The Malta Escape

by Chris Kuzneski

  “Oracle? What oracle?”

  “Come on, Jon! I made that shit up to buy us some time. I don’t want this tiger-killing genie to think we were just messing with him or else he might spit in our food, so I told him we’d call him later with the oracle’s decision. And do you know what he says? He goes, ‘no problem.’”

  Payne grinned. “Of course, he did.”

  Jones nodded. “So, now you have a tough decision to make.”

  “Decision? What decision?”

  “For one reason or another, Jarkko is under the impression that you’re the oracle, so you have to decide if we want the tiger to be dead or alive.”

  “Easy choice. No tiger at all.”

  “Well, good luck telling Jarkko that. He’s pretty excited about the ceremony.”

  As Jones finished his story, Marissa emerged from the forward cabin and crept up the stairs. She was wearing a red-and-white sundress that wasn’t really her style but fit better than the other clothes that had been delivered by the hotel. Although she had dressed up for the library meeting the day before, she had viewed it as a professional obligation. She typically preferred clothes that hid her curves and flawless skin, all in hopes of blending in with the crowd.

  Payne saw her appear from the steps down below and literally gasped at the sight. He instantly forgot about Jones and the albino tiger. His sole focus was on her.

  “Wow,” Payne said as he walked over to greet her. “You look amazing.”

  She blushed. “Really? You don’t think it’s too girly?”

  “No,” he said. “It’s perfect. You look perfect.”

  She smiled and greeted him with a kiss on each cheek. “That’s how we say hello in Malta.”

  Payne practically drooled over the scent of her hair. She had been injured in a gunfight just yesterday, but somehow managed to smell like strawberries. “Great tradition.”

  “Did you eat?” she said as she made her way toward the galley.

  “Of course not. We were waiting for you.”

  “Then I’m flattered. David led me to believe that your stomach doesn’t wait for anyone.”

  “It doesn’t,” Jones assured her. “And if he tells you otherwise, he’s full of shit. I’ve seen him cut in line in front of an admiral in order to feed the beast.”

  Payne laughed. “That was one time on an aircraft carrier, and he was taking too long to decide. I mean, he could keep track of the entire Northern Fleet in his head, but he couldn’t choose between beans or potatoes. Give me a break.”

  “See,” Jones said as he pointed at Payne. “These are things you need to know. Truth be told, I’m not really his friend. I’m more like his keeper. An unpaid keeper.”

  “Says the guy who uses my credit card more often than I do.”

  “I’m not doing it for me; I’m doing it for you. If you don’t use your card, you may lose valuable reward points and money-saving perks. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  Payne patted him on the back. “Well, thank you for your service.”

  “Speaking of thanks,” Marissa said, “thank you for the clothes. I didn’t want to do it, but David insisted. He said time is a priority, now that the Russians have Jarkko’s documents.”

  “He’s right,” Payne said. “I wish I hadn’t slept so late, but I guess we can figure out our next step over brunch. That is, if Jarkko’s around.”

  Jarkko heard his name and trudged up the stairs. “Don’t worry. Jarkko is coming. But Jarkko has bad news.”

  They could tell from the look on his face that he was upset.

  Marissa walked toward him, concerned. “Are you okay?”

  He shook his head. “Jarkko did what Jon suggested last night. Jarkko make phone call to colleague who gave collection to Jarkko to see if he told Jarkko’s name to Russians. Unfortunately, colleague couldn’t come to phone because colleague is dead.”

  Marissa gave him a quick hug. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry to hear that. Were you two close?”

  He shook his head again. When he couldn’t get Bobrinsky on the phone, he had called a mutual acquaintance for insight. “Not friends like Jon and David, but business associates. Jarkko did business with Sergei for long time. He a good man. A family man. And that is what makes Jarkko angry. Jarkko look online for details, and Jarkko sees his family is killed, too.”

  Payne cursed as he absorbed the news. “When did it happen?”

  Jarkko pulled out his phone and looked at the article on his browser. Although he had read the story twice, the details were still sinking in. “On Saturday in Estonia. Apparently, Russians go to Tallinn and kill him and family in famous tower.”

  Jones pondered the news. “Why was he in Estonia?”

  Jarkko shrugged. “If Jarkko has to guess, Sergei takes family to Estonia to run from problems and start new life. Jarkko tell you yesterday during soup that Sergei is good man with large debt. His wife gets very sick, and Sergei borrows money from wrong people to help with cure. When Sergei can’t pay, he gets desperate. That is why he gives collection to Jarkko. Sergei likes Jarkko and makes sure Jarkko gets payment first. Perhaps this upsets man with larger loss. Jarkko does not know this for sure. This is just Jarkko’s guess.”

  Payne gave it some thought. “Your theory makes sense. I knew there had to be a reason why the Russians came after us with so much anger. They attacked us at the library. They shredded your yacht. They even tied a corpse to your stern. Obviously that goes beyond a simple treasure. They were attacking you on a personal level.”

  Jarkko took a deep breath. As he did, he trembled with emotion. “Jarkko is so sorry. Jarkko did not know this would happen. If Jarkko knows, Jarkko would not risk lives of friends for stupid treasure. No treasure is worth friendship, so Jarkko thinks it’s time to say goodbye.”

  “Fuck that!” Payne said as he marched over to Jarkko and looked him straight in the eye. “This is not your fault, and we are not going to abandon you in your time of need. You’ve dealt with Russians even more than I have, so you know damn well that they aren’t going to stop—not after we killed so many of their comrades. They’re going to scurry home to Mother Russia, multiply like cockroaches, then come after us with everything they’ve got.”

  Jarkko nodded in agreement. “You are right. They will not stop. They will keep coming and coming until we are dead or we cut head off snake.”

  Jones stared at him. “Does the snake have a name?”

  Jarkko nodded. “It’s Volkov. Ivan Volkov.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  From his office at Interpol headquarters, Nick Dial growled into his cell phone. “Ivan Volkov? You’re fucking around with Ivan Volkov? Do you have a death wish?”

  “Not really,” Payne said from the outdoor table on the stern of the moving yacht. Spread out in front of him were several takeout containers, filled with an assortment of food: a cheeseburger with fries, pasta salad, fruit salad, and a stack of pancakes. As Jarkko piloted the craft into deeper water and away from other boats, Payne grabbed some fries and dipped them in ketchup. “But you know damn well I’m not going to back down from a challenge.”

  “A challenge?” Dial blurted as he stood from behind his desk. “You call going up against one of the most powerful criminals in Russia a challenge?”

  “Yep,” he said as he chewed quietly. “Why? What would you call it?”

  “A death wish!”

  Dial took a deep breath as he stomped across his floor to his office door and shut it for privacy. He had spent half the night trying to come up with information about the Russian attack in Malta, only to have news about its mastermind handed to him by Payne.

  Not that he was upset about the call itself.

  The truth was he was thrilled that Payne had kept his word and had phoned the minute he had come up with news about the gunmen. Dial’s frustration stemmed from the slow trickle of data that had come from I-24/7, which was the global police communications system that Interpol used to connect law enforc
ement officers in all of its member countries. Unfortunately, the system was completely reliant on the National Central Bureaus and police departments around the globe. Until information was added to the appropriate databases, Dial couldn’t access it on the network. And since the secretary general had banned Dial from investigative work, all he could do was sit on his ass in France while his friends’ lives were in danger in Malta.

  For a man like Dial, that was hard to handle.

  “Listen, Jon, and listen good. Even though Russia is one of Interpol’s member countries, I cannot help you or DJ if you go to Moscow to take on Volkov. My fancy title doesn’t mean shit to the Politsiya. Their entire police force operates under the Ministry of Internal Affairs of the Russian Federation, and they barely tolerate our presence. I can’t even imagine how the Minister would react to a phone call from me—a fuckin’ American—but you better believe it wouldn’t help your cause in a Russian prison or my chance of continued employment at Interpol.”

  “On the bright side, you’ve been looking for a change.”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Jon. I’m not in the mood.”

  “Would your mood improve if I helped you clear a murder case?”

  “Good Lord,” Dial said as he started to pace his office. “Who’d you kill now?”

  Payne laughed as the yacht slowed to a stop. “Not me. Volkov.”

  Dial stopped. “It might.”

  “Does the name Sergei Bobrinsky mean anything to you?”

  “Bobrinsky?” he said as he tried to think. Thousands of murders happened every day in his member countries, so the odds of him knowing a single name were pretty slim. But for some reason, that particular name had made his radar. “Where did he die?”

  “Estonia,” Payne said as he continued to eat.

  “Tallinn!” Dial blurted. “He died in the tower in Tallinn!”

  Payne wiped his mouth with a napkin. “That’s the guy.”

  Dial sat in his office chair and reached for his computer mouse. “I’m gonna put you on speakerphone, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Only if I can do the same with you.”

  “Honestly, I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “Don’t worry,” Payne said, realizing Dial’s job was on the line. “No one is around. I’m merely trying to eat.”

  Dial smiled as he clicked through files. “When aren’t you trying to eat?”

  Payne laughed. “Good point.”

  “In that case, go ahead. But if I hear mooing sounds and gunshots in the background, I’m gonna bust you for animal cruelty.”

  Payne picked up his cheeseburger, completely unaffected by the comment. “Speaking of which, how long would you put someone away for killing an albino tiger?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Asking for a friend.”

  “A long, long time.”

  “Good. I’ll let him know.”

  Dial stared at his computer screen. While Payne was rambling, Dial had pulled up the case files from the Bobrinsky murder on the I-24/7 network. “If it’s okay with you, can we get back to Estonia? As far as I can tell, it’s an open investigation. How do you know it was Volkov?”

  “Is this off the record?”

  Dial laughed. “Of course this is off the record! I’m the head of the entire division, and I’m hiding in my office like a teenager—a teenager with chest pains and ulcers.”

  “Just making sure,” Payne said as he reached for the pancakes. “Wait. Are you serious about the health shit, or were you just busting my balls?”

  “A little of both. Anytime you call, I feel my blood pressure going up.”

  “That’s better than your dick going up.”

  Dial laughed. “Touché.”

  “Anyway,” Payne said, “I got the intel from Jarkko, who got it from one of his business associates in Russia. It turns out that Bobrinsky was the one who jumpstarted our treasure hunt when he gave Jarkko a collection of Russian documents as payment for services rendered. Unfortunately, Bobrinsky owed Volkov a substantial debt, which is likely the reason that he came after Jarkko at the library. We think it was to make a point about priorities. If you owe money to Volkov, you better pay him first or everyone—including family—gets punished.”

  Dial listened as he scanned one of the reports on his screen. “Makes sense to me, and it fits the evidence found at the scene. Bobrinsky was carrying three fake Estonian passports. Very high quality. The type a desperate man would buy to smuggle his family out of Russia. Truth be told, I’m not quite sure why he would stay so close to home. If I owed money to Volkov, I would move to a different hemisphere to protect my family, but that’s just me. Maybe Bobrinsky had contacts in Tallinn who were going to help him from there.”

  Payne shrugged. He had no clue. He wasn’t the type to run. “I’ve been to Tallinn more than once for business conferences. It’s a thriving, high-tech city with tons of cameras. There has to be surveillance footage of Volkov and his goons.”

  Dial shook his head. “The murders took place in Old Town, which is the medieval part of Tallinn. There are cameras there, but not nearly as many as the bustling downtown. According to this report, there was a Wi-Fi blackout in the area at the time, so there’s no footage of the murder. However, the cameras conveniently came back on after the bodies were found.”

  Thanks to his work at Payne Industries, Payne knew that Tallinn had a free, citywide Wi-Fi network that would ping the moment he landed at the airport. The city also had some of the best high-tech wizards on the planet. If someone had managed to hack their network—much like the network in Valletta had been hacked at the time of the gunfight—then they were extremely talented, the type of hackers who could potentially mess with a presidential election.

  “If it’s okay with you,” Payne said, “I’d love to share this information with Randy Raskin. Maybe there’s something he can do to recover some footage.”

  Dial nodded. “That’s fine with me. Anything to keep him from messing with my phone. I can’t get his ding-a-ling out of my mind.”

  Payne laughed. “You may want to rephrase that.”

  “Shit. You know what I meant.”

  “Wait until I tell DJ.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “No worries. This call never happened.”

  “What call?” Dial said with a smile. “Seriously, though, thanks for the intel. I’ll let you know if I learn anything else about Volkov.”

  Payne nodded. “I appreciate it. And I’ll obviously do the same.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Because of the time difference between Malta and America, Payne was reluctant to call Raskin so early in his morning. Although the computer whiz worked ridiculous hours and had a cot in his subbasement office at the Pentagon for the occasional sleepover, Payne knew from experience that Raskin was a lot more receptive to favors later in the day, once he was fueled by several cans of Mountain Dew and bored with his actual work.

  While continuing to eat his brunch, Payne slowly but surely typed out a summary of his conversation with Dial in a lengthy email and added a list of other things that he hoped Raskin could accomplish once the hacker’s caffeine meter had reached a peak level. Payne was great at a lot of things, but typing wasn’t one of them. His hands were too big for most keyboards and mobile devices, so he was forced to peck at keys with his index fingers.

  Not that he was complaining.

  If he had been given the choice at birth between the small, nimble hands of a surgeon or the strong, meaty hands of a blacksmith, he would always pick the latter. In his line of work, he preferred to pack as much punch as possible.

  Payne finished his meal and his email at roughly the same time. He clicked the send button on his phone, then gathered the takeout cartons from his feast before opening the sliding glass door at the back of the saloon. The others were cleaning up their cartons as well, having eaten approximately the same amount of food combined as Payne had eaten by himself.

  “How’s N
ick?” Jones asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Stressed,” Payne said as he closed the door behind him.

  “One of these years, I’m going to ask that question, and you’re going to blow my mind and say something different.”

  “Don’t exaggerate. You know damn well sometimes I say ‘angry’.”

  Jones laughed. “Good point.”

  “Seriously, though, I think he’s long overdue for a therapy session. I was kind of hoping you could fit him into your busy schedule.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll pencil him in between ‘kill Russians’ and ‘find treasure’.”

  Payne dumped his cartons into a trash bag that looked identical to their luggage from the day before. “Speaking of which, we still need to finish our history lesson.”

  Marissa glanced at him as she washed silverware in the sink. “I thought that was the plan for brunch. Then you ran outside to make your call.”

  “Sorry,” he said as he walked into the galley to explain. “I promised Nick I would call him the instant I found out about the gunmen, and I always do my best to keep my word.”

  She smiled at him. “I wasn’t complaining, and I admire the trait. I was merely pointing out to the group that the delay was completely your fault.”

  Jones chimed in. “Just so you know, it always is. With Jon, it isn’t ‘three o’clock’. It’s ‘me o’clock’. For some reason, he thinks the world revolves around him.”

  Marissa and Jarkko laughed at the comment, much to Payne’s chagrin.

  “Wow,” Payne said as reached over his shoulder and pretended to remove a dagger. “You’re gonna stab your best friend in the back to make a mediocre joke.”

  Jones grinned. “Truth be told, I thought it was pretty funny.”

  Marissa smiled. “And accurate.”

  Jarkko nodded. “Jarkko laughed because it’s true.”