The Golden Hinde Conspiracy

By John F. Morken

In 1576, Queen Elizabeth of England ordered Captain Francis Drake on a three-year mission to pirate gold, silver, and precious jewels from King Phillip of Spain. Over four hundred years later, the heirs to Drake’s marauders are still fighting over a fortune. Enter attorney Conrad Olsen. He has grown tired with the practice of law, when Daniel Fletcher comes asking for help to find the lost treasure. Against his better judgment, Conrad agrees to represent Daniel Fletcher, the distant relative to Father Francis Fletcher – the expedition’s priest. What comes next completely alters Conrad’s life and rewrites the history of western civilization.

Set against the backdrop of the 2016 Presidential election, Conrad’s investigation into Drake’s hidden treasure reveals a world of deceit, double dealing, and his father’s possible involvement in a covered-up murder in 1979.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: May 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781684701971

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MORKEN

Copyright © 2019 John F. Morken.

Author photo captured by Dina Morrison

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-6847-0194-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6847-0197-1 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Lulu Publishing Services rev. date:  06/10/2019

Written for My Son, Jack Morken, a Remarkable Young Man.

From small beginnings, great things come.

Con-spir-a-cy

/ken’spirese/

Noun

A secret plan by a group to do something unlawful or harmful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A combination or confederacy between two or more persons formed for the purpose of committing, by their joint efforts, some unlawful or criminal act, or some act which is innocent in itself, but becomes unlawful when done by the concerted action of the conspirators, or for the purpose of using criminal or unlawful means to the commission of an act not in itself unlawful.

Pettibone v. U.S. 148 U.S. 197

Decided March 6, 1893, in the

United States Supreme Court

Based in part on Facts, Rumors, and Hearsay Taken from the Journals of Captains, Noblemen, Gentlemen, Spies, Priests, Playwrights, Mariners, Sailors, Miwoks, Whores, and The Virgin Queen - Elizabeth I.

Prologue

The Legal Intake of Daniel J. Fletcher

August 31, 2015 – The San Francisco Office

Mr. Olsen, your 10 o’clock has arrived, crackled out of the phone on my desk. She sounded Russian, probably from Moscow or Saint Petersburg.

Ok, please make him comfortable, I need five minutes, I said, wondering about the new receptionist.

I had heard that same proclamation thousands of times before - Mr. Olsen, your 10 o’clock has arrived. But, never in such a blunt succulent accent.

Who am I meeting with again? I asked.

A mister Daniel, sir, she responded.

Sitting behind my desk was always a comfortable place for me. It gave me a sense of power – like the great and all-powerful Wizard of Oz felt before Toto pulled open the green curtain.

Ok, offer Mr. Daniels some coffee or water, I instructed, hoping to pin down her accent.

Da, of gourzs, Mr. Conrad, she responded.

Mr. Conrad. I secretly wished my name was sexy. I then played with the first name Big. Anyway, the point being I wasn’t really thinking about my new client or his perceived problem before he entered my office. I did, however, look at my calendar, which showed a Daniel Fletcher and not a mister Daniels – of gourzs.

He was not particularly unusual or unique, which probably meant he had very little to offer me, at first sight. Daniel was a young man, around twenty years old. He was also terribly handsome and had straight white teeth, blue eyes, and thick black hair. Nothing about him was shabby.

Before Daniel entered my office, I grabbed an intake sheet, which was supposed to help me ask all the necessary questions when interviewing a new client. I also wanted to hear her accent again, so I got her on the phone.

Can you bring me a yellow legal tablet, please, I said to the new Russian receptionist. They’re in the copy room.

Daniel did not wear a suit, so I immediately circled No after the question on the intake sheet that asked whether the client can pay the bill. Most good and old lawyers did not immediately care about that box, especially if there was someone with deep pockets to go after. As lawyers, we ask questions, hopefully knowing the answers – so I subsequently scribbled over No and used the yellow legal tablet she brought into my office.

I prefer to use yellow legal tablets during my client intakes, as forms never suited me. In my opinion, a simple form was not safe, much less adequate, when detailing a client’s story. Most human sagas are far too engrossing to reduce to a check in a box or a circle on a page. In fact, after twenty years of practice, I knew there was no form that could provide me with a thorough and complete guide to the important questions I needed to ask.

Hello, my dear, nice to meet you, I’m Conrad Olsen and you are?

Anna Romanov, Mr. Conrad, she responded.

To be honest, at my age, given the number of years I’ve practiced law in California, I sorely felt there would never be another case that could spark my interest in justice, righting a wrong, or the practice of law. Routine had slowly drained my interest a few years ago and I was fighting the effects of boredom.

Nice to meet you, Miss Romanov, I said with my best smile. Please send Daniel in on your way out.

Daniel Fletcher was not horribly injured and did not ask me to loan him money until his case settled. I noticed his fingernails because they were not blackened underneath the tips. When I shook his steady hand, he offered me his right, soft and smooth to the touch. His hair was not greasy, and he never once looked down when he spoke.

How can I help you, Mr. Fletcher? I asked.

Daniel then gave me a journal of both very old and somewhat new writings. He claimed to be the sole heir to my family’s fortune, which I determined, at that time, to be somewhat unknown.

What fortune are you referring to, Mr. Fletcher? I inquired.

Daniel then pushed a journal bound in old leather across my desk and asked me to start reading on page twelve of his father’s journal. After reading the first paragraph, I found myself looking down, grabbing my hands, and thinking of ways to end the meeting.

The Handwritten Journal of Francis Fletcher III, dated June 6, 1997

The hatred I felt for her regularly ruined my day and shortened my breath. The thought of coming home, knowing she was one of them, churned my stomach and caused me to wince. She had inextricably intertwined herself into my life and almost ended it.

Ok, um, how can I help you, Daniel? I asked.

I suspect there comes a time in every lawyer’s career when they are no longer capable of representing the best interests of their clients, whether it be mental or physical inability. Knowing when to quit, however, was never my greatest strength and, quite frankly, was typically the cause of much havoc, disappointment, and despair.

Just keep reading, sir, he said.

The feeling of hatred is unique to humans in and of themselves, and the result of its purpose will force a change in all of mankind. Wild animals have the decency to kill without hate because they siphoned off that useless gene thousands of years ago, and to wild animals, killing is no different than your morning coffee. Regrettably, mankind has been cursed and is the only species left on Planet Earth that has the capacity to hate. This unique character-trait has been the main cause of every war between mankind and it will probably keep causing destructive conflicts – we are cursed!

I grew impatient, like most people who have stream-of-consciousness introspective mumbo jumbo thrown at them on a Monday morning. Admittedly, I was easily distracted by the one-legged pigeon cooing at my window and more interested in the new Russian receptionist. Given my dereliction, I decided to read on.

I never would have known about the hatred gene but for my unfortunate introduction to her. She had been given the hatred gene from her mother, who had been given the hatred gene from her father. This process of passing the hatred gene down from generation to generation has been going on for centuries, yet no one even noticed.

I wanted to end the interview, not giving a shit about the so-called hatred gene. Yet something about his brooding story was capturing my attention. It seemed learned and different - despite my trashy thoughts about Anna Romanov and the other distraction provided by the shit encrusted pigeon nervously bobbing up and down and changing directions outside my fifth-floor window. So, I read on.

Hitler hated the Jews and he hated the blacks (especially Jesse Owens), and he hated the men who fancied other men. The Christians hated the Muslims or anyone who occupied Jerusalem from the 11th century until Saladin’s hatred caused the deaths of thousands of Christian Crusaders such as the Knights Templar in the 13th century. The Spanish thought they had good cause to hate the English, Queen Elizabeth, and Francis Drake. All this hatred was never going away, for us humans anyway. When I realized I had the hatred gene, I didn’t understand its significance. Who really knew we are all born to hate each other?

I had to admit to myself that the concept of every human being carrying a hatred gene was somewhat intriguing, but that didn’t explain the purpose of Mr. Daniels appointment. I still didn’t know what his legal problem was or what he wanted.

I looked at my blue ink circle next to the money question on the intake sheet, knowing that most of my biggest cases were accomplished through the diligent and zealous representation of those people I like to call the Unfortunates. Admittedly, I had made a name and generous living off the Unfortunates – my lifestyle depended on it.

They tend to crash the least safe motor vehicles, fall off the highest defective balconies, or get exposed to the deadliest of mankind’s toxins and products. You need to know that, for me, poor souls who suffer catastrophic injuries or death, were very good for business, as bad as that may sound to some people, or you. As such, I repeated my initial question.

How can I help you, Mr. Fletcher?

In response, Daniel pressed me to finish reading his father’s journal.

Before Mary Drake entered my world, life was joyous and filled with good friends and beautiful women. No matter what I did or might have said, no one judged, much less cared about, how I conducted myself. They certainly did not try to have me killed!

Having discovered that our two families had been fighting to claim unknown birth rights brutally begotten over four-hundred-years ago was truly unfathomable. The outcome, as it so happens, is finally coming to an end and one of us had to lose or die or both.

Her henchmen showed up at my doorstep while I was watching my son, Daniel, eat broccoli for the first time. I, regrettably, did not know she had taken it upon herself to force this unknown conflict upon my life. I certainly had no idea she was coming to raid my home and take me away in front of my first-born son or do worse. How could I?

The hard truth was that I had done something wrong and didn’t know what or where it had been done. Remarkably, it was the fact that my only crime was having been born a Fletcher. But, before I die, I want my son and the world to know the truth about the Fletchers and the Drakes and the Queen that caused this contagious and destructive four-hundred-year-old conflict. I write, therefore, these pages, and declare before God, the true and accurate story of the Golden Hinde Conspiracy.

Mr. Fletcher, I am truly intrigued by this story, but I don’t really know what you want me to do for you, I said, bored with his nonsense.

The priest, Francis Fletcher, sailed with Drake, Mr. Olsen, he responded.

Ok, great, so who was he, a relative of yours? I surmised.

Yes, my extremely great grandfather, Daniel informed me.

I see, well, I’ll ask again, what is it you think I can do for you? I repeated myself.

I know I can find where he hid the gold, Mr. Olsen, and I want you to protect my interests after I take what is mine, he replied.

What…who hid the gold? I confusingly asked.

Sir Francis Drake, he responded.

It was a time for silence between attorney and client. Until then, I had never been asked to legally determine a client’s bloodline or biological right to an apparent fortune that had yet to be discovered. The facts of the case were always the reason I would accept representation, until making money became more important. Nonetheless, when I could help another human being become whole, I would.

"Where do you think Sir Francis Drake hid the gold?" I asked Daniel out of natural curiosity.

That’s just it, Mr. Olsen, I’m gonna need your help to find the treasure, he replied.

I thought about referring him to one of my competitors, like the time I sent crazy David Semkin to Glen Harris after he informed me the CIA was probing his thoughts from their secret satellite.

My help, what is it you think we do here, Mr. Fletcher? I asked.

Get to the truth, I’m hoping, he responded. You need to start from the beginning, Mr. Olsen, and follow the clues, Daniel informed me.

For a brief second, I forgot about the beautiful Anna Romanov and formed a mental image of two tons of gold sitting in my office. The idea of physically splitting up treasure crossed my mind at the same time. Even the smell of buried treasure overwhelmed my senses as I fancied myself to be a well-dressed pirate.

What beginning are you talking about, Daniel? I asked.

"When they met, when he did it, all of it," he replied.

In response, I became introspective and began to ask myself what it is I really do? - probably out of confusion about Daniel Fletcher’s tale. I convinced myself that being a lawyer is courageous and takes strong-willed aggression against human malfunction, dereliction, and impotence. In Daniel’s case, I just did not immediately know to what end or for what purpose.

When who met, what are you talking about, Son? I replied.

Queen Elizabeth and Sir Francis Drake, he responded.

"I see, well, if you truly believe that Sir Francis Drake and Father Francis buried chests of gold God knows where, then, by all means, please come see me after you have taken what is yours; but until then, Mr. Fletcher, I don’t see how I can help you," I tried to explained to him.

The truth is always worth fighting for, Mr. Olsen; Isn’t that what you took an oath to do? – find the truth, he then admonished me in a rather naïve idealistic way. He probably even inspired me. So, I kept reading his father’s journal, asking more questions and talking to Daniel Fletcher for what turned out to be hours.

Mr. Conrad, your 12 o’clock is here to see you, Anna announced over my phone in the same poetic guttural fashion. But this time I didn’t think about her voice or her body or the careless designs I had concocted in my head about what she would be like. You might even say I matured, dissolving the reckless nature I was prone to acquire at the sight of a beautiful exotic woman and thereby grew wise and respectable.

Tell captain Darci to assign the client to another associate, please, I’m going to need more time with Mr. Fletcher, I informed her.

Something about Daniel Fletcher’s story had gripped my interest and convinced me to pursue the truth again. The truth, however, would get stranger and stranger and the facts would become more and more unbelievable as I listened to Daniel’s story. Ultimately, against my better judgment, Daniel Fletcher convinced me to start at the beginning. Where it all began over four hundred years ago. When a broke protestant Queen and a lovesick pirate decided to rob a devout catholic King.

PART ONE

THE BEGINNING

Chapter One

Christmas at Whitehall Palace, Middlesex - 1576

You understand I can never marry you, my love; for I am married to the people of England, the Queen proclaimed.

No, no I don’t understand; is it that wanker, Dudley? He certainly cannot bring you additional wealth much less an heir, Drake responded as he rolled over to guzzle a goblet of red wine. Why did you summon me this time, besides the obvious? added Drake.

My God Francis don’t be ridiculous; I have been friends with Robert Dudley well before my cousin Mary tried to have me killed; that ugly Scot can rot in the Tower the rest of her days as far as I’m concerned, Elizabeth replied to change the subject of her other lover - the Earl of Leicester.

Besides, the nobility would rise in revolt if our marriage took place, Queen Elizabeth finished.

Why don’t you take my new boy, William Shakespeare, to write about your exploits and go find me some more Spanish gold? I know the Earl of Leicester wants his head, but he entertains me, so I don’t want him dead - yet,