The Collectors Book Five (The Collectors Series 5) (15 page)

              Petros reiterated from beginning to end the tale of the trains and the other
Gradisca.

              “You are aware of my qualifications?” said the ambassador.

              “I am. You understand why I’m here. Who is the owner of the second Gradisca? My own thoughts are it was a German freighter destined for the scrap yard, not part of any Greek shipping line, and the original owner is long gone and the ship forgotten. Under international maritime law anyone who finds an unknown wreck can file a salvage claim and place a lien on the vessel.”

              The ambassador rubbed his chin. “You have done your research and perhaps I should not say this, Finders Keepers works but only if you are first. Place your claim. I will have the ownership investigated and if it is Greek advise the owner or their beneficiaries. You have not told me its position?”

              “At the bottom of the Mediterranean.”

              There was a pause before the ambassador said, “Very wise but I can assure you I am not in the business to defraud you out of what might legally be yours. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Please leave your address and telephone number with my secretary. As soon as I know anything of importance, I’ll get her to contact you. Remember, process that claim form. Without it, you have wasted your time.”

              Petros realised the meeting was over, stood and held out his hand. “Thank you for your time, Ambassador, and I’ll file my claim today.”

              “It’s a question of priorities. If the vessel is Greek, your information is worth a tidy sum. I will vouch for you. At least you will recover your expenses and more. One way or the other, you will make a profit. I will contact Athens sometime tomorrow.”

              “An honest lawyer, not many of them around these days.”

              “More than you might think, Mr Kyriades. Goodbye.”

              As if on cue the blonde-haired secretary opened the door, waited for Petros to stroll through and closed it behind him.

              “For our records. Your full name, address, telephone and mobile numbers, please.”

              She entered them into her computer. “Thank you, Mr Kyriades. I’ll escort you to the main entrance.”

              “I can find my own way.”

              She frowned creating crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. “We do not allow anyone to wander around the embassy on their own. Security is paramount these days.”

              “You have a point.” Petros hurried after her. She opened the door and he followed to the main entrance. 

              “Goodbye, Mr Kyriades.”

              As he turned to say goodbye, the door closed.

***

Petros took the tube to Aldgate East and from there walked to the red brick Victorian building in the shadow of the Gherkin. A brass plaque to the right of the main entrance stated the offices of Newton and Newton, Family Solicitors, third floor. On entering, he raced up the stairs and entered the reception.

              The receptionist, a middle-aged woman, seated behind her desk, peered over her spectacles. “Have you an appointment?”

              ”I haven’t, but if he’s free, I have important business to discuss with Mr Derek Newton, the senior partner.”

              “Your name please?”

              A door opened to his right. “Petros Kyriades, what are you doing here?” said the silver-haired Derek Newton as he held out his hand.

              They shook hands. “If you can spare some time I need a chat.”

              “Is it important?”

              “Could be.”

              “Sybil, would you mind, tea for me and black coffee for my friend. Have we any of those chocolate biscuits left?”

              She nodded. “Of course, Mr Newton.”

              “Come,” said Derek.

              Petros strolled into a room of conservative sophistication and peace. On a modern desk in an alcove stood a high spec computer.             

              Derek sat in the leather chair behind his polished oak desk and motioned towards a well-worn leather armchair.

              Petros made himself comfortable.

              A knock on the door signalled the entrance of Sybil, carrying a silver tray with two cups and saucers and plate overflowing with chocolate biscuits. “Will there be anything else, Mr Newton?”

              “No thank you, Sybil. Can you deal with any calls? If they’re important I’ll call back.”

              She almost curtsied as she backed out the door.

              “Sybil’s like me, we have respect for the old ways, they were slower and happier. Peter, my son, has his modern plastic and stainless steel office filled with all sorts of high tech equipment. Me, I have Sybil. How can I help you?”

              Petros sipped his coffee. “Salvage.”

              Derek stared at Petros blankly for a few seconds, his tea untouched. “I know nothing regarding the law of salvage.”

              “That makes two of us but you’ll know who to talk to and protect my interests.”

              He sipped his tea. “And what are these interests?”

              “A gut feeling. I know the location of a ton of gold. It’s in the bowels of a forgotten ship at the bottom of the sea. There’s a ruling under Finders Keepers providing the owner of the vessel cannot be found and it’s not in territorial waters. What I need is to file a salvage claim today on an unknown vessel.”

              Derek brushed biscuit crumbs to the floor from his tailored blue suit. “You’re here for my advice. Allow me to call James Eden. He’s dealt with an assortment of claims with regard to shipping. Groundings, fires and cargo salvage. Would you like another coffee?”

              “No thank you.”

              He lifted the handset on his desk and pressed each number deliberately.

              “Good afternoon. This is Derek Newton, a friend of James Eden. Is he in? If so, remind him he still owes me a bottle of vintage port.”

              The line appeared to go dead until, “Hi, Derek, I was just thinking about you.”

              “If I believe you, a pink elephant is flying past my office window.”

              “There we are then. I believe a flock were reported headed in your direction.”

              “Point taken. James, I need you to talk to a client and friend of mine with regards to marine salvage.”

              “I haven’t heard of this one. The latest salvage deal is the Italian passenger ship. Its captain’s being charged as we speak. Is this kosher or a scam?”

              “A ton of kosher gold and I know my client.”

              “This sounds comparable to the
SS Gairsoppa
. Silver bullion by the ton.”

              “Interested?”

              “More than interested, old man. Business is a tad quiet. Might have to sell the Lamborghini.”

              “I need you here like this morning.”

              “On my way. Coffee, black with fresh cream and you pay the cab.”

              The line went dead.

              James, dressed as if about to attend court, bounced into the office, slammed his briefcase on Derek’s desk.

              Sybil entered with a cup of coffee laced with cream. “I’ve taken the taxi fare out of petty cash.”

              “Thank you,” said Derek. “Thanks for your rapidity

in this matter. Petros Kyriades, James Eden.”

              “The man who believes he’s found a ton of gold.” James remained standing, opened his case, removed a two-page document, and handed it to Petros. “Fill it in as best as you can. We need to move fast. I have tickets for the opera tonight. You just don’t know how difficult it is to obtain tickets for the opening night. Right, someone tell me a story and I’ll make a decision.”

              Again, Petros told the story as James drank his coffee and listened.

              “Do you know where this vessel is?”

              “Within a mile or so,” said Petros.

              “You say the Royal Navy sunk this, for the moment, unnamed vessel. The position will be on record so, like you, anyone with half a brain could find it. But it is rather an interesting situation. The world of communication has changed and we must use it to our advantage. This has the makings of a huge fortune or I borrow the bus fare home. I’ll register your claim with the UK Receiver of Wrecks when I return to my office. Before you say a word, I appreciate this wreck is not in UK territorial waters but we are in the EU so your claim will be accepted. If you start a salvage operation, I charge a thousand a day plus a handling fee of one percent on everything you recover. Don’t cringe,” He waved his arm and laughed. “I’m a lawyer and screw people but I’ll keep you on the straight and narrow. I’ve never undertaken anything crooked, it plays havoc with one’s reputation. Your word will suffice for the moment and anyway, Derek is my witness.” From his top pocket, he removed a card. “For you. Keep in touch. Okay. We must have dinner one evening.” James left the office at the same speed he entered.

              “Bit of a character,” said Petros.

              “A maverick, a know-it-all, but your claim will be signed and sealed before the receiver of wrecks goes home tonight.”

              “I thought they only applied to the UK twelve mile limit.”

              He will have worldwide rights flagged on your wreck. At a thousand a day he keeps you out of the mire.”

              “There you go.” On his way out he thanked Sybil for the coffee.” 

              He contacted Bear.

***

At the same time in Starbucks, Mark Antonio, the embassy messenger, elaborated on the story of a ship full of gold to his friends as they drank coffee.

              With his back adjacent to Mark’s, Miles Johnston listened, excited by every word. He peered at the grey-painted ceiling and proclaimed to himself, “Discover the correct blend of greed and idiocy and you can make millions.”

              Mark checked his watch and said farewell.

              Miles followed him at a discreet distance along the street, through the underground to his home in Hampstead.   

              From a distance, he noted the address. Still living with mummy and daddy he assumed. A few pounds might give me more information. As he made his way to his house in Knightsbridge, he gave this germ of an idea much thought. He shuddered, failure to pay his debts remained unthinkable.

Chapter Nine

The Greek ambassador sat across his desk from Petros. “Mr Kyriades, my government has searched its records. You’ll be pleased to know your vessel does not appear to be owned by any Greek or shipping consortium. In fact, no one knows if it existed and the idea of such a fraud is hard to believe. It may be the harbour officer on duty wrote the wrong name in the register. Salvage rights are yours and I would advise the Law of Finds possibly applies. Greece has no interest.”

              “In simple language can you explain?”

              “It is a law that assumes that the property involved was never owned or was abandoned and the ancient principle of Finders Keepers applies. I would say after sixty plus years this ship and its cargo has been abandoned.

              “And if or when I recover the treasure?”

              The ambassador handed over a letter. “This absolves you completely. It states you have informed my government of your suspicions and your story investigated. Furthermore, the vessel does not belong to Greece, etc, etc. I have countersigned it as a Graduate of Private Shipping Law and International Law. What do you propose?”

              “Not sure, I need further proof before committing a substantial sum of money to find nothing but a heap of scrap metal.”

              “In my opinion you’re wasting your time and money but I am intrigued at the thought. An update on your progress to my private email would be of interest.”

              “If I can, I will.” Petros folded the letter and pushed it into his inside jacket pocket. “For my lawyer.”

              The ambassador smiled. “In salvage every ‘I’ must be dotted and ‘T’ crossed. Good luck.”