Gold of Kings by Davis Bunn

gallery owner who had an interest in some pieces of mine. Which was completely new. Back then, treasure dogs sold through middlemen. Gallery types wouldn’t touch us with a barge pole. They took their cue frommuseum directors and the bureaucrats, who claimed we were all thieves. When we got together, Sean struck me as a real hard case.”
    â€œRight the first time,” Storm said.
    â€œHe knew his stuff, though. And he asked questions about what he didn’t know. I didn’t trust him at first, and he didn’t have trouble with that either. He had no idea where the boundaries were between what he could ask and what I couldn’t answer. He just took what I gave. He ate information. He devoured it. I had no idea what to make of this guy, running a major art house, down on his hands and knees on this carpet that cost more than my boat, tracking on a hand-drawn map as I explained how we found the stern hold of my latest salvage. The stern hold, see, that’s where—”
    Storm took up the line. “The captain kept a strongbox in his stern cabin where his owners stored gold for the voyage home. They made two keys to the strongbox, which the captain could not open. One key locked it in the New World or the Spice Islands, the other opened it back in Europe. The richest passengers also had their cabins at the rear, many of whom traveled with their own strongboxes. The captain usually had another chest where steerage passengers could store their valuables.”
    â€œYou’re definitely Sean’s granddaughter.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Storm said. “I am.”
    â€œSean refused to buy anything outright. He said he’d front me what I needed for the next voyage, and keep the rest for when I got back, minus his cut. This was…”
    â€œUnheard of,” Storm said. “Impossible.”
    â€œYou got to understand, my profession attracts a lot of scallywags. A lot of salvagers are one notch above pirates. You can imagine what happened when word got around there was this gallery owner who was offering to handle salvaged goods for a commission.”
    â€œHe got laughed at.”
    â€œRight out of the bars from Banda Ache to Jamaica. But there was something about him, I don’t know.”
    â€œYou trusted him,” Storm said. “And you made a friend.”
    â€œA year or so later, I took him out on a salvage operation. We were working a merchant vessel that went down off the coast of Cozumel, just happened to land on a reef outcropping shallow enough for us to dive. Sean had never strapped into diving gear before. The guy was like a kidon safari. First time down, he found a gold chain. Just plucked it out of the sand. Almost blew his ventilator, shouting and dancing around.”
    â€œHe kept it in his office. I never knew where it came from.” She gave that a beat, then, “I don’t want to go to the reception tonight.”
    Harry started picking meat off Storm’s sandwich. “If you’re looking for somebody to talk about obligations and all that, you’ve come to the wrong place.”
    â€œSean would want me to go.”
    â€œI’ll tell you something about your grandfather. He’d either be your best buddy or make you want to beat him with a ball-peen hammer. Which I almost did, the last time we met.” Harry ate another bite. “Go, don’t go. Nobody here’s gonna complain one way or the other.”
    Â 
    THAT EVENING, AS STORM TURNED the car into the Breakers Hotel drive, Harry plucked a word right out of her head. “Memories.”
    She dragged up enough air to ask, “Sean brought you here?”
    â€œFor the most expensive burger I’ve ever tasted. A hundred bucks.” They joined the line of cars waiting to divulge their glitzy loads. He inspected her in the glare of hotel lights. “You look great, by the way.”
    â€œThanks.” Storm wore a vintage