by Karen Dodd
As dish after dish was placed on the table inside the restaurant’s kitchen, the two men caught up in their native language, then no doubt noticing Nico’s confusion, they would apologize and switch to English. But when Nico went back to mopping up the garlicky tomato sauce on his earthenware plate of aljotta, fish stew, they’d forget themselves and revert to the curious blend of Arabic, Italian, and several other languages that make up the Maltese mother tongue.
Finally, when Nico politely declined any more food, Giorgio pushed himself away from the table. “Sami, we need your help. Some people are after us.”
“Anything. What do you need?”
“My boat.”
Sami clapped his friend on the back. “We can look after it for you. No one will find it down there.”
“No, I want you to take it out to sea and set fire to it. Then report it to the Coast Guard.”
Sami’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.
“We need burner phones and money. Can you arrange that?”
“The money will be easy. I have that in the safe. But you will have to stay overnight for me to get the phones.”
Giorgio looked across the table at Nico, who nodded in agreement. Truth was, the food and wine had taken the edge off, and the thought of a good night’s sleep in safe surroundings was more than he could have hoped for.
After apologizing that they’d have to share a room in the attic, Sami handed them a pile of sheets and blankets. Nico insisted Giorgio take the bed and he would take the couch.
“You will be safe here. Sleep well,” Sami said. “I’ll leave early in the morning and be back with what you need before midday. Someone will bring breakfast up to you.”
When Sami had closed the door to the loft, Nico turned to make up the couch. Lumpy though it was, it was the most luxurious bed he could imagine at the moment. When he turned around, Giorgio was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his massive thighs, holding his head in his hands. Was he thinking of his sister? His dog? Given what the poor man had been through in the last few weeks, it was likely all the above.
“Your boat. Are you sure?” Nico asked as he got under the covers.
Giorgio shrugged, his expression long and drawn. “I have nothing left to lose. Having whoever was after us think we died in a boating accident is the easiest way to get off their radar.”
Nico pulled the sheet up under his chin. He had seen the names on Ariana’s list. Not one of them would be satisfied until they destroyed anyone and everyone who could identify them and their ties to money laundering. The ruse of him and Giorgio dying in a boat fire might work for a short time, but it wasn’t a permanent solution. But, Nico mused as he drifted into the welcome oblivion of sleep, he sure as hell wouldn’t want to be in Alesandru Baldisar’s shoes right now. He would be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life. However short that might be.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nico awoke to the sound of Giorgio returning to their room. The scent of soap mixed with fresh coffee and something delicious as he walked past. He took a quick shower before sharing a generous breakfast of eggs, potatoes, and scones—Giorgio having Nico’s share of the bacon too—that someone brought from downstairs. They were both getting eager to move on when, true to his word, there was a rap at the door. “It’s me, Sami.”
Giorgio opened the door and stood aside for their host to enter. Sami put a rucksack on the table and pulled out two mobile phones. He handed one to each of them. “These are burners and can’t be traced, but keep them turned off and remove the batteries when you’re not using them. Don’t give your phone to anyone or leave it unattended. Do you understand?”
Both men nodded.
“And use the factory reset on each of your phones regularly.”
As Nico listened, he was wondering how a restaurant owner knew so much about mobile phone security when Sami handed him a shirt. “I think we’re about the same size, so this should fit.” He tossed an extra-large T-shirt to Giorgio.
Grateful, Nico took off his torn shirt, stiffened by the salt water, and donned the new one. It fit perfectly.
“We’ll stop at the safe in my office downstairs on your way out.” Sami looked around the room. “Do you have everything?”
“Yes,” Giorgio said. “You have no idea how much we appreciate this.”
Sami merely nodded. “It’s time. You need to go. I have a boat and a driver waiting outside to take you wherever you want. You can trust him.”
They followed Sami down the stairs, through the restaurant kitchen and into a small vestibule situated inside where Nico and Giorgio had entered from the subterranean level below. He kneeled, opened the safe, and extracted a white paper bag. He handed it to Giorgio.
Giorgio opened it and gasped. “This is too much,” he whispered. “We don’t need . . .” He swallowed. “I’ll pay you back every penny.”
Sami shook his head. “I owe you.” He clapped an arm around Giorgio’s shoulders, then extended his hand to Nico. “Godspeed. Stay safe, both of you.”
* * *
Nico and Giorgio sat inside the launch’s cabin, any view of them from the outside obscured behind tinted windows. If Giorgio had any misgivings about the impending demise of his own boat, he didn’t give any sign as they’d hustled past it to board the vessel that would take them to their destination.
Nico’s number one priority was to get in touch with Vincenzo Testa to let him know they were safe. Thank God he had a good head for remembering numbers. He also wanted to find out if the journalist had heard anything regarding Max or Francesca. If the police had tried to contact Nico, they must have been wondering why he hadn’t returned their calls. Next, he intended to get to the bottom of who was behind their attack at the bar. With the murder of his sister and possibly his dog likely front of mind, Giorgio was willing to follow Nico’s lead.
Leaving Gozo’s scenic hills behind, they sped past what was left of the Azure Window— the natural limestone arch had, heartbreakingly, collapsed in 2017 from erosion and over-tourism. As they settled in for the ride, the two men went through their checklist and how they would handle their arrival. Giorgio had already briefed their captain that instead of going into Valletta’s Grand Harbour, he should pull into the fishing village of Marsaxlokk on the south side of the mainland. There, he explained to Nico, they would easily blend in with the hordes of locals and tourists who came to buy from the fishermen’s markets every day.
Soon, they felt the boat slowing, and the captain rapped on the roof of the cabin. Nico looked out the window. Gradually, the colorful boats known as luzzus came into view. As they got closer, Nico spotted Eyes of Horus adorning every bow; the symbol was painted on each to protect the fisherman from harm. Their skipper leaned into the cabin and said something to Giorgio that Nico couldn’t understand.
“We’re not tying up,” Giorgio explained. “He’s going to come alongside the stone wharf, so get ready to jump.” Grabbing the rucksack, they climbed the steps to the cockpit.
No sooner had they put their feet on solid ground than they were they greeted by a snarling mastiff who appeared to be guarding the nets and ropes piled beyond the boats. Nico stopped dead in his tracks. Giorgio said something to the dog in Maltese and put out his hand. The dog sniffed it, then turned tail as if completely bored.
“What did you say?” Nico asked.
“To be a good dog and go lie down.”
Shaking his head, Nico grinned and followed Giorgio as he pushed through the crowds surrounding the fishmongers, grocers, and honey stalls. The farther away from the markets they got, the more the overpowering smells of fish mixed with the sweetness of pastries faded. The cacophony of the crowd lessened, and they found themselves on a quiet backstreet. As they walked side by side, Nico marveled at the crayon-box effect of the front doors that faced the street. Regardless of how ancient the buildings were, each door had been freshly painted. They reminded him of brightly colored sentries standing at attention.
> At the end of the block, Giorgio took a sharp right. He stopped and looked around as if trying to get his bearings. Then he pointed to a blue door that, unlike all the others, was arched and had a wrought-iron balustrade above it. They crossed the street and stood outside the entrance. While Giorgio ran his finger down the list of names, each with its own buzzer, Nico noticed the camera mounted above the entrance. Halfway down the list, Giorgio found what he was looking for and punched the button. Nico assumed they had passed muster when he heard a click, and Giorgio pulled open the heavy wooden door.
They wound their way up the ancient stone steps, then along a narrow corridor before stopping at a door marked 3A. As Giorgio raised his hand to knock, the door opened. On the other side stood a woman Nico estimated to be in her mid- to late-seventies. She wiped her hands on her apron and, with tears in her eyes, reached out her arms. Thin and frail-looking, she virtually disappeared in Giorgio’s embrace.
* * *
After sharing a basic but satisfying meal of seafood pasta, Giorgio encouraged his mother to retire early. After some vehement objections over Nico and her son cleaning up, a tired-looking Mrs. Rapa gave in and went into a small bedroom off the main living area.
Nico looked around the apartment. He wondered if there was a Mr. Rapa Senior and if he’d ever lived here. While the elderly woman was well-dressed—her clothes were simple but of good quality—the surroundings could only be referred to as dingy. The carpets were threadbare; the furniture worn and sagging. Judging by the scuffs and chips on the walls, the apartment’s interior hadn’t seen a coat of paint in decades.
“Has your mother lived here a long time?” he asked casually as Giorgio washed the pots and he dried. Giorgio began to scrub the pot he was washing a little harder. Finally, when the last dish had been returned to its meagerly stocked cupboard, Giorgio opened the fridge. He pulled out two bottles of Cisk, flicked off their tops, and handed one to Nico. They sat across from each other, Giorgio’s beefy arms resting on the plain wooden table. Absently, he reached for the dishcloth Nico had left on the tabletop. There it was again: the nervous tic Nico had observed back on Gozo.
Giorgio put down the cloth and looked Nico square in the eye. “Before they shot Caesar, you asked if I knew who Lydia received a text from right before she left the bar.” He fiddled with the rag again, then put it down. “It was from my mother.”
Nico sat back in his chair, not knowing what to say.
“Since my father died several years ago, she’s lived with us—my sister and me—on Gozo.” As if to fortify himself, he took a swig of his beer, half draining the bottle. “As you know, when you met with Lydia right after getting off the ferry the day they killed her, I was at the bar.”
Nico waited to exhale.
“I had left my phone at home that day. My mother used it to text Lydia that she wasn’t feeling well and needed her to pick up a prescription.” He looked toward the closed door of the bedroom. Quietly, he placed his empty beer bottle on the table. “Later, I discovered there was spyware on my phone. I have no doubt there was on Lydia’s as well. She had many threats that she suspected came from members of her own party because of her friendship with Ariana Calleja.”
Nico finished his beer and set the empty bottle next to Giorgio’s. “Does your mother know?”
Giorgio shook his head. “It would kill her to think she was in any way responsible for her daughter’s death. I moved her here—this is a friend’s place—right after I discovered the tracking app on my phone. She doesn’t go out. I’ve arranged for everything to be delivered to her.”
Nico’s memory reeled back to the awful fire and explosion after little Gabriela was catapulted from the car. “Was Lydia’s phone recovered after the accident?”
“If it was, the police never told me. I’ve been waiting for them to come after me when they got my sister’s mobile phone records.” The big man’s brow furrowed into a deep rut. “I don’t know which is worse, the cops or whoever killed Lydia.”
Nico nodded solemnly. They could be one and the same.
* * *
While Mrs. Rapa slept, Giorgio settled into a hollow on the couch and flipped through the few TV channels that were available. Nico used the opportunity to reach out to Vincenzo Testa. Unable to use their secure method of communication, he sent a regular text. Within seconds, Nico’s burner phone rang.
“Grazie Dio you are all right,” Testa said. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you.”
Nico scratched his bristly chin. “Yeah, it’s been an interesting forty-eight hours. Have you heard anything about Francesca Bruno or Max?”
“No, nothing. Giorgio . . . is he—?”
“Yes, I’m looking at him right now. We’re safe.” For now, at least. Nico knew better than to divulge his location, burner phone or not.
“Have you seen the news?” Testa asked.
“No, we only have a few stations here. Why?”
“This might not be the best time to tell him, but someone torched his bar last night. Burned it to the ground.”
Nico tried to keep his expression neutral as he sneaked a look at Giorgio. “Any idea who?” Ordinarily, a fire in a bar wouldn’t have attracted much attention, but given it had occurred on the tiny island of Gozo, and everyone knew what had happened to Lydia, it would have been big news.
“No. If the police know, they’re not saying anything publicly.”
Nico didn’t dare tell Testa about their underground escape, lest Giorgio ask about the bar or anything back on Gozo.
“Were you able to get him to request his sister’s mobile phone records?” Testa asked.
“Ah, no. But I have some more info on that. I’ll send it to you when we get off the phone. Giorgio says hello.”
“OK. In the meantime, here’s what I suggest you do.”
* * *
“What did Vincenzo have to say?” Giorgio asked as he settled back on the couch after getting himself another beer, which he seemed to drink like water. Nico opted for a soda, wanting to keep a clear head. He felt at any moment that he might himself crash from pain and fatigue. He’d texted Testa and told him why they no longer needed to get Lydia Rapa’s mobile phone records. Now he needed to turn his attention to a much more pressing matter.
“He said I need a plan to draw out whoever is after us,” Nico replied. “And judging by the names on that list, it better be good.”
“My friend who owns this place has a car we can use,” Giorgio volunteered. “It’s parked in a garage a few blocks from here. I don’t know about you, but I want to get back to my bar and raise holy hell with the cops in Gozo. You’re welcome to stay with me there. If they come after us again, we’ll be prepared.”
Nico paused, as if considering the thought. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go back there so soon.”
“Why not? Don’t you want to find out who tried to kill us?” That hollow look returned. “And maybe killed Caesar.”
Poor Caesar. For the first time, Nico was glad they didn’t have access to local news. Hopefully, the dog had run off somewhere to lick its wounds. Otherwise, he was sure to have been cremated in the bar fire. It would only be a matter of time before Giorgio found out, and then Nico didn’t know what the man was likely to do.
The only way to carry out his plan successfully was to split up. As Testa had emphasized, traveling on his own would attract less attention. Second, if Nico could convince their attackers it was him who possessed the information they were after, it would take the focus off Giorgio.
“Your mother looks frail. Don’t you think it would be a good idea for you to stay here with her for a while? Until you can both safely return to Gozo.”
“And what will you do?”
Nico hesitated while, in his head, he put the finishing touches to his plan. The truth was, he intended to surface as publicly as possible, using himself as bait. And he didn’t want Giorgio or his mother to be a part of that. Whoever had been after them had s
ent a clear warning when they’d set fire to the bar in Gozo. He thanked God Giorgio had hidden the original list somewhere underground, where hopefully, even fire couldn’t have got to it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mrs. Rapa was still asleep when, before the early light of dawn, Giorgio led Nico to a garage a few blocks from the apartment. After handing him the keys to the Fiat, he gave him a rough clap on the back.
“Be safe, my friend.” He reached into his jacket and handed Nico a paper bag. “Half the money that Sami gave us.”
Nico was loath to take it, but he couldn’t risk using his credit cards until he was ready to be found. And he only had a few euros in his water-stained wallet. “I will pay him back,” he assured Giorgio. “Your share, too. This is my fault. I’m so sorry I got you involved.”
Giorgio shook his head. “They involved me when they murdered my sister. Even before that, when members of her own party threatened her.” He looked down at the rough stone floor of the garage, his foot fussing with a loose pebble.
“I’ve never told you how sorry I am about your friend. I blamed Ariana for getting Lydia involved.” He finally looked up and into Nico’s eyes. “But they were both courageous women. Find out who killed them. That will be payment enough for me and Sami.”
Nico cocked his head.
“Sami is our brother. My parents adopted him as a teenager, to keep him from going to jail. He and Lydia were very close.”
That explained the blood-like bond Nico had witnessed between the two men.
Giorgio opened the driver’s side door for Nico. “But take care of my friend’s car. Come back safely and I’ll tell you the entire story.”
* * *
All the way along the drive from Marsaxlokk to Valletta, Nico berated himself for being a coward and not telling Giorgio about the demise of his bar. But he dare not risk Giorgio throwing a wrench into his plan out of grief or anger. Hopefully, keeping his elderly mother safe would be at the forefront of his mind when he eventually found out. Which Nico was sure he would, one way or another, very soon.