by Dave Gerard
“Nonetheless, the fact remains that I have no hard evidence of any contract. Without one, I cannot entertain the Marcum estate’s claim regarding the Flor de la Mar. I simply have no legal basis by which to award Mr. Marcum any part of the res over the likes of Malaysia or Portugal, which claim sovereign rights to it, or Rockweiller, which claims the right of salvage.”
“I’m not making claim based on contract, Your Honor,” I said.
“No?” he asked, puzzled.
“No. Nor am I asking for a piece of the Flor de la Mar.”
“Well, what then?” Graves asked impatiently.
I looked at Judge Graves calmly and said, “On behalf of the estate of David Marcum, I am making a claim for the entire res of the Flor de la Mar pursuant to the law of finds.”
At this, all of the lawyers erupted in a cacophony of shouting. I couldn’t have caused more uproar if I’d set off a bomb. Bock forgot his ignominy amid his outrage. The lawyers for Malaysia and Portugal were yelling at me in languages I didn’t understand. The Portuguese ambassador was jumping up and down, his face red. Everyone was screaming at the same time, heedless of Judge Graves’ calls for order. I weathered it all calmly.
This had been Remington’s backup plan all along, you see. If we couldn’t find the contract. That’s what he had meant by his cryptic last remark to me. “Whatever you’re looking for, I hope you’ll find.”
I had known about the law of finds for a long time now. I also knew it was virtually impossible to win on it. The law of finds only applied to property that was unowned or abandoned, where no one came forward to claim it. Here, there was no shortage of people claiming it. But I had done more research. And I’d found a handful of cases. Old ones, where courts had said ancient shipwrecks could be lost so long they were considered abandoned. It was a hell of a long shot. A fingernail on a ledge. The skin of a tooth. But that’s all I needed, for what I was going to do next. I wasn’t really trying to get the whole Flor de la Mar, you see. It was like Kruckemeyer said. Sometimes, if you ask for the whole store, maybe you get a piece of it.
After Judge Graves finally restored order, I stood calmly and made my legal argument. I explained that the law of finds was an ancient principle that long predated sovereign immunity, the law of salvage, or any other nation-made law. The Flor de la Mar was over five hundred years old, I said, and no one had found it until now. David Marcum had discovered it. If not for him, the treasure might not have seen the light of day for centuries more. If ever.
Who better to get the Flor de la Mar than the one who actually found it? Wouldn’t that encourage people to find more ancient ships, and bring up more wonders of the world? Wouldn’t that incentivize people to report their finds, instead of hiding them? Wouldn’t that be the best thing for everyone? Wouldn’t it be the right thing to do?
Judge Graves listened to all of this thoughtfully, giving no hint as to his intentions. I knew how tenuous my argument was. But I made it with a perfectly straight face. Sometimes, the best way to make the most outlandish claim is to do it so casually that it doesn’t seem crazy at all.
After that, Judge Graves heard some counterargument from Bock and Jafaar. Bock was so angry he was spitting, and could barely form coherent sentences. He and Jafaar both said they were going to file hundred-page briefs explaining why I was dead wrong. I had no doubt they would.
After hearing argument for about an hour, Judge Graves banged his gavel and adjourned the hearing, giving no hint as to his feelings. He just said he would take the matter under advisement and retired without further word. But as he disappeared into chambers with his law clerks and his staff, I thought I saw the ghost of a smile flicker across his face.
THIRTY-FOUR
Judge Graves’ jury room was a simple space. The table was brown and the walls were white. The only decoration was a plaque that said, “In God we trust.”
Around the table were Zachary Bock, John Cartwright, Aquil Jafaar, the Malaysian ambassador, the lawyer and ambassador for Portugal, and myself.
It was one week after our last hearing in front of Judge Graves. The previous day, Graves had issued an order. After deliberating, he said that, as much as he would like to throw the lot of us in prison and award the Flor de la Mar to someone actually worthy of it, he was going to have to render a decision.
But before he did, Graves was offering us one chance, and one chance only, to resolve the matter amongst ourselves. “This chance is not for your sake,” he wrote in a short order. “But for the sake of comity among nations, and respect between fellow men. A mutual agreement regarding the Flor de la Mar would best serve the interests of justice, and perhaps serve as an example in future cases.”
So Graves was going to give us one day, from 9 a.m. until 5 p.m., to try and reach an agreement. If we didn’t, he would do it for us, and issue his ruling directly thereafter.
That morning, we appeared at the courthouse. Butch greeted us in silence and escorted us to the jury room. We were to deliberate, as a jury might, until we reached an agreement, or until the clock struck five, whichever came first. Stale bagels had been provided, that we might break bread with one another. No one touched them.
This was how things stood, at the lunch hour of the last day:
Rockweiller was desperate to settle the case. They had offered me steadily increasing sums for the death claim. And there was more. Incredibly, after my stunt with the law of finds, they were now offering a ten percent share of the Flor de la Mar as well. With how much Graves hated Rockweiller right now, they couldn’t take the risk that Graves would go my way, however unlikely it was. So Bock made the offer, through gritted teeth. This was exactly what I’d hoped for. Ten percent was more than reasonable. In fact, it was everything we could have dreamed of at the beginning of the case.
But I refused. All morning, I sat there with my arms crossed and unwaveringly demanded a full twenty-five percent share of the Flor de la Mar. Bock almost choked with rage when he heard this demand. Jafaar called it ludicrous. Which it was. Realistically, the chances of Judge Graves going our way on the law of finds was small. But I did my best Hubert Thung impression and stubbornly refused to budge.
The biggest obstacle to a deal, though, was Malaysia. Rockweiller’s offer was contingent on Malaysia agreeing to something. And so far, they had no interest in doing so. Jafaar believed he was in a strong position, and with good reason. I suspected he was only attending the settlement conference to show Judge Graves that he was a reasonable man, and open to compromise. But he wasn’t. Yet.
But there was one more card to play.
The clock struck one, and the door opened. John Remington walked in. A sudden wave of relief washed over me. As if everything was going to be alright. I grinned at him. He didn’t return my smile, but just sat down and assumed his typical expression, looking as if he were carved out of wood.
“Gentlemen,” he said, putting his battered old briefcase on the table. “Where are we on the negotiations?”
Bock sputtered to life. “Excuse me,” he said with a hint of his old vim, “you’ve been disqualified from representing the Marcum estate in this case. You can’t be here.”
“I’m not here representing the Marcum estate,” Remington said calmly. “I’m here on behalf of the estate of Jared Diamond.” Bock stared at him in disbelief.
After Jared Diamond’s funeral, I had spoken to the family about retaining a lawyer. I said I knew a good one. They took my advice and hired John Remington.
“That is immaterial,” argued Bock. I could see him start to wind up like an old motor. “The Marcum conflict is obviously imputed to any other—”
“Shut up, Zachary,” a voice said sharply. I turned around. Surprisingly, it was John Cartwright. “We need to get a deal done,” he said. “If John can help, so much the better. Maybe he can talk some sense into this kid.” Meaning me. “We’ll waive conflict for the
purposes of this negotiation,” he said, waving his hand, thus waiving away the conflict that had so bedeviled us and nearly sunk our entire case. Bock looked apoplectic, but Cartwright was the client, and he had no choice but to do what he said. Jafaar studied Remington carefully, but didn’t object.
We sat in silence for a while after that. Remington didn’t move a muscle, and waited for someone to speak. But for once, Bock didn’t seem interested in opening the proceedings.
Eventually, Jafaar did. “I hate to be a stick in the mud,” he said apologetically. “But I am not optimistic about reaching any deal. I firmly believe that the Flor de la Mar’s cargo belongs to Malaysia. Moreover, I believe that, based on the trial and on…recent developments,” he said, looking at Bock, who sank lower in his chair, “that we will prevail, and Judge Graves will award the entirety of the res to Malaysia.
“While I appreciate the Marcum estate’s creative arguments, you can’t seriously believe that Judge Graves will award title to the Flor de la Mar based on the law of finds.” Jafaar spread his hands. “That’s the way I see things. With that in mind, and with the numbers I have heard here today, I don’t think a compromise is possible.”
It was a remarkably honest assessment. And to all appearances, Jafaar was right. He had the upper hand. We all knew it. Rockweiller was in the dog box, and we had a slim to zero chance of prevailing under the law of finds. Malaysia looked like the presumptive winner.
Except for one thing.
“Is that your final position?” Remington asked.
“It is,” said Jafaar politely. But his lip curled ever so slightly.
Remington nodded. “Fair enough. That’s reasonable. But there’s one thing I’d like you to know first. So you have all the facts before you make a decision. I’d like you to step outside with me for a moment. Don’t worry, no fisticuffs. Just a conversation that I think you will find edifying.”
Remington got up and opened the door. Waiting in the hallway were several grim-faced men in dark suits and crew cuts. G-men. Jafaar got up unsteadily and followed Remington outside.
You see, after the Diamond family had retained Remington to represent Jared’s interests, we had been paid a little visit by the U.S. government. Officials from the CIA, the State Department, and the Navy had informed us about certain details regarding our kidnapping and Jared’s death.
It turned out that Malaysia was behind it.
We couldn’t prove it. Not perfectly. But the evidence was damning.
After Rufus Rockaway’s observation that our capture might have been an inside job, I had suspected that Rockweiller was behind it. They had the motive. And after the way they covered up Marcum’s death, I didn’t think there was anything they wouldn’t stoop to.
But the government said it wasn’t them. Rockweiller didn’t have the sort of deep connections among the lanun to pull something like that off, they said. Only Southeast Asian governments did.
Malaysia had been watching us for a long time now. U.S. intelligence suspected they had been tapping our phones for months, ever since we dragged them into the case. We had certainly been tracked from the moment we landed in Kuala Lumpur. Every step of our journey was surveilled by satellite, cell phone interception networks, and covert government operatives. By the time we arrived at the Nicobar Islands, Malaysia was all over us. There were shadow ships just miles away, out of sight, waiting for the order to pounce.
It was scary to think of the resources a whole country can bring to bear, especially when that country is not bound by the same laws as the United States. I thought about David Marcum and his conspiracy theories. His shunning of phone calls, his reliance on cash. It turned out he had been right all along. I felt like an idiot for not realizing it.
We led Malaysia right to the Flor de la Mar, of course, which was what they had wanted. And once we found it and salvaged some treasure, they couldn’t risk letting us leave. If we had taken it back to the U.S., they feared we would lay claim to it and broadcast its location to the whole world. So they made a move.
They didn’t do it directly. Malaysia was afraid of provoking the U.S. and wanted to minimize the risk of an international incident.
So they used a proxy. The Malaysian government had long been rumored to have secret links with the lanun who plied the Strait of Malacca. It could be useful. When an incident happened, there was a backchannel. A way to get a hostage back, or an important cargo returned. For a price. Some even said the Malaysian government had secret operatives embedded within the lanun.
The leader of the lanun was believed to be one of these. The CIA and military people couldn’t confirm this. But they strongly suspected it. The man’s name was Haziq Lim. Lim was a former agent with a secretive intelligence agency called Meio, a sort of Malaysian counterpart to the CIA.
But the CIA didn’t think Lim was a former agent at all. They believed he was a current one, working off the grid, taking on assignments that official agents could not. U.S. intelligence had interrogated Lim after his capture. We weren’t privy to exactly how they did it, or what he said. But the result was that they strongly believed he was operating under the orders of the Malaysian government.
U.S. intelligence believed that that the Malaysian government had secretly ordered the lanun to capture us, through Lim. Lim and the lanun were to take the treasure and hold us in a secure location until the Flor de la Mar business had wound down. Then we would have been ransomed back as ordinary hostages, with no one the wiser.
But the thing had turned into a colossal fuck-up. The lanun were not the most reliable of agents. Most of them had no connection to the government, or any idea that it was involved. They just wanted money and hostages. Doubtless they were aware of the Flor de la Mar, and perhaps they had hoped for a taste.
Remington must have had a sixth sense that something like this might happen. When he’d learned we were going to Malaysia, he called someone in the Governor’s office, who called someone in Washington, who put someone in Malaysia on notice to look out for us. So by the time Ashley made her desperate phone call to the consulate, they were already on high alert. They were able to trace the cell phone signal and send an extraction team immediately.
Incidentally, when I asked Remington about his last, cryptic comment, “whatever you’re looking for, I hope you’ll find,” he asked me what the hell I was talking about, and said he hadn’t meant anything remotely like the law of finds, and that he couldn’t believe I’d tried something so harebrained as to try and claim ownership of the entire Flor de la Mar that way.
The U.S. pressed Malaysia for answers on our kidnapping, officially and through other channels. Malaysia vehemently denied any involvement. Probably many Malaysian officials thought they were telling the truth. It was unclear who had ordered the operation, or how high up it went. I wondered if Jafaar knew. Somehow, I suspected not.
After laying out their information, the U.S. officials offered their sincere condolences to the Diamond family, and to us, and asked us what we wanted to do. The President had been briefed, and to a large extent, what happened next depended on us. If we wanted to go public, they wouldn’t keep us from doing that. If we wanted to resolve this quietly, they wouldn’t interfere with that either.
Jafaar and the Malaysian ambassador were gone for nearly two hours with Remington and the G-men. They returned sometime after 3 p.m., their faces ashen. Remington closed the door after them. Then he sat down, waited until he had everyone’s full attention, and addressed the room. “Let’s recount the facts,” he said quietly.
First, he turned to Bock and Cartwright. “You are dead meat,” he said matter-of-factly. “Your client killed David Marcum. And you covered up his death. Rockweiller’s stock is in the tank, and half the board of directors has resigned. The U.S. attorney is investigating, and everyone aboard the Excelsior is going to face charges. You will too, if I have anything to say about it. All of th
at’s done. I can’t change it.”
His voice took on a bleaker tone. “But I can make it worse. The Flor de la Mar case is over. But the death case is just beginning. You’re at the start of a long, ugly road. Do you remember what you said in your letter, back at the beginning of this case? Allow me to retort.”
Remington leaned forward and looked John Cartwright dead in the eye. “I will depose every one of your executives. I will interrogate your CEO and the entire board of directors. Think they can get out of this by resigning? Think again. I’ll nail them to the wall no matter where they go. I will also go after each and every one of the lawyers, including both of you, personally. I will find out exactly what you knew, and exactly when you knew it. Judge Graves will give me all of this and more.
“Your attorney-client privilege is dead. I will pull the truth out of you, inch by inch. It will take years. And at the end of it, Judge Graves is going to be standing there with an ax, waiting to hit you with a big, fat verdict the likes of which you’ve never seen. Think you can’t kill a corporation? Watch me.”
I was shocked by the violence in his voice. This wasn’t just posturing. This was real anger. I had never seen him so coldly furious before. Bock and Cartwright looked scared half to death. As they should have been. Remington paused for a beat to assess the effect he’d had on them. Then he nodded, satisfied, and turned to Jafaar.
“As for you,” he said, “the CIA has credible evidence that Malaysia aided and abetted the capture, kidnapping, and killing of a U.S. citizen to further its interests in this legal dispute. What do you suppose will happen if I walk out of here and tell Judge Graves that? Do you have any idea?”
