CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

 

 

 

Mark Galea climbed out of the black panel van when he saw the yacht pull up to the private dock. It was located in a deepwater marina that was a ten-minute drive to Valletta. In Payne’s opinion, it was far enough from the city to avoid prying eyes but close enough to the tunnel system to give them an escape route if something happened to go wrong.

Payne was the first and only one off the yacht. He held a gun in his hand but concealed it behind his back as he made his way toward their driver. Although he trusted Galea, he had no idea if the Russians had followed him there or had compromised him in any way. Payne seriously doubted either possibility, but he wasn’t willing to risk everyone’s life on it until he had a chance to get the lay of the land and examine the expression on his driver’s face.

“So let me see if I got this straight,” Galea said as he made his way across the gravel parking lot toward Payne. “When I picked you up at the airport, you had no luggage. Then when I picked you up at the mall, you suddenly had luggage. Then when I picked you up at the hotel, you had trash bags filled with fancy rubbish. And now, when I pick you up at a private marina, you have absolutely nothing, but I have an entire van filled with mysterious wooden crates.”

Galea shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all. “You, my friend, are the most interesting man in the world.”

Payne laughed as he tucked his gun into his belt under the back of his shirt before he stuck out his hand to shake Galea’s. “I don’t know about that, but you are certainly the world’s most accommodating driver. Thanks for doing all of this for us. I know it required a lot of trust on your part, and I’m truly appreciative of your time and effort.”

“My pleasure,” Galea said with a smile. “Just promise me that this isn’t the beginning of the American invasion of Malta that David teased me about.”

“Nope,” Payne assured him. “Pretty much the opposite. We hired a local historian, and we’re going to explore some of the tunnels underneath Valletta. We want to see what Malta’s former occupants built underneath the city before they departed your beautiful country.”

“Thank goodness,” Galea said. “I’m so used to driving on the left-hand side of the road, I truly don’t know what I’d do if America took control of Malta. I’d rather retire and move to London than drive on the right-hand side like you crazy Yanks.”

“Wow. I can’t remember the last time someone called me a ‘Yank’, but I’ll let it slide since it’s approaching midnight and you have a van full of guns and explosives.”

“Pardon?” Galea blurted.

Payne laughed. “Just kidding. DJ told me to say that. He said it would freak you out.”

“And it did.”

“Good. Consider us even for the Yank comment.”

Galea nodded. “Will do.”

“If you’d like, I’m more than happy to show you the contents of the crates. Although I get the sense if you were truly worried, you would have taken a peek before I arrived.”

Galea smiled. “You’re right. I would have. But I researched you online after the shootout at the library, so I know who you are and trust you completely.”

Payne assumed as much. “We trust you as well.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Great. Then why don’t you start opening crates while I get my team?”

“Works for me.”

Payne turned and walked back toward the dock. He was halfway there when he spotted a fully armed Jones and Jarkko near the stern of the yacht. “We’re clear. Get the others.”

A few minutes later, Payne was introducing his historians to Galea, who set down one of the crates to shake their hands. Inside the boxes was everything they needed for their upcoming adventure: lights, ropes, archaeological gear, clothing, and footwear, plus a number of electronic devices that would aid them in mapping the tunnels and getting them through impediments.

Although Payne and Jones were comfortable in their T-shirts and shorts, Marissa convinced them to put on full-length, water-resistant clothing and boots by showing them a few videos that she had taken on her phone while exploring some of the public tunnels during the past few years. Due to broken drainage systems, many of the tunnels had at least a foot of water in them. She didn’t think conditions would be quite that bad, since it wasn’t the rainy season, but she felt the best way to protect their electronic equipment—and themselves from scrapes and insect bites—was with the proper clothing.

Marissa climbed into the van and closed the door behind her. When she emerged a short while later, she was wearing black boots, black cargo pants, and a snug black sweater that stretched when she moved. “I feel like a ninja.”

Payne smiled. “You look like one, too. A really sexy ninja.”

“You mean a kunoichi,” Jones said.

“Excuse me?”

“A kunoichi. That’s the proper name for a female practitioner of ninjutsu. I mean, if you’re gonna give a girl a compliment, you might as well get the terminology right.”

Ulster nodded. “David is quite correct. Marissa is technically a sexy kunoichi.”

Marissa blushed and kissed Ulster on the cheek. “Thank you, Petr.”

Ulster smiled. “You’re welcome, my dear.”

“Hold on!” Payne complained. “I’m the one who gave you the compliment in the first place, but Petr ends up getting the kiss. What’s up with that?”

Ulster chuckled. “Obviously she likes me more.”

Marissa nodded. “It’s true. I do.”

“Fine,” Payne said as he grabbed his change of clothes. “If you need me, I’ll be getting undressed inside the van.”

Jones grinned. “Worst pickup line ever!”

Payne held in his laughter until he closed the door behind him.

 

◊                      ◊                      ◊

 

A few minutes to midnight, Galea parked the van down the street from St. Paul’s Pro-Cathedral. Founded in Valletta in 1839 AD, it was one of three cathedrals of the Anglican Diocese of Gibraltar in Europe, but since the church wasn’t the main cathedral of the diocese, it was stuck with the designation “pro-cathedral” in spite of its size and grandeur.

Considered a local landmark, its spire stood nearly two hundred feet tall and was constructed with Maltese limestone in a neo-classical style, and yet none of that mattered to the team leader inside the van. The sole reason they were there was because of what used to occupy the space before the church: the Auberge d'Allemagne, the inn for the German knights.

Although Ulster and Marissa didn’t expect to find a treasure underneath the streets of Valletta, they hoped that the tunnel system built by Cassar might provide them with more clues about the Order’s secret treasure. According to the letter from Paul the First, Hompesch had contacted him previously to ask for Russia’s assistance to move the Grand Master’s treasure out of Malta and past all of the threats lurking in the Mediterranean. Paul responded that he would happily assist with the endeavor, but his letter was dated in April of 1798, less than two months before Napoleon’s arrival. So the historians had no way of knowing what happened next.

If anything had happened at all.

Marissa still wasn’t confident that there ever was a treasure. She felt that Hompesch could have created a fictional hoard in order to assure Paul’s assistance in the Order’s upcoming battle against Napoleon. But when Russian ships didn’t arrive in time to protect the Knights from the French armada, Hompesch had no choice but to surrender in shame.

In her mind, that was the scenario that best fit the history books.

Hompesch wasn’t a hero. He was a coward.

Like she had always been led to believe.

Ulster, on the other hand, was far more open-minded. Unlike his former student, he had a lot of experience rewriting the history books that she clung to. He was doing his best to open her eyes to a wide range of possibilities, and he felt a trip through a secret tunnel system underneath the city that she knew so well was just the elixir to do it.

Sitting in the passenger seat of the van, Payne stared out of the windshield. He wanted to make sure they were completely alone before he opened the cargo door to let out his team in the alley. “What kind of patrols should we expect at night?”

Galea shrugged from the driver’s seat. “Normally very few, but you might have heard there was a shootout at the library and a dead Russian found in the Grand Harbour Marina. I’m not quite sure how that’s going to affect the local watch.”

Payne smiled. “Fair enough.”

Galea glanced at him. “Why are you so worried about the police? Tell me the truth: are you getting ready to rob the church?”

“I knew he’d wuss out,” Jones teased from the back.

“Not at all,” Galea said with a laugh. “Take whatever you want from Saint Paul’s. That wouldn’t bother me one bit. I’m Catholic, not Anglican. I’m on your side in this holy war.”

Jones laughed. “That’s more like it!”

Marissa rolled her eyes. “I can assure you there will be no thieving on my watch. We’re merely going to inspect the tunnels, not plunder a cathedral.”

Jarkko groaned. “Marissa make bad pirate. Sexy ninja, but bad pirate.”

“Kunoichi,” Ulster stressed. “A sexy kunoichi.”

“Gesundheit,” Jarkko said.

Payne glanced at Galea, who was more than a little bit amused by their antics. “I know what you’re thinking, but I can assure you that I wasn’t drunk when I assembled this team. Jarkko might have been, but I wasn’t. These are some of the top people in their fields.”

Galea laughed. “I’ll be sure to tell that to the rescue squad when you get lost underground. Maybe they’ll try a little harder to find you.”

Payne smiled and handed him a Payne Industries phone. “Before you call for outside assistance, please try us first. There’s special technology in our devices that should allow us to communicate through the limestone foundation of the city. If we get into any trouble, we’ll reach out for help, and the same goes for you.”

Galea shook his head. “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you. If you don’t survive, I don’t get paid.”