A fortyish, dark haired woman in a brown skirt and jacket almost-uniform stood behind her desk.

  "Mr. Jeffries,” she said, coming around her desk, “Always nice to see you."

  She shook his hand, then turned to me. Five-nine or so, with eyes that had seen much. She met my gaze for a moment in silence, then spoke.

  "Mr. Howdershelt,” she said, taking my hand as she seemed to appraise me rather thoroughly, “It's a pleasure to meet you."

  She pointed to a four-inch-thick stack of three folders on her desk and said, “Those are your files. I didn't have time to study them, but I saw some of the highlights.” Walking to her desk, she opened the top file, lifted a typewritten sheet of paper, and said, “It appears that we owe you some money."

  "Money?” I asked, “For what?"

  "Travel,” she said. “You were never reimbursed for two air fares to Johannesburg from Nairobi and from Nairobi to London."

  "The money didn't come out of my pocket,” I said. “Don't worry about it."

  She studied me briefly and asked, “If not your pocket, whose pocket?"

  "Nobody's pocket, ma'am. It was found money, part of the delivery that was the reason for the trip."

  Glancing through the file, she nodded.

  "That may explain something else, as well, then. Would that have been the weekend you assisted in delivering several suitcases found at the villa to our Johannesburg offices?"

  "Yes."

  There was a knock at the door and our lady escort entered to hand Col. Adair an envelope. She looked at me and nodded, then left the room. Col. Adair opened the envelope and examined the contents, then handed it to me.

  I didn't reach for it.

  "I told you, ma'am, it was from the cash we found."

  She laughed. “I commend your honesty, but it's only four hundred and sixty-six Euros and Solutions can spare it. Call it a bonus."

  With a glance at Jeffries, I shrugged and took the envelope with thanks. Then came a more difficult part of the meeting. She wanted to know the whereabouts of several people from my era of service. The names she read off a list sounded only vaguely familiar. 'Pook', ‘DT', ‘Shango', and several other nicknames came to my mind, but for the life of me I couldn't remember their complete real names.

  Adair sighed and said, “Well, if you happen across any of them, have them give us a call, will you? We've been trying to clear some of the unsettled accounts for years. Even if they're no longer alive, I'm sure their families could use the money."

  She set the folders to one side of her desk, then asked if there was anything else she could do for me. I thought she was implying that she wanted to end the meeting and get back to whatever she'd been doing.

  "No,” I said, getting to my feet, “I guess that's about it. I just dropped in because it seemed likely that a certain woman would put the place on alert if I didn't."

  "I wasn't hinting that you should leave,” she said, “I simply thought there might be someone still with us from your era of service whom you'd like to contact."

  Sitting back down, I gave that some thought.

  "I don't think so,” I said, “C
arla Mason owns a bookstore in Coventry. Lisa Cameron was killed in Scotland ‘91. Her brother Richard was wounded in ‘88 and took a job in London in ‘89. Fiske and some of the others didn't come back from Angola in the eighties. I wasn't really close to anybody else, Colonel."

  Adair fidgeted gently for a moment, then said, “I'm sorry to inform you that Major Mason is no longer with us, either. A drunk driver ran onto the walkway near her store last year. She was returning from an errand when he hit her."

  Memories of Carla flashed through my mind for a moment, then anger. Damn. And damn all drunks who try to drive. Too bad they can't be shot on sight.

  Jeffries put a hand on my shoulder as Adair came around her desk again and looked concerned as she sat next to me.

  "I'm okay,” I said. “I was just wondering why the hell drunk drivers aren't shot on sight. This is the third time in my life that one of them's killed someone I cared about...” I sighed and shook my head slightly. “Never mind. I haven't seen or spoken with Carla for over ten years, so I guess I wasn't really her closest friend in the world, but still ... after everything she'd been through ... to be killed by a goddamned drunk ... It just doesn't seem right, you know?"

  Nobody said anything for some moments, then the phone rang. Col. Adair rose to answer it, told someone to stand by, and then put her hand over the mouthpiece as she looked apologetically at us.

  "Duty calls,” she said. Pointing at the phone receiver, she added, “Literally."

  I nodded and stood up, as did Jeffries.

  "Thanks,” I said. “For the visit and the money, Col. Adair. We'll let you have your office back now."

  She smiled as she said, “Next time call ahead. We'll go to lunch. Or dinner."

  "Sounds good,” I said. “Goodbye, ma'am."

  "Goodbye, Sergeant. Sergeant Ellis will see you out."

  Our escort was waiting by the door as we left Adair's office. She was all smiles now, as were the others who'd met us in the outer office. We exchanged pleasantries and handshakes and one of the guys remarked that it wasn't always so enjoyable to meet old hands in “our line of work", as he put it.

  Ten minutes or so later we were back at the elevator, waiting for a ride to the second floor.

  "Well,” said Jeffries, “That went much better than I'd expected. Barring the news about Major Mason, of course."

  "Yeah, I guess so,” I said as the doors opened.

  The brunette from the lobby started to step out, saw us and stopped, and then edged past us, gazing at me the whole time. She walked to the door of 700 and turned to look back at us as the doors closed.

  Jeffries glanced at his watch, then said, “Let's have an early lunch in the park. By the fountain, where prying ears can't work so well."

  I nodded. “Sure."

  He stopped at his office to retrieve some papers and his briefcase. We stopped at a fish and chips walkup window, after which we took our bagged lunches to a park half a block away.

  Keying my implant, I said, “Steph, Sue, it's time to make an appearance. Pop in where you can't be seen materializing and join us on foot, please."

  Ahead of us, both of them walked out of the public restroom and headed our way. We met by the fountain in the center of the park and chose a nearby bench. Jeffries seemed most impressed with the ladies and couldn't seem to make up his mind which one to ogle. He greeted them most effusively.

  "Ladies, I am at a loss for words,” he said, kissing each of their hands in an elegant manner, “Your beauty renders me speechless. You are like angels in human form. Perfection is too inadequate a word to describe you."

  "Speechless, huh?” I asked.

  "I recover quickly,” said Jeffries, never taking his eyes off Steph and Sue. “The very sight of them both struck me dumb, but then I realized that I simply had to tell them how lovely they are."

  Opening my lunch bag, I said, “Uh, huh. But, yeah, I know that feeling. What's the news? Did you find a big buyer?"

  "Actually, yes,” he said, then he turned to Steph. “Three rather large antiquities dealers have formed an alliance to buy as much of the treasure as you wish to sell. It won't be at the highest possible price, I'm afraid, but you did say you wanted a quick sale. These people are offering weight value plus twenty percent."

  As if expecting an argument from me, he said, “That's really very good, you know. They have to make a profit and leave room for negotiations."

  Stephanie said, “Weight value plus forty percent sounds better and would also leave room for profit and negotiation, especially considering that there will be no shipping and insurance charges or associated transport security costs.” She fixed Jeffries with an iron gaze as she said, “Tell them we'll deliver anywhere if the price is right."

  I was so startled I forgot to chew my chips. Where did Miss Hardass Negotiator come from?

  Jeffries seemed to consider matters for a moment, then said, “You're right, of course. Without the usual costs of heavily insured transport, a higher price should be possible."

  He flicked open his cell phone, dialed, and asked for someone name Massmer.

  "Harold,” said Jeffries, “I'm with the client. She wants weight plus forty and she'll deliver. Yes, that's right. Of course she has the means. Yes, I'm sure. No, I don't think she'll budge. She's familiar with the costs involved. Good. Fine. Thank you."

  Jeffries smiled as he snapped the phone shut and said, “They'll call us back shortly. He wanted to know if you had the means to deliver immediately. I thought of your flitter and almost laughed aloud."

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  We were halfway through lunch when Jeffries’ phone chirped. He checked the incoming number and answered with, “Hello, Harold. What's the good word?"

  After listening a moment, Jeffries asked Steph, “Would you consider weight plus thirty-seven percent? There seem to be some fees to consider..."

  "That's close enough,” said Steph. “Where and when?"

  Jeffries repeated her words and then repeated Massmer's answer.

  "The gold is to go to the CreditSuisse Bank in Lucerne, Switzerland. Upon delivery and verification, you may have either cash or a certified check."

  "I'd prefer a certified check, please."

  "Yes, milady. Harold, she'd like a certified check. The name is 'Stephanie Montgomery'. I'll ask her.” He asked Steph, “Do you have a middle name?"

  She shook her head.

  "No, Harold,” said Jeffries. “No middle name. We'll finish lunch and be there this afternoon. Uh, I don't know; just a moment."

  He asked, “How long will it take us to reach Lucerne?"

  I said, “We can be there by one. That'll give his people time for lunch."

  Jeffries wrapped up the call and put his phone away. Zap and done. Steph was about to become a multi-millionaire in an afternoon. She seemed unimpressed by it all, as did Susanne, but Jeffries was excited enough for all of us.

  We walked off lunch by strolling to the Thames River, then Susanne brought the flitter to an alleyway and we boarded. Instead of flying above fifty thousand feet as usual, Susanne held us at a few hundred above the terrain and recorded our trip. She seemed to enjoy slithering the flitter among the mountains of the Alps at barely subsonic speed, but that portion of the voyage made Jeffries rather nervous.

  "Don't worry,” I said. “There's never been a flitter crash due to malfunction."

  "Never?"

  "Never. Not once."

  He whispered to me, “Is she trying to become the first?"

  Susanne giggled and jinked around a peak so closely that the wind of our passing caused a minor avalanche. Descending toward Lake Lucerne, it seemed to me that something wasn't right. I looked for the covered wooden bridge where my first wife and I had fed swans in 1971 and saw only the concrete and stone pilings where it had been.

  I pulled my briefcase down while Jeffries’ attention was occupied and retrieved my passport, then let the case go back to its usual overhead parking spot.

&n
bsp; Jeffries called Harold to let him know we'd arrived and Harold stepped out of the CreditSuisse Bank to look for us. When we were within six feet of him Susanne turned the forward fields transparent and he was able to see us. I thought he'd faint.

  A man who'd been standing some distance away from Harold instantly drew a pistol and spoke into a collar microphone. Two more guards appeared instantly. Harold turned to face them and raised his hands placatingly as he spoke to calm them, then Harold and the first guard stepped aboard the flitter.

  The guard made a hasty report and Harold said a few words, then there was a round of greetings and introductions. After a look at the gold on the flitter deck, Harold directed us to the underground garage, where an armored truck awaited the gold.

  Between the flitter and the truck was a folding table at which sat two men with test kits, large and small scales, laptop computers, and a rather expensive-looking camera. The gold was carefully tested, weighed, and photographed, and all but a very small amount of the encrusted gold was field-cleaned as it was transferred to the truck.

  "You do not wish to sell this gold, as well?” asked Massmer, indicating the remainder of the encrusted treasure.

  "No, thank you,” said Steph. “There are only 15,191 ounces of gold for sale at this time. The rest will go to museums."

  Her inclusion of the word ‘only’ made Jeffries laugh, then he had to explain the laugh to Harold. With a nod, humorless Harold returned to his calculations, then went over the results once before announcing that the gold was worth $5,535,904.20. After some more tapping, he added, “We would also like to make an offer on your silver."

  "I'm sorry, but the silver is also reserved,” said Steph, “But I would very much appreciate having it appraised and documented for tax purposes."

  Harold bowed and said, “Of course, madam. We would be delighted."

  By two-thirty the gold was in the truck, the deal had been completed, the flitter had been sent to hover above the bank, and we retired to a fourth-floor office to handle the paperwork, during which Steph used her certified check to open an account with the bank.

  After consulting with the account manager Steph devised a unique signature code to be used for all future transactions. The bank seemed to have no problem at all with either her Citizen of the World passport or the fact that she was an AI.