Knight's Cross (The Shipwreck Adventures Book 3)

by Christine Kling

  “What does Bonaparte want?”

  “To destroy us, of course!”

  “Yes, sir. But what did he say?”

  “He asked permission for his fleet to enter the harbor to take on water.”

  “And?”

  “I have convened the Grand Council for six o’clock. I know what they will say. They have been politicking already. They want to enforce the Rule of 1756, allowing only four ships to enter at one time.”

  “Bonaparte won’t be happy.”

  “No, he won’t.” Hompesch pointed seaward. “Can you imagine how long it would take to water a fleet of more than five hundred ships only four at a time?”

  The two men stood in silence as the sun slipped down toward the island.

  At last the grand master spoke. “They aren’t coming to save us, are they?”

  “The Russians? No, sir, I don’t believe they are.”

  “I am not a warrior. My only armor is purely ceremonial. The men have not trained. I don’t remember the last time we fired any of Valletta’s guns.”

  “The city fortress will hold.”

  “Let us pray that we shall not be attacked.”

  “Prayer cannot be your only defense.”

  “I will listen to the Grand Council and play that hand. But if I must, I will negotiate a surrender. The centuries of our Order’s accumulated treasure from the strong room in Fort Saint Angelo, as well as the holy relics in Saint John’s Cathedral, in exchange for the lives of the people on Malta and Gozo.”

  “But what about—”

  “That is why I called you here.”

  Alonso put his hand over his heart and bowed. “I am at your service.”

  “Bonaparte reveres no god. All those French Republicans have taken great pleasure in punishing the clergy. They hate the church. We cannot let our most precious relic fall into their hands. They would only use it to discredit the pope, to show they were right all along.”

  “Agreed.”

  The grand master reached inside his blouson and took hold of a gold chain. He lifted the length of it out of his shirt, and Alonso saw the iron key. Placing the chain over Alonso’s head, Grand Master Hompesch said, “Chevalier Alonso Montras, Guardian of the Knight’s Cross, I charge you to fulfill your pledge. Keep our most treasured relic safe. Sail far and then send back word of its hiding place. Go now, tonight, to Fort Saint Angelo before Bonaparte receives our response. I’ve already sent word ahead. The guards are expecting you.”

  Alonso bowed his head. “I am deeply honored.”

  “And what of your men?”

  “They will be gone. The Maltese believe this is not their war. Besides, I cannot ask them to follow me on this journey.”

  “So how will you sail your ship?”

  Alonso met the grand master’s questioning look with a wry smile. “I know where I can recruit at least one excellent sailor.”

  “Go, then. Do what you must. Protect the relic with your life and find a safe hiding place. Someplace no one would ever look.”

  An hour later, as the Grand Council met, Alonso shipped his oars and tied his launch alongside the Ruse. She was docked at the wharf in Vittoriosa, not far from the entrance to the fort. As he expected, there was not a single man left aboard ship.

  He didn’t blame the men. This was not a fight for the Maltese. Throughout the past months, they had made it clear they were unhappy with the Knights’ rule. They hoped things would go better for them under the French. Alonso knew little and cared less for politics, but he was not sure that trading one set of warring rulers for another would serve them as well as they hoped.

  In his cabin, Alonso moved the center table aside, pulled back the rug, and lifted out several short-cut floorboards. The raised afterdeck of the xebec meant the bilge beneath his cabin was always dry. He grunted as he pulled out the gift his grandfather had given him just before he died. His grandfather had inherited it after the death of his father, Alonso’s great-grandfather. Though it was over one hundred years old, the corsair’s box was in remarkably good condition. For four generations, the men in his family had kept their most valuable possessions inside the sturdy chest. The dark wood was crisscrossed with black iron straps that were riveted in place. In the center of the eight-point cross on the front was a keyhole. Two smaller keyholes were cut into the box to the upper left and right of the main lock. Alonso fetched a ring with three keys from the small desk along the bulkhead.

  All three keys were required to open the box. Using them in the correct order was the fourth key. When he opened the box, Alonso lifted out a cloth parcel. Inside were several small silver pieces and some tools he had bought when they had auctioned off the contents of the Brun silversmith shop. Then he removed the small, round buckler shield, also a gift from his grandfather, and he set it aside. In the very bottom of the box was a folded black cloth. Inside that was what remained of his spoils from the last sortie—gold and silver coins, and the earrings he had first bought from Arzella. He left the cloth in the bottom, relocked the box, and tucked it under his arm as he exited the cabin and leapt for the wharf.

  While the walls of Fort Saint Angelo were not far from his vessel, the entrance to the fort was high above him through the main gates. As he sprinted up the narrow streets, Alonso felt the chill in the city. The residents of Vittoriosa weren’t out on their balconies chatting with their neighbors or walking the streets arm in arm. Windows were shuttered and the streets empty. Everyone knew Bonaparte was right outside the harbor. Many had already left to seek safety in the countryside. Alonso wondered if he would ever see these streets again.

  At the top of the hill, he turned to his left and approached the bridge over the moat. Two Knights stood guard at the gates, but they knew him well and let him pass without a word. Inside, he entered a world unlike any he had ever seen.

  The courtyard had been transformed by the coming battle. Dozens of men moved about the fort, pushing carts and carrying barrels of powder, cartloads of cannon shot, and armloads of rifles. In all the years Alonso had been a Knight, he had never seen either real battle preparations or even training for such an event.

  The result of that lack of training was painfully obvious in the scene taking place before him. Two men were arguing; they dropped their loads and began exchanging blows. There did not appear to be anyone in charge, and one fellow was smoking a pipe while wheeling barrels of black powder.

  Alonso hurried down the steps that led to the strong room, feeling the urgency of his mission more keenly than ever. There was not a chance Malta would hold out against Bonaparte. The Frenchman would soon arrive, intent on expropriating all of the Order’s property, including the vast collection of gold and objets d’art that was inside the round chamber deep in the bowels of the fort. Still holding the corsair’s box under one arm, with the other Alonso seized a torch from a sconce on the wall and headed into an unlit passage.

  After several twists and turns, he arrived at what looked like a stone wall. A dead end. He pressed on a stone, and a doorway seemed to open out of the rock. They had used clay on a steel door and fashioned the clay to look just like the stone walls. A spring latch held it closed until the proper stone was pushed. But even all these preparations would not save the manuscript if Bonaparte began torturing the Knights. Many men not of the brotherhood knew of the treasure strong room. Alonso didn’t want to contemplate what might happen if the manuscript fell into the hands of a man like that. I Guardiani della Croce di Cavaliere had been sacrificing their lives since the manuscript was first discovered in Jerusalem. He would sail under Bonaparte’s nose and keep the manuscript safe.

  Two more Guardiani stood in front of the final chamber door. Neither of them had keys to the lock. There was only one key, which Alonso now wore around his neck. He juggled the torch into the hand holding the box, retrieved the key, and fitted it into the lock.

  His torch lit the domed ceiling of the round chamber. Big wooden crates covered the floor of the room. Alonso turn
ed to the guards. “I will only be a few minutes, but I must close this door.” They nodded.

  Once he was alone, Alonso placed the torch in a sconce on the wall and walked straight to the center of the chamber. Several crates were piled on top of each other. He considered asking one of the other men to help him move them, but he resisted. The top crate was not too heavy, and he was able to lift it and rest it on top of another crate off to one side. The next one was much heavier. He opened the top and saw that it contained sacks of gold coins. He pulled out several bags to lighten the box so he could move it. Finally, he slid the bottom crate aside. Even then, most men would not notice the piece of leather nailed to the wooden floor. The fit was so tight, it was impossible to make out the trapdoor. He tugged at the piece of leather and the door lifted open.

  As far as Alonso knew, no one had opened the box inside since the Knights of Saint John had first arrived in Malta in 1530—not even during the Grand Siege. The box had been designed with thick ceramic and wool linings to seal out the elements and keep the manuscript free from damage. It was, however, too unwieldy to carry. Inside, the manuscript was wrapped in a silk shawl. Alonso carefully lifted it out and placed it in his corsair’s box. He locked the box, then moved the crates back to cover the trapdoor in the floor.

  Leaving the room, he nodded at the two brothers as he relocked the door, his corsair’s box tucked tight under his arm. Alonso strode up the dark stone corridor, in a hurry now to finish this night’s errand before the moon made an appearance. From the dark shadows behind him he heard a voice.

  “God be with you.”

  Aboard the EV Shadow Chaser II

  Mediterranean Sea off Djerba Island

  April 22, 2014

  “I’ve got an email from Dr. G. here,” Riley said when the three of them were sitting at the table on the aft deck, drinking their coffee. She was scrolling through the emails on her phone.

  “And?” Cole said.

  “Just a minute.” Riley read the brief note. “Right.” She looked up from the screen. “Cole, remember what the old vet Gavino said just before we left Malta?”

  “He said he was going to ask around among the other old-timers to see if any of them remembered anything more about Tug.”

  “She says here Gavino left her a message yesterday. He wants to meet with her this morning to tell her about something he’s learned.”

  “Would be nice if it was the lat and long of the Upholder’s location.”

  Riley shook her head. “Any new information could possibly help.” She set the phone down on the table and took another sip of coffee. “We’ve been out here searching for three days now based on a tiny bit of information and one wild-assed guess.”

  “It’s worked for me before. And we did find a submarine.”

  Theo said, “I did a bit of work in my cabin last night. I started by asking myself what might have sunk that U-boat down there.”

  “Good question,” Cole said.

  “For most of the war, the only Allied warships in this part of the Med were protecting convoys. With one noted exception: the subs out of Malta. They were on the hunt. So I asked myself, if an Allied sub sank that U-boat, shouldn’t there be a record of it?”

  “And?”

  “Nothing. After the war, all sides released their records, and they are available on the Internet. There were no U-boats reported sunk in this area. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t sunk by a sub, though. It just means that if a sub sank it, and that’s a pretty good guess, then that sub never reported the kill.”

  “I think you’re on to something here, Theo. Gavino said that Tug thought the Upholder never got that radio message with new orders because they were having trouble with their radio antenna.”

  “So they couldn’t have reported the kill,” Riley said.

  Cole set down his coffee cup. “And since they never returned to port, it was never recorded. In fact, finding that U-boat could be evidence we’re on the right track.”

  Theo hitched himself forward and sat on the edge of his seat. “I have an even more radical idea that has little or nothing to do with the damaged radio aerial.”

  “Okay?”

  “What if these two subs sank each other? What if the Germans had critically damaged the Upholder, but those Brits were still able to deliver a kill shot before they sank to the bottom?”

  Riley’s phone rang.

  “Hold that thought. Don’t say another word till I’m done here.” She pressed a button on the phone and said, “Hello?”

  “Riley, it’s Najat.”

  “I hoped it would be you. Did you talk to Gavino?”

  “Yes, I did, but I don’t know if this will be of any help.”

  “Listen, we’ll decide that. We’d really appreciate any information at this point. I’m going to put you on speakerphone so the guys can hear what you have to say. Is that okay?”

  “Certainly. Gavino said one of the old-timers remembered a story that Tug told about his last trip on the Upholder. Tug made him swear not to tell anyone about it because Tug said he had a friend who had a son who was a diver, and this guy was going to go get it.”

  “Get what?” Cole asked.

  “Good morning, Cole. Why don’t I tell you the story as Gavino told it to me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tug Wilson told this old-timer that he and another commando had orders to go blow up a bridge down in Tunisia. After the explosion, his partner found an antique that he thought was quite valuable. He thought it might belong to a Knight from Malta. The next night, Tug transferred over to another submarine. The Upholder and all the crew were never heard from again.”

  “Dr. G., did Tug tell this guy what the antique was?”

  “No. When the man pressed Tug to tell him, he refused.”

  “Hmm. Something that might have belonged to a Knight of Malta,” Cole said.

  “There is one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “The old man said he later overheard Tug carrying on when he’d had too much to drink. He was telling another British vet that before he left the Upholder, his partner told him where he’d hid the antique.”

  “Where?”

  “In the galley.”

  When Riley disconnected the call, Cole said, “That could be very valuable info, but only if we can find the wreck.”

  “I wonder if that other British vet he was talking to was your father.”

  “Could have been.”

  “It sounds like the two of them were plotting how to get you to dive on the wreck for them.”

  “Yup.”

  Riley snapped her fingers. “Of course. It was there in the journal all along. Remember? He said in that passage with the cipher text that it was frozen.”

  “Good job. I’d forgotten that.”

  Theo interrupted. “My guess is neither one of them had any idea just how difficult it is to locate a wreck when you have no clue where it is.”

  “You’re right, Theo,” Cole said. “Even a location like ‘off Djerba Island’ leaves us with hundreds of square miles of ocean to search.”

  “Which is where my theory comes in. Let’s see if we can come up with a battle reconstruction for this U-boat.”

  “How?”

  “Yoda, show a screenshot of the sonar image of the sub on Display Two.”

  The image appeared on the center screen.

  “On Display Three show the chart of our anchorage here in the lee off the southeast coast. Zoom out until you can place a waypoint on the location where we took the sonar image.”

  Riley looked at the chart and tried to imagine where the Upholder might have been patrolling. “It looks like the U-boat wreck is about six miles offshore, Theo. But two miles off the island, it shallows up to less than fifty feet, so the subs probably didn’t come in too close to land.”

  “Okay. Now orient the sonar image to north up.”

  “What are you trying to do?” she asked.

  “When we took the
Enigma down, you both described the remains of the U-boat as lying over on its side. We’re going to assume that the torpedo struck the sub amidships and holed it. Therefore, as it sank, the air inside was blowing out that hole as the water rushed in, resulting in the boat tilting to one side when it hit the bottom. Can you identify the keel in the sonar image?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Okay, now that the image is oriented correctly, which direction is the keel facing?”

  “I’m not following you.”

  Cole said, “He can see it all in his mind, Riley. We sighted people are at a disadvantage. Yoda, overlay the sonar image onto the chart in the correct position and match the scale.”

  “Good one, Skipper,” Theo said. “Now can you see what I’m getting at? The kill shot came from the direction the keel is facing.”

  “It’s facing southwest, directly toward our anchorage.”

  “So that tells me that whatever sank that U-boat was between the sub and the island. World War II torpedoes had a range of about two and a half miles. Yoda, draw a line from the sub waypoint three miles long at a heading of two hundred degrees. Now draw a forty-five-degree angle starting from the waypoint, such that the line we just drew bisects the angle.”

  Riley said, “It looks like a cone.”

  “That’s where I say we should start our search today.”

  It was Riley’s turn in the galley, and she was preparing a pasta salad for a late lunch when the alarm went off. Cole was on watch. As she secured the dishes and shoved the salad into the fridge, she heard the engine revs drop. Theo had been down in his cabin. She almost collided with him when they both tried to climb the steps to the wheelhouse at the same time.

  Cole swung around in the leather pilot chair with a huge grin on his face. He pointed to the sonar screen. “Ladies and gentlemen. Meet the HMS Upholder.”

  Aboard the EV Shadow Chaser II

  Mediterranean Sea off Djerba Island