End Game

by Robert Stanek

  Reaching the fountain, she said softly, “I love you, Scott.” She knew her timing was all wrong, but also knew she needed to say it out loud at that moment. When she heard nothing but silence in response, she turned on her heel, expecting him to be right behind her, but he wasn’t.

  Her heart beat faster as she scanned for him, her eyes whipping back to a woman with long black hair, who was fast retreating with Scott chasing after her. She was wearing a long, see-through gray jacket over a black dress with a bulky bag over her shoulder. She was on the other side of the fountain and seemed to be heading directly for the exit.

  “Lock it down,” she screamed into her headset. “Block the exits.”

  Chapter 7

  Mediterranean Sea

  Afternoon, Wednesday, 20 June

  By the time Scott skidded around the fountain and bounded up the stairs and into the building, Edie was well behind him, shouting wildly to block the exits. He didn’t know where the crowded hallway he entered would lead him, but he knew the face he’d seen. That face was one he’d never forget.

  Behind him, he heard more shouts and there was Edie’s voice, but distantly. He keyed his microphone, said, “It’s her. Alexis Gosling. I’m certain.”

  Earlier he’d been trying to puzzle together why Blake or Gosling would be going to the gardens. He’d wondered if the gardens were a rendezvous point, a drop or a pickup site or a terror target. He’d been worrying about hidden bombs and potential dispersal of whatever infectious agent they’d brought to Malta. Now, all he could think about was catching up to the woman in the wig.

  His long legs carried him quickly, and he seemed to gaining fast on Alexis, closing the lengthy lead she had on him. As he dodged his way in and out of the crowd, she pushed and shoved her way through. Just when he thought he might catch her, she grabbed onto the shoulder of a man who didn’t get out of her way fast enough and used it as leverage to propel herself forward. After clambering over a table and scattering arts and crafts everywhere, she scrambled wildly toward the exit.

  Trying to keep up, Scott stumbled over hand-carved wooden bowls and other goods that were knocked from the table, going to his knees, his headset smashing against the cement floor and breaking into pieces. He fought the instinct to retrieve the headset and continued on, hurtling over the table and sprinting to the exit.

  Passing through the doorway, he unholstered his gun, keeping the weapon out in front of him, raised and pointed up, quickly discovering the exit spilled him out into a parking lot running alongside Castille Street. By the time he got to the street, Alexis was in the back of a waiting taxi that was driving away. He ran up the street to try to flag down another taxi, only steps behind the slow-moving vehicle caught in traffic.

  He was about to fire at the rear tire when a flash of white, a vehicle coming out of the traffic circle, caught his eye. Malta’s white taxis were the only ones you could catch off the street and this one didn’t have a fare yet. As the taxi stopped at the crosswalk, he got into the backseat. “Segua quell'auto,” he said pointing.

  The driver looked nervously from his gun to his face, prompting Scott to holster the weapon. “Segua quell'auto,” he repeated, adding, “Polizia di Stato.”

  The driver either didn’t care or didn’t believe that he was a police officer. Thinking quickly, Scott reached into the inside pocket of his sports coat for his emergency fund. Three hundred euro notes got the driver’s attention. A fourth caused the driver to stomp on the gas and chase the other taxi down Triq San Paul.

  As they raced along, Scott tried to guess at the destination. The President’s Palace was only six blocks away. Other sites on the VIP itinerary were close as well, including the University of Malta, the National Library of Malta and others. But the quick left turn onto Saint Lucia’s Street was a surprise, as was the screech to a halt two blocks later at the pedestrian-only section of Republic Street.

  “Damn it, Edie,” he whispered to himself as he jumped out of the cab and started running. “Hope you’re following and close.”

  Chapter 8

  Mediterranean Sea

  Afternoon, Wednesday, 20 June

  Alexis dashed from the cab, ditching the wig and jacket as soon as she entered the shadows of the tree line, continuing northwest, deeper into the busy pedestrian throughway. People were all around her. Some were sitting at tables, eating pastries or drinking coffee. Others were standing idly or walking slowly, talking with one another.

  Abruptly, she turned and headed southwest, moving swiftly to a secluded area shrouded in shadows. Here, she stopped to collect herself and catch her breath. Closing her eyes against the pain in her chest, she stood transfixed, her thoughts drawn to flames and wreckage she didn’t see but felt in her bones.

  In her mind’s eye, she saw the freckle-faced girl from the dead woman’s phone—the little girl she’d saved from a life of pain and disappointment at her uncaring mother’s hands. Anyone who could leave such a sweet, innocent child behind and alone in such a dark, dangerous world earned what she’d given—and more.

  Pushing down the plunger on the needle, she felt the liquid Oxycodone enter her veins and she sighed as pain receded and clear vision returned. Stepping from the shadows, she felt invincible, untouchable, as she entered the crowded square, carrying the black, leather handbag that she’d picked up at the gardens over her left shoulder.

  Passing the statue, she glanced up at the stoic figure of a knight on horseback and smiled because of the secret she carried with her. The secret that would terrify everyone in the crowd around her if only they knew.

  Her eyes wary, looking for her pursuers, she made her way quickly to the visitor’s entrance of Saint John’s Co-Cathedral from Republic Street and continued through into the main nave, the entire floor of which was covered with marble tombstones that marked the final resting place of some of the most illustrious knights of their time. The Order, known as the Knights of Malta, had built the church in the late 16th century.

  The cathedral was considered to be one of the finest examples of high Baroque architecture in Europe and one of the world’s greatest cathedrals, with intricate carved stone walls, painted vaulted ceilings and side altars with scenes from the lives of saints. Inside its walls were seven chapels, each dedicated to a patron saint of the Knights.

  She walked quickly past the Chapel of the Langue of Castille, Leon and Portugal, dedicated to Saint James, and entered the Chapel of the Langue of Aragon, dedicated to Saint George, glancing up at the painting over the altar showing the saint on horseback. She continued through into the chapel dedicated to Saint Sebastian, before entering the chapel dedicated to the Madonna of Philermos.

  The inner sanctuary of the Chapel of Our Lady of Philermos was enclosed by a silver gate and like others before her, Alexis knelt outside the gate before taking in the majesty of the gilded walls and ceiling sculpted with symbols that told of the Immaculate Conception and other titles of the Virgin Mary. There were tears in her eyes as she stared at the icon of the Virgin and wondered how many before her had similarly knelt and wept and prayed to the Virgin for intercession.

  The Knights of Malta knelt and prayed before battle, and they returned afterward to present to the Virgin the keys of the fortresses they conquered. These keys were still present within the chapel, but it was another key hidden in the chapel that she searched for.

  “The base of the tree is rotten,” she whispered to the Virgin as she located the key and slipped it in with the other toys and goodies in her bag. “Help me cleanse the tree. Help me cleave the root of all the world’s ills.”

  Wiping tears from her eyes, she made her way back to the main nave and into the chapel dedicated to the Immaculate Conception and Saint Catherine of Alexandria, certain that Evers and perhaps others might be in the crowd around her. Here, it wasn’t the altar depicting the mystic marriage of Saint Catherine that drew her eye but the painting showing the martyrdom of Saint Catherine, for she too would soon be a martyr for her caus
e. She continued past the chapel dedicated to Saint Michael the Archangel on her left, continuing toward the chapel dedicated to Saint Charles ahead of her.

  The chapel enclosed by bronze gates wasn’t her destination, however, and she only glanced in passing at the bronze gilt crucifix that stood over the remains of Saint Clement within the altar table. Veering right and ignoring the closed signs, construction tape and cordons, she descended the stairs and entered the crypt of the Grand Masters beneath the main sanctuary.

  Although no construction crews were working, signs of the renovations were everywhere from ladders, scaffolding and other equipment that were still in place to thick sheets of plastic hanging from the ceiling that controlled the spread of dust and detritus and divided the crypt into compartments. Nothing in her way slowed her down. She knew exactly where she was going. The secret kept here was one for the ages—one known perhaps only to the grandmasters themselves at one time, if even to the clergy and caretakers of the cathedral itself.

  “Forgive me, Pietro,” she said as she moved the engineer’s counterbalance into place and then pulled and heaved at the partially revealed sarcophagus, little by little working the stone coffin out of the wall while perspiration built on her brow. Once the opening was big enough for her to fit through, she got down on her hands and knees and probed the darkness beyond with a small flashlight.

  The space beyond was as dark and dank as she imagined such a hidden place could ever be and she coughed from deep within herself as her lungs took in air that had been locked behind walls for more than two centuries. Just as she was about to slide through the opening, she heard someone come down the stairs. Frantically, she squirmed into the opening and sat there listening quietly in the darkness.

  Hearing footsteps slip across the hard stonework of the floor, her distress grew. She stood, ran her hands along the wall. Then with the pen light held in her mouth, she took the huge brass key from her purse in both hands and shoved it into the hidden slot of the keyhole.

  Mustering her strength, she turned the key clockwise two clicks and pushed inward, then counterclockwise three clicks before she was finally able to pull open the concealed door. As the heavy stone door swung outward slowly but silently on unseen hinges, the footsteps drew dangerously close.

  The thin light in her hand penetrated the gloom beyond like moonlight on a cloudy night. No matter, she knew what she must do and where she must go even if she couldn’t see her way clearly. She glanced back over her shoulder in time to see the muzzle flash. The roar of the gun echoed off the hand-hewn walls and in her ears as she dropped to the floor and scrambled away.

  Few living knew of the tunnels hidden beneath the Crypt of the Grand Masters, and after her visits to the AFM Headquarters at Luqa international airport and Saint Vincent De Paul Residence to confirm earlier research, she was one of them. Now she had only to get into position and await her final orders.

  “Soon we release the dragon,” she said to herself. “Two thousand years in the pit is long enough. It’s time for mankind to know hellfire and be judged for what they have done.”

  Though she couldn’t see the sky above, she could see Ouroboros, the serpent of eternity, wrapped around the sun. As she watched, Ouroboros started coughing up the tail, which was his own, from deep within himself, and she knew this was a good sign. A sign that the universe itself was ready to wake from its long slumber.

  Chapter 9

  Mediterranean Sea

  Afternoon, Wednesday, 20 June

  Scott turned a tight circle, his eyes probing, studying every face around him. He had seen Alexis Gosling run from the taxi into the pedestrian-only zone along Republic Street, and guessed she was making her way to Saint John’s Square where she could disappear into any of the many tiny shops that lined the way. Instead, just when he thought he lost her, she reappeared without her disguise near the Great Siege Monument where he watched her disappear into the cathedral before he could catch up with her.

  Upon entering, he bypassed the main exhibition hall and went directly for the crowded nave. Occasionally, as he went, he said, “Mi scusi, mi scusi,” but mostly he simply pushed and shoved along with everyone else. From there, he had many choices, from the passage to the sacristy to the passage to the oratory to the pathways to the many chapels.

  He tried to think about where the exits were located. A pamphlet he’d been handed upon entering provided some assistance, but mostly the cathedral was a series of closed passageways leading to chapels and grand halls. He suspected though that there were any number of emergency exits not marked on the floor plan, any one of which Alexis could use to disappear. But he wasn’t going to let her do that.

  A woman beside him was taking pictures with her cell phone. She wanted Scott to take a picture of her and her husband. Scott took the phone but not the picture, putting a thick stack of hundred Euro notes into her hand instead. “Per il telefono,” he said, rushing off.

  Seconds later he was dialed into Switchboard, asking for an emergency connect to live operation XDF1-Valetta. His operator code and mission code got him what he wanted and soon he was talking with Edie.

  “Scott, where are you? What happened?” she said as soon as she heard the sound of his voice.

  “Edie,” he said, “I’m okay, lost my headset. I need you to get clearance to lockdown Saint John’s Co-Cathedral, Saint John’s Square and the adjacent pedestrian walk along Republic Street.”

  “Gosling, you’ve found her?” Edie said, her voice full of urgency.

  “I have,” he replied. “I followed her in a taxi from the gardens. She’s somewhere in the cathedral. I think this is it. Ground zero.”

  “Are you sure? If we get this wrong—”

  Scott cut her off, his eyes making another frantic pass of the nave but seeing no hint of Alexis Gosling. “Whichever way this plays out, this is either the place or somewhere extremely important. I feel it in my bones. Get down here. Get the streets blocked off. We’ve got her. We’ve finally got her. I know we do.”

  Scott rushed to the sanctuary toward an elderly priest who was standing off to the side, facing the crowd, the entrance to the Chapel of the Langue of Aragon on his immediate left. “Excuse me,” Scott said, his voice rising. “Do you speak English?”

  “Of course,” the priest said, eyeing Scott and seeming to sense the unspoken importance of the situation.

  Scott pointed to the chapel. “Are there any exits up that hall?”

  “Exits?” The priest said. “Only the Chapels. Aragon and then Auvernge. At the end, Our Lady of Philermos. If you want to leave, the exit is behind you.”

  “No, I don’t want to leave,” Scott said. “I’m looking for a woman. A woman with short blond hair wearing a long black dress. She’s young, pretty, American. Have you seen her?”

  The priest turned his head, looked into the chapel and considered Scott’s words for a moment. “Always the pretty ones that get away, isn’t it?”

  Scott groaned, turning sideways so he could continue to scan the crowd while he talked. “She had a big, black purse. Big enough to put in one of those brass candelabras.” He held up a hand. “About this tall. Blue eyes.”

  “I saw a woman like that but—”

  “It’s important,” Scott said.

  The sound of sirens reached into the nave, like police and other responders were everywhere and Scott imagined they probably were. The response was quick, quicker than he expected, but teams were positioned throughout the city for exactly this reason. Before he could say anything else, the priest said, “Bad, is it?”

  Scott nodded. “It is. Trust me when I say I’m one of the good guys.”

  It was the priest’s turn to nod. “I know you are. This I can see.” He paused. “This woman, you intend her harm?”

  “I do,” Scott said.

  The priest stared into Scott’s eyes for a long moment. “I knew that as well, from the beginning.”

  “The woman?” Scott said, renewed urgency in his t
one.

  “She went in but then she came back out.”

  “Where?” Scott said. “Where did she go? Did you see?”

  “I did,” the priest said, clearly hesitant to say anything more for fear of what Scott was going to do.

  “She’s dangerous,” Scott said, “with the means to harm a lot of innocent people.”

  The priest’s brows knit together. “The woman I saw went in with a great burden and gave her tears to the Madonna. I suspect you may find her kneeling before the bronze gates and the altar of Saint Charles.”

  “Where?” Scott asked.

  The priest pointed to the right, to an entryway on the opposite side of the nave. “There, past Saint Catherine, Saint Paul and Saint Michael.”

  “You’ve done the right thing,” Scott shouted as he ran off. “Tell the others who are coming where I’ve gone.”

  “Go with God, my son,” the priest called after Scott. “Choose your words carefully. Considered words may make all the difference.”

  Chapter 10

  Mediterranean Sea

  Afternoon, Wednesday, 20 June

  “Past Saint Catherine, Saint Paul and Saint Michael,” Scott said to himself as he made his way quickly, his eyes examining everyone around him. Ahead he saw the bronze gates the priest spoke of, but also stairs leading down into the crypt beneath the sanctuary.

  As Alexis Gosling was nowhere in sight, he ignored the closed signs, the warnings about renovations, and slipped past the yellow tape barring the way. He was midway down the stairs when he was startled by the soft ringing of the phone in his pocket. “Hello?” he said, tentatively, unsure who the caller was.

  “Where are you?” the voice—Edie’s voice—said.

  “The crypt beneath the sanctuary,” he said. “Hurry, I’m close. I know I am.”

  At the entrance to the crypt, there were more warning signs and a low barricade, which he ignored. He drew his gun, scanning with his eyes and listening for the sounds of breathing and feet slipping across the dusty, stone floor. Due to the extensive renovations, sections of the crypt were closed off from each other with plastic sheeting hanging from the ceiling. Ladders, scaffolding and wiring for lighting and equipment created shadows and obstructed his view and made it impossible for him to know if anyone else was in the crypt with him.