‘What was it about?’
‘A failed expedition to search for the wreck of the San Cristobal, and retrieve the legendary Llanganates treasure.’
‘Seriously?’ said Jack.
‘Yes. But that wasn’t all. The letter specifically mentioned Father Navarro and what happened to him.’
‘Do you know?’
‘Yes. He died in 1678 of injuries he suffered during that expedition, and this letter was sent by the governor to the king at his request shortly after he died. It was all about unfinished business – and a betrayal.’
‘What kind of betrayal?’ asked Dupree.
‘A betrayal by someone Navarro trusted and held dear.’
‘And this is relevant?’ said Jack.
‘Yes, it definitely is because of what happened shortly after Navarro’s death. Once I had a name, I managed to do some more research and was able to find what I’d been looking for. I found out what happened and I discovered who betrayed Navarro, and why.’
‘Can you tell us?’
‘Yes. Once again, this is directly linked to the Llanganates treasure. Navarro was betrayed by James Mascarino, I mentioned—’
‘Who was James Mascarino?’ interrupted Jack.
‘It was as if my pilgrimage was meant to be,’ continued Landru, ignoring the question. ‘I was meant to meet that old monk and find this extraordinary letter. He was right.’
‘Right about what?’ asked Dupree.
‘Destiny. As soon as I set eyes on that letter, I realised that it was destiny that had brought me to the tomb of Saint James. As you can imagine, I was very excited. To discover another significant document that dealt with the treasure and what happened to it – especially after The Navarro Chronicles – was not only an academic coup that would have a major impact on my career, but also a significant piece of a puzzle, pointing the way to the treasure. And that’s where James Mascarino steps into the arena.’
‘Who was James Mascarino?’ asked Jack again, becoming impatient.
‘The only one who had reliable information about the location of the wreck of the San Cristobal.’
‘How come?’
‘Because of who he was.’
‘Are you going to tell us?’ said Dupree.
‘Yes. He was the son of Mad Dog Regan, the notorious pirate who sank the ship in 1664 and was executed in Havana. The letter the old monk showed me in the library was all about him, and what happened during a failed search for the wreck.’
‘You didn’t mention any of this in your journal,’ said Jack. ‘Why?’
‘No, I didn’t, because what should have been another academic triumph, turned into one of the biggest mistakes of my life.’
‘What kind of mistake?’ asked Jack.
‘One driven by ambition and pride.’
‘Care to elaborate?’
‘As soon as I returned to Paris after my pilgrimage with that extraordinary find, I published another paper, this time about the Rodriguez Letter to the king of Spain, and James Mascarino.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Jack, shaking his head. ‘How could that have been a mistake?’
‘Because it pulled me deeper and deeper into a dark web of violence and death that I couldn’t escape from, a dark web that still ensnares me today. And you are now part of it, like it or not.’
‘Can you tell us more about that?’ said Jack, looking perplexed. For a moment he thought it must be the whisky talking, not Landru, but nothing could have been further from the truth, as he was soon to find out.
‘I will, but first let me tell you about James Mascarino and his doomed search for the wreck of the San Cristobal.’
38
Morro Castle, Havana: 3 June 1678
Gasping for air and barely able to see, Navarro knew he was close to death. Marooned for three weeks on a barren, rocky island with little food and almost no water or shelter, had taken its toll. But what had drained his strength and will to survive more than anything else, was the unexpected betrayal by someone he had trusted and held dear. To have been so wrong and deceived was not only disappointing, but also a crushing realisation of failure, especially for an experienced cleric who prided himself on understanding human nature and the workings of the mind.
The sailors carrying Navarro up to the castle on a makeshift stretcher knew they had to hurry. The man they had rescued two days earlier was barely alive. Four other men rescued at the same time had already died, yet he had insisted on being taken to the castle as soon as possible. Well-connected in Havana with influence in high places, he had also insisted that the governor be immediately notified of his arrival and asked to come to his bedside, as he had important information to convey before it was too late.
Francisco Rodriguez de Ledesma, Governor of Cuba, looked at the man lying on the bed in the darkened room and gasped. He barely recognised Navarro as the refined, cultured friend he had played many a robust chess game with over the years. The physician attending to Navarro bowed. Reading the question on the governor’s troubled face, he shook his head and stepped back.
‘The Lord be praised, you have survived,’ said the governor.
‘Not for long, I’m afraid,’ said Navarro, his voice barely audible.
‘What happened?’
‘Come closer and I’ll tell you.’
After the execution of Mad Dog Regan fourteen years earlier, Navarro had advised the king, Philip IV of Spain, that he had reliable information about the location of the wreck of the San Cristobal. He urged the king to authorise an expedition to locate the wreck and retrieve the legendary Llanganates treasure lost at sea. Unfortunately, the king died a short time later, and it took Navarro almost fourteen years and a trip to Spain to persuade his successor, Charles II, to finance an expedition. When word finally reached Navarro to prepare a salvage operation, he was forty-six years old, and in poor health. That’s why he had turned to James Mascarino for help.
After his notorious father’s execution, Mascarino went to live with Navarro in a monastery in Havana, where he received an excellent education under the watchful eye of his Jesuit protector. Exceptionally bright and eager to please, Mascarino excelled and went to work for a wealthy merchant, where he quickly rose through the ranks and ended up in charge of a vast trading empire stretching from Cadiz to the Caribbean before he turned thirty.
When Navarro approached him with a daring plan to locate the wreck of the San Cristobal, Mascarino embraced the idea with enthusiasm. The governor provided a naval vessel, and Mascarino the needed diving equipment and experienced crew to operate it. What Navarro didn’t know at the time was that he was embarking on a wild goose chase, because the directions on the map given to him by Regan were worthless. What he didn’t know either was that Mascarino had been patiently waiting in the background for just such an opportunity ever since his father’s brutal execution in front of Morro Castle in 1664. To suddenly have a fully equipped naval vessel at his disposal, financed by the governor and the king, to conduct the very search he had been dreaming about, filled him with elation. The time to avenge his father’s death had finally arrived, and he was determined to do whatever it would take to do his memory proud.
Navarro looked at the governor with feverish eyes. ‘We followed the map and directions given to me by Regan and found the island. However, it soon became clear that locating a wreck in the vicinity was unlikely because there were no reefs nearby, only deep ocean, which would make diving for a wreck virtually impossible.’
Navarro paused, trying to catch his breath as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. The governor stepped back and looked at the physician, who averted his eyes.
‘What happened then?’ asked the governor.
‘After circumnavigating the island, and several attempts to find a suitable spot to land, we called off the search. That’s when it happened.’
‘What happened?’
‘The unthinkable.’
‘What do you mean?’
&nb
sp; ‘A mutiny.’
‘A what?’ exclaimed the governor, stunned. ‘But we thought your ship was lost in a storm?’
‘Not so,’ said Navarro. ‘Just before we decided to return home, several members of the crew appeared on deck, armed.’
‘And?’
‘Took the ship.’
‘What!’
‘It happened very quickly, and what was most surprising of all was the fact that everything appeared to be very well organised. In advance, so it seemed. The naval crew of the ship was disarmed virtually without resistance, and the officers arrested—’
‘By whom? Who was in charge?’
Navarro closed his eyes, trying to deal with the painful memories. ‘James Mascarino,’ he said. ‘He was the leader.’
‘No! That’s not possible!’
‘But it is. He took the ship within minutes without a fight, and then addressed the crew.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He told them that they were following an illusion created by his famous father – Mad Dog Regan – and that he, his son, had the only reliable information that would lead them to the wreck and the lost treasure. After that, it was every man for himself.’
‘So, there was no storm?’
‘No. Only a despicable mutiny and betrayal. Mascarino took charge. He was the new, celebrated pirate leader, cheered on by his adoring partners in crime. The crew was given a choice: join him and follow the footsteps of Mad Dog Regan and find the treasure, or be left on a deserted island to perish. What a choice, eh? He even renamed the ship: The Templars Revenge II.’
‘What happened then?’
‘All the officers on our ship and a few loyal members of the crew chose the island over mutiny. The others followed Mascarino, blinded by the promise of gold. After that, we were taken to the island. That’s when I managed to confront Mascarino about all this.’
‘What happened?’
‘Just before he returned to the ship, he came over to me.’
‘And?’
‘He told me that he had been waiting for this moment since his father’s execution and that he was determined to continue what his father began.’
‘What was that?’
‘The Templars’ revenge. He told me that he loathed the Catholic Church, what it stood for, and what it had done to the Templars. And then, just before he left, he told me the most painful …’
Navarro’s voice became faint and trailed off.
‘What?’ urged the governor, leaning forward to hear better.
‘That his father had deceived me by showing me the wrong location of the wreck on the map. But that wasn’t all. Worse was to come.’
‘In what way?’
‘Mascarino claimed that he knew exactly where to find the wreck.’
‘How?’
‘He held up an amulet – some kind of engraved tooth he wore around his neck – and said: “Because of this.” Apparently, his father gave it to him during that farewell meeting I arranged on the morning he died. Gullible fool, me! I pleaded with Mascarino to leave us some water, but he just laughed, turned around and walked away.’
Exhausted, Navarro closed his eyes, his breathing shallow.
‘Promise me that you will write to the king and explain how and why I failed,’ he whispered. ‘I must take full responsibility for this disaster and set the record straight!’
The governor reached for his friend’s limp hand. ‘I promise. I also promise that I will hunt down those responsible and bring them to justice. Mascarino will hang, just like his wretched father.’
Navarro opened his eyes and looked at the governor. ‘And that, my friend, fills me with more sadness than I can possibly put into words.’
Three hours later, Navarro was dead.
* * *
‘What happened to Mascarino?’ asked Jack.
‘He became an infamous pirate, just like his father. They called him El Diabolo, the devil.’
‘And did the governor hunt him down as promised?’ said Dupree.
‘No. Mascarino joined forces with Amaro Pargo, one of the most famous corsairs of his time. A legend. For years they terrorised the Caribbean together, until they had a falling out over a woman. Amaro Pargo was a notorious womaniser.’
‘What happened?’
‘There was a duel. Mascarino was killed by Amaro. That happened in 1721 in San Cristóbal de La Laguna—’
‘On the island of Tenerife in the Canary Islands?’ interjected Jack.
‘Yes. Amaro’s hometown. Legend has it that Amaro wept at Mascarino’s funeral and said that he wanted to be buried next to his friend when the time came.’
‘And the treasure? Was it ever found?’ asked Jack.
‘No. Mascarino mounted several expeditions after the mutiny and kept searching for it for years, but the wreck of the San Cristobal was never found.’
‘So that’s the end of it, then?’ said Dupree.
‘Far from it. In many ways, it’s just the beginning.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Jack.
‘If you arrange that meeting with Mademoiselle Darrieux as promised, I’ll tell you,’ replied Landru, smiling. ‘And what I have to tell you will surprise you both, perhaps even shock you, especially as I am supposed to be used as the bait here. You’ve been pussyfooting around this all night, Jack, admit it. This is all about catching the Death Mask killer, right? We all want that, albeit for different reasons.’
Jack shot Dupree a meaningful look. ‘You’re on,’ he said, trying to diffuse the awkward moment. ‘If I don’t get some shuteye soon, I’ll turn into a pumpkin. And that, I promise you, gentlemen, wouldn’t be a pretty sight. And besides, the formidable Mademoiselle Darrieux would certainly not listen to a pumpkin. Trust me.’
‘In that case, you better go,’ said Dupree and stood up. He walked over to the mantelpiece and blew out the candles. ‘See you in the morning. Hopefully, with the intrepid Mademoiselle Darrieux in tow.’
39
Kuragin chateau: 1 November
Darrieux arrived early. She hadn’t slept a wink since Jack’s phone call and had left Paris at first light. The reasons given for the urgent meeting were classic Jack: brief, lacking in detail, but tantalisingly intriguing. All he had said was that it was related to her sensational coming-out appearance with Isis the year before, which had rocked Paris society to the core and caused such a stir.
Darrieux pulled up in her beloved red 1980 Citroën 2CV in front of the main entrance to the chateau and adjusted her attire. As Jack had promised not only a big surprise, but also meeting some fascinating new people, Darrieux wanted to make sure she made an impression that lived up to her reputation as a Paris personality of note and a flamboyant dresser, impossible to ignore. Because Jack had referred to her meeting with Isis, which was obviously a hint, she had decided to wear a similar outfit.
François, the butler, met her at the door. ‘You are early, Mademoiselle. Jack is still in bed.’
Darrieux raised an eyebrow and gave François a stern look. ‘Really? No matter, I can wait. I could do with some breakfast.’
‘Tristan and Signora Bartolli are having breakfast in the kitchen right now. Perhaps you would care to join them?’
‘Excellent, thank you. I know the way.’
‘Of course,’ said François, unable to suppress a smile as Darrieux strutted past him dressed in the latest ‘butch chic’ style – a plain white shirt and thin black tie, a punkishly torn embroidered vest shouting ‘look at me’, baggy black trousers, and red vintage riot grrrl boots that would have been the envy of Patti Smith, queen of punk rock.
Bartolli looked up as Darrieux swept into the kitchen, walked over to Tristan standing by the stove, gave him a hug, and then turned around.
‘You must be the Italian criminal psychologist with the fearsome reputation Jack’s been telling me about,’ said Darrieux. She put her tiny designer handbag, which was probably worth more than her car, on the table and extended her hand.
‘That’s her,’ said Jack, who had overheard the remark as he walked into the kitchen, wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown that was sizes too big. ‘Be careful, she can see into your soul.’
Darrieux spun around. ‘I have nothing to hide, certainly not since I bared my soul in public last year. Now the whole of Paris knows everything about me. No secrets left.’
‘Everyone has secrets,’ said Jack, running his fingers through his unkempt hair.
‘You think so? You look a wreck, Jack. You should see yourself. Late night? Obviously no secret about that!’
‘Early morning, more likely,’ cook chimed in. ‘He was right here in the kitchen scrounging for food when I arrived just after five.’
‘Is that true?’ said Bartolli, giving Jack a coquettish look.
‘It is. All in the line of duty, as you are about to find out.’
‘You don’t say.’
‘It’s all your fault.’
‘How come?’ said Bartolli.
‘You told me to go down into Katerina’s cellar, select the best Scotch I could find, and then go over to the cottage and have a chat to Landru, remember?’
Bartolli nodded.
‘And that’s exactly what I did.’
‘How did it go?’
‘Coffee first, report later,’ said Jack and sat down.
Bartolli turned to Darrieux sitting next to her. ‘Isn’t it annoying when he does that?’
‘I’m used to it. He can’t help himself. It’s this storyteller thing,’ said Darrieux, lowering her voice. ‘All about calculated anticipation and tension.’
‘It’s more than that,’ said Tristan. ‘He’s preparing the way. And us.’
‘All right, guys, if you’re finished analysing my motives, we can have some breakfast. I’m starving.’
‘You are always starving,’ said Tristan.
‘How true,’ said cook and put a steaming plunger of coffee in front of Jack. ‘That should do it for now. Baked beans with spicy sausage coming up.’
The Death Mask Murders Page 24
