He took a long last drag on the cigarette, then dropped it onto the sidewalk and ground his heel on the butt as he stepped into the street. Time to get this done.
The fat little concierge stepped out of his office again. This time he insisted on seeing Virgil’s ID. The man was an asshole. It wasn’t like Virgil’d never been there before, or like, in a place like Italy, Virgil’s white-blond hair made him easy to forget.
“I know the way,” he said, turning his back on the greasy bastard and crossing the courtyard inlaid with the image of the eight-point Maltese cross.
When he stepped into the foyer, Virgil was struck again by how quiet it was. Rome was a noisy, dirty city, and yet this palace kept all that outside. Tapestries covered the high walls, and on opposite sides of the door stood matching suits of sterling-silver armor engraved with fancy designs, including Maltese crosses on their breastplates. Virgil reckoned everything in the whole place was an antique.
At the top of the stairs he knocked on a door, and a deep voice said something in Italian. Virgil assumed it meant Come in.
The man seated behind the heavy, carved desk was the Order’s executive director. Signor Oscura. While the grand master was the public face of the Order, this was the man who got things done. The large window behind his desk looked out across the rooftops toward the Spanish Steps. The backlighting meant the face of the man at the desk was always in shadow.
Signor Oscura looked up and nodded. “Salve, one moment.” He went back to writing on a piece of fancy stationery.
Virgil recognized the Montblanc pen in the man’s hand, and he wondered what it would feel like to write with something that cost more than Virgil’s first car. He clasped his hands behind his back and stared straight ahead. He was prepared to wait. Always.
Finally, the man set the pen down. “So, what do you have for me?” Signor Oscura spoke perfect colloquial American English, yet the hint of an Italian accent remained. Virgil had heard that the man spoke more than a dozen languages.
“One of my men is keeping a watch on them, sir.”
“Salatino over at NSA warned us there had been lots of traffic. Enough chatter to raise a red flag. I want to know why. Especially considering this man’s history.”
One of the things Virgil most appreciated about this outfit was their access. Since they had so many members who were CIA and NSA, and Brit members with MI6 or GCHQ, they had ins with all the agencies.
“This guy’s interest in the Knights continues,” Virgil said. “Salatino was right to flag him. My man has been following them whenever they go into town, listening in whenever possible. The reason I called is because this morning they took a ferry from Marmaris over to Rhodes.” Virgil saw the man’s posture straighten.
“And your man followed?”
“Yeah. They didn’t talk much on the trip across. My guy said they met a black woman there, and the three of them went straight to the museum at the Palace of the Grand Master. My guy couldn’t follow them inside.”
“Why not?”
“The black chick knew people, and they went back into a private office. When he called me, it wasn’t clear who they were meeting yet.”
“I see.”
“After about half an hour, the two women left. The guy stayed behind, and my guy stayed with him. They’re still in Rhodes. The last ferry leaves in a couple of hours. I thought you’d want this intel right away.”
Signor Oscura put his elbows on the desk and made a tent with the tips of his fingers tapping each other in front of his nose. His manicure was so perfect, his hands appeared feminine. “We need to know what he knows, Virgil. What he’s after.”
“You want me to tell my guy to engage?”
The man turned in his swivel chair to look out the window. “Yes, but carefully. You and some of your friends go in hot and either spook him or kill him, and you’ll blow our chance.”
“You know me better than that.”
“Do I?” He said the words slowly, as if asking himself the question and unsure of the answer. “Virgil, what is your rank?”
“I am a Knight of Magistral Grace.” When he’d joined the Order, Virgil had been surprised at his pride in the rank. The first time he’d read the title, he thought he’d feel like a puffed-up asshole whenever he said it out loud. Now, after a couple of years as a member of the Order, titles like that sounded normal to him.
Oscura swiveled back to face Virgil. He rubbed his chin. “Tell me again about that tattoo on your arm.”
Virgil lifted his arm and looked at the tattoo on his forearm. It was a blue triangle, but one leg was jagged in the shape of a lightning bolt. Through the middle of the triangle was a red-handled knife. “It’s the insignia for Delta Force. That was my unit in the US Army. I served for fifteen years.”
“Yes. And now I take it you are interested in advancement in the Order.”
Virgil nodded.
“The grand master was very impressed when you were the first to bring this Thatcher to our attention.”
“I’m happy to be of service, sir.”
“We have a need for a man of your talents, Virgil. What I am going to tell you should never be spoken of outside this room. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Within the Order we have always had divisions, sometimes called langues or auberges. Each division has its own responsibilities, but as an organization, we have shared one single goal: to free the Holy Land from the infidels.”
Virgil nodded.
“There is a mark that a select few from all classes of the Order have worn. These marked men started as guardians of our order’s most precious relic.” Signor Oscura loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt. He pulled open his collar to reveal a small red Maltese cross tattooed high on the left side of his chest. “It’s called the Knight’s Cross, and the men who wear it are members of I Guardiani della Croce di Cavaliere, the Guardians of the Knight’s Cross. They are sworn to protect the Order’s treasure.”
“Treasure?”
“Yes. I can see what you are thinking. Today, our wealth is in our properties and investments, not in chests of gold or ancient scrolls. And managing our wealth is a large part of what I do. However, the Order’s most valuable treasure was lost over two hundred years ago. The Guardiani have sworn to get it back. I am taking this occasion to invite you to join us.”
“I’m honored, sir.”
“With this honor comes duty.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Have you heard the Maltese folktale they call the Legend of the Silver Girl?”
“No, sir.”
“It is the only clue we have as to what happened to this treasure, sometimes known as the Religion.”
“I see.”
“We’ve followed thousands of leads through the years—most recently, this claim in Turkey. They’ve all turned out to be fake. Two hundred years ago, the Religion departed Malta in the hands of the Guardiani. We are left now with little more than hearsay and legends about a key to the hiding place. It was the lowest point in the history of the Order. You will learn more at your initiation, but for now, know this. I have made recovering this treasure my life’s ambition. I will return it to the Order, and with it we will return to our former position of power and change the face of the world.”
Virgil was liking the sound of this.
“There is a great battle coming, Virgil. We’ll be fighting for the pope, for Rome, but most of all for the return of the Holy Land.”
This was what he’d been told they were all about. Virgil didn’t give a damn about religion, but he sure as hell wanted to go back to the desert and kick ass.
“The Religion will give us our reason to fight. Recovering it must be our first priority. I follow every lead, no matter how thin. James Thatcher, the father of the man you have been watching, has been a person of interest to the Guardiani since his first visits to Malta after the war. We are aware the son has inside information from
the father. If there is even the slightest chance that what he seeks is the Religion, we must pursue it. The question is whether or not he’s crazy.”
Virgil shook his head. “Our contacts in other organizations say they underestimated him.”
“Do you think he knows what he’s looking for?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Virgil, if he really can find it after all these years, you need to be there. Time is short.”
“We could pick Thatcher up. Interrogate him.”
“No. If this trip to Rhodes tells us anything, it’s that he doesn’t have all the pieces. Tell your man to stay close. Perhaps befriend them, plant something so we can listen to the conversation between him and the woman. I need to know everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Virgil, our enemies are gathering. This time, we intend to finish what we started one thousand years ago.”
Virgil made the call from the palace courtyard. “Is he still in the museum?”
“No, the two women returned, and the three of them are walking through town, heading toward the ferry dock.”
“We want you to engage. Get close enough to get a wire in their car.”
“Not possible.”
“But you said you know her.”
“Yes, but—”
“Don’t give me that shit.”
“It was a long time ago.”
Virgil had no patience with disobedience. “What the fuck’s the problem?”
“It’s not a good idea.”
“I took a chance hiring you, and I expect you to follow orders.”
“The thing is, she thinks I’m dead.”
Driving to the Shipyard
Marmaris, Turkey
April 9, 2014
Cole was glad to see his rental Hyundai parked exactly where they had left it, apparently undisturbed. You never knew, though.
“Wait up a minute,” he said. Riley stopped, and the look on her face said she thought he was acting crazy. She always seemed to have that look these days, but at least she did stop.
He walked over to the car and looked through the window. If there was a bomb or something, he wasn’t quite sure what it would look like.
“Cole, do you want me to check it out?”
“No, I’m okay doing it.”
“Look, they trained us for this kind of thing.”
He looked at her face. She looked serious. “I guess,” he said.
Riley approached the car. “As Marine Security Guards, we often had to check cars entering the embassy grounds for explosives and listening devices.” She walked around to the back end and dropped to the pavement. She checked under the rear bumper, rolled to a crab-walk position, and slid under the midsection. “Looks okay to me,” she called out from under the car.
When she stood up, she smiled at him. The I-think-you-must-be-crazy look was gone.
“Thanks,” he said. He felt her smile warming him. “I guess I can be pretty difficult sometimes.”
“Yeah,” she said, dusting off her hands. “You’ve got that right.” Then she slapped him on the butt cheek. “But you’re worth it.”
He inserted the key into the door. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
As they negotiated their way through the traffic leaving the docks, most of the cars turned toward downtown Marmaris. Cole kept watch on the rearview mirror. A beat-up silver Renault had pulled out of the ferry-terminal parking lot at the same time they did. It held back to let a couple of cars get into the right-turn lane behind him. After Cole pulled out onto the road to Adakoy, he kept seeing the Renault in the line of cars behind him. Never right on his tail. Always lingering behind just enough so he couldn’t get a glimpse of the driver.
“What’s up?” Riley asked. “You keep looking in the rearview.”
“It’s nothing.”
“So tell me about the museum and your time with Dr. Günay.”
He turned to look at her face. “Really? You’re interested?”
“Of course I am.”
“Well, I learned a lot. The museum is amazing. I mean, there was a sign outside that said the EU had given a couple of million euros for the renovation, but there is no way that covered what they’ve done there. There must have been some healthy donations from individuals, too. Dr. G. said that’s not out of the question. The Knights want these places kept up and their history preserved.”
“That makes sense. And I suppose they have lots of wealthy members.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” The car immediately behind him slowed and pulled off to the side of the road. Tourists with cameras, no doubt; the view of the bay along this stretch was spectacular, especially this close to sunset. Now there was only one car between him and the Renault.
The houses and businesses had thinned out, and the road twisted over rocky and scrub-covered hills.
“So tell me more about these Knights of yours,” Riley said. “Brits get knighted by the Queen for being artists or inventors these days. What’s it take to become a Knight of Malta?”
“In the early days, Knights were soldiers. During the Middle Ages, noble families would send their third- or fourth-born sons off to become Knights. See, the eldest always inherited the title, the castle, the whole shebang.” Cole checked the mirror again, and now the Renault was right on his bumper. He continued talking, but his mind was on that car behind him. “And second sons were usually encouraged to go into the priesthood. They could stay local and the family would benefit from having a member in the clergy. Third sons were a problem. So they sent them off to fight the infidels as Knights of the cross.”
The driver was wearing a hat pulled down very low, and in the twilight, Cole couldn’t make out his features. He pressed down hard on the accelerator.
“What’s wrong?” Riley sat up and glanced over her shoulder just as he went into a deep curve to the left. She braced her arm on the dashboard. “Hey, slow down.”
“Sorry. There’s this guy who’s been following us since we left the ferry terminal.”
“Cole, come on. It’s a single two-lane road out to Adakoy. Maybe he’s just going to the same place we are.”
He looked into the mirror after he’d straightened out the car, and he saw that the Renault had speeded up, too.
“I don’t think so, Riley. He’s staying right on my tail.”
Riley held on to the door handle. “But it’s not safe driving like this on these roads.”
“Don’t worry.” The road climbed up the hill, and the dark-blue water on their right dropped lower and lower as Cole maneuvered the car through a series of hairpin curves. It took all his concentration just to stay on the road.
In a sharp turn, Riley was thrown against her door. “Cole, this is nuts. You’re going to get us killed.”
Cole took his eyes off the road for a second. She was rubbing her right shoulder, the injured one, and he knew he had hurt her.
“Sorry, Riley.”
The car crested the top of the ridge, and for several hundred feet the road traveled straight, with trees on one side and a rocky bluff on the other. They topped a shallow rise, and that was when he saw the herd of goats in the road.
Cole slammed on the brakes, and the Hyundai’s tires bit the pavement. The car had just come to a stop when they were rammed from behind.
The impact threw him against the seat back and then snapped his head forward. His nose collided with the steering wheel. Though his eyes were closed, he saw an explosion of white light. Warm blood trickled into his mouth.
Cole opened his eyes. In the rearview mirror, he saw the driver of the car behind him. The man had lost his hat in the collision. The car door flew open, and the man staggered out of the car into the slanting sunlight. Cole saw his face in profile.
“It’s him!” he shouted. Cole turned and grabbed Riley’s good shoulder. She looked dazed. She reached out and touched his cheek.
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
Cole shook he
r arm and pointed. “Riley, look, it’s him.”
She winced as she turned. The man had run around behind his own vehicle. Now Riley’s head was in the way, and Cole could no longer see him.
“See? Riley, it’s Diggory Priest!”
She struggled with the handle on the door.
“Riley, unlock it!”
She pushed the rocker button, tried the door again, and nearly fell out of the car when it flew open. She ran to the edge of the cliff. Cole jumped out of the car and followed her. The rocky embankment plunged several hundred feet to the dark water. He saw no sign of the man.
“Did you see him?” Cole asked.
The look on her face when she turned to face him felt like a punch to the gut. “Cole, we need to get you to a doctor,” she said.
On a Hillside
Adakoy, Turkey
April 9, 2014
His feet slipped out from under him on the hard, dry dirt. He danced with windmilling arms for a second before he went down and landed hard on his coccyx. Hot pain exploded in his lower back and buttocks, and he knew his legs would not support him if he tried to stand.
There was a ledge fifteen feet below him. The long raincoat wound around his legs as he rolled like a runaway log down the dirt hill. The turning made him dizzy. He had no idea how far the drop ahead was, but if he couldn’t see over the ledge, they wouldn’t be able to, either.
When his body shot into the air, he felt the most amazing sensation. His pain ceased as he hung weightless. He’d always wanted to know what it felt like to fly, but the reality was bittersweet. Since the accident, through all those years of skin grafts and rehab, pain had come to be his companion, the one constant in his life. It was what made him extraordinary. He missed it.
A couple of seconds later, he landed backside-first into a clump of dry, prickly bushes. The shrubs broke his fall, but the cotton pants and shirt, along with his coat, were easily pierced by the sharp thorns. His companion was back.
Knight's Cross (The Shipwreck Adventures Book 3) Page 4