The Malta Escape

by Chris Kuzneski

  Payne smiled. “Thanks for doing this. I truly appreciate it.”

  “No problem. I want you guys safe. That way I know you’re healthy when I kick your ass for putting me in this situation. I thought I told you the last time I couldn’t keep bailing you out, but it’s like déjà vu all over again.”

  “I’m telling you, this one is different—so different that my first call was to the Pentagon. The team that attacked us was Russian.”

  “Russian? What the fuck are Russians doing in Malta? Actually, what the fuck are you doing in Malta? And why the fuck am I swearing so much?” He took a deep breath before he collapsed onto his chair. “Seriously, Jon, I’m getting too old for this shit.”

  “You and me both. But we had no choice. They came in firing.”

  Payne did his best to summarize the events of the past forty-eight hours—when they had arrived in Malta, how they had bumped into Jarkko, why they had spoken to Ulster, and where they had met up with Marissa. The only question he couldn’t answer was, who?

  Who were the Russians?

  That was the element that had him baffled.

  The one thing that didn’t make sense.

  Thanks to their former line of work, Payne and Jones were still considered valuable assets to the U.S. Government. Not only did they work for the Pentagon as consultants on a regular basis, but their knowledge of classified missions from the past two decades made them possible marks for foreign operatives.

  But the Russians didn’t treat them as assets to be potentially flipped.

  They viewed them as targets.

  Literal targets.

  Opening fire without saying a word.

  Why in the world would they do that?

  Payne and Jones realized that the Cold War was heating up again, and the two superpowers were constantly probing each other for weaknesses. But this attack reeked of desperation, as if they needed to stop the duo from doing something before they got away. Otherwise, why stage an assault in a national building on foreign soil?

  And yet, if their goal had been to kill them, why did the Russians show up with sidearms and flash-bangs? Why not go full tilt and bring in actual grenades and automatic weapons? Against that type of firepower, the duo wouldn’t have stood a chance.

  All of which led Payne to believe that this was related to their search.

  Possibly a shakedown for information that simply went wrong.

  Payne didn’t have proof, but that’s what his gut was telling him.

  And Dial happened to agree.

  “Okay,” Dial said. “I believe you. I’m willing to put my ass on the line for you yet again in order to keep this quiet. I’m not quite sure how we’re going to do that—maybe give credit to the local cops for stopping such a horrible threat. I’m sure the media will eat that up. But dammit, Jon, you need to stop hunting for treasures. Don’t you have enough cash as it is?”

  Payne laughed. “I’m not in it for the money. I’m in it for the history.”

  “Bullshit!” Dial exclaimed. “You’re in it for the hunt. It’s the same thing that I’m currently missing from my life, the one thing I can’t get while I’m tied to a fucking desk.”

  “You’re welcome to join us, Nick. Last time turned out all right.”

  “I appreciate the offer—I really do—but I get the sense you need me here. At least until you figure out who is after you.”

  Payne glanced across the room at Jones, who had just finished taking pictures of all the dead Russians and using a special program on his phone to scan their fingerprints. Thanks to the Payne Industries tech in his device, he was able to upload that information securely to Raskin, who would then go through his numerous databases until he got a hit. “Due to the slow response time of the local police—who I’m told were quite heroic in their efforts to take out the Russian horde that stormed the library—we’ll probably have some names before dinner.”

  Dial smiled. “They still aren’t there yet?”

  “Nope. Unless they’re setting up a perimeter. Don’t blame them, though. This entire room is lined with books. My guess is no one outside heard a thing.”

  “Meaning you could have walked away from the scene. Thanks for not doing that.”

  “Come on, Nick. We respect you and the law way too much for that. Plus, in this case, we were completely innocent.”

  Dial grinned. “Not exactly.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Are you familiar with the gun laws in Malta? I’m guessing, no. I’m also guessing that the weapons you used to innocently kill six foreign nationals were either smuggled into Malta by your private jet or Jarkko’s sex yacht. I’m also guessing that those weapons have no serial numbers and were probably wiped clean at the scene, both of which are illegal acts. Unless, of course, you guys got really sloppy and decided to buy your weapons in country from a Russian arms dealer, who then followed you to your meeting at the library in order to steal back his merchandise, thus forcing you to kill him and his men in self-defense.”

  Payne laughed. “But other than that, completely innocent.”

  Dial noticed the laughter and decided to make him sweat. “Seriously, Jon. You need to be more careful. Personally, I don’t care where you got the guns, but you better have a good answer for the local cops because someone is going to ask.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “Only one, but you aren’t going to like it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I think your best option is to tell them that DJ is your bodyguard.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Listen. You don’t have a badge, and DJ has a private-eye license. Simply say that you hired him to provide personal protection on your business trip.”

  Payne shook his head vehemently. “Listen to me, and listen to me good: I would rather go to jail for six consecutive life sentences than tell anyone that DJ was my bodyguard. He would never—and I do mean never—let me live that down. He would literally get business cards that said he was my bodyguard and hand them out to everyone at the Pentagon. Sorry, Nick, I’m willing to eat some shit, but I’m not going to eat that turd burger.”

  “Hey, you asked for my opinion, and I personally think that’s your best option. But if your stupid pride won’t let you go that route, you can always fight dirty.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Just blame it on the black guy.”

  Payne finally caught on. “Oh my God, you’re fucking with me. I was just attacked by six angry Russians, yet you’re busting my balls for reaching out. Good for you!”

  Dial couldn’t help but laugh. “Serves you right, you prick. I was having a good day until you called, now I’ll be here all night doing paperwork. Thanks a lot.”

  “At least you’ll have Henri and his ponytail to keep you company.”

  “Screw you.”

  Payne grinned. “Tell that furry Frenchman I said hello.”

  “Will do. Same to DJ and Jarkko. And Jon?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Lose my number.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Volkov wasn’t used to failure.

  Occasionally he was forced to deal with incompetence and outright betrayals, but rarely failure. It happened so infrequently that he didn’t know how to react.

  Somehow he had managed to keep his cool outside the library. When the henchman with the gym bags had started to walk toward his table, Volkov had shaken his head and held up his phone to let the goon know that he would call him instead. Then Volkov had paid his bill and left the plaza before the police had even arrived.

  After that, he had walked the streets of Valletta until he was far enough away from the chaos at the library to summon his driver. Once he was safely inside the tinted town car, Volkov called the henchman and told him where they would meet.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  The plumber knew he couldn’t tell Volkov the truth about the library.

  Not if he wanted to live.

&
nbsp; So while he waited to be picked up, he hid in an alley behind a dumpster and concocted his version of the shootout, all in hopes of surviving the day.

  When the town car arrived, he hustled from his hiding spot and climbed into the back seat where Volkov eagerly awaited details about the library. To make sure the driver couldn’t listen, Volkov raised the soundproof partition before he started his questioning.

  “What the hell happened?” he demanded as the car pulled away from the curb. “I want to know everything!”

  “They were waiting for us,” the plumber explained. “The moment we stepped into the room, they started shooting. I don’t know if someone tipped them off or they had access to the camera feeds outside the building, but they knew we were coming.”

  “Impossible!” Volkov blurted. “The cameras were down.”

  “Sir,” the plumber said as he mixed fact with fiction, “I’ve never seen anything like it. These guys weren’t normal bodyguards. They were elite soldiers with unorthodox tactics. The only reason I’m still alive is because of the woman.”

  Volkov had seen Marissa when she had unlocked the library door but knew nothing about her except her beauty. “How so?”

  “When the shooting began, she dove over the main counter and started loading documents into these gym bags,” he blatantly lied. “We figured they must have some importance, so I dealt with her while the rest of my team took on the bodyguards. My initial plan was to kill her without mercy, but since we knew nothing about her or how she relates to the Finn, I opted to spare her life in case you wanted to question her at a later date.”

  The plumber took a deep breath in order to sell his lie. “But I’m telling you, sir, it was the toughest decision of my life. It took all of my discipline and military training to stop myself from pulling that trigger and splattering her brains against the wall. Instead, I had to settle for kicking her in the ribs and taking her bags while she writhed on the floor in agony.”

  He shook his head with fake angst. “I hope I did the right thing.”

  Volkov considered the henchman’s statement as he stared out the window at the harbor. There were so many unanswered questions in his mind that he didn’t know what to ask. “Yes, comrade. You did the right thing. I am glad that you showed restraint. The woman may prove useful in the future. Too bad the rest of your team didn’t possess your valor.”

  “They fought hard, sir. You would have been proud.”

  Volkov barely heard his reply. His thoughts were focused on the bags instead. “While you were waiting, did you look inside?”

  The henchman shook his head. “Of course not, sir. I got them for you.”

  Volkov reached out and grabbed the first gym bag from the floor. It was much heavier than he thought it would be. Whatever the woman was trying to take had some bulk.

  Much to his surprise, Volkov could feel his heart race.

  The mystery of it all made him feel alive.

  Like a child waking up on Christmas morning.

  Unfortunately, it was followed by a stocking full of coal.

  Because the bags were filled with crap.

  Nothing but crap.

  “What is this?” Volkov shouted as he rifled through multiple pamphlets about Valletta, several takeout menus, a Maltese phonebook, and various other pieces of junk.

  The henchman stood his ground. “I don’t understand! Why would the woman risk her life to save this meaningless shit? Unless…”

  Volkov stared at him. “Unless what?”

  “Unless it was a ploy of some kind. Maybe she wanted to distract us while the Finn stole something of real value from the library.”

  “Like what?” Volkov demanded.

  The henchman shrugged. “Sorry, sir, I can’t imagine. The library was quite large, and I was focused on the woman and retrieving the bags. I know nothing about the Finn or his motivations. He could have been after anything.”

  Volkov nodded with sudden clarity. He had planned to go back to Russia to regroup, but he suddenly realized that he needed to learn more about the smuggler—or else this entire trip had been a waste. With a touch of a button, he lowered the car’s partition so he could speak to the driver. “Change of plans. Instead of the airport, take us to the Grand Harbour Marina.”

  The henchman grimaced in frustration. His plan had worked perfectly until then. He was so close to going home he could almost taste it. “Sir, are you sure that’s wise? His men cut through our squad with little difficulty. I’m not sure how much protection I can offer you.”

  Volkov cocked his head slightly. Until that moment, he had believed everything the henchman had told him, but now he wasn’t so sure. How did a soldier go from bragging about his “discipline and military training” and his deep desire to “splatter brains against the wall” to cowering in fear?

  He probably didn’t—unless he had been a coward all along.

  Volkov closed his eyes and thought back to the moment when the henchman had opened the library door. In his mind, he saw it quite clearly: the look on the henchman’s face.

  It wasn’t relief from surviving the fight.

  It was embarrassment from sneaking away.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Volkov said as he opened his eyes and focused on the henchman. “If his bodyguards are as good as you say, perhaps retreat would be prudent.”

  “You’re the boss, sir. I’ll do whatever you say. But I think that is probably wise.”

  In that instant, Volkov knew that he was correct.

  The henchman had been playing him all along.

  And for that, he must pay the ultimate price.

  Volkov reached into his pocket with his one hand, while raising the partition with the other. He didn’t mind killing in front of witnesses; in fact, he normally enjoyed the rush. But in this case, he didn’t want to get arterial spray on the windshield.

  The last thing he needed was to be pulled over.

  Corpses were so hard to explain.

  Volkov calmly waited until the partition clicked shut before he flicked open his blade. A split-second later, he unleashed his frustration in a torrent of displaced rage.

  Throat. Hands. Arms. Face.

  Whatever got in his way.

  He just kept on slashing and slashing until there was no goon left.

  Just blood and bone and meat.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Volkov wiped his hands on the dead man’s pants before he placed the call to his hackers. He told them where he was headed and ordered them to shut down surveillance in that area.

  A minute later, the cameras at Grand Harbour Marina went offline.

  Not only the security feed, but every camera on every boat in Birgu.

  As if the entire marina had been sucked into a technological black hole.

  Volkov had no idea how they did it, but they were worth every ruble.

  Now he would be free to search the Finn’s yacht in private.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Malta was a peaceful country with an average of five murders per year, so the police were less than thrilled when they arrived at the scene and found seven dead bodies and significant damage to their national library. But as expected, a phone call from the director of the homicide division of Interpol to the commissioner of the Malta Police Force was enough to convince the local authorities not to arrest Payne and his friends.

  At least for the time being.

  The main sticking point—as Dial had feared—was the arsenal they had used in their supposed act of self-defense. Back in the States, Payne and Jones would have come clean about their weapons, knowing full well that they would never get arrested because of their connections to the Pentagon, but they couldn’t do that here.

  Gun laws were a tricky thing in foreign countries, so they ultimately decided to lie to the police in order to cover their asses and to protect Jarkko from potential smuggling charges. Although they knew Dial would stand by them through thick and thin, they highly doubted he would do the same for a
hard-drinking Finn that he barely knew.

  With little time to think of a cover story, they decided to tell the police that Payne had disarmed one of the Russians in their initial breach and had used his weapon to take down another. As luck should have it, the second goon had a backup pistol as well. That allowed Payne to arm Jones and Jarkko, who evened the odds and joined the fray.

  The police were skeptical at first, until they learned about Payne’s background in the military. Once they found out he had been an elite soldier in the special forces, they started to come around. Before long, he was teaching them some of his best moves and offering to pay for any damage to the library that wasn’t covered by insurance.

  And yet hours passed before they were finally allowed to leave the library. The sky was dark by then, and Payne was soooo hungry he was tempted to kill again just to get some protein. Thankfully, Jones persuaded him to buy some takeout instead on their way to Jarkko’s yacht, which they had decided to use as mission headquarters. Not only would it provide them with more privacy and mobility than their hotel suites, but it also had the rest of Jarkko’s armory.

  Something they would need if the Russians returned.

  One of the biggest drawbacks about lying to the police was the simple fact that they were forced to leave their weapons behind. With a fully armed enemy possibly lurking around every corner, the short drive from Valletta to Birgu felt incredibly long. As Galea’s sedan made its way through the ancient neighborhoods, the streets took on an ominous feel, as if they had been transported back to a time when sword-wielding marauders invaded with regularity.

  Payne and Jones had been initially reluctant to call Galea. Not because they didn’t trust him, but because they didn’t want to put him in danger. Ultimately they decided to be upfront with their driver and let him make his own decision; otherwise, they would have been forced to use a cab or hitch a ride with the police. Once they told Galea what they had been through at the library, he had insisted on picking them up and driving them to wherever they wanted to go. As a proud Maltese, he felt it was his duty to help visitors in their time of need.