The Malta Escape

by Chris Kuzneski

  “Why’s that?” she wondered.

  “Two reasons,” Ulster said with confidence. “Unlike Francesco Laparelli, who answered to the Vatican and the pope himself, Girolamo Cassar was a Maltese citizen, who learned his craft under Evangelista Menga, the resident engineer of the Order of Saint John. Therefore, Cassar’s loyalty would have been to the Knights—particularly after 1569 AD when he was admitted to the Order. Like the Knights themselves, Cassar made his name during the Great Siege when he risked his life on multiple occasions to repair the fortifications that were damaged by the constant barrage of Ottoman cannons. By the time that he rose to replace Menga as the resident engineer of the Order, Cassar was highly respected and trusted by his fellow Knights.”

  She nodded in understanding. “Meaning that Cassar probably designed many of the tunnels under the city of Valletta, including the secret ones.”

  “Exactly,” he said with a nod.

  “Okay. All of that makes perfect sense. What’s the second reason?”

  Ulster grinned. “Guess who has Cassar’s portfolio in his suitcase.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Considering their luggage misadventures, Jones laughed when he heard Ulster’s comment. “I hope to hell Cassar’s portfolio wasn’t in my bag, because it was stolen at the library.”

  Payne nodded. “Mine, too.”

  “Really?” Ulster asked. “Why did they steal your bags?”

  “Because our bags were awesome,” Jones replied.

  “Guys!” Marissa said. “Petr just revealed a major piece of information, and you’re talking about your gym bags. How about a little focus?”

  Jarkko nodded. “Jarkko agrees with Mean Marissa. Time to talk treasure.”

  Jones saluted him. “Sorry, captain.”

  Jarkko grinned and saluted back.

  She faced Ulster. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this sooner. Who discovered Girolamo Cassar’s portfolio? And when did you acquire it?”

  Ulster answered her question with a brainteaser. “Technically, my dear, I haven’t acquired anything. And yet, technically, I have!”

  Jones glanced at Payne. “I think we broke Petr.”

  Payne shook his head and smiled. “No, DJ, we didn’t break Petr. He’s never been better. He told us everything we needed to know with his riddle.”

  Now it was Jones’s turn to be confused. As much as Payne hated to be the last one to solve anything, Jones’s frustration was even worse since he prided himself on his mental acumen and detective skills. As far as he was concerned, Payne was the muscle of the group while he was the brain. It was an insight that Jones had shared with his best friend many times over the years, which made moments like these almost unbearable.

  “Ugh,” Jones said, “give me a clue.”

  Payne smiled at him. “Dumb Jon need no clue. Why Einstein need help?”

  Jarkko looked at Payne. “Why you make fun of Jarkko?”

  Payne shook his head. “I wasn’t making fun of you. I was making fun of DJ.”

  “By talking like Jarkko?” he said, confused.

  “Guys!” Marissa said. “You’re doing it again. Quit joking around!”

  Payne nodded as he stood up. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist. Petr, which bag is your computer in? I’ll go get it for you.”

  Ulster smiled, glad that someone had figured out his puzzle. “It’s in my shoulder bag. Unfortunately, the screen is fairly small for a group so large. Would you, by chance, know how to hook it up to a television? You know tasks such as those aren’t my forte.”

  Payne pointed at Jones. “DJ’s the man when it comes to—hint, hint—technology.”

  Jones groaned in understanding. “Oh, now I get it. You didn’t technically acquire the portfolio, because you don’t actually have it in your possession. But someone sent it to you on your computer, which means you acquired it technically.”

  Ulster applauded. “Well done, David. I’m glad to see you haven’t lost a step.”

  “That’s right,” Payne cracked. “He’s always been a step behind me.”

  Jones ignored the comment and shifted his focus to the task at hand. “Hey Jarkko, did Volkov break that big-ass TV in your bedroom?”

  Jarkko shook his head. “Volkov knock on floor but did not smash. Why?”

  “Would you mind if I brought it up here for some show and tell?”

  Jarkko furrowed his brow. “What is this ‘show and tell’?”

  Jones explained. “Petr’s going to show us where Hompesch hid the treasure, then we’re going to tell him how we’re going to retrieve it.”

  Jarkko hopped to his feet. “Jarkko likes show and tell. Jarkko help you carry.”

  Five minutes later, the group was sitting on the massive couch and staring at the 60-inch television, which rested on the wooden coffee table in the middle of the glass-lined saloon. Thanks to the television’s network connection, the contents of Ulster’s laptop were being wirelessly mirrored onto the larger screen, much to Ulster’s delight.

  “David,” Ulster said as he typed in his passcode to unlock his computer. “It is quite obvious that you are far more tech-savvy than I. Would you mind taking control of the mother ship while I proceed with my lecture?”

  “Sweet,” Jones said as he grabbed the laptop. If Ulster hadn’t suggested it, Jones would have. He knew from experience that Ulster was barely one step above the Amish when it came to technology. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

  Ulster pointed at a blue folder on his computer desktop that was labeled CASSAR. “Please open this folder and display its contents on the television screen.”

  Jones clicked a few buttons on the laptop, and a series of blue file icons spread across the computer and television screens at the exact same time. “Now what?”

  Ulster struggled to lean forward on the couch. Between his size and the damage to the pillow underneath his plump derrière, he felt like he was sitting in quicksand. He rocked back and forth, trying to generate enough momentum to reach his feet so he could point at a file on the television screen, but he quickly realized that he was fighting a losing battle. “Jonathon, my boy, do you happen to have a pointer of some kind that I can use during my lesson? I’m afraid if I keep rocking like this, I may cause a tsunami that wipes out Malta before we retrieve the treasure.”

  Payne looked at Jarkko. “Do you have anything like that?”

  Jarkko rubbed his chin. “Jarkko has rifle. Will that work?”

  Ulster laughed. “Well, that would certainly be unique! However, if you don’t mind, I would prefer something a little less lethal.”

  Jarkko grimaced. “Switchblade?”

  “Hang on,” Marissa said as she hustled into the galley. She opened the pantry door and grabbed the mop that she had used to clean up the broken glass from the night before. She quickly unscrewed the mop head and brought the handle back to Ulster. “Will this work?”

  “It’s perfect,” he said as he swung the neon-green plastic handle in front of him like a light saber. “Although I must admit, this is the first time I’ve held a mop in years!”

  “Use the Force, Petr,” Jones cracked. “Clean the room, you must.”

  Everyone laughed except Ulster, who didn’t get the Star Wars reference.

  “Anyway,” Ulster said to change the topic, “if you would be so kind as to click on the file labeled VALLETTA 2 – 1575 AD. That will get this ship back on course.”

  Marissa glanced at her mentor. “Hold up! You still haven’t told us about the portfolio. Where was it discovered? And how did you obtain it?”

  Ulster smiled. “Believe it or not, Jonathon helped me obtain it.”

  “I did?” Payne asked. “How’d I do that?”

  Ulster was happy to explain. “Word is starting to spread amongst the academic community about the digitization of my files at the Archives, which is being done with the device that you built at Payne Industries. As you’ve probably heard me preach, the majority of the world’s hi
storical artifacts are not currently available for public consumption. Most are being stored in museum vaults for preservation or being hoarded by private collectors. My goal at the Archives has always been to promote the sharing of historical knowledge for the betterment of mankind.”

  Marissa knew all of this. “And that helped you obtain it, how?”

  “Sorry!” Ulster said with a grin. “I knew I was leaving something out. Thanks to the digitization of the files, I have recently heard from a number of like-minded historians, who were interested in acquiring the Payne Industries technology in hopes of following my lead. Over the past few years, Jonathon’s tech division has developed multiple versions of these scanning devices, some of which have greatly increased in speed and precision. Instead of putting the older models in a dusty closet at the Archives, I obtained Jonathon’s permission to send them to some trusted colleagues. We figured they could use them as training tools while also scanning their documents for the digital cloud that we are planning to launch in the future.”

  He leaned back as he spoke to the group. “With so many people interested in this project, I got to pick and choose whom I sent these devices to. One particular enthusiast contacted me and asked for a sneak peek at some files that we had already scanned at the Archives, and I asked him what he could offer in return. This gentleman, who shall remain nameless, let it be known that he had acquired Cassar’s portfolio from a black marketeer for his private collection. When offered the opportunity to view the portfolio—something that I never even knew existed—I agreed to send him one of Jonathon’s units in order to add the collection to my digital library.”

  Ulster turned his focus to Marissa. “Although the Archives acquired these files a few weeks ago, I didn’t have an urgent need to study them prior to Jonathon’s call. As you know, I’m not really a fan of the digital medium. I would much rather touch paper than push buttons. Truth be told, I only remembered the portfolio after I found Francesco Laparelli’s blueprints in my Vatican vault. I literally had to wake up one of my archivists in the middle of the night and have him search through our digital submissions in order to find the proper files. He was kind enough to load them onto my laptop, so I could share them with you today.”

  She leaned forward in anticipation. “I’ll be honest, I can’t wait to see what you’ve found. I’m so excited my hands are shaking.”

  Jones followed his earlier instructions and clicked on the file labeled VALLETTA 2 – 1575 AD. The computer sprang to life, sending a sixteenth-century blueprint of the city to both screens. There were so many tiny details in the ancient drawings that everyone focused solely on the television. Unfortunately for Payne and Jones, they quickly realized that they would be reliant on the others, because the language used in the document was definitely not English.

  Payne furrowed his brow. “Is that Latin?”

  Marissa gasped in amazement. For a historian like her, the significance of this document went far beyond a treasure hunt. In her eyes, the document itself was a treasure. “Most of the words are written in an ancient form of Latin, but not all of them. For some reason, Cassar also mixed in some Maltese, but I have no idea why. You would think he would have used a standard language for an official document.”

  Ulster grinned. “Who said this was an official document?”

  She looked at him, then back at the screen. “Wait. So you think this blueprint was for his eyes only?”

  “The thought had crossed my mind, particularly when I compared it to the original.” Ulster turned toward Jones. “David, if you would be so kind, please open the file that’s named: VALLETTA 1 – 1575 AD. Then, if you could, please place it to the left of the other blueprint.”

  Jones looked at him. “One on the left, two on the right?”

  Ulster nodded. “Exactly.”

  Jones clicked a few buttons and made it happen. “There you go.”

  The two documents appeared side by side on the television screen. At first glance, the blueprints seemed to be identical, but as the group studied the two images, they slowly realized that there were a number of subtle differences.

  “No Maltese,” Marissa said as she snatched the handle from Ulster’s hand and pointed it at the screen. “The first document has no Maltese. The entire thing is written in Latin.”

  Ulster nodded. “I noticed that as well.”

  She pointed at the second document. “And these lines here and here, they don’t appear in the first document. Same with these lines over here. And over here.”

  Ulster smiled. “And what do all of those lines have in common?”

  She glanced at her mentor. “All of them were labeled in Maltese.”

  Ulster grinned. “Correct.”

  “Hold on,” Payne said while trying to understand the significance of the files. “Unless I’m mistaken, you’re suggesting that the document on the right—the one with all the extra lines—is a coded blueprint that Cassar kept to himself. And you believe that all of those extra lines represent tunnels? Tunnels that were intentionally omitted from the official blueprint on the left?”

  Ulster continued to grin. “I do indeed.”

  Payne stared at the plump historian. “And if I forced you to put a percentage on your certainty, what would that number be?”

  Ulster kept on grinning. “Ninety-nine percent.”

  “Really?” Payne blurted. “That’s pretty damn high. Why so confident?”

  “Let me show you,” Ulster said as he grabbed the handle from Marissa and pointed it at the screen. “David, please open this folder here. The one labeled TUNNELS.”

  Jones did as he was told, and its contents soon filled the screen. Inside that folder were dozens of files, all of them labeled with its own number in sequential order. The list of files was so long that it extended beyond the scope of the screen. “Now what?”

  Ulster pointed his handle. “Open files one through five.”

  A moment later, five new blueprints filled the screen. But unlike the extensive plans of Valletta that referenced the tunnels with little more than vague lines, these plans were very precise, each one showing specific dimensions of individual tunnels that were to be built between the sewers and cisterns of the new capital city.

  Ulster kept on grinning. “The reason I’m so confident that those lines were tunnels is because Girolamo Cassar took the time to draw them in great detail for us.”

  “Holy shit!” Marissa said as she stared in disbelief. “Where do they lead?”

  “Now that, my dear, is an interesting question. Where do you think they went?”

  She racked her brain, trying to think of the most logical locations, then it dawned on her that she didn’t need to guess. She could simply look. “DJ, clear those files off the screen and go back to Cassar’s coded blueprint.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said while clicking away. “Here you go.”

  She leapt to her feet to take a closer look at the screen. “Can you zoom in on the middle of the city? I want to read the Maltese, but I can’t with the—better! Much better! Thanks!”

  Jones nodded from his seat on the couch. With his view of the television temporarily obstructed by Marissa, he stared at the image on the laptop’s screen. Even though he couldn’t read Maltese, he noticed the same word over and over. “What does Berġa mean?”

  She immediately stopped and looked at him. “That’s it! That’s where the tunnels went!”

  Then, without a word of explanation, Marissa turned back toward the television screen and started calling out places in Maltese. She did it in such a rhythmic cadence that she almost sounded like she was chanting. “Berġa ta' Alvernja. Berġa ta' Provenza. Berġa ta' Aragona. Berġa ta' Kastilja. Berġa ta' Italja. Berġa ta' Franza. And Berġa ta' Alemanja.”

  Jones listened to the words as she said them, and he quickly picked up on the theme. The word Berġa was obviously a noun, and the words that followed described it. He didn’t know what Alvernja meant, but Provenza sounded like ‘Province’. A
nd Aragona sounded like ‘Aragon’. And Kastilja sounded like ‘Castile’. And Italja sounded like ‘Italy’.

  On the other side of the couch, Payne was going through the same process. Halfway through her list, he was racking his brain trying to remember where he had heard all of those places before. At some point during her lecture, she had mentioned all of those words together.

  Then it hit them both at the exact same time.

  Berġa stood for ‘auberge’.

  The inns where the individual langues had housed their knights.

  “Auberges!” they shouted in unison. “I said it first! No, I said it first!”

  Meanwhile, Ulster looked on with delight.

  He had started the ball rolling; now they were learning on their own.

  And they were having fun while doing it.

  He glanced at Marissa. “It seems you are a better teacher than I, for you managed to teach the boys Maltese in a single night!”

  Jarkko raised his hand. “Jarkko have question.”

  “Yes,” Ulster said as the excitement settled down. “What is it?”

  Jarkko looked at him, confused. “Did Petr find treasure?”

  “No,” Ulster said with a comforting smile, “I’m afraid not. Although I certainly wish that was the case, all we’ve managed to do is locate a system of tunnels that I believe may have enabled Grand Master Hompesch to move the treasure underneath the city. After discovering these tunnels in the middle of the night, I woke up a second staff member and asked him to go through anything he could find in Valletta’s modern-day infrastructure to see if any of these tunnels had been discovered or damaged in any way. As far as I can tell, much of the system appears to be situated in areas of the city untouched by public works. Of course, this doesn’t mean that we will be able to locate them or even find them viable, but at this point in time, I do believe the quickest way to test our theory is to take a field trip underneath Valletta. And while we’re down there, perhaps we will find further evidence about the treasure itself.”

  “I’m in,” Jones blurted.

  “Me, too,” Payne said.