The Malta Escape

by Chris Kuzneski

  And when that happened, he was certain the duo would meet their doom.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Payne, Jones, and Jarkko left the Upper Barrakka Gardens after the cannon ceremony and headed northeast, deeper into the heart of Valletta. Their meeting place was less than fifteen minutes away, so they took their time and enjoyed their stroll.

  Unlike the frantic energy of Paris or Rome, the pace of Valletta was relaxed. Other than a few taxis hustling for fares, no one seemed to be in a hurry. Locals lounged at curbside tables, and tourists relished the sights. Merchants stood in open doors and welcomed customers inside. Perhaps it was the gorgeous weather or the scent of nectar in the air, but everyone seemed to be at ease, as if they felt fortunate to be in this jewel of a city in the center of the sparkling sea.

  With time to kill, Payne and Jones ducked into a store and bought gym bags. They weren’t sure where their adventure would take them next, but they decided to be prepared. Once they got back to Jarkko’s yacht, they could retire their trash bags forever.

  “Ooh la la,” Jarkko mocked. “Fancy bags for fancy garbage.”

  “Or hopefully for fancy treasure,” Jones said with a laugh.

  “Wait! Jarkko is new to this. Does Jarkko need treasure bag, too?”

  “Let’s hope,” Payne said as he checked his watch. “But we can worry about that later. We have about five minutes to get to our meeting.”

  “No worries,” Jarkko assured him. “Library is around corner.”

  The National Library of Malta is located in Republic Square in the center of the city. Designed by Polish-Italian architect Stefano Attar in 1776 AD, the Bibliotheca (as it is often called) is an early example of neoclassical architecture in Malta. Although the entire city of Valletta is considered a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the library is one of its most scenic structures. Noted for its symmetrical façade and its mix of Doric and Ionic columns, the library sits in the rear of a stone plaza that once housed the treasury of the Order of Saint John.

  Despite the square’s history, an open-air cafe had invaded the piazza, filling its space with green tables and white patio umbrellas. Customers ate and drank and checked their phones in the same place the knights used to count their money and store their treasure.

  Centuries later, it seemed like the perfect place to start their hunt.

  All they had to do was follow the scent of gold.

  Payne led the way through the center of the crowded plaza, walking past a restored statue of Queen Victoria from 1891 AD and heading toward the front entrance of the library. The doorway was located underneath a balustraded balcony that jutted out from the second floor and was supported by massive cylindrical columns. Jones knocked on one of the pillars as he walked past to feel the sturdiness of the stone, and it brought a smile to his face.

  Growing up as a bookworm, Jones had spent a lot of time in libraries and had fallen in love with them at an early age. But they didn’t build them like this where he was from. He was used to one-story shacks that smelled like mildew and urine, not neoclassical façades and arched loggias. Whenever he traveled in Europe, he always tried to visit the libraries in major cities. Not only to examine their old-world collections, but also to marvel at their architecture.

  Somehow it helped him appreciate how far he had come.

  Payne reached the towering front entrance before the others and tried to enter, but the door didn’t budge an inch. “Damn. It’s locked.”

  Jones pointed at a nearby sign. “And apparently closed for the day.”

  Payne inspected the sign and growled. It wouldn’t open again until early the next morning. “Well, it was fun while it lasted. Want to get some chow?”

  Jones rolled his eyes. “Quit thinking with your stomach.”

  “You know that’s not possible.”

  “Trust me, I know,” he said as he tried the door himself. “But it doesn’t mean I want to eat every two hours.”

  “Hold up. Did you think I was lying about the door?”

  “Possibly. I once saw you kill a man for Jell-O.”

  “Bullshit! It was pudding, and I only broke the guy’s arm.”

  “You aren’t helping your case.”

  “I don’t care. It was worth it. It was the best damn pudding I ever ate.”

  “Move,” Jarkko ordered as he pushed his way past the bickering friends. “Let Jarkko try door. Jarkko not tall like Jon or black like David, but Jarkko strong like bull.”

  Jones grimaced. “You racist motherfucker.”

  But Jarkko ignored him. He was too busy spitting on his callused hands and rubbing them together ferociously in order to improve his grip. Thankfully, his spit wasn’t necessary. A split second before he grabbed the handle, the lock clanked open from the inside and the door swung wide, revealing one of the most beautiful women they had ever seen.

  Dark brown hair. Dark brown eyes.

  A perfect tan complexion.

  And just the right amount of curves.

  All of it draped in a summer dress.

  Jarkko blinked several times, naturally assuming that she was a vodka-induced mirage because beauty like hers was seldom seen in the wild. Normally it was contained to the runways of Milan or the red carpets of Los Angeles, but rarely in a place with so many books. The sheer lunacy of the situation blew Jarkko’s mind, so much so that he found it difficult to speak.

  Thankfully, she had plenty of experience dealing with drooling men, so she took charge of the situation and introduced herself.

  “Hello,” she said with a thick British accent. “You must be Petr’s friends. My name is Croft. Lara Croft.”

  For the briefest of moments, all three men held their breath as they tried to wrap their heads around her famous name. Then, one by one, they caught on, realizing it was just an icebreaker—her way to make fun of herself before her looks became an issue.

  “What’s your name?” she asked with her arm extended.

  Jarkko reached to shake her hand, but at the last second, he remembered he had spit in his palm to improve his grip. Unwilling to defile such a beautiful creature, he yanked his arm back so violently that he elbowed Jones in the gut behind him.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “You don’t want to touch Jarkko. Jarkko is dirty.”

  She smiled and pinched his cheek. “Maybe I like dirty.”

  Jarkko blushed for the first time in years and was unable to speak for a minute or so.

  Despite being elbowed, Jones recovered quickly and forcefully pushed Jarkko aside in order to introduce himself. “My friends call me DJ, but you can call me David. No, wait. I got that backwards. Ah, screw it. Call me whatever you want.”

  She smiled and shook his hand. “Believe it or not, I actually know who you are.”

  “You do?” he said, surprised.

  Her smile widened. “Unless I’m mistaken, you’re David freakin’ Jones!”

  His eyes got big. “Holy shit! You’re right! I am David freakin’ Jones. How in the hell do you know me? And more importantly, how do you know my middle name?”

  “Ladies talk, you know.”

  Jones started to say something inappropriate, but then he stopped, realizing whatever he said would undoubtedly ruin this moment of sheer bliss, so he simply smiled and said, “Yep.”

  In a matter of seconds, she had disarmed two-thirds of the group.

  But the last member would prove more difficult.

  As a handsome heir to a billion-dollar fortune, Payne had a lot of experience dealing with attractive women of all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities. Much to his chagrin, they threw themselves at him in the most awkward of ways, often before he knew anything about them. Most men in his position would undoubtedly take advantage of the situation—sleeping with countless women in order to satisfy their every sexual need—but Payne had been taught by his parents (and later his grandfather) to respect the opposite sex. Every once in a while he would let his guard down and succumb to temptation, but for the most part, he was l
ooking for the love of his life, not a series of one-night stands.

  And it was a good thing, too, because she was just his type.

  “Hi,” he said as they locked eyes. “My name is Jonathon Payne.”

  She stepped forward, grabbed his hand, and shook it in total silence.

  But he didn’t mind in the least.

  In that moment, no words were uttered, but a lot was being said.

  And it took both of them by surprise.

  “Sorry,” she said a few seconds later when she eventually let go of his hand. “You’re probably going to be needing that.”

  “That’s okay. I have another.”

  “Me, too,” she said with a giggle. Then she lifted it up and showed it to him, as if he needed the proof. “And here it is.”

  Payne lifted his other hand as well. “And here’s mine.”

  Then she laughed like a teenager in love.

  “Good Lord,” Jones mumbled as he watched the scene. He was quite familiar with the effect that Payne had on women, but he rarely saw his friend reciprocate it. “If you two start playing patty-cake, I swear to God I’m going to shoot you both.”

  “What was that?” she asked without an accent.

  “Sorry,” Jones said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever was going on with you two, but I have a question. Actually, two questions.”

  She blushed slightly. “Then I have two answers. Fire away.”

  “One, I think it’s pretty obvious that Lara Croft isn’t your real name, so I wanted to know what to call you. And two, what happened to your accent?”

  She laughed. “Truth be told, the British accent was part of the Lara Croft gag. How did I sound, by the way?”

  “You nailed it,” Jones admitted.

  She smiled and took a slight bow. “Thank you, sir. I’m glad to hear it. I actually spent a lot of time moving around as a child, so I have a pretty good ear for accents and languages.”

  “Good to know,” Jones replied. “And your name?”

  “Sorry,” she said with a laugh. “It’s Marissa. Marissa Vella.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  With introductions out of the way, Marissa led the group inside before she locked the door behind them. As she did, she explained the library was a research facility that didn’t lend out books or periodicals but was still open to the public on a daily basis. Thankfully, it was well after closing time, so she felt they would have the place to themselves.

  To reach the main reading room on the second floor, the group climbed a staggered neoclassical staircase. Jones whistled in appreciation as he ran his hand over the pillared railings and marveled at the intricate ceiling that seemed to glow from the natural daylight that seeped through the side windows that lined the stairs.

  “I love old buildings,” Jones said to Jarkko as they lagged a landing behind the others. “They don’t make them like this anymore.”

  Jarkko nodded and pointed at Marissa’s rump. “Or like that.”

  Jones grinned. “Certainly not very often.”

  Jarkko threw his arm over Jones’s shoulder and pulled him close. “Jarkko have important question to ask David.”

  Jones grimaced at the thought of saliva on his shirt. “Go on.”

  “When we look for treasure in Greece, we get help from beautiful blonde with eyes the color of sapphires. She was student of history, yes?”

  Jones nodded. “You’re talking about Allison Taylor.”

  “Yes! Allison! Very beautiful woman.”

  “Yes, she is. And very bright. She’s doing quite well for herself.”

  “And when you find catacombs in Orvieto and hidden treasure in Mexico, you get help from old girlfriend. You have shown pictures to Jarkko. She is very bellissimo.”

  Jones smiled. “Actually, Maria did most of the finding. All we did was shoot some bad guys along the way.”

  “Also student of history?”

  “She was back then, but now she’s a well-known historian. And author. And lecturer. Truth be told, her work ethic puts me to shame.”

  Jarkko nodded. “Yes, it does.”

  “Ouch,” Jones said, half-offended. “What’s your point?”

  “Allison is beautiful. Maria is beautiful. And Marissa is beautiful, too. But when Jarkko go to school, smart girls never beautiful. This make Jarkko sad and confused. Why is this true?”

  “Ah,” Jones said as he stopped on the stairs to explain things. “You’re talking about the Jonathon Payne effect. That guy could hit a bus full of nuns, and all of them would be naughty ex-centerfolds who were rethinking their vows. After a while, you simply don’t question it. Heck, why do you think I’m friends with the guy? It sure as shit ain’t his personality.”

  “Come on! Let’s go!” Payne called from the top of the stairs. “You can hug each other in your free time, once you get back to Jarkko’s yacht.”

  Jones rolled his eyes. “See what I mean?”

  Jarkko laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “You are funny guy. Jarkko is glad to punch car in face and save your life. Sorry about spit on shirt.”

  Jones grimaced at the stain. “That’s okay. Your drinking problem probably killed most of your germs anyway.”

  “Let us hope. Otherwise, David will get bad rash.”

  Jones froze. “Wait. What?”

  But Jarkko ignored him as he trudged up the stairs, laughing.

  Suddenly alone, Jones grumbled to himself about hygiene and manners and a bunch of other things as he continued his solo climb. But when he reached the top landing, his mood instantly brightened. Off to his right sat a massive room that almost defied belief: it looked like something out of the Wizarding World of Harry Potter.

  The arched ceiling of the main reading room soared more than thirty feet above him and ran as far as he could see—without any poles, columns, or visible supports to hold it up. That left nothing but wide-open space and the occasional table in a spectacular chamber that was lined from floor to ceiling on all four sides by wooden shelf after wooden shelf of ancient books.

  Jones walked into the room and spun in a circle to soak it all in. His gaze instantly went to the long wooden ladders that leaned against some of the stacks. The ladders had to stretch twenty feet in length, yet they didn’t even reach the second level of shelves that ringed the room up near the ceiling. As far as Jones could tell, the upper level could only be accessed by trapeze or catapult because on first glance he didn’t spot any doors on that level.

  Marissa studied his face as he entered. “Pretty cool, right?”

  He nodded. “It certainly is.”

  “I had the same reaction when I first saw it. Love at first sight.”

  “I can see why. How long have you worked here?”

  “Who said I worked here?”

  Jones laughed. “No, I’m serious.”

  “I am serious. I don’t work here. I actually snuck in the back door about five minutes before you arrived.”

  “Jon,” he called out. “Marissa’s a burglar. Just thought you should know.”

  Payne turned from a long row of display cases near the main entrance to the room. They featured a wide assortment of documents about the history of Malta but also showcased an original copy of Les Propheties by Nostradamus that had caught his eye. “What was that?”

  Marissa smiled. “David called me a burglar.”

  Payne rolled his eyes. “Why? Did he say you stole his heart or something ridiculous?”

  “Yuck!” Jones said. “I would never use a line like that while I’m sober. I called her a burglar because she doesn’t work here and snuck into the place.”

  “Duh,” Payne said. “She told me that when you were hugging Jarkko.”

  She glanced at Jones. “Why were you hugging Jarkko?”

  Jones raised both of his hands. “Just so you know, I wasn’t hugging Jarkko. He was hugging me. But that’s beside the point. For the sake of the group, why don’t you fill us in on your life? I mean, it’s obvious you
know us from somewhere. Why don’t you start there?”

  “I know you from the Ulster Archives,” she said with a smile. “I worked with Petr for several months, and he used to go on and on about the two Americans who protected him from gunmen and stopped his facility from burning down. Obviously I asked for all the details, and he told me stories about you, and Jon, and all of your secret adventures. Truth be told, he talked about you so much I feel like I know you already.”

  Payne laughed. “You aren’t the first person to say that. Although I haven’t seen it, I hear he has a hidden wall with pictures from our trips.”

  “You mean the Payne and Jones shrine? Oh, it definitely exists. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. I’m pretty sure he burns candles whenever you’re on a mission.”

  Jarkko grinned. “Maybe that is how Archives catch fire. He is so worried for Jon and David that he build massive bonfire to get you jobs and homes.”

  She scrunched her face. “I don’t get it.”

  Payne shook his head. “Never mind. Inside joke.”

  “Speaking of jobs,” Jones said, “you really don’t work here?”

  “No,” she stressed. “I really don’t. However, when I’m in town, I come by and volunteer—binding books, raising money, organizing collections, or whatever they need. In return, they let me come here at night and conduct my research in private. The security guard lets me in.”

  “What kind of research?” Payne wondered.

  She looked at him and smiled. “Actually, shouldn’t I be asking you that question? After all, I was the one summoned to help you, not the other way around.”

  Payne grinned. “Summoned? You weren’t summoned. Were you?”

  “That depends,” she said as she pulled out her phone. “Petr sent me a text with close to fifty exclamation marks, urging me to meet an unknown group at the front door of the library at five for a research project with worldwide ramifications.”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  She showed him the message. “Oh yes, he did.”