The Malta Escape

by Chris Kuzneski

  Needless to say, his gratuity was going to be huge.

  Despite the excitement of the day, their energy was low by the time they reached the marina, but all of that changed as they walked along the dock toward the yacht. Jarkko led the way past several boats of varying shapes and sizes. They bobbed gently in the calm waters of the harbor. Payne was directly behind him, followed by Marissa and Jones, both of whom were carrying the food since Payne had picked up the tab.

  Jones was just getting ready to comment on how peaceful things seemed after the chaos at the library when Jarkko suddenly stopped.

  “Not good,” he whispered.

  “What’s wrong?” Payne demanded.

  Jarkko pointed at his yacht. “Jarkko no leave lights on.”

  Payne glanced ahead. One of the cabin lights was lit. He turned back and looked at Jones. “Did you touch any lights?”

  Jones crouched and lowered their food. “Definitely not.”

  Payne looked around and realized how exposed they were on the dock. If the Russians had set up an ambush, there was nowhere to run. “Marissa, can you swim?”

  “Yes,” she said, nervously. “Why?”

  “If bullets start to fly, hit the water. Don’t stop swimming until you’re out of harm’s way. Just hide in the darkness along the quay until the police arrive.”

  She put her bag of food on the dock. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m starting to regret meeting you guys.”

  Payne smiled. “Don’t worry. DJ hears that all the time.”

  Jones winced. “Ouch. Friendly fire.”

  “Let’s hope that’s all we’re facing.”

  Jones glanced back toward the street. There were several cars on the road where Jarkko had punched a Fiat earlier in the day and plenty of people strolling on the sidewalk, but no one looked suspicious. “How do you want to play this?”

  Instead of answering, Payne hopped onto a nearby fishing boat that was tied to the dock. He spotted a long metal pole that was equipped with a three-pronged spearhead. He pulled it from its rack and handed it to Jones.

  Jones swooshed the trident through the air a couple of times before he stabbed an imaginary foe in the darkness. “Hell, yeah! I’m gonna go Aquaman on their ass!”

  Jarkko stared at him with envy. “Why is David the Aquaman?”

  Payne tossed him a flare gun. “Because you’re the Human Torch.”

  Jarkko nodded. “Okay. Jarkko be Mister Torch.”

  Now it was Marissa’s turn to pout. “Wait just a second. Why do they get weapons and I have to swim? Somehow that doesn’t seem right.”

  “Show of hands,” Payne said as he pulled a fishing knife from its sheath and admired its blade in the dim light. “Who among us hasn’t been in the military?”

  Marissa self-consciously raised her hand.

  Payne nodded and stepped off the boat. “And there’s your answer.”

  “Just because you guys served, doesn’t mean—”

  Payne cut her off. “Listen. I admire your bravery and appreciate your spirit, but we’re heading to a potential gunfight with weapons from Gilligan’s Island, so as much as I’d love to stand here in the open and have a lengthy discussion with you about my sexist ways, I need to pull rank and ask you to pipe down before you get us all killed.”

  “Fine,” she whispered. “But for the record, I never called you a sexist.”

  “And just so you know, I’m definitely not.”

  “Good. Glad to hear it.”

  “But while we’re gone, do us a favor and keep our dinner warm.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “Oh my God. You’re such an ass!”

  Payne laughed as he crept away in the darkness. Jones and Jarkko followed closely behind, each of them scanning the surrounding boats for any signs of an ambush while Marissa grabbed their food and hid in the shadows.

  Jarkko’s yacht was up ahead on the right in the second berth from the end. As the trio moved forward, their footsteps were masked by the incessant sounds of the sea.

  The rippling waves.

  A distant motor.

  A clanging bell.

  Payne stopped just short of the yacht and stared at the water around its hull. If someone was moving around on board, he might be able to see the slightest tremor.

  But he saw nothing.

  And more importantly, he felt nothing.

  Back at the library, a gut feeling had notified him of an imminent attack. But as he crouched in the darkness near the stern of the boat, he sensed no threat at all.

  Payne waited until Jones and Jarkko were by his side before he announced his next move. “I’m going in. If you see anything suspicious, scream and let me know.”

  “How’s your gut?” Jones asked.

  “Hungry. But unconcerned.”

  “Even so, be careful. Look for tripwires in case they rigged this thing to blow.”

  He appreciated the concern. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not worried about you. If the boat explodes, I might get hurt.”

  Payne rolled his eyes as he stepped onto the yacht. He moved with speed but never hurried, always making sure his stride was clear before he took another. When he peeked into the first cabin window, he saw what he expected to see: the interior of the boat had been tossed.

  After that, Payne moved from window to window, just to make sure the yacht was empty, but he felt confident the Russians were long gone. His instincts told him that they had probably searched the place while he and his friends were being questioned by the police. All of which supported his theory that the gunfight in Valletta was a robbery gone wrong.

  But what were the Russians looking for?

  The letter?

  Or something else?

  As things stood, Payne barely had knowledge of the treasure itself, let alone anything about the historical period when it surfaced or an understanding of the people involved. For him to fully comprehend what they were up against meant he had to learn more about the past, and the best person to teach him was the woman he had gone out of his way to protect.

  Ultimately, he knew she would be the key to everything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Jarkko cursed several times in multiple languages when he saw the interior of his yacht. Liquor bottles and glassware had been smashed, mattresses and furniture had been slashed, and some of the navigational equipment on the bridge had been destroyed.

  The Russians had done more than search the boat.

  They had expressed their displeasure.

  Payne immediately checked to see if they had found Jarkko’s hidden armory. Thankfully, the secret closet hadn’t been spotted, and his arsenal remained intact. Payne quickly armed himself and handed weapons to the others in case the Russians returned.

  Much to his surprise, Marissa took a Beretta and checked its clip with a practiced hand. She may have never served in the military, but it was pretty apparent she had been around guns at some point in her life. He made a mental note to ask her about it later, but for the time being, they had more important things to worry about.

  After a quick search, it was obvious the Russians had found the documents that had started Jarkko’s journey. Ironically, he had been uncomfortable with bringing the collection to their initial meeting with Marissa, so he had left the boxes in his stateroom for safekeeping.

  And that decision had cost him everything.

  Payne knew his friend was hurting, so he approached with trepidation. Jarkko was standing on the flybridge, just staring out at the harbor. His swearing had stopped a few minutes earlier and had been replaced by total silence. “I’m sorry about your yacht. I know how much it means to you. Is there anything I can do?”

  Jarkko shrugged. “Yacht is just a thing. She can be fixed.”

  Payne nodded. “Do you think she can run?”

  Jarkko forced a smile. “Why? Are you looking to buy?”

  Payne shook his head. “Right now, we’re sitting duc
ks. We could be attacked by land or sea. I’d feel a lot safer if we were in the open water. Easier to see people coming.”

  Jarkko gritted his teeth. “Jarkko wants them to come.”

  “I do, too—but on our terms. Why give them an edge?”

  Jarkko nodded in understanding. “You get ropes. Jarkko start yacht.”

  Although Payne had been around boats for most of his life, he had little experience with yachts. Growing up in the Steel City, he used to watch the massive barges as they crawled at a snail’s pace before unloading their freight on the local wharfs. Then at Annapolis, he was introduced to the best ships in the naval fleet before he tested their full capabilities in combat. And once he had retired from the military, he had bought a pleasure craft for lazy summer days on Pittsburgh’s three rivers, but it was half the size of Jarkko’s boat.

  Measuring seventy feet in length, the sleek yacht had twin V12 engines and a maximum speed of forty knots but was built for entertaining. With spacious foredeck seating and a separate area for sunbathing, several people could stay outside, while several others remained in the air-conditioned comfort of the glass-lined saloon. Private stairs led to the master stateroom on the lower level, while a separate stairwell led to three other cabins, each with a private bathroom.

  Despite its current state, it was one impressive vessel.

  Payne hustled to the stern, where he went to work on the ropes. The first line came off the bollard with ease, but a second line went into the water underneath the pier. Payne tugged on the line with one hand, and it hardly budged.

  “What’s the holdup?” Jones asked from above.

  Payne glanced up at him. “You know anything about yachts?”

  “Not really, but I do know this: Jarkko’s yacht is nicer than your plane.”

  “Believe it or not, I agree with you. I might ask him to trade.”

  Jones laughed as he walked down the rear stairs toward Payne. “If you do, never turn on a black light. I can’t even imagine the stains that Jarkko’s made on this thing.”

  Payne grimaced. “Good point.”

  Jones kept laughing. “Truth be told, if the Russians touched anything in his bedroom, we may not have to hunt them down. They’re probably already dying of syphilis.”

  “Well, you’re the expert.”

  “Says the guy who gave it to me.”

  “Wow!” Payne blurted. “I have no idea who you were trying to insult with that one, but it just kind of blew right up in your face, didn’t it?”

  “You know what I meant.”

  “Honest to God, I have no clue what you meant!”

  “Me, neither,” Jones admitted as he signaled to move on. “So, why did you ask me about yachts when I asked you about the holdup?”

  Payne pointed at the rope. “Because I have no idea what this line is for. For some damn reason, it goes underneath the pier. I pulled on it, but it’s caught on something.”

  Jones tucked his weapon under his shirt. “Here. Let me help.”

  Payne grabbed the line with both hands while Jones did the same. By pulling together, the rope slowly emerged from the murky depths of the marina.

  One foot, then two.

  Five feet, then ten.

  And then much to their surprise, two actual feet appeared.

  Both of them tied to the end of the line.

  “What the fuck!” Jones shouted as he let go of the rope and hopped backward in disgust. “Is that a body?”

  Payne struggled to keep the line in place. “Dammit, DJ. Keep pulling!”

  “Why? I don’t need a body. I already have one.”

  “Come on,” Payne growled. “We need to see who it is.”

  Jones swore under his breath, but he grabbed the rope.

  A minute later, they were hauling the faceless henchman onto the pier. Jarkko heard the commotion and came running, just in time to see Volkov’s handiwork. The corpse had so many slashes that they were tough to count—a process made difficult by teeth marks.

  The goon had wanted to be a plumber, but he had ended up a seafood buffet.

  Nothing more than dinner for the creatures of the deep.

  As much as he hated to do it, Jones took out his phone and scanned the dead man’s fingerprints. Most of them were still intact. Then he opened the man’s mouth and took a single photograph of his teeth. There was no way they were going to identify him with facial recognition, but maybe his dental work would give them a lead.

  “Guys,” Payne whispered as Jones continued to work. “Nothing about this makes sense. Not this. Not the assault at the library. None of it. Bodies are piling up, and I have no idea why. Who the hell are we facing, and why are they so damn pissed?”

  Jones winced in disgust as he wiped his phone on his shirt. “Obviously it has something to do with the treasure, or else they wouldn’t have stolen Jarkko’s collection.”

  Payne agreed, so he glanced at Jarkko. “Who else knew about the collection? Did you tell anyone? Someone you slept with? Someone at a bar? Someone you slept with at a bar?”

  Jarkko shook his head. “Jarkko tell no one! Jarkko is sure!”

  “Fine,” Payne said. “What about the guy you got it from? Could he have told someone? You said he was Russian, right? Maybe he’s the source of the leak.”

  Jarkko shrugged. “Jarkko don’t know. Jarkko no talk to him since Jarkko get collection. Should Jarkko call and ask?”

  Payne nodded. “At this point, I don’t see how it could hurt. Whoever we’re facing already has the damn collection, so what do we have to hide?”

  Jones glanced at his phone. It was still slimy. “I’ll send these prints to Randy and see if he found out anything about the other goons. Maybe that will give us a lead.”

  Payne took a deep breath. “And I’ll call Nick. He’ll want to know about the body.”

  Jones laughed. “Good luck with that.”

  “Trust me, I’d rather be calling Randy.”

  “I’m gonna tell Randy you said that. It’ll probably make his day.”

  “Why bother? If I know him, he probably tapped our phones and has been listening to us the entire time. Haven’t you, Randy?”

  There was a slight delay before all of their phones beeped once.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Marissa had seen the dead body on the pier and wanted no part of it. She had been around enough corpses in the past few hours to last her a lifetime.

  With nothing better to do, she decided to clean. Not because she viewed it as her job, but because it was the right thing to do. Although she had just met Jarkko, she had noticed the distraught look on his face when he had first entered his yacht and wanted to do anything she could to help ease his pain. As an added bonus, she found that cleaning actually helped relieve her stress in times of turmoil. There was something about putting things in their proper place that was reassuring to her, as if she had some control in the chaos that surrounded her.

  The behavior had started when she was just a kid. Anytime her parents would fight—which was quite often and frequently violent—she would look for things to organize in her bedroom.

  Books on the shelf. Toys in their chest. Clothes in her closet.

  Anything to take her mind off her real problems.

  And she did the same thing on the yacht.

  By the time the police had finished questioning the guys and had given them permission to leave the marina, the interior of the boat didn’t look so bad. There was little she could do about the slashed couches, other than sealing them with duct tape, but everything else had improved dramatically. So much so, Jarkko picked her up and gave her a massive bear hug.

  It lifted her in more ways than one.

  Thankfully, Nick Dial had worked his magic with the police commissioner; otherwise, they wouldn’t have been allowed to leave at all. But since there was no blood evidence on board the yacht and Jarkko had no intention of pressing charges against the vandals, Dial had argued that they should be allowed to leave f
or their personal safety—and for the safety of the marina.

  The commissioner had quickly agreed.

  After discussing it over with Jones and Jarkko, Payne decided the safest place for them wasn’t the harbor, since it was bordered by land on three sides and filled with hundreds of boats. So Jarkko headed to the waters of St. George’s Bay. It was a short boat ride from Birgu and next to Payne and Jones’s hotel, so the duo was quite familiar with the surrounding terrain.

  For them, it was hard to believe that less than twelve hours had passed since their morning breakfast at the Corinthia Hotel. During that meal, their biggest concerns had been what boat to rent, what attractions to see, and how to carry their things. Now they were worried about a Maltese treasure, crazed Russians, and catching syphilis on Jarkko’s yacht.

  Through it all, the one thing that hadn’t changed was Payne’s appetite.

  It was as predictable as the setting sun.

  While being questioned by Dial and the police, Payne had nibbled on an assortment of goods from Jarkko’s pantry: nuts, crackers, dried fruits, and a Finnish meat product that turned out to be reindeer jerky. Although the snacks had temporarily satiated the beast inside, they had failed to slay the demon. It had kept growing and growing until it demanded to be fed. The instant they passed Fort Tigné and turned north into the Mediterranean toward St. Julian’s, Payne left his post on the stern and headed inside the yacht.

  A sliding glass door opened into the rear of the glass-lined interior. A galley equipped with a refrigerator, stove, sink, oven, microwave, dishwasher, and marble counters sat on his left, while a dining area with a long wooden table and cushioned benches sat on his right. Further up the center aisle was the main social area. It had a large couch, love seat, and coffee table. Beyond that was the helm and the private stairs that led to the stateroom at the front of the yacht.

  But Payne didn’t care about any of that.

  His sole focus was finding food.

  For the third time in the past few hours, Marissa had surprised him. Earlier it had been her impressive dexterity with the Beretta that had opened his eyes. Then she had taken it upon herself to tidy up the yacht while he was dealing with the police. And now she was in the kitchen, heating up the takeout that he had bought for the group upon leaving the library. He knew some women wouldn’t have pitched in after his earlier crack about keeping their dinner warm, but she had taken it the way he had intended it—as nothing more than a silly joke.