by Trevor Scott
9
During the hour and a half flight from Rome to Malta, Jake and Elisa, the Italian intelligence officer, talked only about how much fun they would have on the beaches—nothing about the real reason for their visit. Jake had purchased his ticket with a debit card he had from a bank in Canada. He kept no more than a couple thousand dollars in that account at any given time, and only used it when he also used his fake Canadian passport. He guessed that the Italian woman had her agency buy her ticket for her, untraceable as an officer of the state.
When they got to the Malta airport, Elisa rented a car, a VW Passat, and they decided to finally give their tail the slip.
He thought about his last visit to the island nation, and realized not much had changed. Perhaps a few new buildings, the stark, white stucco in sharp contrast to the azure sky and aqua marine sea. Glancing at the hills in the distance above the harbor, he remembered how he had met that GRU defector and barely escaped the island with the man. The Russians had shot up a perfectly good BMW as the two of them raced to an awaiting U.S. Navy Seahawk helicopter that brought them to an aircraft carrier just over the horizon to the south. That mission, like most Jake had accomplished, remained classified.
Jake, the reluctant passenger, leaned back into the leather chair as Elisa picked up speed once leaving the airport terminal area. He glanced behind him and saw that the men had been forced to get into a taxi to try to follow. “I think we should have no problem leaving them behind,” Jake said.
“Thanks to you,” she said, as she shifted into fourth gear and hit the gas even harder. “That was a good idea having you hold the taxi out front while I ditched my tail and got the car.”
Jake couldn’t take all the credit. “Well, it was you who set up the car on your cell phone from the bathroom of the plane.”
She finally hit fifth gear and let the Passat settle into a cruising speed. “Would you like to tell me where we’re going?”
He had spent the time from the professor’s office to this moment wondering that same thing. Professor Sara Halsey Jones had to have a compelling reason to come to Malta just a couple of days ago. And it had to have something to do with Polybius and his works. “First,” Jake said, “let me see your phone.”
Elisa gave him a quizzical glance. “Why?”
“I need to access the internet.”
She shrugged and said, “In my purse.”
Jake found her smart phone and quickly got onto the net researching the country’s leading authority on pre-Roman history. He quickly found out his choices were limited. Only the University of Malta might have someone Sara would consult. “Wow. Did you know the former leader of North Korea, Kim Jung Il, graduated from the University of Malta? Who knew.” He clicked through the university site and finally found what he was seeking. “Here we go. A professor who specializes in the history of Mediterranean civilization. Director of the Mediterranean Institute. Let’s start there.”
By the time Jake looked up, he saw that they were now heading toward the downtown area of the capital city, Valletta.
“Is the university in the old town area?” she asked him.
“No. Actually it looks like it’s in a suburb called Msida.” He checked his watch and realized it would be after normal office hours at the campus.
“Should I head there?”
“I don’t think it would do any good at this hour. Besides being summer school, it’s too late in the evening. Let’s regroup and get something to eat.”
“I could eat.”
Using her phone, Jake found them a pizzeria in the old town area of Valletta a few blocks from the main ferry terminal. They each bought personal pizzas and shared a bottle of Chianti.
When they were finishing up their wine, Jake finally asked, “So, would you finally like to tell me why Italy’s External Intelligence and Security Service is interested in finding an American college professor?”
Elisa took a sip of wine and then licked a drop from her upper lip. “Seriously? I don’t know for sure.”
He could tell she was holding back something. “But someone told you to find me and work with me.”
“True. Would you like some more wine?”
“Gotta love Italian women. They can sure hold their wine. But right now I think you should hold off and answer my questions. Otherwise why should I work with you?”
She was thinking about that, her expressive face giving away, perhaps, more than she liked. “Apparently our government is concerned about some of our antiquities disappearing and being sold to rich people.”
Jake swirled his hand to her, meaning continue.
“The economy in Italy is not great, as I’m sure you know. So some people have started treasure hunting. Even digging around some of our most precious ancient sites, like churches and ruins.”
“What does this have to do with Professor Sara Halsey Jones? You can’t tell me she’s a grave robber.”
“No, no, no. Not at all. We believe that she has the most honorable of intentions.”
“But you’re concerned that others might know she’s on to something.”
“Exactly.”
Just then her phone buzzed and she found it in her purse and put it to her ear. At first she simply listened and then she talked so fast Jake could only pick up on a few words. She looked at Jake and he guessed the person on the other end had asked about him. Finally, she said she understood and hung up.
“Your boss?” Jake asked her.
She nodded. “They wanted to verify you were with me. They said a man from your government would be here shortly to give you something.”
Instinctively, Jake reached for his gun under his left arm, but it wasn’t there. Great, he thought. They were tracking her and now they would be tracking him as well.
Just as these thoughts rolled through his mind, Jake saw his contact come through the front door and scan the room for him. The tall man was wearing almost the identical linen suit that he had worn the day he had come to offer Jake the job at the Tunisian prison. What the hell was he doing in Malta? The man finally saw Jake and came over to him. He had a small satchel over his right shoulder, which he held onto tightly as he approached and stood in front of their table.
“Rob, what are you doing in Malta?” Jake asked him. Without waiting for an answer, he introduced Rob Pierce as the Cultural Affairs Officer from Tunis. When it was time to describe Elisa, he simply gave her first name and said she was from Italy. But Jake guessed Rob knew more about the woman than he. “Take a seat,” Jake demanded. “You’re drawing attention.”
“Right,” Rob said. He sat onto a chair across from Jake. “I’ve been trying to call you. Your cell seems to be off.”
“I lost it,” Jake said. “I think it’s somewhere in Sicily.”
The cultural officer was trying his best not to eye Jake’s Italian friend, but he was failing miserably. “So, then, I have a new one for you in this bag, along with a few more things you may need.”
Jake considered this man again. When they’d first met, Jake had thought the guy was a bit of a putz. But maybe his first impression had been wrong.
“By the way,” Rob said, “you’re looking much better than our first meeting.”
“A Tunisian prison isn’t great for the constitution.”
“Right. Well, since I haven’t been able to get you on the cell, I decided to find you in person.”
“I thought we agreed to let me do my job,” Jake said.
“True, true. But things have changed somewhat across the pond. Professor Sara Halsey Jones’ father is quite ill. He might just have days to live. They would like you to find her and bring her to Texas.”
“I told you I would find her and determine if she was all right, but I have no intention of dragging her back to America. Not unless she wants to go.”
Rob Pierce cleared his throat and stared at Elisa for a moment before returning his gaze upon Jake. “Right, I understand. But I’m sure she will want to return to see he
r father before he dies. Did you track her to Malta?”
“Yes.” Jake explained to him what he had found out so far and how they had come to Malta. He still left out how he knew Elisa. When neither man said anything for a moment, and Elisa seemed to know to keep her mouth shut, Jake finally said, “Do you two know each other?”
Both of them shook their heads at the same time.
“But Elisa you now know who sent you on your path. And Rob, when you contacted the Italian government for help, this is who you got. Is everything on the table? Or do I have to fill in the blanks even more?”
“No,” Rob said. “Crystal clear.” He pulled the satchel from his shoulder and set it onto the table next to Jake’s empty glass. “If there’s anything else you need at all, just give me a ring. There are two numbers in there. Mine, of course, and that of your new contact in the States.”
“New contact?”
Rob glanced about the room to see if anyone was close enough to hear, which was not the case, since that’s why the two of them had selected this table. “Yes. A man named Brock Winthrop. He’s an advisor and lawyer for the senator and his family. That’s all I know.”
Jake doubted that. Just like he also doubted that this man was actually a cultural affairs officer with the state department. It was more likely that he was with another agency within the government.
“Anything else?” Jake asked.
“Nope. I’ll be on the late ferry tonight back to Tunis. So, if you need me, please call.” He got up to leave and then said, “Good luck. I was never here.”
Jake tried as hard as he could to keep from laughing. This man had watched too many spy movies.
Elisa shook her head. “Was he with your Agency?”
“Hey, I have no idea. I left that life a long time ago. And besides, didn’t you hear, he was never here.” He opened the satchel wide enough to see there was no bomb inside, and then closed it up, got to his feet and started for the door.
Getting to his side as they reached the sidewalk outside, Elisa grasped onto Jake’s arm and said, “Could you tell me where we go from here?”
“I was going to wait until morning and go to the university to talk with that professor. But I think we should go find the guy tonight. Considering the fact that the Greeks are also in town.”
She agreed with a nod and then walked toward the car.
Although Jake had noticed her beauty first when they met at the airport, sometimes perceptions change over time. In this case, she was even more attractive than he first thought. Perhaps, with the death of the last man involved with the death of his fiancé, he had finally shed the demon from his conscience and could now see life more clearly. Sure he had been distracted for a while with his friend in German Intelligence, while he tracked down those who had put a price on his head in Berlin. But he guessed that was over now, with Alexandra back in Munich with the BND. Thankfully they had ended their short tryst amicably.
As they sat in the car for a moment Jake went through the satchel he’d gotten from the Tunis cultural affairs officer. There wasn’t much there. A cell phone, which he checked over carefully for any tracking device besides the normal GPS. Nothing. It did contain files that had been on his old phone. Those he had put to memory and deleted. Jesus, did this guy think he was a complete dolt? Also in the bag was a couple of pairs of new underwear and socks—nice touch. But the main attraction was a 9mm Sig Sauer P250 subcompact with two extra magazines of 12 rounds each. Jake quickly broke down the gun and checked for serial numbers, which had been removed. Also, it looked like the gun had never been fired. He guessed the hollow point rounds would also be non-traceable. Nice. He made sure to wipe his prints as he put the gun back together within a few seconds and glanced at Elisa, who had been on her phone looking up the professor from the University of Malta.
“What?” Jake asked her.
“Was I smiling?”
“Yes, you were.”
“Well, it’s just that I’ve never seen anyone break down a gun with such precision. You were like a child at Christmas opening a present.”
Jake wished he’d gotten a gun like that for Christmas. He had gotten a single shot .410 shotgun one year, and was the happiest kid on the block that year. “Okay. Did you find the history professor?”
“I did.” She handed the phone to Jake. It had the address up and tracked to the GPS.
“Let’s go then,” Jake said.
The professor lived just a few blocks from the campus in the suburb of Msida, an old fishing village. But the university and the professor’s house were both situated up on high ground. Although it was dark now, the lights from the capital Valletta shone off the water to the south of them as they cruised along a residential street lined with apartment buildings.
“One block ahead on the right,” Jake said. “That building on the second floor.”
Elisa pulled up to the curb and shut down the engine. “How do you want to handle this?”
Jake didn’t even have to think about that. “We use you. The professor is in his early forties and single. Born in France, he’s lived here in Malta for the past ten years.”
“What if he would rather have a man?”
Being French, that could have been true. But Jake had to go with the odds. “All right. We’ll both go talk with the man. But you knock on the door. Hate to scare him with my mug at night.”
They got out and walked toward the building ahead. Jake checked the feel of his new gun tucked into the sleeve on his left hip. It was in a cross draw position, which Jake preferred. He would have liked his normal leather holster under his left arm, but it was impossible to use those in the hot regions of the world in the summer. The sleeve he could tuck into even a waist band without a belt if he needed, and then just throw a T-shirt over the butt of the gun.
Neither said a word as they climbed the stairs of the apartment building and then stood before the professor’s apartment door. Jake stood to one side as Elisa knocked on the door. Nothing. They looked at each other and both shrugged.
Jake checked the door handle and the door swung in a couple of inches. Without thinking, he pulled the gun and aimed it toward the door opening. Elisa followed him closely. But Jake heard something just as they were about to enter. With one swift motion, he pushed Elisa away from the opening.
Bullets smashed through the door, splintering the wood. Jake aimed his gun and shoved the door inward as he dove toward the floor. He saw flashes from across the room and he aimed at those and fired twice before rolling to the left.
Silence. Only the ringing in Jake’s ears.
Then more shots, but this time from the corridor outside, followed by some shots from Elisa before she dove into the apartment right next to Jake. He thought he had heard the familiar sound of body striking floor after his two shots. But there could be another shooter somewhere within the apartment. Yet, they were pinned down.
Jake jumped to his feet and hurried through the small apartment until he found a man laying on the tile floor of the kitchen area. Checked for pulse. Nope. He could see that at least one of his bullets had entered the man’s face, taking out the guy’s right eye, the one that had aimed the gun.
More shots from the corridor, followed again by Elisa shooting. She seemed to have that under control, so Jake rushed through the apartment. He found the professor strapped to a chair in the bedroom, gagged with a leather belt, and with cigarette burn marks on his arms, his neck and his face. But what had killed the man was obviously the widest string taken from the man’s acoustic guitar and twisted around his throat.
Damn it. They needed to get out of there.
Running back out into the main room, Jake went straight to the door. “Follow me,” he said to Elisa. Without further explanation, Jake rushed out into the corridor. When the bullets started coming from the end of the hallway by the stairs, Jake ran forward firing his gun. He didn’t look back.
By the time Jake reached the staircase he could hear two things. First
, he heard multiple footfalls down the stairs. Second, he could hear the sound of police cars approaching with sirens blaring. Since he could feel Elisa right behind him, he continued down the stairs, guessing the men who had been shooting at them would not stick around now that the police were on their way.
Jake hesitated at the outside door, just in case the shooters were waiting for him. But instead he heard tires burning rubber as a car raced off down the street.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Jake whispered loudly.
When they got to the car, Jake asked for the keys, got in and lowered the windows to hear from which way the cops were coming. He turned the car around and at a reasonable pace got them out of there, vectoring to the south toward the waterfront. He watched a few blocks over as two police cars flew past them heading toward the shooting scene.
How in the hell had this gone from a simple case of finding a college professor from Texas to a murder and possible kidnapping?
He glanced to his right at Elisa, who was visibly shaking. “Are you all right?” he asked her.
She still held her gun in her right hand, the muzzle pointing at the glove box.
“You might want to safe your gun, reload your magazine, and put on your seat belt.” Jake did the same thing with his gun, driving with one hand and slamming a new magazine into the handle of his gun against his leg. Then he shoved the gun into the holster on his left hip and put on his seat belt.
Elisa took deep breaths and then completed the same tasks. Finally, she said, “I’ve never been shot at.”
Jake laughed. “Well, you’ve only been with me for a short time. Just wait until we’ve been hanging out for a while.”
“Your file says you’ve been in a lot of these situations. How do you get used to it?”
