by Sewell, Ron
At the entrance to the Greek embassy, Petros showed his passport. Security gave him a scan and body search before allowing him through the electronic entrance.
“Can I help you?” asked a young man wearing a light blue suit with matching tie.
“A quick chat with the ambassador would be wonderful.”
The man’s expression remained reserved. “May I ask why?”
Petros smiled. “A ship full of Greek gold.”
“An interesting subject. How do you know it’s Greek gold?”
“I don’t but if it’s not yours its mine.”
The man hesitated. “I may be overstepping my authority. Your name, please?”
“Petros Kyriades, I’m Cypriot by birth.”
“Almost Greek. Please follow me.”
“Where are we going?”
“To talk to the ambassador’s secretary. I know he’s in his office and she might be able to persuade him to see you. I must add there are no guarantees.”
“Such is life.”
They entered a space that from its bland decor and a pile of ancient periodicals, was a waiting room.
“Take a seat. I’ll be a few minutes.”
In less than a minute, the man appeared followed by a tall woman with short blonde hair wearing a medium length black skirt and open-necked white blouse. In her slender arms she carried a red folder.
“Mr Kyriades. I’ve spoken to the ambassador and you have fuelled his interest. He can let you have ten minutes. This way please.”
Petros turned to the young man. “Thank you.”
The ambassador sat behind his large mahogany desk, stood and offered his hand. “Mr Kyriades.” He pointed to a chair. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” He returned to his seat and steepled his fingers. “Tell me about this ship full of gold. My country could certainly use it at the moment.”
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 b
eing 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.”
Petros stood and shook hands. “I might need it. Thank you for your time.”
***
Petros checked the address on James Eden’s card. He peered through the glass entrance doors and waited for them to open. A man pulled one side of the double door inwards. Petros grabbed the glass, entered and strolled to the VDU located in the centre of reception. He pressed the keys for James Eden and it displayed the firm’s name, floor, office number and whether the occupier was in or out. He was in luck. The lift sped to the fourteenth floor. He smiled as he noted the thirteenth floor as in many tall buildings was missing.
A young buxom woman wearing a short black skirt, a purple blouse, with matching streaks in her blonde hair, looked up as he entered.
“Petros Kyriades to see James Eden.”
Her eyelids fluttered as she busied herself arranging different coloured folders into four piles “You don’t have an appointment.”
“I know but I need to see him.”
With a flicker of the lashes, she smiled, displaying two rows of dentist-white teeth. “Take a seat. I’ll let him know.”
While waiting, he noticed her jotter was a mass of pencilled doodles. Cubes, squares and rectangles drawn while on the phone. He wondered what an analyst might make of them.
The internal door opened. “Petros, you have news? Come into my parlour.”
“Said the spider to the fly.”
“Unlike the fly you have a choice,” said James as he sat in a real leather upholstered office chair. “Grab a pew.”
Petros lifted a stainless steel chair and placed it in front of the glass desk. He removed the letter from his pocket. “Greece does not want to know. All I have to do is find the wreck.”
James leant back in his chair, placed his thumbs behind his red braces, and pushed them in and out. “What you need to help find the wreck is a small boat equipped with preferably two side scan sonar outfits and a suitable ROV.”
“Couldn’t agree more, if I knew what you’re talking about.”
James held up his perfectly manicured soft hands. “I can advise on every aspect of salvage; who, what, where, and when. Sign my contract and off we jolly well go.”
“I sign and you receive a thousand a day until?”
James stood. “Until we recover whatever or prove it isn’t there.” He handed Petros his gold Parker fountain pen.
“Three months and we renegotiate,” said Petros. “You collect ninety-thousand in monthly instalments.”
James inserted a three-month clause into the standard contract and printed two new copies. “Carole, my secretary, can be one witness and I’ll grab someone from
the next door office.”
In less than ten minutes, the contract was signed and witnessed.
“Carole, I need the original for my bank security box.”
“Why?” asked Petros.
“Just in case.”
“What’s side scan sonar?” asked Petros.
“Palermo, Sicily, Alfredo Abruzzi has a reasonable sized boat with excellent equipment. Side scan is your underwater eyes. If it can see it you can salvage. He’s not cheap but honest. I can contact him and make all the arrangements or you can do it yourself.”
“I’m paying, so start earning.”
“I’ve a ton of work to do. I’ll give you a bell tomorrow.”
***
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the pavement as Petros strolled from Tower-Hill underground station to where Bear lived with Jocelyn. He pressed the doorbell and waited.
Bear opened the door, beckoned Petros inside and strolled to the kitchen. “What brings you round this way?”
He grinned at the selection of wedding magazines that littered the table. “Bedtime reading?”
“A present from the wedding planner. He and Jocelyn are in discussion on how to spend as much money as possible.”
“You didn’t have to ask the question. Now you pay the price.”
“She can have whatever she wants but you didn’t come here to talk over my wedding.”
“I’ve hired a salvage expert to help me discover the other Gradisca.”
Bear frowned. “When you have a bee in your bonnet you’re a pain in the arse. Why don’t you let this one go? You don’t need it.” He held up his hand to stop Petros. “But you’ll do what you have to do and anything I say won’t stop you.”
“I thought you might like to join me. No bad guys with guns. A nice sea cruise where you have nothing to do.”
“Boats, you know how I feel about boats. Every time you and I are on one, we’re in deep shit. I’ll give this one a miss. You don’t really know where the wreck is. When you find it I’ll reconsider.”
“Who’s going to watch my back?”
“Amadou’s a good man. Give him a ring.”
