CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

 

 

Payne, Jones, and Jarkko found a restaurant that served soup near the Malta Maritime Museum and grabbed an open table on the patio that overlooked the Grand Harbour Marina. Boats of all sizes bobbed up and down in the water as a gentle breeze came ashore, keeping the three friends cool as they sat in the shade of a large umbrella and ordered their first drinks of the day.

As was his custom, Jarkko ordered first. “Jarkko will have vodka and soda. But instead of soda, put in extra splash of vodka because Jarkko is extra thirsty. But do not charge for extra vodka because Jarkko order vodka in tricky way.”

The well-dressed waiter didn’t smile. “Of course, sir.”

Jarkko pointed at Jones. “This is David. He is not homeless. He will pay for drink and soup.”

The waiter nodded. “You would also like soup?”

“Yes. And warm loaf of bread. Jarkko will dip bread in soup.”

“Excellent plan, sir. I think you will be pleased.”

“Jarkko agrees. That is why Jarkko ordered both bread and soup.”

The waiter turned his attention to Payne, who was trying hard to keep a straight face after listening to Jarkko’s order. “I’ll have what Jarkko’s having, but instead of a vodka with extra vodka, I’d like a Diet Coke with extra ice. And when I say extra ice, I mean fill my entire glass with ice—all the way to the top. I like my caffeine extra cold.”

The waiter nodded. “A Diet Coke with all of our ice, a bowl of soup with a warm loaf of bread, and the non-homeless guy is paying for everything.”

Payne grinned. “Perfect.”

“Wait, what?” Jones complained.

The waiter glanced at him next. “And for David?”

“I actually just ate waffles, so I’ll stick with water for now.”

“Sparkling or flat?”

Jones grimaced. “How about tap?”

The waiter sighed. “If you must.”

Then he walked away in disgust.

“So,” Jarkko said excitedly, “you are not homeless. This is excellent news. But why are you carrying bags of trash in streets of Birgu? Jarkko is confused.”

Payne explained everything as succinctly as possible, from the pressure of his family’s business, to the sale of Jones’s agency, to their sudden desire to hop on a plane to escape it all. Jones threw in some details about hot stewardesses and black ghosts, just to keep things lively, and before their soup was even served, Jarkko was caught up on everything.

Jarkko beamed as he glanced across the table at his friends. “Jarkko is so happy to see you. It almost blows Jarkko’s mind. Until today, Jarkko did not believe in fate, but now Jarkko is not so sure. Perhaps Jarkko was supposed to see jobless friends on street for reason.”

Payne pointed at Jarkko’s empty glass. “Is that reason to buy Jarkko another drink?”

Jarkko smiled. “That would be nice. Thank you, David.”

“You’re welcome,” Payne said as he winked at Jones.

Jones rolled his eyes at the mounting bill but said nothing.

“Actually,” Jarkko said as he lowered his voice to a whisper, “reason is much bigger than single drink. Jarkko is not in Malta for good time. Jarkko is in Malta for secret treasure.”

Payne and Jones instinctively glanced at each other.

Few words piqued their interest more than treasure.

Despite having no formal training in the field of archaeology, they had been involved with some of the largest and most important historical discoveries of the twenty-first century, treasures so spectacular that the Smithsonian Institute needed to build a special wing to house their artifacts for an upcoming joint exhibition with the Ulster Archives.

“What kind of treasure?” Jones whispered.

“A secret one.”

“Yes,” Jones said with a chuckle. “I heard you the first time. I meant—”

“Shhhh!” Jarkko ordered. “Someone is coming!”

A young busboy approached their table while dragging a wooden contraption that was too cumbersome for him to carry and too old to work properly. He was under the age of ten and struggled to open the folding tray stand that would ultimately hold their food. The process took over a minute and would have taken longer if Payne hadn’t helped the grateful kid.

Their waiter arrived next. He still refused to smile. He placed his tray on the stand, the bread on the table, and then ladled their soup into two large bowls. It smelled so damn good, Jones instantly regretted not ordering some. He waved his arms above his head, trying to get the waiter’s attention so he could ask for an extra bowl, but the waiter ignored him, apparently still offended by his request to have a glass of tap water instead of a bottle of something fancier.

“Mmmmm,” Jarkko moaned. “This is better than blowjob.”

Payne laughed. “I don’t know about that, but it’s pretty fucking good.”

“Can I try some?” Jones asked with spoon in hand.

“No,” Jarkko said as he pulled his bowl toward his chest. “But you can have crust of Jarkko’s bread. Just like peasant in homeland that does not have job.”

“But I paid for it,” Jones grumbled.

“To Jarkko, it seems you are also paying for not ordering soup. Aren’t you, my friend?”

Payne bit his tongue to keep from laughing until Jarkko let out a hearty roar. His laughter was so contagious that even Jones joined in, despite being the butt of the joke.

“Of course you can taste!” Jarkko said as he pushed his bowl toward Jones. “You can have soup. You can have bread. You can even have vodka. Just not Jarkko’s vodka. There are some boundaries that men should not cross.”

“Understood,” Jones said as he tried Jarkko’s soup. “Wow. That is good.”

Jarkko nodded. “You should get bowl. David is paying.”

“So,” Payne laughed, “you were saying something about a treasure?”

“Shhhh!” Jarkko ordered as he glanced around the empty patio to make sure no one was listening. “Okay, coast is clear. Jarkko will explain.”

Payne and Jones leaned in to appease their paranoid friend.

“As you know,” Jarkko whispered, “Jarkko is more than fisherman. Jarkko make big money dealing with Russian scum. Sometimes Jarkko bring people in. Sometimes Jarkko bring people out. And sometimes Jarkko do other stuff that Jarkko does not like to talk about.”

Payne and Jones figured as much, but they weren’t about to ask.

“Last month, Jarkko agrees to large job with much risk. Jarkko is given half of money up front. This is normal in delivery business. But when Jarkko complete job and ask for second half of payment, man does not have money. This is good man. Not criminal. This is man that Jarkko trust and work for many times. So what does Jarkko do?”

Jones shrugged. “You cut him some slack.”

“No!” Jarkko growled. “In Russia, you must never show weakness. So I kill man and burn down house. This is how Jarkko get respect.”

Payne and Jones tensed, unsure how to respond to Jarkko’s dark side.

Thankfully, they didn’t have to.

A moment later, Jarkko started laughing.

“Is joke!” Jarkko said as he pointed at his friends. “You should see face! David turn white, and Jon turn red. Both look like cartoons on broken TV. Color is not right!”

Jones put his hands to his face. He could literally feel the blood returning to his cheeks. “Damn, dude. Don’t do that!”

“But is funny!” Jarkko howled. “Jarkko like making joke with friends!”

Payne laughed, but he sensed underneath it all that Jarkko was fully prepared to hand out justice when the situation called for it. He knew there was no way that Jarkko could have lasted so long in a cutthroat industry like smuggling without occasionally getting his hands bloody. Even if that was just to punch a Fiat when his friend was in need.

“So what did you do?” Payne wondered.

“Jarkko make deal. Instead of money, Jarkko take something else for services. Man is collector of—how you say—antiquities. Is this right term?”

Both Payne and Jones nodded.

Jarkko grinned. “That is tough one for Jarkko. When Jarkko speak English, Jarkko has mouthful of marbles. But Jarkko not dumb. Jarkko just have trouble with big words.”

“And first-person pronouns,” Jones added.

“What are those?”

“Never mind,” Payne muttered as he shook his head at Jones. “Your English is fantastic compared to our Finnish.”

“Jarkko also speak Russian, Swedish, Greek, and Italian. How about you?”

“That’s not important,” said Jones, who was clearly changing the subject. “Tell us more about the antiquities. How do they relate to the treasure?”

Jarkko apologized. “Sorry for interruption. Sometimes mind wonders when telling story. So, man with no money has large collection of antiquities from Russian Empire. They are said to be very valuable, so Jarkko take as payment. But I do not steal. This is good man. He have no money, so he give Jarkko collection as trade. Does this make sense?”

Both Payne and Jones nodded in understanding.

“Before Jarkko meet Jon and David, Jarkko no care about history. Jarkko only care about yacht, and vodka, and big-breasted women. But when Jarkko find treasure in Greece, Jarkko start to think about past—and every treasure lost at sea. As you know, Jarkko spend whole life on water, so who better to find lost treasures than Jarkko?”

“No one,” Payne said.

“Exactly! So Jarkko start looking. As luck should have it—or maybe fate, Jarkko not sure—Jarkko find clue about treasure that no one yet find. Then, when Jarkko look on internet, treasure not mentioned. No description at all. That means treasure is secret.”

“Or it never existed,” Jones suggested.

Jarkko shook his head vigorously. “This is not so. Description is real. Jarkko read letter in expensive collection. Jarkko no lie to friends!”

Payne put his hand on Jarkko’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Relax, big guy. We’re on your side. We believe everything you said and hope you’re right. Unfortunately, as you know from your business, sometimes people aren’t as honest as you, so there’s a chance—just a chance—that DJ is right. Does that make sense?”

Jarkko nodded. “Yes. That make sense. Sometimes even David is right.”

“Wait,” Jones objected. “That’s not what he meant.”

“Jarkko sorry that he raise voice. Jarkko not mad at friends. Jarkko frustrated.”

“About what?” Payne asked.

“Jarkko serious about treasure, so Jarkko no drink last night. Jarkko wake up early, put on favorite puffy shirt, and go to Malta Maritime Museum to look for answers. People very nice in there and Jarkko see many wonderful things, but Jarkko find nothing about treasure.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Jones suggested. “If this treasure actually exists, the less people who know about it, the better. Tell me, who wrote the letter that you’re referring to?”

“Paul,” Jarkko answered.

“Paul who?” Jones wondered. “Paul Revere? Paul McCartney? Paul Rudd?”

Jarkko shook his head. “Paul the First, Emperor of Russia.”

“Oh. That Paul.”

Payne leaned forward. “Wait. You’re telling me you have personal correspondence from Paul the First, former Emperor of Russia, describing the contents of a secret treasure that you can’t find on the Internet?”

“Yes,” Jarkko said. “You have summed it up perfectly.”

“And you’d like our help finding it?”

Jarkko nodded. “That is why Jarkko is soooo happy to see jobless friends on street. And that is why Jarkko start to believe in fate. Jarkko help you find treasure in Greece. Now you help Jarkko find treasure in Malta.”