Knight's Cross (The Shipwreck Adventures Book 3)

by Christine Kling

  Sister Ola might have been Jordanian, but she drove like a true Roman, zipping through traffic, always with one hand on the horn. Riley was certain there would be fingernail claw marks in her door’s arm rest by the time they arrived at the Vatican.

  “You do realize the Vatican Apostolic Library is normally closed on Saturdays, and today is not a normal Saturday!”

  “We can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for us,” Riley said.

  “As wild as your story is, I have come to understand that there are dangerous extremists of all faiths. What I don’t understand is why you two are putting yourselves at risk to stop them.”

  Riley turned around to look at Cole in the backseat. “It started with Cole’s father, as we told you last night.”

  He said, “I understand that most people prefer to stay at home and believe they are safe.” He put his hands over his mouth and thought for several seconds before continuing. “I can’t remember when I last believed the world was a safe place. But it’s what I want. For Riley; for you, Sister; for everyone. I’m just not one of those people who can sit back and leave that to someone else. I can’t walk away from this fight. It’s just who I am.”

  “Fighting evil?”

  “I’m not sure I believe evil exists. I do know power exists, and men will commit horrendous acts to get more of it. This may look like the Knights are still fighting the Crusades, but I think these men are using blind faith and hate to get more power for themselves. The lands in the Middle East are too rich in oil to think otherwise.”

  “We won’t agree on the nature of evil, but neither are we in disagreement about these men. If you can prevent them from inciting more hate in the world, I am happy to help you.”

  Cole put his hand on Riley’s shoulder and slid it under her hair on the back of her neck. “We are incredibly thankful for that,” he said.

  The night before, when they had finally found their way to their respective rooms, Sister Ola had told each of them they needed to be under way early in order to find a parking place. Though they had left the monastery guesthouse by seven thirty that morning, they’d been sitting in Rome traffic breathing fumes for more than an hour. Now, Sister Ola was racing through the neighborhoods around Vatican City, trying to find a parking space.

  “Look at the crowds,” the nun said. “They say there are between one and five million extra people here in Rome this weekend.”

  The sidewalks were packed, and it was beginning to appear hopeless that they would ever find a parking spot.

  “There!” Sister Ola announced as she hit the brakes.

  The spot looked barely big enough for a motorbike.

  The nun backed the car in, and, by inching forward and back, she squeezed the car into the space with only inches between her Fiat and the cars on both sides.

  She hopped out of the car and took off at a pace that dared them to keep up. The streets and sidewalks, even blocks away from the Vatican gates, were jammed with tourists. People of all races, nationalities, shapes, and sizes were heading in the same direction. It was a festival atmosphere, and it took some concentration for Riley to remember that there were people out there who meant them harm.

  It wouldn’t take much work for Virgil and his Guardiani pals to figure out what they were after. A conversation with the librarian would reveal most of it. She had to assume the Guardiani would be on their tail sooner rather than later. She scanned the crowd as she trotted to keep up. It was unlikely Virgil could find them here in this crowd of millions. But the closer they got to the library, the more careful they would need to be.

  They passed through a gate, and there before them were the huge white-stone columns that supported the galleries around Saint Peter’s Square. Big tables on the side of the road offered every sort of touristy trinket. There were lighters, snow globes, key chains, and snuff boxes, all adorned with the image of the smiling pope. Saint Peter’s Square on the other side of the columns was a brightly colored sea of humanity.

  Riley and Cole followed Sister Ola to their right. Barricades meant to keep the lines orderly divided them from the masses in the square. They were nearly at the back of the square, and Riley could not see the end of the line for those waiting to get into Saint Peter’s Basilica. They followed the river of people flowing past those in line, but soon Sister Ola veered off onto a backstreet in Vatican City. They passed a pair of Swiss Guards in their uniforms with the yellow, blue, and red puffy pants, and she said something in French to one of them. He waved them through. It seemed the sister’s habit and cross were as good as an ID card.

  She stopped in front of a large building. “I’m going in here,” she said. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  The building was plain for Vatican City, but it would have been stunning anywhere else. Riley’s knowledge of French helped her translate the sign in Italian outside. It was the barracks of the Swiss Guard.

  Sister Ola emerged a few minutes later in the company of a Swiss Guardsman, only this fellow wore a much simpler blue uniform. Sister Ola introduced him as Philip Duss, the son of a friend she had met while living in Rome.

  “Philip here is going to let us into the Apostolic Library. He’ll take us the back way to avoid the worst of the crowds.”

  As they walked, the nun chatted with the young man in Swiss German.

  Riley said, “It makes me feel so inadequate when I’m around people who speak so many languages.”

  “At least you speak French,” Cole said.

  Philip pulled out a ring with keys and cards, and let them into a building. The corridor inside was empty, but they could hear the sounds of people passing very close by. He led them to a side door to the library. There were no signs identifying it. He fitted a key into the lock and opened the door. The room inside was dark, but when he reached in and turned the switch, the lights revealed an all-white room.

  Philip spoke to Sister Ola and pointed down the hallway, then he excused himself and said good-bye in tentative English.

  “Thank you so much,” Riley said.

  “He said we can just lock this door behind us. The other big door opens into the Belvedere Courtyard. It’s really a big parking lot. That’s where the scholars come in.”

  Once they were all inside, Cole went to the door and turned the bolt. “Let’s lock ourselves inside as well,” he said. “I don’t want any unwanted visitors.”

  Sister Ola said, “This area is for staff only.” She herded them toward a door on the far side of the room. “The main library reading room is through here. Philip said the security gates are not on, so we can enter without setting off alarms.”

  “I had no idea it would be so modern,” Riley said.

  Sister Ola opened the door. “Have a look out here.”

  Riley stepped through the door. “Oh my God,” she said. “This is stunning!”

  Cole followed her, and they both walked in circles, looking around at the long, magnificent room filled with reading tables and lecterns. The elaborately painted, vaulted ceiling was two stories high, and along one side of the chamber was a second-story gallery of bookshelves and reading rooms. Twelve-foot-high arched windows let the sunlight stream in, and even without any lights on, one would be able to read easily. Books lined all the walls.

  Sister Ola said, “The Apostolic Library reopened in 2010 after a three-year renovation, which brought the library into the twenty-first century. All the books are now microchipped, there’s Wi-Fi, and the collections have all been digitized. There is a bombproof underground bunker for the most valuable manuscripts, and new climate-controlled consultation rooms for the researchers. Go on through the electronic gate there. We’re headed for the desk at the other end.”

  “I hate that we can’t spend more time here,” Cole said as they hurried down the center aisle. “Imagine the information about historical ships and shipping.”

  “You might find even more in the other research institution here. The Apostolic Library contains books and manuscr
ipts, including the Codex B—the oldest known complete Bible, dating from about 325 AD. But right next door you’ll find the Vatican Archives. That’s where they have all the documents and letters, including all the popes’ correspondence.”

  “Don’t tell him any more,” Riley said. “We’ll never get him out of here.”

  When they arrived at the desk, Sister Ola walked behind it and began searching the shelves underneath. “Twenty years ago, when I was here doing research for my doctorate, I often ordered up books to be brought in via interlibrary loan. They would hold them for me at this reference desk.”

  “I hope it’s not checked out,” Riley said.

  “They don’t allow anything to leave this library,” she said. “Voilà. Here it is.”

  Sister Ola lifted out a cardboard box. She opened it carefully and removed the leather-covered album. “You know I can’t let you take this.”

  “Don’t worry, Sister.” Riley took her phone out of her pocket. “We’re just going to photograph the cover and pages.” After she shot the cover and the title page, she folded out the first of the charts and photographed it. Each of the charts was double the size of the book when it was unfolded.

  While Riley’s cell phone flashed, Cole said, “Imagine—if the legend is true, this atlas of charts was used by a Knight of Malta in the eighteenth century.” Cole unfolded the next chart. “There are markings on some of these pages. Looks like calculations. Maybe the location of the Religion will be marked with a big X.”

  “It’s never that easy,” Riley said.

  “He must have been a corsair,” Cole said. “They were essentially licensed by the grand master as pirates.”

  “You know the history of sailing in the Mediterranean,” Sister Ola said.

  “Like you, I did my time in academia. I have a doctorate in maritime archeology.”

  “Last page,” Riley said as her cell-phone camera flashed.

  Cole lifted the chart to fold it away, and he said, “Wait. There’s a drawing on the inside of the back.” He smoothed open the endpapers inside the leather cover, and there was a pen-and-ink drawing of a castle.

  “Okay, one more,” Riley said as she took the photo. “Then we’re out of here.”

  “Can’t be soon enough,” Cole said.

  Sister Ola replaced the leather-bound volume in the box and slid it back onto the shelf.

  The three of them had begun to retrace their steps when they heard a sound like metal scratching on metal. Riley held up her hand and stopped. She put her finger to her lips.

  Cole pointed to the big doorway to the courtyard that Sister Ola had indicated, at the rear of the reading room. They would have to walk past that door to get to the staff-room door they had entered through.

  Sister Ola shook her head and motioned for them to follow her. They trotted back toward the reference desk, and she indicated the door behind it. “Through there is another door that will take you into the corridor leading to the Sistine Chapel.”

  They heard the door latch click.

  “Go!” Sister Ola said.

  “What about you?”

  The big courtyard door swung open and more sunlight streamed inside.

  “No one hurts a nun at the Vatican,” she whispered.

  Cole grabbed Riley’s hand and pulled her through the door just as Virgil stepped into the library. She’d recognized the blond hair instantly. He must’ve heard Sister Ola’s whispered voice, because she saw him begin to turn in their direction.

  They were in another staff-only back-room area. The back door opened easily. On the other side, they were startled by the noise of the human chatter from the mob shuffling past. There was very little space between the bodies. A few individuals looked at the open door in surprise, but most had glazed eyes. They appeared to be in museum overload as they trundled toward the tour finale.

  Cole pulled the door shut behind them, and they began darting through the crowd. A few people tossed irritated comments at them as they pushed their way past.

  Riley never heard the door open, but she was certain Sister Ola would not be able to detain Virgil for long. She knew better than to turn around and look. Ahead she saw a sign directing them to the Sistine Chapel, and a pathway opened up for them in the crowd.

  “This way,” she said, pulling Cole along with her.

  She vaguely remembered the time she had come to the Vatican with her parents when she was only about ten years old. She had been exhausted after the more than two hours of viewing statues and paintings and architecture. When they’d arrived at the Sistine Chapel, her mother had held the hands of her two children and told them to look up at the beautiful paintings by Michelangelo on the ceiling. Riley remembered that she and her brother were making faces behind their mother’s back and giggling over the naked Adam and Eve. This time, when she and Cole squeezed through the door into the chapel, she wouldn’t even have time to look up.

  The chapel was a bit wider than the hallway they’d been in, so the crowd opened up a little. Cole pulled her into a run. They were halfway down the chapel when she heard a lady screech her disapproval behind them. Since they were out in the open anyway, Riley risked a glance over her shoulder.

  Virgil was being far less polite than they were. He was shoving people out of his way and gaining on them.

  “He’s close, Cole!”

  They made it to the exit onto Saint Peter’s Square and pushed their way outside.

  The sunlight was blinding, and they slowed to a walk for a few seconds to let their eyes adjust. Riley saw two Swiss Guards hurrying in their direction.

  “Walk fast, but don’t run. Guards coming on your right.”

  They skipped down the steps and moved into the crowd, their best camouflage. There was no room between the bodies. Riley stuck out her elbows and gently pushed people aside to make headway. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder, but it sounded like the Swiss Guards had stopped everyone exiting the chapel.

  “What now?” Cole asked.

  “Straight ahead. Let’s get out of Vatican City. That guard won’t stop him for long. He’ll show ID. The Knights have a direct line to the pope.”

  They moved through a large group of Asian tourists. Many of the ladies had umbrellas to keep the hot Roman sun off them. In their other hands, they held up smartphones, and they were shooting selfies with Saint Peter’s dome in the background.

  “Keep cool. He won’t spot us in this crowd.” Cole looked back over his shoulder. “Shit. I take that back. Run!”

  Aboard the Ruse

  At Sea in the Mediterranean

  July 26, 1798

  Arzella gave the wheel a quarter turn to adjust for the big sea approaching. If she were back home standing on the ramparts of Fort Ricasoli, she would have enjoyed watching the fierce black thunderclouds building in the northeast. But she was not at home in Malta. She did not know if she would ever see her home island again.

  Clouds had haunted them all along this journey home. They had left Kekova more than three weeks ago with plenty of food and water, planning to return to Malta after a reprovisioning stop on the south coast of Crete. Alonso had been successful at crafting just the right hiding place for his treasure, and he set Arzella to work engraving an enciphered key to the location on his shield. He wanted to be certain that if anything did happen to them, there would be more evidence than just the sea charts as to the location of the Guardiani’s most treasured manuscript.

  But windstorms and cloud cover had driven them too far south. Crete never materialized. Nor did the hoped-for rains. Alonso would bring his octant and charts on deck, prepared for any brief appearance by the sun, but the clouds never broke. They’d seen nothing but seawater from horizon to horizon for weeks. And by now, according to Alonso’s calculations, they should have sighted Malta already.

  Alonso appeared at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the quarterdeck. His shirt was torn and his pants hung loose around his waist. The skin on his face hung from his cheek
bones like parchment, pulled taut by the weight of his scraggly beard.

  “What are you doing out of bed?” she called.

  He used one arm to pull himself up the stairs. “I cannot leave you alone to sail the Ruse,” he said. “You, too, need rest.”

  A week ago, one of the barrels of water had turned bad. Alonso had started drinking from it while she slept, but soon his belly rumbled and cramped. He emptied the water overboard, but the damage had been done. All food and water now passed straight through his body, providing no nourishment. With little food and even less good water aboard the ship, each day he grew weaker.

  When Alonso arrived at the helm, she helped him sit on the deck beside the binnacle.

  “The weather worsens,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said. “But a northeast wind will favor us now.”

  “I’ve not been able to use the octant for days, Arzella. I fear we have sailed past Malta and missed the island.”

  “We might not be able to find Crete, and we may have missed Malta, but it would be difficult to miss Africa.”

  He tried to smile at that. “The Barbary Coast. I have enemies there.”

  “And the world is changing. We found friends among the Ottoman Turks.”

  When Alonso looked up at her, the dark circles under his eyes frightened her.

  “The boat has been sailing fast all day,” she said. “The coast of Tunisia is our best chance to find help for you.” She had almost said it was their only chance.

  He pushed himself to his feet. “With that weather coming, I need to drop the foresail.”

  “You take the helm,” she said. “Let me do it. I’ve seen you do it enough times.”

  “No, dear, this is not work for you. I’ll drop it on deck. Steer her into the wind for me.”

  He labored down the stairs, then crossed the deck to the foremast. As soon as the bow pointed into the wind, he let fly the braces and the tackles. Then he untied the halyard. Instead of letting the sail down slowly, the line flew out of his hands and the sail began flapping wildly. The yard on the lateen-rigged sail struck Alonso across the chest and knocked him to the deck.