The Death Mask Murders

by Gabriel Farago

  ‘No point,’ said Grimaldi and lit another cigar.

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Let me answer this,’ said Cesaria. ‘I can tell you for a fact that under no circumstances would Giordano talk, no matter what happens. As far as he is concerned, this case is all about omertà, the code of silence. The only reason these high-profile Mafiosi operating in the shadows are going on trial is because omertà has broken down: the Mafia women are talking. And that’s a real problem for the capi, the men in charge, because the women know a lot about Mafia business, and are prepared to take the stand in court and testify. They will spill the rotten Mafia beans. Unheard of!’

  ‘A dead end, then?’ said Jack, disappointment in his voice.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Cesaria with a knowing smile.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Giordano may not be prepared to talk, but Giuseppina might.’

  ‘Who’s Giuseppina?’

  ‘Giordano’s wife. She’s one of the star witnesses in the trial.’

  ‘Seriously?’ said Jack, looking incredulous.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you think we could meet her?

  ‘I don’t see why not. I know the prosecutor,’ said Cesaria. ‘We helped her prepare the case and provided a lot of information about Giordano just recently. She owes me.’

  ‘Where is Giuseppina now?’

  ‘In a safe place somewhere in Calabria. Under witness protection.’

  ‘Another body search then, I suppose?’

  ‘Quite possibly.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Jack turned to Tristan. ‘We are getting quite good at this lately, don’t you think, mate? First the Fleury-Mérogis Prison in Paris, then the Pagliarelli in Palermo, and now a safe house in Calabria.’

  ‘All good intelligence has its price, Jack,’ said Tristan.

  ‘I suppose so. I need another coffee.’

  26

  At sea. Somewhere on the way to Cuba: 24 June 1664

  The storm blew in from the north during the night with unexpected fury, and intensified just before sunrise. Regan hadn’t slept a wink. He had spent the night watching the direction of the storm and interpreting the currents, and carefully studying his charts for clues.

  ‘This would have slowed down the San Cristobal and blown her off course,’ he said to the quartermaster standing next to him. ‘I reckon she should be about here.’ Regan prodded an index finger at a point on the chart and looked at his quartermaster. ‘If the gods of the deep are with us, perhaps she got separated from her escort during the night,’ he continued, a crooked smile spreading across his scarred face, ‘leaving her vulnerable.’

  ‘Could be,’ said the quartermaster, well aware where this was heading. If the galleon was off course without her escort and they should somehow manage to find her, then there was a real chance of taking the ship. The Templars Revenge could outsail and outgun the San Cristobal, and the two hundred ferocious, loot-hungry pirates on board their ship could easily overwhelm her crew.

  ‘Assemble the men,’ said Regan, pushing the map aside, ‘I want to talk to them.’

  ‘Straight away,’ said the quartermaster, itching for some action. ‘If we pull this off, it could be the prize of the century.’

  ‘It would be that. But more importantly, we would deliver a heavy blow to the Church and make history,’ said Regan, grinning. To him, robbing the Jesuits was more important than adding more loot to the pirate coffers. Yet the promise of gold was still the best way to motivate the rapacious crew and whip them into a plunder-frenzy.

  Spellbound, the crew listened to their captain painting a picture of a vulnerable Spanish galleon within their grasp, groaning under the weight of silver and gold beyond their wildest dreams. Standing on the quarterdeck in the driving rain, his drenched red coat flapping in the wind like dragon wings, Regan looked exactly like the legendary, invincible buccaneer the whole of the Caribbean was talking about, instilling fear and panic every time The Templars Revenge hoisted the dreaded Jolly Roger, the pirate flag, and pounced on its prey.

  Regan reached for his cutlass and turned to face the huge seas rocking the ship. ‘The San Cristobal is somewhere out there, and we will find her,’ he shouted and pointed to the north. ‘And when we do, we will take her! Are you with me?’

  ‘Yes!’ roared the men.

  ‘Then, let the hunt begin! Quartermaster, change course now!’

  The lookout high up in the crow’s nest on top of the main mast saw it first: white sails on the horizon. Regan smiled when he heard the news. The San Cristobal was exactly where he thought she would be. The crucial question that would determine his next move was this: was she alone, or was her escort close by? If so, he couldn’t risk a confrontation. But should she have been separated from her escort during the storm, which was possible, then he had his once-in-a-lifetime chance.

  Regan turned to the quartermaster. ‘Until we know for sure, we must try to stay out of sight, but close in at the same time.’

  ‘How are we going to do that?’

  ‘Ah. Easy. Here, look.’

  Regan picked up the map and pointed at a group of small, uninhabited islands that lay directly ahead. ‘We are much faster than the San Cristobal. We can sail around these islands without being seen, and intercept her here.’ Smiling, Regan tapped a forefinger on the map.

  It was a brilliant plan. The islands would act as cover. ‘By the time we come to this point here, we’ll be almost upon her. If her escort is close by, we retreat; if not, we engage. I know these islands well. They will not risk a pursuit in these treacherous waters. And besides, we are faster.’

  The quartermaster looked in awe at his captain as he left the cabin to give the orders for the ship to change course.

  The San Cristobal had been badly damaged during the storm. One of her masts had broken in half, crushing the deck area below. Three seamen had been killed. The carpenters were desperately trying to repair the damage in order to keep the limping ship manoeuvrable.

  At first, Captain Medina thought that the frigate emerging out of a channel between two islands in the distance was his escort. Relieved, he reached for his telescope to make sure. Closing one eye, he pressed the telescope against the other, and paled. It wasn’t his escort, but something ominous: a large ship without a flag, coming towards him under full sail. Holding his breath, he kept staring at the ship when suddenly, a flag was hoisted: the dreaded black skull and crossbones; the Jolly Roger. My God, The Templars Revenge, thought Medina, well aware what this meant.

  ‘Pirate ship ahead!’ he shouted, pulling himself together, and began to bark orders to prepare his ship for battle.

  Regan turned to the quartermaster standing behind him. ‘She’s damaged, a sitting duck,’ he said and put down his telescope. ‘And no escort in sight. This is our day! Prepare the guns. We’ll give her a broadside first to cause panic and confusion, then we board.’

  Every man on The Templars Revenge knew exactly what do to. Within moments, the guns were primed and ready, the grappling hooks prepared for boarding, and the excited men – armed to the teeth – were standing by, the razor-sharp blades of their cutlasses reflecting the morning sun like a deadly army, ready to march into battle and fight to the death.

  27

  Searching for the San Cristobal: 25 June 1664

  Captain Cordoba, commander of the Santo Cristo de Tobar, knew the area well but had searched the whole day for the San Cristobal without success. Separated during the night by the storm, he had kept his ship well away from the islands and their deadly reefs that flanked the route he had chosen to Havana because he was in a hurry, anxious to make it to Cuba before hurricane season began. Relatively easy to navigate on a calm day, the reefs became very dangerous during a storm, and experienced sailors like Cordoba stayed well clear of them.

  Fearing the worst, Cordoba took another pass through a narrow channel the San Cristobal could have drifted into during the night, when one of his men saw some debr
is floating in the calm sea ahead.

  The half-submerged barrels, pieces of rope and splintered decking timbers told a tragic, all-too-familiar tale of a ship wrecked, most likely on a hidden reef during the storm. Survivors seemed unlikely because few sailors could swim, but Cordoba decided to keep searching the area just in case, as long as daylight allowed. Just before sunset, one of the lookouts began to wave his arms. ‘Over here,’ he shouted and pointed to a large piece of timber with some canvas and rope attached, floating by with what looked like several men clinging to its side.

  One of those men was Navarro, who licked his parched lips and stared at the ship towering above him. Trying to focus, he lifted his aching arm and began to wave like a man possessed.

  Cordoba couldn’t believe his luck. One of the men plucked from the deadly grip of the sea appeared to be none other than the feared ‘Mad Dog’ Regan, the notorious buccaneer. The scar, the missing ear, the diamond earring and the red embroidered coat all pointed in the right direction. He was barely alive when they lifted him onto the ship and it was only after the ship’s surgeon went to work on him that he began to drift back into the world of the living, albeit, thought Cordoba, for a limited time. Regan’s date with the hangman seemed a certainty once they reached Havana.

  The other two survivors were Navarro, and a deckhand from The Templars Revenge, a boy of about ten who, as a lowly powder monkey, helped load the guns during combat. Both had only survived because they had strapped themselves to the piece of floating timber with a rope from the rigging, and so managed to keep their heads above water. Two others also strapped to the timbers were not so lucky. They had drowned during the night.

  Wrapped in a blanket and holding a mug of brandy with shaking hands, Navarro sat on a stool in the captain’s cabin. No longer cold and shivering, he thanked the Good Lord for his miraculous rescue. He tried to stand up when Cordoba swept into the cabin, looking impressive in his uniform.

  ‘Don’t get up, Father,’ he said and reached for the brandy bottle on the table. ‘A little more?’

  Navarro shook his head, bracing himself for what he knew was to come: an interrogation.

  With his arms folded in front of his chest, Cordoba looked sternly at Navarro. ‘Please, Father, tell us what happened.’

  ‘As you know, the storm came out of nowhere,’ began Navarro, a natural storyteller. ‘It must have been just after midnight when the wind began to howl, and huge seas began to pound the ship. We were told to stay inside and batten down. Outside, the crew was desperately preparing the ship in the hope to ride out the storm. Visibility was almost non-existent in the driving rain. About an hour later, I heard a loud crash. The whole ship began to shudder and we feared it must have hit a reef, but fortunately, that wasn’t the case. When I looked outside, I saw that one of the masts had broken in half and fallen onto the deck, bringing down the rigging and trapping several sailors under its massive timbers. There was a lot of shouting. Then, just before daybreak, the seas finally calmed. The storm had gone, and the San Cristobal was drifting in what looked like a lake surrounded by small islands.’ Navarro stopped and looked dreamily into the distance.

  ‘Go on,’ prompted Cordoba.

  ‘The ship had been badly damaged during the night and was barely seaworthy. Captain Medina had managed to keep his ship away from the treacherous reefs, but he had been unable to protect it from the ferocious wind and mountainous seas. The carpenters went to work to repair the damage. That’s when it happened.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Cordoba.

  ‘A ship appeared out of nowhere. At first we thought it was you, but soon we realised that wasn’t so. The Jolly Roger flapping in the wind told us that. Pirates! Captain Medina, a courageous man, realised at once what was happening. He prepared his ship the best he could for the inevitable. But,’ Navarro paused, ‘he did have something rather extraordinary up his sleeve …’

  ‘What?’ asked Cordoba.

  ‘A brilliant surprise.’

  ‘What kind of surprise?’

  ‘Once he realised that we were under attack by The Templars Revenge, Regan’s notorious pirate ship, he knew that without your support, we were doomed. Regan didn’t take prisoners and this was going to be a fight to the death. That’s when Medina knew he had to do something special, and he did.’

  ‘Did what exactly?’

  ‘He carefully positioned his ship between two reefs in a way that placed a partially hidden, deadly obstacle into the path of the attacking ship, which, if luck was on his side, could have devastating consequences should its captain fail to notice the looming danger in time. And that is exactly what happened.’

  Navarro took a sip of brandy.

  ‘Can you elaborate?’ asked Cordoba, fascinated by the account. He knew that the circumstances of the loss of the San Cristobal would have a significant bearing on his reputation and future in the Spanish Navy.

  ‘Realising we were trapped and helpless,’ continued Navarro, ‘The Templars Revenge closed in rapidly, with hundreds of screaming marauders lining the decks, cheered on by their larger-than-life captain standing on the quarterdeck, brandishing his cutlass. In the excitement of the chase, they failed to notice the telltale signs of a shallow reef, and headed straight for it, just as our captain had hoped. The trap was about to close. We watched in silence as the pirate ship came bearing down on us. As soon as it was almost within range, Medina gave the signal to fire – merely as a distraction, I suspect – and then our ship retreated a little further into the channel behind us. Moments after the guns went off, most of them missing their target, The Templars Revenge hit the reef side on at full speed. The impact failed to stop the ship, but pushed it slightly off course, the razor-sharp reef gouging a huge hole into its side. The ship began to take on water, but continued towards us, nevertheless. A few minutes later it was close enough for the grappling hooks to be thrown across, but before that happened, The Templars Revenge fired a broadside at close range, causing enormous damage to our ship. After that, the jubilant pirate crew came on board as the two ships were joined in a deadly embrace. The rest was hand-to-hand combat. Slaughter, severed limbs, rivers of blood, death.

  ‘What about Regan? Did you see him?’

  ‘Yes. He was one of the first to come on board. Firing his pistols and fighting like a madman, he was hacking his way towards our captain, who was directing his men from the quarterdeck …’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The men stepped back as Regan climbed onto the deck and confronted Medina. Moments later, the two captains were locked in a ferocious duel. A fight to the death.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘At first, they appeared evenly matched, but soon Regan, the superior swordsman, gained the upper hand. When he inflicted a deep cut that almost severed Medina’s left arm, the valiant captain of the San Cristobal was, just like his ship, doomed. Bleeding profusely, he sank to his knees and the naval short sword fell out of his hand. Just before Regan delivered the coup de grâce and cut off his head, Medina turned to the quartermaster fighting close by, and with his voice failing, gave an order. Moments later, there was a huge explosion below deck as the powder kegs were ignited by the crew and set the ship on fire. By the time Regan realised what was happening, it was too late. The San Cristobal was sinking and the fire spread quickly to the sails and the rigging and across to The Templars Revenge, setting it on fire as well.’

  Cordoba nodded, well pleased with what he had just heard. Captain Medina had made sure that the precious cargo of silver did not fall into the hands of the pirates, and his men didn’t die in vain, but with honour, and took the pirate ship and its crew down with them into their watery grave.

  ‘What happened then?’ asked Cordoba.

  ‘The fighting stopped and it was every man for himself. Most jumped overboard to escape the flames. That’s what I did. I managed to climb on top of a floating piece of timber just before the San Cristobal disappeared into the deep, taking The Templars Revenge
with it.’

  ‘Captain Medina died with honour,’ said Cordoba, ‘and turned defeat into victory. And thanks to you, Father, his story will now be told and recorded in the annals of history.’

  With that, Cordoba took a bow, turned and left the cabin, satisfied that his own reputation was not only safe, but would soon be considerably enhanced when he delivered ‘Mad Dog’ Regan, the dreaded pirate, into the hands of the authorities in Havana, and Father Navarro, a respected Jesuit, gave his eyewitness account of what happened to the San Cristobal.

  28

  A secret location near Catanzaro, Calabria: 27 October

  Cesaria looked at her watch and turned to Jack sitting next to her in the plane. ‘Not long now,’ she said. ‘We should land in Catanzaro in less than half an hour.’

  ‘I can’t believe you pulled this off so quickly,’ said Jack.

  ‘It wasn’t easy, I can tell you, but we owe you, Jack, especially after your help in the Stolzfus matter, and what happened in Venice. And besides, this could assist in the court case.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Cesaria reached for Jack’s hand. ‘I’m glad you didn’t bring Tristan along.’

  Jack nodded. He had persuaded Tristan to return to Venice, rather than come along to meet the mother of the man suspected of having arranged the hit in Venice meant for him. ‘It would have been a mistake. He tries to hide his pain, but things are too raw at the moment. But I do miss his intuition. You know what he’s like. He can see things we can’t.’

  ‘He can hear the whisper of angels?’

  ‘He can. And what’s really surprising is …’

  ‘Yes?’ said Cesaria, watching Jack carefully.

  ‘What those whispers are all about. Not always angelic.’

  ‘Fallen angels?’

  ‘Some of them definitely are.’